Harper put her work aside, coming to stand at the counter across from him. She found herself wondering what color his eyes were; there was no way to tell without him looking up. There was something faraway about him, as if he lived in a different place entirely, untouched and without the urge for touching in return.
“So what can I help you with today?” she asked, and he lifted the garment bag draped over his arm.
“I need my suit taken in,” he said diffidently. “It doesn't fit well.”
“It's a thing that happens. When do you need it?”
“This weekend.”
She tilted her head at that.
“That's fast.”
“Then charge me more.”
There was nothing aggressive or challenging in his voice. There was a flatness to it that told her he was more used to command than other people might be, but instead of irritating her, it made her take a closer look at him.
“Sounds like you have some big event coming up,” she said lightly. “How about if we take a look at what needs to be done, and then we figure out whether I can help you?”
He frowned, still not meeting her eyes.
“I need my suit to fit,” he said. “Can't you just ... take it down a size?”
Harper smothered a laugh.
“No, not really. If you're asking for my work, I'm going to need to at least get the garments on you and to see what might need to be done. Won't take very long at all, promise. Can you give me twenty minutes?”
His lips twitched a little, but his protest wasn't what she thought it would be.
“Aren't you getting ready to close?”
“Considerate of you to ask, but no, it'll be fine. Let's see if I can help you right now, and then we'll figure it out, shall we?”
He stiffened a little at the word help, but he nodded reluctantly.
“All right.”
She caught him glancing at the brace around her right wrist as she swung the mobile segment of the counter up, allowing him to pass to the back.
“You knew my name coming in,” she said instead of going into the explanation. “What should I call you?”
“Can't you stick with gorgeous?”
He was so deadpan that it took her a moment to laugh, and then she shook her head, leading him to the work area in the back.
“Sorry. I mean, what if the other handsome men who so routinely come to have their suits fixed find out and get jealous? I can't be seen playing favorites.”
He actually chuckled at that, and it struck Harper what a nice laugh he had. It sent a pleasant tickle down her back, and she couldn't resist smiling, a real smile, in return.
He's trouble, Harper found herself thinking, and she wondered why that made her heart beat faster.
Chapter Two
∞∞∞
Morgan didn't quite know what to make of the small shop that had been recommended to him. It was easy to miss, sandwiched between a Chinese takeaway place and a defunct sporting goods store in a grim little strip mall. It wasn't the sort of place that inspired confidence.
Still, it wasn't as if he knew a great deal about tailors, and he had put this problem off long enough.
Go on. Get it over with. Get it all over with, and then you can...
What?
The options that followed made him flinch, and somewhere deep inside him, he heard his dragon utter a deep growl, something low and frustrated and furious.
Shut up, Morgan thought. If you can't do what you're meant to do, shut up.
The inside of the shop, with its tight quarters and relentless tidiness, was a surprise, and the owner doubly so. Morgan caught a flash of silvery hair, but at her first words – hello, gorgeous – he realized that she couldn't have been more than thirty. Her voice was confident and easy, the kind of voice with a sense of humor, and he found himself warming to it and its owner immediately.
Morgan watched Harper Prynne as she led him deeper into the shop, and he realized that it wasn't just her voice he was warming to.
She was small but curvy, her hips rounded and rolling under her plain green skirt. Her tank top left her smooth pale arms bare, and except for the brace on her wrist, she wore no other adornment.
It was her hair that startled him. He had thought her an older woman when he entered the shop, but now he could see that it was something else. Her hair, cut in a messy bob that ended just above her shoulders, gleamed silver with just a touch of gold, and Morgan found himself unable to look away.
“It started going when I was fifteen,” Harper said, switching on a pair of bright lights to illuminate the back room. Her shop was an L, and this area, the dressing room, was sheltered from the front by the bend in the room and a curtain hung from the ceiling.
“What?”
“My hair. When I was fifteen, it started to go gray. I was a dishwater blond, and then overnight, silver everywhere. That's why you were looking at me so hard, wasn't it?”
“I –“
“You're not the only one who looks,” she said. “And I still don't have your name.”
“Morgan Castell.”
“All right, Mr. Castell –“
“Morgan, please.”
She laughed. He realized with just a touch of chagrin that he liked her laugh rather a lot.
“Morgan, then. Go ahead and get changed into your suit, and
