Page 21 of Betrayed

“She’s eighty-six. Everything is serious at her age.”

“What can I do?”

“Come into the shop. We’re in the middle of markdowns for the big sale and Kristen is out sick. Maybe we should postpone it.” This she said as if thinking out loud. “Either way, I’m afraid you’ll have to hold down the fort.”

It had been a while, but it was her boutique. When the kids got older, Derek had insisted she do something with her time while he worked. The shop was the solution, and he’d helped her open it over eight years ago. It was her business. She had trained Adri herself—which her friend often seemed to forget—and could do this in her sleep, no problem.

“I’ll be there within the hour. You do what you need to do to get to your mom. Close if you must. I’ll handle things when I get in.”

“Thank you, sugar. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’ll get in touch right away after I figure out what’s going on.”

“Family first, as always. You know that. Go, and don’t worry about a thing.”

* * *

STEAM WAFTED GENTLYfrom the nozzle and with every pass, the wrinkles fell away from the exquisite ecru lace overlay of the pricey designer cocktail dress that had arrived in a huge shipment today. She’d been waiting on the new arrivals forever it seemed and this one, a short sleeve, V-neck Valentino creation, like the dozens of others would be gone in the blink of an eye, despite the hefty price tag. After making calls to a few of her best customers, advising that if they wanted one of the five designer originals, they had better say the word before someone else snatched them up, her fitting calendar was booked solid.

Ferretti, McQueen, Mischke, and Couture were only a few of the elite names. She carried the most sought-after designer labels and a few one-off originals that her customers clamored for, but she also liked to feature up-and-comers whenever she could.

The bell rang as she worked, as it had all morning long. She didn’t turn away from her task, hearing Katy, one of her shop girls, walk out of the back room and down the polished hardwood center aisle to greet the new arrival. Mari knew it was likely another wealthy Houston socialite with nothing to do but spend daddy’s money. Or a housewife armed with her CEO husband’s platinum card. Or yet another of the successful but lonely women who frequented her shop—a corporate VP or a surgeon with a rare night off—in need of the perfect outfit for her upcoming date with a potential Mr. Right, or at least, Mr. Right Now. In any case, many turned to Marilee’s to find it. And she gladly catered to their whims. After all, she’d been the wife armed with the platinum card not so many years ago.

She pushed that thought away. Going down that path went nowhere. She found it came easier in the past few weeks since Adri had been gone. Coming to the shop each day gave her a reason to get up instead of listlessly sleeping the day away, through breakfast and lunch most often, which hadn’t been good for her.

She’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed interacting with the customers whether the everyday shopper who wandered in to browse, eyes flaring wide at the three- and four-digit prices, before reverently gazing at designer labels they couldn’t ever imagine wearing, then with a wistful sigh moving quickly on to the next store. Or the women who rushed in, having only an hour to shop before heading back for the next ultra-important meeting that would surely save the world from economic collapse. Or the snobs. Yes, Marilee even enjoyed serving the rich bitches who she and her staff fussed over like everyone else.

Occasionally, a man would wander in, looking for the perfect gift for his wife, mother, or the current object of his affection, perhaps a secret mistress or lover. These men were easily spotted. They paid in cash, exclusively.

“That would look exquisite on you.”

The husky voice with its panty-melting French accent was one she’d never thought to hear again, or at least not murmuring so close to her ear, and in of all places, her Houston shop. Twisting, she stared in horror at Master Arturo’s handsome face. His eyes twinkled as his sensual lips tipped up into a small smile, obviously amused by her appalled reaction.

Mari’s eyes darted around the shop. Katy had disappeared.

“What are you doing here, Mast—” Realizing at the last second what she’d been about to say, she stopped short. Calling him master in the middle of her boutique where at least six pairs of eager ears were perked up listening as they drooled over the eye-candy Arturo would have been a majorfaux pas. She snapped her mouth shut so hard her teeth click together.

Lowering her voice, she tried again. “What are you doing here, Mr. Durand?”

“Breathe, Marilee.”

The hand on her forearm, intended to reassure, did the opposite and sent a tremor up her arm. She didn’t know she was still holding the steamer aimed directly at him until he moved it gently away.

“How careless of me,” she blurted out. Flustered and making a fool of herself, she switched it off with much difficulty and set it on the nearby counter.

“Relax.” His deep, sensual tone sent a ripple of awareness through her. “I’m not planning to tie you to your sales counter, flog you, then ravish you until you beg for mercy while all and sundry look on.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise, no more so than when his hand came up and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, exposing the shell to his lips. He leaned closer and whispered boldly, “We’ll save that for after dinner when I have you all to myself.”

Again, her eyes scanned the room. Had anyone heard?

She took a breath when she realized no one was close enough.

Gallantly, he captured her hand and brought it to his mouth. After the barest brush of his lips, which if she hadn’t been watching, she would have sworn didn’t happen so light was his touch, he lowered but did not release her hand.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw the sign for Marilee’s boutique while driving by. I had to come see if you were one and the same. That you are has made my day. The shop and its owner, I might add, are both utterly charming.”

His eyes moved over her face and down her body in a quite brazen and very thorough manner. At the club, it would be nothing, simply a dom inspecting a potential play partner for the night; but here, in her quiet, conservative dress shop, it was out of bounds. Although she knew she should step back and put some much-needed space between them, she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Nor could she stop the tips of her breasts from hardening into peaks beneath her thin silk blouse, or the flood of heat that rushed through her body, or the trickle of moisture that suddenly gathered between her thighs. Her body knew him, instinctively, readying herself for another possession by this strong, handsome, intensely virile and dominant man.

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