by Sara Fawkes
My legs were like jelly but I took the bag and wobbled to the bathroom, remembering to grab my purse before locking myself inside. Setting the bags on the floor, I stood in front of the sink mirror and stared at my reflection in the tall mirrors. My blonde hair was a mess, still damp from the shower, but the tousled look seemed to fit the rest of my outfit. I ran my hands down the stiff white fabric, turning so I could see the corset strings across my back. I’d never before worn lingerie this fine – heck, I’d never really worn proper lingerie ever – but staring at the flare of my bottom beneath the white lacy contraption, the strings barely covering the tiny thong that hadn’t been much protection...
I looked good. It was a novel concept for me and I admired my reflection in the mirror. Then I sobered. I’m not going to end this farce, am I? Whatever games Jeremiah Hamilton was playing had gone too far; I’d allowed myself too many liberties to play the innocent in this game any longer. So what does that make me, a well-paid office assistant, or a glorified mistress?
The question disturbed me and I tried to block it from my mind. Taking a few minutes to clean myself up thoroughly, I discarded the tiny panties before turning to see what was inside the bag he had given me. A trendy pair of pants, simple yet silky blouse, and a pair of red flat shoes made up the clothing portion, while a brush and other toiletries lined the bottom. The clothes, as far as I could tell, were the right size even though I knew my curvy figure wasn’t exactly the norm in Europe. He’s obviously done this before to know exactly what is needed. I didn’t care to explore why that thought annoyed me, it brought up more questions I didn’t want to hear right now, so I pushed them aside and hurried to make myself presentable.
Twenty minutes later I emerged, fully clothed and refreshed, to see him waiting beside the table with the domed dishes I’d seen earlier. They contained a simple selection of fruits and crepes, with real whipped cream in a chilled metal dish. Looking at the clock I saw it was still morning and I thanked the powers that be that I had managed to sleep on the plane. “What’s the plan for today?” I asked, remembering Ethan mentioning something about a gala.
He took my hand and lifted it to his lips before popping a handful of grapes into his mouth. “Eat while you can,” he said, watching me pile the fruit onto the thin crepe wrap. “Today, your work really begins.”
***
About The Author
Sara Fawkes has always loved spinning tales. One who’s been writing since she was a little girl (and has the home made books from preschool to prove it), she loves creating stories and characters and interesting messes for them to get into. And for the handsome guy to always get the girl in the end. An avid traveler and adventure motorcyclist, her dream job includes selling everything off and leaving civilization to see the world on two wheels, writing in cafes in each country she visits, and living off her writing. In the meantime however, she lives in California with her menagerie of pets and, when not writing, loves to rebuild old motorcycles/cars and practice her fiddle. You can find her on Twitter @sarafawkes or online at http://sarawriteserotica.wordpress.com talking about whatever strikes her fancy.
Anything He Wants 2: All’s Fair. Copyright © 2012 by Sara Fawkes. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.