Page 59 of Lethal Vows

Then, they all at once drop their robes and walk toward us.

I immediately pin my attention on Crue. “You want this? Women walking around half naked?”

“It’s not them I’m watching.” And he isn’t lying because his eyes have been on me the whole time. I turn back to the women as each of them comes to stand in front of me and gives me a full turn. When I glance at Crue, I see him whispering something to Dawson, who is now behind us. I focus back on the women, and one hands me a glass of champagne. I take it, but I am still confused by what’s happening.

“What am I supposed to do?” I whisper to Crue.

Dawson laughs from behind me.

“Tell me which one you like best,” Crue says.

Looking closer at the outfits, the women display, I say, “The lace with the leather nipple covers.”

“Good. Your woman has expensive taste,” Dawson says.

I twist my head to look at him. The words “Your woman” doesn’t sit right with me. I’m not his woman. I’m a woman he’s fucking. And now buying expensive lingerie for.

“How much?” I ask Dawson.

“The top is three thousand, and the bottom is two. If you want the whole combo with the stockings and garters, you’re looking at just over six grand.”

My mouth hangs open at that total. I have money, don’t get me wrong. I tend to spend my money on work clothes, food, a few pieces of what I would consider nice lingerie, and nothing else. But my prices are in the hundreds.

“We will take one of every outfit. All in red,” Crue says.

“How much is that?” I ask.

“At least fifty thousand,” Dawson replies with a grin.

“Fuck.”

“Yes, I plan to. While you’re wearing them,” Crue says as the women collect their robes and exit the bar. “Thanks, Dawson, you can go now.” He waves Dawson off.

This is… too much.

Crue watches me pace back and forth. “Care for dinner, princess? My apartment is upstairs, and food is waiting for you.”

I spin around to face him. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Me?” He looks confused. “I’m planning to feed you, then I hope to fuck you later.”

“And that’s all? Because it seems like you have a motive.”

“And what motive would that be?” he questions from where he lounges in the booth.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t. You’ll have to spell it out for me.” His fingers tap on the table.

“You want me to marry you.”

“I’ve never hid that motive.”

“I willnotbecome another wife. A stay-at-home, do-nothing-but-have-your-babies woman.”

“Who said anything about staying at home?”

“I won’t marry you.”

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