Page 49 of Bought
His eyes shine with promise. “Nothing is too much for you.”
“That’s not true.” This is even messier than the way I choked out all over his shirt. Which, by the way, was humiliating.
Let’s pray the reverse swallow is the worst of the virgin blooper reels I make on my new journey in sexcapades.
We exit the car, and he grabs my hand in his, protective, guiding me to the store that girls like me only dream of entering.
“Sorry about your shirt,” I whisper.
He smiles down at me. “Simple mistake.”
My recent mistakes have been colossal, piling up one on top of another like a leaning tower of guilt and shame. Ready to topple down and crush me.
I never should have let Cass marry Caleb. Never should have gotten involved with the Morettis. And I never, ever should have shown up on his doorstep that night.
But I did. And that’s the only mistake I don’t want to take away.
I just wish it had been under honest pretenses. Or, that we’d had a meet-cute, like bumping into one another in the grocery, oranges toppling, and us scooping up produce, laughing together.
Only, I don’t think he shops at the Grocery Outlet. And our paths would never have crossed.
I have to find a way out of this. I can not betray this man. And he can never, ever find out what I was planning to do to him.
He squeezes my hand, bringing my thoughts to the present. “Ready?”
Overwhelmed, I nod. He opens the door.
The store steals my worries away, replaced with two stories of sheer beauty: a curved double staircase displaying the gownson the second floor. Chandeliers sparkle overhead, and every display seems worthy of a museum.
I glance at the price tag of a dress as we pass by. Four digits. I can’t let him buy me anything from this store.
“Lucian…”
“Come.” Before I can protest again, he guides me to a display of casual women’s clothing.
My pulse quickens as I touch the beautiful fabric of a teal silk shirt. “Everything here is gorgeous.”
“I want you to pick something you feel confident in.” His mouth tilts into that wicked half-smile. “But I pick out what goes underneath.”
My cheeks flush. The thought of him deciding what I’ll wear in front of his family makes my chest flutter with nerves and something even warmer.
“You pick,” I whisper. “Everything. Choose something they’ll love.”
“They will love you no matter what.” He stares at me like his earnest gaze will be enough to convince me.
I look away, stroking a deep blue velvety blouse. “How do you know?”
“Because we Bachmans like the same things.” He moves behind me, his chest brushing my back as he murmurs, “Good girls like you.”
I tremble, the praise sinking deep.
He doesn’t call me that often, but when he does, it’s like lightning striking my heart.
It’ll be a casual dinner, so we start by choosing a pair of dressy jeans that make my butt look like I do squats. They’re from a brand I didn’t know existed, but I never want to take them off.
I try on several tops at his request: a deep cut emerald satin blouse, a sleeveless soft ivory silk shirt, and a black velvet sweater that hugs my breasts until I’m sure I’ll combust under his stare.
There’s one left to try, the last of the ones he’s chosen, a pale silver shirt, threaded with icy shimmer.
