Morgan shrugged, laying the suit aside. He had gotten his jacket thrown over a nearby chair and he had his T-shirt pulled over his head before Harper made a squeaky startled sound. He looked up to find her with a hand over her eyes.
“There's a screen over there,” she said, pointing.
Morgan blushed a little at his mistake, and but when he saw the pink on her cheeks, he couldn't help grinning a little.
Been a while since I made a woman blush like that, he thought with a bit of amusement. Doesn't hurt that she's pretty as a penny, too.
The smile faded from his face as he dressed himself in the charcoal gray suit that he had brought with him. It was in good repair, at least, but once it was on, there was no denying the fact that it fit him badly now, rumpling in odd places where before it had hung smoothly.
A man's suit should be as comfortable as wearing his own skin, Uncle Wilf had told him more than once. If it's not that comfortable … well, maybe your tailor needs to be a little on fire.
Uncle Wilf said a lot of things that only made sense to himself, but the thing about the suit was true. When Morgan picked the suit originally, it had fit him well, and he had been pleased to wear it.
I should just get a new suit, he thought, knotting his tie with abrupt motions. No reason not to. Drop this one off at a thrift store, or maybe see if one of the kids at the convocation wants it.
The idea of passing on the suit made him and his dragon want to growl, so instead, Morgan stuffed away his oh-so-practical thoughts and stepped out from behind the screen. The suit had been stored with everything he needed to wear it except for the shoes. There was no helping the boots he wore, but still he didn't think he deserved the long look that the pretty tailor gave him.
“What?” he asked, unable to keep from snapping.
“Well, that's a beauty,” she said, looking him up and down, and Morgan found himself wishing that she would properly look at him when she said it, rather than the suit he was wearing so badly.
“Is it?” he asked, and he caught a brief flash of a grin as she came closer.
“You know it is. But you're right. It doesn't really work as it is, does it?”
Morgan started to flinch at that, but Harper was coming closer, tugging at the measuring tape thrown over her shoulders.
“We're going to get a little close and personal here,” she said, inspecting the shoulders of his suit and craning her neck to look at the front and the back. “Are there any places that I should stay away from?”
“No, not not really,” Morgan said, biting back the urge to say some things that were wholly inappropriate.
Harper moved around him with a grace born of long practice, and with her attention focused on his clothes, Morgan was free to focus his attention on her. She had an easy way of moving that kept catching his eye and a complete lack of self-consciousness that was oddly enchanting. He watched her hands flutter like birds as she ran the tape measure over him, taking measurements from both arms, across his shoulders, around his throat, and a half-dozen other ways that he wouldn't have thought of at all.
She was pretty when he'd startled her earlier, Morgan decided, but when she was concentrating on her craft, she was beautiful.
“So did this suit belong to your grandfather or your great-grandfather?” she asked, startling him out of his reverie.
“Hm?”
“It's too old to be your father's, I think, but whoever left it to you kept it in excellent shape. Gorgeous lines on it.”
Morgan told himself that it was beyond stupid to feel jealous of a suit, but somehow, he was managing it.
“I was always told that a good suit should last me all my life,” he said vaguely, and she laughed, a low and lovely sound. It was lighter than he had thought it would be, bell-like, and with a rush, he wondered what it might be like to kiss her.
Fortunately, she seemed to have no idea of what was going through his mind.
“All right, I'm going to kneel down and get your inseam and a few others, all right?”
“Of course,” Morgan said, and then he was unprepared for the slight thrill of seeing Harper on her knees in front of him, her quick hands measuring his hips and working their way down.
It's work for her, he thought with a growing desperation. Do not be the pervert who has unacceptable thoughts about his tailor.
He might have been slightly amused at the urge to call her his, but frankly, he was a dragon. If he lost that possessive streak, God only knew what he would have left.
Before his thoughts could take an even darker turn, he made a shocked sound as Harper reached up to measure his inseam, which apparently ran from high between his legs to the cuff of his trousers.
“Sorry!” she said. “That one surprises people...”
“It's all right,” he managed.
Harper sat back on her heels, making a thoughtful noise.
“All right, this is doable for this weekend, but it will cost extra, and I want you in on Wednesday or Thursday to make sure that everything sits right. As much as I'm going to be charging you for this, I want to get it right.”
“I should hope so,” Morgan said, and when he saw her start to rise, he reached out to help her up. Her hand was warm in his, and then an electric shock traveled between them the moment they touched skin to skin.
Harper felt it too because her clear gray eyes flew to his, wide and wondering. The moment they looked at each other, truly looked at each other, Morgan's dragon roared inside him, and he felt as if his heart had opened in
