“I wouldn’t need to borrow an outfit if I was going to Starbucks,” I point out as I step into her roomy closet. I pull out a pair of buttery soft, black leather pants along with a matching leather overbust corset with a front zipper and side laces to adjust the fit and the amount of cinch.

I carry them both out of the closet and hold up the two hangers, one in each hand. “And why exactly do you have clothes that are stamped with the BDSM seal of approval?”

“Oh, please. That’s totally tame. And it’s from my days clubbing in Manhattan. You might as well keep both of them.” She points to her belly. “After this little guy makes his appearance, I doubt I’ll fit back into them. And my boobs were always too big for that thing, anyway.”

I laugh. “Thanks a lot for the cold, hard truth.” I’ve got a slim build, and the barely-a-B-cup tits that go along with that.

All she says is, “Trust me,” which seems like a total non sequitur. “Go on,” she continues, with a regal wave of her hand. “Try it all on.”

I shrug, then strip down to my panties and step into the pants. Since I’ve known Aly forever, there’s not a bit of modesty between us, but the truth is, I’ve never been the shy type. Probably fortunate, I think, since I’m heading to a BDSM club tonight.

“How come you don’t already have something to wear?” Aly asks. “Didn’t you go with Lyle and his wife and that producer recently?”

“Yeah, but I pretty much blew the dress code that day, I think.” Maybe not, because Matthew obviously knew the drill, and he said I looked fine. But he also knew that we were there only to observe, so no one really cared if my plain black leggings and simple silk tank were completely wrong for the occasion and location. In other words, I’d worn an outfit that telegraphed that I was there to observe, not to play.

According to Riley, this time I’m not going to observe, I’m going to get noticed. The goal is to draw the stalker out so that Riley can swoop in. According to him, we’re going to slide into the rhythm of the club. Make ourselves noticed by whoever. Lure them out. I’m not entirely sure how he intends to do that. But I’m definitely the bait. And the bait requires a wardrobe.

I tug up the back zipper and allow myself a happy sigh. The pants are a perfect fit, soft and pliable, and they hug me like a second skin.