Page 52 of The Wages of Sin

If I’d thought that a single pair of designer jeans was too much, then this was totally over the top.

I quickly flipped through the hangers. There was everything—dresses, skirts, pants. Everything.

All of it in my size.

Even the drawers filled with bras and panties were to my measurements. The same went for the shoes and stockings.

My heart hammered as I tried to take it all in.

Part of me wanted to protest, to find Dorian and tell him that this level of generosity was too much...but it was disturbingly easy to hold myself back.

There was something comforting about seeing those new clothes—my new clothes—hanging beside Dorian’s. It was a visual reminder of how completely he was taking care of me…even though he didn’t have to.

After all, I wasn’t anything to him. Not really.

We weren’t family or childhood friends. We didn’t share a long history together. I was just the woman who currently shared his bed.

His lover.

Somehow, though, that word didn’t sit right with me. It failed to describe that deep, mysterious connecting thread of connection that bound us together. The one that apparently was strong enough to make me overlook the fact that he was a member of one of the country’s most notorious crime families.

I don’t know how long I was standing there, simply staring at the clothes, not knowing what to do, before Dorian appeared in the doorway.

Despite all my worries, my anxious heart melted at the sight of him.

“Don’t you want to try something on?” he asked, sounding far more relaxed than earlier.

Maybe walking away had been a good idea. Maybe we’d both needed a little time and space to cool down.

Everything had been moving so fast between us. Everything had been so physical. We hadn’t had a chance to take a breath and simply talk.

Though the thought of opening up to anyone—let alone man as intense as Dorian—was terrifying, I still found myself compelled to answer him honestly.

“To tell the truth, I’m a little scared.”

“You’re scared of...clothes?” He sounded confused.

“Of what they mean,” I clarified. “No one gives a gift like this without expecting something in return. Especially not someone in the?—“

I stopped myself.

But Dorian knew where I was going.

“Especially not someone in the mob, you mean,” he said before slowly walking toward me. “Kiera, the only thing I want is for you to be safe and comfortable. These clothes don’t come with any strings attached.”

Maybe not...but then again, the echoes of Carlo’s taunts hadn’t stopped ringing in my ears since I’d set eyes on Dorian’s elaborate gift.

You like to make a little extra money by spreading your legs.

A cold shiver ran up my spine at the memory.

“So this isn’t payment for...”

Oh, God. I couldn’t even bring myself to say it.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to.

Dorian cupped his hands over my shoulders and turned me to face him. His expression was at once heartachingly compassionate and dead serious.

---