by Geneva Lee
Harriet poked her head through the curtain. “May I?”
I waved her inside. She bustled in, carrying an armful of other options and began to place them on the rack in the corner of the space. Meanwhile I stripped down.
“Do you require any special undergarments?” Harriet asked.
“I think I’m fine,” I said, allowing a little sarcasm to slip through.
I caught her glancing up in the mirror and surveying the validity of my claim. Her mouth fell open a little when she saw the Lucille London garter set I was wearing. Lingerie as distinctive as this had that effect regardless of gender or sexual preference. My lips curved a little in challenge, and she quickly looked away, busying herself with removing the black dress from the hanger.
Philip’s bank account might have supplied my shopping habits, but he had personally supplied my lingerie drawer. Each week he’d brought me something new, dressing me up like a paper doll. My belly tightened at the memory as a wave of nausea rolled through me. I’d been his plaything while he’d bided his time waiting for Pepper Lockwood. Now I was expected to do the same thing for Smith. By the time Harriet had helped me into the dress and zipped up the back of it, I was fuming. I barely had the presence of mind to slip my heels back on before I strutted out.
If Smith Price wanted a show, I would give him one.
He looked up from the business section of The Globe as I came closer, his expression changing from distracted to keenly interested instantly.
Planting my hand on my hip, I turned for him and then flourished my arms. The dress had been little more than a fitted black sheath on the hanger, but it dipped low in the front, revealing the valley between my breasts. It was understated but very sexy. “Does this meet your approval, sir?”
Smith frowned and motioned for me to turn once more.
So that was how he was going to play it. I remained still and stared him down.
“Most women enjoy shopping,” he said, his voice so cool that I shivered.
“I enjoy shopping,” I spit out. “I don’t enjoy being a toy.”
“I needed to be present to make certain we were on the same page regarding your appearance, given how often you’ll be accompanying me and, at times, representing me.” Smith paused to let this sink in.
“You gave me that line before.”
“Do you like this dress?” he asked.
“Yes, but—”
“Enough.” Tossing his newspaper aside, he stood. He tipped his chin toward the corner of the room, and Harriet scurried over. “Miss Stuart desires a private shopping experience. Please place her purchases on my account.”
“Of course,” Harriet said, a bit too eagerly. But then her eyes darted over to me like she was being left with a rabid animal.
Was it so crazy for a girl to want to try things on and consider them by herself?
Smith reached for the suit jacket he’d laid over the back of his seat. He slipped it on, buttoning it over the matching charcoal vest. As he adjusted his cufflinks, I realized he was actually going to leave. Heat crept over my cheeks and across my chest. This had to be the tenth time I’d blushed in front of him. If I were smart I’d lay outside until I had a sunburn that might hide future instances.
“Wait,” I blurted out.
He stopped a few steps from the door. “Yes?”
“Stay.” I managed to force out the request despite the rapid pounding of my heart. “I get a little defensive when I feel like a charity case.”
“And when you feel like a toy,” he added, a thoughtful gleam in his green eyes.
Most of my life had been spent occupying one of those two roles. If I was going to strike out on my own I wanted another option. “Can you blame a girl?”
His jaw visibly tensed. It took a moment for me to realize he wasn’t angry, he was trying not to smile.
Taking a deep breath, I crossed the room and stuck out my hand. “Let’s start over.”
“Why would we do that?” he asked.
“Because I’ve been provoking you since the moment we met,” I admitted.
Smith took my outstretched hand, but he didn’t shake it. Instead he drew me slowly to him, close enough that I felt the heat radiating from his body. I’d never been this close to him before. I caught faint traces of leather and bergamot on the air around me, forcing me to fight the urge to melt against him and breathe in his warm, rich scent. Smith leaned closer until his breath tickled my ear and whispered, “Continue to provoke me, beautiful. I like it. But you’re wrong about one thing: I don’t look at you as a toy. Although I should be so lucky to play with you.”
My eyes closed involuntarily as my body took over, but he didn’t pull me closer. I ached for him to, caught up in the irresistible draw of his presence.
“You’ve been fighting me. This. We both have, and it’s for the best. We have a professional relationship,” he continued quietly. “I don’t know if you like me, Belle, but you shouldn’t.”
“Do you like me?” The question slipped effortlessly off my tongue. I didn’t want it to matter. I wished it didn’t.
“Very much. Too much.” His thumb rubbed circles on my palm as he admitted it. “You’re smart to keep me at a distance. Don’t try to fix us. Do your work and keep hating me. Protect yourself.”
“Or what?” I stepped away from him, jerking my hand free from his hypnotic touch.
“I might bite.” He clicked his teeth on the final syllable. “Consider that a warning.”
He nodded a farewell and disappeared out the door, leaving me to wonder if I should heed his advice or if he was trying to get under my skin. My gut had told me to stay away from him since the moment we met, but I couldn’t deny my body had other ideas.
An hour later, I decided to give up. There was no way I could choose between the amazing pieces in here, especially with my head still spinning over Smith’s warning. Dropping onto one of the plush chairs, I waited for Harriet, who’d insisted on bringing in a selection of accessories. The trill ring of my mobile shattered the temporary silence I’d been granted in her absence. I fished it from my purse, groaning when a picture of my mother flashed across the screen.
“Hello, Mum,” I answered, knowing I couldn’t dodge her any longer. Avoiding my mother was like trying to stay dry under water—completely impossible.
“Where are you at?” she asked suspiciously. “I hear music.”
“A strip club. I got a new job.”
“Don’t be vulgar. It’s not that kind of music.” Her voice carried the weight of years of disappointment in it.
I sighed. “I’m at Harrods, Mother.”
“Is that in our budget?” she asked. Budget had become my mother’s favorite word since the death of my father.
“It’s in my budget.”
“Do not take that tone with me,” she warned, and suddenly I was ten years old again. “I called because I heard about your new job. You hadn’t mentioned it.”
So much for keeping that a secret. I considered asking who had ratted me out, but she’d always been protective of her sources. I could only imagine she had an entire network of spies in the London area dedicated to the task of tracking and reporting my every move. “I just started, and honestly, I’m not sure it’s going to work out.”
“Not with that attitude.”
Harriet bustled into the room, holding up a few different belts. I never thought I’d be happy to see her. “Mum, I need to go. The shopgirl is here.”
“Come to the estate this weekend. We should discuss how this impacts Stuart Hall,” she ordered, revealing the real reason she’d bothered to ring me in the first place.
“I think I have to work.” That probably wasn’t a lie. Over the last couple of days I’d gotten the impression that Smith expected me at his beck and call at all hours.
“What kind of job is this?” She didn’t bother to hide the distaste in her voice. Considering she’d never held a position outside of wife and estate manager, it didn’t surprise
me. Even if it stung a little.
“I already told you: stripper.”
“Belle!” Admonishment rang in her voice.
“Sorry, Mum, gotta go!” I hit the button to end the call and turned the ringer off, thankful she didn’t have the number to the phone Smith had given me.
Yet.
Undoubtedly she would before the month was out. I smiled weakly at Harriet. “I’m not actually a stripper.”
“I knew you were joking.” But something in her voice told me she suspected I must be in some type of unsavory business. Perhaps she’s misread today’s dress-up session. “I’ve arranged to have your items delivered to your flat this afternoon. Will you be there to sign for it?”
“I won’t be, but my aunt can sign for a delivery.”
“Perfect. Have you decided?” she asked.
“Harriet, this has been the most tiring day of my life, and it’s not even one in the afternoon. Choose for me. Everything is lovely. I’m certain it will be fine.”
She raised her overly plucked eyebrow dubiously. “I’ll see to it then.”
Something told me that was going to be the last easy decision I made for a while.
Tonight was a test—an important one. Not only for my associates, but for me as well. No matter how much I liked Belle, if she couldn’t be docile for one evening, I couldn’t justify keeping her around. I’d given her enough slack as it was. It was obvious she was going to continue to ask question and push the limits. The issue was that I enjoyed it when she did.
She appeared at the building’s entrance as soon as the Veyron parked. Determined to set the right tone for the evening, I climbed out of the car, rounding it to open the door for her. I stopped with my fingers on the handle.
I hadn’t approved this dress. I would never approve this dress for an appearance outside my bedroom floor.
Silky white fabric clung to her exquisite body, fluttering down her legs, draping low between her breasts. Despite the gown’s off-the-shoulder sleeves, there was nothing remotely reserved about this dress. It poured over her like creamy milk, highlighting the curves of her breasts and hips. Pert nipples poked through the thin fabric, and I knew with absolute certainty she didn’t have a stitch on underneath. Her hair was tucked into a small knot at the nape of her neck. Other than dark lashes and red lips, she wore no makeup. She didn’t have to. She was a walking wet dream.
Belle accepted my hand as I helped her into the passenger side of the Veyron, flinching slightly as I slammed the door shut behind her.
I was too pissed for words the entire way to the Carlton. I shifted hard, punching the paddles behind the steering wheel furiously as we zipped in and out of traffic. Belle held her tongue, but I got the sense she was enjoying having provoked me more than ever before. Why on earth had I told her to continue doing so?
Because you want a reason to punish her. There was no denying that was truth as my dick stiffened in my trousers. I wanted her over my knee with her smooth alabaster ass presented for my palm. But that was a desire I needed to keep in check. Our lifestyles were incompatible in more ways than one.
My cock hadn’t come to the same conclusion by the time we pulled up to the valet stand. Getting out of the car, I buttoned my suit jacket, knowing it wouldn’t remotely cover my bulge if anyone was looking.
“My message told you to wear something modest,” I hissed in her ear as she pushed herself out of the car.
“You should have seen the other dress I considered.” She smiled serenely at the valet, ignoring me. I passed the key fob to him, catching his sleeve before he could turn away.
“I know, I know,” he said with an unimpressed groan. “Your car is worth more than my salary.”
“That car is worth more than your life,” I corrected him. I didn’t bother to measure his response. I didn’t care, so long as he knew where he stood in the pecking order.
“Somebody’s concerned about the size of his dick tonight,” Belle muttered as I held open the door for her.
Placing one hand on the small of her back, I guided her inside before leaning down to her ear. “That is one thing I never worry about, beautiful.”
And Christ, she was as beautiful as her name advertised tonight. The dress was revealing—too revealing, given the company we were keeping this evening—but it skimmed softly down her body, rippling over her toned thighs with each step she took. Upright, the neckline was less risqué. I just had to make sure no men stood over her this evening, which meant marking her as my own. The fact that she was my assistant might have been a boundary to the rest of our party until she showed up looking like forbidden fruit.
The silky fabric felt like nothing under my palm. My hand was warm, but she stiffened the moment I made contact before relaxing into my touch. Her reaction pleased me a bit too much.
“Anything else?” she asked under her breath. “Should I only speak when spoken to?”
“If you’re going to behave like a child then I suppose so.”
The maître d’ bent toward the back of her chair, but I stepped in front of him and pulled it out. Belle didn’t speak as I greeted the others already present. She nodded and shook hands as I introduced a half dozen people to her. When I finally took my seat beside her, I reached for my napkin and came up empty-handed. Belle dangled it in the air between us. Turning I took it, temporarily mesmerized by the radiance of her smile. No one would guess that we’d spent the last twenty minutes arguing with one another or that we’d fought all morning. As I’d suspected, she knew exactly how to maneuver this situation.
For the next half hour, I made small talk with the rest of the table while Belle gossiped politely with the other escorts. A hush swept down the table as the final guests arrived. Belle’s eyes flickered to mine as a few of the others stood in greeting, but I shook my head. There was no need for us to do so.
Randolph Hammond paused at my seat as he made his way to the end of the table.
“Smith,” he said, shaking my hand.
I raised an eyebrow at the jovial greeting. It had been four days since I last saw him. Longer than usual but hardly a record. Then I realized his attention wasn’t directed at me. Hammond’s smile was focused over my shoulder.
I stood, pushing my chair back so that I could block him from getting too good of a view. But Hammond merely dropped an arm around my shoulder and drew me close.
“Goddamn, that’s a pretty piece of ass you’ve brought this evening,” he whispered.
“Hammond, this is my new assistant,” I said in a stiff voice.
Belle held out her hand, splaying her polished fingernails in a gesture as timeless as femininity. Hammond caught it, but instead of shaking it, he bent to kiss it. The bastard’s gaze traveled down with him. Judging from the intrigued look he shot me, he’d gotten enough of a glimpse.
Fuck.
I cleared my throat, and he relinquished his hold of her. Sitting quickly, I replaced the napkin on my lap and then slung an arm over the back of her chair. Her eyes darted to the side, but she didn’t question me.
Dinner arrived in courses, Hammond having a penchant for ceremony. When they served the salad, Belle’s hand bumped mine as she picked up her fork. She jerked it swiftly away, but we had both felt the subtle shot like an unexpected jolt from a power outlet. We spent the whole meal speaking to everyone but each other. As my conversation died down, I began to eavesdrop on hers.
“I’m certain we’ve met,” she said to the woman on the opposite side of the table. “If only I could place you.”
Georgia Kincaid shrugged, a demure smile pinned to her face. “I’d remember you.”
Demure and Georgia were mutually exclusive concepts. She knew exactly where she had met Belle, and she wasn’t going to remind her. That meant it had been business, and any business involving Hammond’s right-hand girl was bound to be dirty. Georgia’s eyes flashed to mine, narrowing into catlike slits for a moment while Belle handed her glass to the waiter. I shifted my chair over so that m
y shoulder brushed against Belle’s. She froze, her hand poised in midair, before she regained her composure.
Every touch between us this evening had been innocent, and yet none of them had. Each graze of our skin was accidental. Unplanned. Uncomplicated.
At least, it should have been.
I restrained myself from pushing closer to her, from making more extensive contact. I’d invited her into the lion’s den, and she’d shown up looking like a piece of meat. It was my duty.
But it was a problem I was unfamiliar with. I had no doubt Hammond had fucked my assistants in the past. Hell, Georgia probably had as well. It was a nonissue unless their loyalty to me was compromised. But the thought of either of them laying a finger on Belle drove me to move even closer until we were no longer sharing unavoidable bumps of the hand or legs. Under the table I swept my knee along the side of her thigh, my eyes trained on the naked flesh of her shoulders. The goose bumps that surged over her skin enthralled me.
I stayed that way, my leg pressed to hers, and began a new conversation with Hammond regarding an investigation into his jewelry store’s payroll. We spoke in a code long established between the two of us. I was so absorbed in the discussion that I nearly startled when I felt a hand squeeze my knee.
I glanced over at Belle, who shot me a pointed look.
Final warning.
Moving my leg away from her, I noticed Hammond studying us intently. All my attempts to claim her had only brought more attention to her.
“Belle, how old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-four.” Her smile was dazzling.
“About the age of my daughter.” He reached over and took Georgia’s hand, but instead of a quick, fatherly squeeze, he clasped it. Georgia placed her free hand over his and held it there.
“I had no idea you were related.” Belle somehow managed to sound polite even though her eyes shone with dismay.
“There’s not much of a resemblance,” he said seriously.
I sighed, shaking my head. “Georgia is adopted.”