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hips. The garment fit snugly, as if it could have been made just for her. In some places, she filled it in a bit more, especially around her breasts and waist, where the suede pulled tight. She twisted her body so she could look down the back of her form, admiring the piece wholly. “Beautiful.”
    “What?” Mechan turned at the misplaced comment, and when his dark eyes found Ishara, she could see something inside him set aflame.
    It frightened her.
    “Take it off.”
    Ishara stood where she was, transfixed. She shook her head, though she didn’t know why she chose to fight this battle. He looked at her with both anger and greed. She wanted more.
    Mechan rose to his feet, towering inches above her. He took another step closer, his hands tightening into angry fists. “I am telling you to take it off. Those are not yours.”
    “They are your wife’s?”
    “Yes. You will take it off now, or I will have to take it off you myself.” Something visceral buried itself deep down in Mechan’s tone. Something that called for Ishara to attack it. To own it. This moment was hers.
    “Are you not the mighty chieftain, Mechan? Will you let a dress be the thing that destroys you?”
    Mechan’s teeth gnashed together, and he closed the space between them. “Do not toy with me, girl. Not with this.”
    Ishara stepped back, her heels pushing up against the trunk behind her. “Tell me about her. Was she pretty? What did she look like?” She tried to bait him into the conversation. She wanted him to play her game for once. She wanted him to be a slave to her.
    “Take it off.” Mechan pushed Ishara backward and she tumbled over the trunk, all limbs.
    She found her feet again, and after dragging her palms down the sides of her dress, smoothing it free of wrinkles, Ishara smiled devilishly and shook her head. “She must have been a beautiful woman to have made you so angry with longing.” Ishara continued to move backward, breeching the private space of the sleeping quarters in the back. She sank into the protective darkness while watching Mechan. And when he caught her, she had no idea what she’d do.
    “I am not angry,” Mechan growled from deep within his gut. His shoulders rose up and down with each hot breath he inhaled, and his nostrils flared when he exhaled. He reminded Ishara of an angry stallion, either ready to mate or ready to kill.
    She grew wet.
    “You are violating her memory.”
    “Oh am I? And how am I doing that? By wearing clothes that she can no longer wear herself? What were you going to do with these clothes, hmm? Keep them in a trunk, untouched, for the rest of your life?” Ishara stopped her retreat and decided instead to ground herself where she stood. She would let him catch her. She wanted to see what he would do. “I must say that I make a much better use of them. Don’t you agree?”
    Mechan did not stop his pursuit. “Take it off. And take off the necklace. You are disrespecting my wife’s memory.”
    Ishara resisted the urge to take another step back as Mechan eventually caught up, nearly standing on top of her. She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin and it caused her cunt to pulsate in desire. “Take them off me.”
    His hands struck outward, pulling at what little fabric he could manage to peel from her body. He yanked her forward as he fumbled. The action lacked seduction. Mechan did not feel what she felt, or at least she started to draw that conclusion when he violently jerked the dress up once more. This was not about her at all. He truly was insulted that she wore his dead wife’s dress.
    “Take it off,” Mechan hollered, his guttural voice echoing past the tent, desperation sounding through the reverberations. “Take it off. Spirits be damned, take it off. Take it off!”
    Ishara no longer felt empowered. Fright froze her. She heard him shouting at her, but all she could see was the cold anger that pierced through his dark eyes and into her very soul. She needed to