“Hey!” I protested as he went right to my closet. “Get out of my room!”

Ignoring me, he pushed all the way to the back where I put everything I didn’t like. “I saw something here the other day,” he said, making a small exclamation as he leaned to tug at something. “Here,” he said, holding out a pair of drab black boots. “Start with these.”

“Those?” I complained as he set them aside and stuck his arms back into my closet. “There’s no heel to those at all. And they’re four years old and out of style. And what were you doing in my closet?”

“That’s a classic boot,” Kisten said, affronted. “It never goes out of style. Put them on.” He shuffled about again, pulling something out by feel, as he couldn’t possibly see anything back there. My face warmed when I saw an old suit I’d forgotten I had. “Oh, this is just ugly,” he said, and I snatched it out of his hands.

“It’s my old interview suit,” I said. “It’s supposed to be ugly.”

“Throw it away. But keep the pants. You’re wearing them tonight.”

“I am not!” I protested. “Kisten, I am fully capable of picking out my own clothes!”

Silently he raised his eyebrows, then went right back in to get a black long-sleeve shirt, from my don’t-go-there section, that my mother bought for me three years ago. I hadn’t the heart to give it away as it was silk, even though it was so long it hung mid-thigh on me. The neckline was too low, and it made my small chest look even flatter.

“This too,” he said, and I shook my head.

“No,” I said firmly. “It’s too long, and it’s something my mother would wear.”

“Then your mother has better taste than you,” he said in good humor. “Wear a camisole under it, and for God’s sake, don’t tuck it in.”

“Kisten, get out of my closet!”

But he reached back in, bowing his head over something small in his hands as he rocked back. I thought it might be that ugly purse with the sequins I wished I had never bought, but I went mortified when he turned with an innocuous looking book. It had no title and was bound with a soft brown leather. The glint in Kisten’s eyes told me he knew what it was.

“Give me that,” I said, reaching out for it.

A wicked grin on him, Kisten held it up over his head. I could probably still get it, but I’d have to climb him. “Well, well, well…” he drawled. “Ms. Morgan. You have shocked and delighted me. Where did you get a copy of Rynn Cormel’s guide to dating the undead?”