"No, not black."
Amanda raised her eyebrows in surprise, an uncommon occurrence. "Why not? Black's your go to color. This one would go fantastically with the Yves St. Laurent pumps."
Nikita studied herself in the full length mirror. "I'll be at a night club. The lights will be dim, no one can see me if I'm in black."
"Good eye. Fine, try the Herve Leger." Amanda plucked a red gown out of the enormous rack and handed it to Nikita. "Call me if you need help," she said, waving her behind the changing curtain.
As soon as the curtain slid closed, Michael strolled in, hands deep in his pockets. "Finished?" he asks. "I have to take her to the Armory. She needs to gear up."
As if to answer Michael's question, Nikita stepped out from behind the drape. She was a vision in the severe whiteness of Amanda's room. A drop of blood on snow.
She catches Michael's gaze and blushes, slightly self-conscious. "Whaddya think?"
He slowly ambles over, eyes roving up and down. Her eyes are sparkling, flushed cheeks complimenting her dress. The frock was fitted, smoothly contoured to her body's figure and outrageously short, stopping several inches past the curve of her hip. He gently lays a hand on her waist and Nikita's breath hitches in her throat. She glances up at him from under her lashes, but his eyes are turned toward Amanda, his expression unreadable.
"Maybe try to lengthen the hem a bit." He coughs a little, wind pipe still feeling incredibly tight. "Wouldn't want her thigh holster to be exposed when she's dancing with the mark." He points at the hem and glances furtively at the long column of unclothed thigh beneath it.
"Mmm, perhaps you're right. I'll call up Christian to get a backup," she muses, more to herself than to Michael and Nikita. His hand is still resting on her waist. "You," she suddenly points at Nikita. "Change."
Turning to Michael she motions towards the swishing curtain. "Keep her here until I get back. She can try on other items, but I'd prefer to keep it in the Herve Leger collection."
With a graceful nod, she turns and marches out, ebony heels clacking. After a moment, Nikita pokes her head out from behind the curtain.
"Is the crazy bitch gone?" she asks, glancing around. "Awesome. Here, can you unzip this for me?" She turned around and pulled her hair out of the zipper's teeth, exposing her tanned upper back.
Michael swallowed. Suddenly the room seemed incredibly stuffy. Slowly, agonizingly, he pulled the zipper down, trying not to touch her bare skin. His knuckles barely graze her spine and she stifles a tiny sigh as an electric jolt zaps up her back.
Awkwardly stepping behind the curtain, she slips into a simple gray sweater and black leggings. Coming out, she stands off to the side, looking at him uneasily.
"Nikita, I…" He clears his throat awkwardly, and then slowly takes a shaky step away from temptation. "Amanda wants you to stay here until she gets back," he says, trying to ease the awkward tension.
She nods, not looking at him and not trusting what will come out of her mouth if she opens it.
"Ok then, I'll see you later, Nik." He slams the door behind him on his way out.
Nikita collapses in an armchair, letting out the enormous breath that had been tugging at her lungs. She leaned forward, bracing splayed hands on her knees. His scent still lingered in the air, whispered around her. Closing her eyes, she prayed for a release from the dull ache thudding in her chest.