Images of her face flash in my memory. The feel of her trembling body against my chest. The tug of her fingers, pulling at my shirt.
Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I give my head a shake, attempting to dislodge her from my mind.
I open my eyes. My brow rises in disbelief.
The clock is gone.
Chapter Three
Paige
The chilly fall morning air intrudes through the single-paned glass windows in my room. I’m lying in bed. It’s too cold to get up. I tug at the covers, pulling them up and over my head.
I snuggle further into my downy pillows. Is the temperature what keeps me from getting out of this bed? Or do I just not want to face this day?
Today is Saturday.
I peek out from beneath my blanket. Reaching out, I snatch my phone from the nightstand. I quickly close my cocoon back up.
It’s freezing out there. And I have a decision to make. I’ll have to be sure to double check that Mr. Dobbins has his flannel robe and slippers on before I leave.
If I leave.
I still haven’t decided if I will be complying with Mr. Bachman’s demand I work Saturdays.
I could use the money.
But the man caught me stealing from him. And spanked me. I mean, actually took me over his knee, pulled down my panties—I can’t even think about it, it has my face burning so badly.
It’s getting too stuffy underneath these covers.
More worrisome than the deep blush I am feeling in my face is the hot pulsing desire that clenches in my pussy every time I think of his huge hand coming down on my bare ass.
I don’t have to reach down to know my panties are soaked. I think of the way he pressed his fingers against me. Sliding one within me.
Naughty, naughty girl. Am I not spanking you hard enough?
“Ugh,” I groan. I roll over, bringing the covers around my shoulders. My face is so hot. Shame washes over me—there it is again, the strongest urge to rub my pussy to orgasm. Just thinking about the way his dark brow rose at me, the sound of his stern voice. The feel of his hard thighs underneath my belly.
It’s driving me to distraction.
The air stings my cheeks, my face finally cooling. I stare up at the peeling ceiling above my head.
We really need a new heating element in the HVAC. But we don’t have the money.
My family is going to freeze.
Unless...
How much did he say he paid, exactly? Enough to strike a bargain with cranky old Hank? If I could get Hank to agree to replace the element, I could give him a portion of the cost every Saturday till we’re paid up.
Hank will go for it, if he knows I have a steady income coming in on the weekends. I’m certain of that. He may be grumpy on the outside, but I know he secretly cares just as much as I do.
I give a nod to no one in particular. I’ve made my decision.
I’ll be the best damn salesgirl Mr. Bachman has ever seen. Hell, maybe he’ll even throw in a bonus for good behavior.
Heat flushes through my core, causing my pussy to gush. Just from imagining how Bronson Bachman would handle bad behavior.
You did a bad thing. You will be punished.
I shake my head. Time to get up. Throwing the covers back, I jump from the bed. “Brr!”
I sprint across the freezing concrete floor, my bare feet dancing on ice. I’ve never gotten used to owning socks. I always forget to put them on. Flinging open my wardrobe, I assess my ammunition.
The red dress. It is the logical choice.
I pull the dress down, forgetting the cold. Holding the beautiful crimson fabric against my skin, I smile.
He’ll give me anything I want in this dress. Including the advance on my pay that I’ll politely request to bribe Hank with. My family will have heat by the end of the week.
Shrugging out of my flannel nightgown—pajamas are the one thing I prefer to skip the labels on—I slip the dress over the bra and panty set I put on the evening before, after my shower. It is way too cold to be changing those.
My face stares back at me. I’m determined to make this work. I grab a brush, smoothing down my hair to hang straight, frame my face, and rest on my shoulders. I take my time applying my makeup.
Red lips, red nails, red dress.
I am more than satisfied with the result. Slipping on my heels, I grab my bag and fly out the door. It’s almost eight.
“Young lady, where’s your coat?” a voice croaks from behind me.
Turning around, I smile, waving down to Ms. Beeman in her wheelchair. “And cover up this beautiful dress? Never,” I laugh.
Shaking her head, she says, “You look lovely, dear, but you’ll catch your death of cold. Mark my words. In my day—”
“I’m so sorry, I can’t chat too long this morning, Ms. Beeman. I’m late, you see and the man I’m keeping waiting... well, let’s just say I don’t think he’d take kindly to my tardiness.” I picture him, looming over his desk, me in the chair across from him, him lecturing me on the importance of being on time as he rolls up one crisp white sleeve—
Ms. Beeman squeals. “Oh, you didn’t say you had a beau! Come now, spill the beans. Who is it? Emmaline, get on out here. Paigey has herself a beau!”
“What’s that?” Emmaline comes round the corner.
“I said—Paigey has herself a beau!” Ms. Beeman said.
“Why didn’t you say so? Why were you telling me that the cage has a toe?” Emmaline shouts. She was hard for hearing, as she puts it.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Emmaline, I didn’t say that. That doesn’t even make sense! What I said was—”
I take the opportunity to slip down the stairs. Opening the door, I shriek as the freezing air slams into me. “Mother of mercy!” The chill bites right through the thin fabric of my dress. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to capture the heat of my body.
Holding my head high, I desperately try to look like the type of woman I wish I was—one who sacrifices herself for fashion. Truly not wanting to cover up the gorgeous dress.
Not the woman I am.
One who doesn’t own a coat.
It was pretty much impossible to slip a winter coat into a purse and get away with it. I’d given up after my first attempt. After that, I’d tried several thrift stores, trying to find something that would both keep me warm and not look ridiculous with my couture.
I’d had no luck. I’d only found pieces that I wouldn’t have ever had the audacity to hand down to someone. Just because I’m broke doesn’t mean I want to wear clothing that should have been thrown away.
The cold has me walking so fast, I’m shocked to look up and see the Bachman’s storefront looming before me.
Nerves immediately invade. My tummy flips. My already peaked nipples further harden.
Memories of my chest pressed against his desk. The unbuckling of his belt. The sting of the leather.
Very good girl.
I can’t believe I’m about to see him again. I can’t believe I’ve agreed to this.
I’ve kept an eye out for one of his visits to the home throughout the week. But if he made an appearance, I missed it. And there was no way I was asking Jane if he’d been in. That would just stir up gossip.
This will be the first time I see him since... he spanked me.
Just thinking those words has my fingers trembling as I reach out for the door handle. Before I can pull the heavy door, it flies open.
A firm grip circles around my upper arm, pulling me into the building. “Where is your coat? My God, you’re going to freeze out there. Did you seriously walk here wearing nothing but this...”
His eyes rove over my body. Returning to my face, his gaze locks on mine as he finishes his sentence. “Dress?”
I snap, “Yes. Last time I checked, the garment that I put on this morning was called a dress.”
His brow narrows at me, furious.
I gulp and try to pull my arm from his grip. He loosens it, al
lowing me to free myself.
I smooth down the red silk. Straightening my spine, I try to hold in the shivers that begin to rack my body.
“It’s thirty degrees out there! Are you mad?” His eyes shoot daggers at me as his fingertips reach out, pinching the fabric of my sleeve between them. Tingles danced down my bare arm where his touch grazes my skin. He sneers and says, “Flimsy little thing. There’s barely any material here. Silly girl.”
Fury burns within me. “Silly girl? I’m a grown woman and if I choose to walk down the streets of New York City without a stitch of clothing on, that’s my prerogative, and no... man... is going to tell me how to dress or what to wear—”
The viselike grip returns to my arm. For the second time that week, I am being dragged off to his office. He gives me that look. The one that both infuriates me and excites me. “Keep your voice down, for God’s sake. We have customers.”
He pulls me into his office, shutting the door firmly behind us. He plops me into the chair. Standing beside me, he looms over me, demanding, “You are a silly girl. One who’d rather show off her pretty dress than take care of her health. Now. Where. Is. Your. Coat?”
My eyes lower. I stare at the desktop. What is it about this man that makes the truth flow from my lips? I whisper, “I don’t have one.”
The office is quiet. I sneak a glance at his face. His features have softened.
“No coat?”
“No... sir.”
The look on his face resembles... worry. A little pang shoots through my heart.
“No coat. Well, something will have to be done about that, won’t it?” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
“You can’t spank someone for not having a coat,” I say.
The faintest hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. It disappears so quickly, I wonder if I’d imagined it.
“Careful there. Do you need another taste of my belt?”
I quickly shake my head. My pussy betrays me, clenching and throbbing between my legs.
“I will ensure that you have a proper coat. And take you over my knee and give you a proper spanking, if you refuse to wear it.” Determination dances in his dark eyes.
“Oh, really?” My temper begins to dissipate. I happen to have a soft spot for men who enjoy buying gifts. And his threat has my squirming in my seat.
He leaves me, walking toward the door. Reaching over to a hook on his wall, he pulls down a long black men’s dress coat.
“Here, put this on,” he demands.
“Say please,” I say.
“Now.” The little muscle in his jaw twitches, causing me to stand to my feet. I hold my arm out for him to slide the coat onto. He helps me into the other sleeve. I shrug the coat on, pulling the abundant material around my waist. The scent of his cologne surrounds me. Musky and masculine, and expensive.
The smell drives me wild.
Ignoring my libido, I say, “This thing is huge. I look ridiculous.” The coat almost goes down to the floor. The seams of the wide shoulders fall around the middle of my upper arms.
He’s laughing at me. “Not half as ridiculous as you looked shimmying up the sidewalk, your teeth chattering, wearing nothing but a napkin. It was killing me to watch.”
“You... were watching me?”
“You were late.” He shrugs on his blazer.
“You were worried.” The words slip out before I can stop them. My hand goes to my mouth, covering it. The giant sleeve falls toward my elbow.
He takes my hand in his. The tingles return, always seeming to be present when his skin finds mine. “Don’t be silly.”
That loathsome word again. “Let me give you a little tip for your interaction with your female clientele. Woman hate being called silly.”
“Then wear a coat. And don’t make ridiculous assumptions,” he snaps.
He’s infuriating. He tugs my hand and pulls me along. Wearing this oversized coat, being guided by Bronson, I feel like a little girl.
And I find that I don’t mind it. Not a bit...
I let him hold my hand and guide me through the store.
He calls out, “Alice, keep an eye on the place—we’ll be right back.”
I clench the fabric in my hand so my sleeve won’t slip again, and give Alice a little wave with my cloth-covered hand. She gives me curious look, replying, “You got it, Mr. Bachman.”
He opens the door in one smooth pull, making it look weightless. “After you.”
I summon my pride. I stick my nose in the air. Striding beside him, I pretend they can see the dress and that I am not draped in a huge man’s coat.
I catch him sneaking a glance at me out of the corner of his eye. He smiles and murmurs, “You look adorable.”
My cheeks burn. I mumble, “Thank you.”
“Are you warm enough?” he asks.
Between keeping up with his pace and the miles of wool covering me, I am getting quite hot. Sweat prickles beneath my arms. “Yes.”
“Good.”
He stops and I almost trip over my heels to stop beside him. We stand before Daughtry’s Clothiers. One of the places I hadn’t yet gathered the nerve to enter. My eyes must look like saucers, my mouth hangs slightly open in awe.
He studies my face. “You like?”
I nod.
“Here. Let’s take that coat off so you can arrive in style.”
Relief washes over me as he helps me out of his coat. He folds it over his arm with expert manners—like a gentleman would in an old movie.
Opening the door, he says, “After you.”
I step over the threshold with the reverence one might enter a church.
I hold in a gasp.
It is so much more beautiful on the inside than it was peeking in from the windows.
I stand in the doorway, my gaze taking in every inch of the store. His voice is kinder than usual when he leans down and whispers in my ear, “You can go all the way in.”
I look behind me—he is waiting for me to step forward so he can close the door.
“Oh... sorry,” I say embarrassedly. I step into Daughtry’s.
It’s like a dream.
My head feels floaty. My feet feel as if they are barely contacting the floor.
I’m in heaven.
I look to him for assurance. He gives me a smile and a nod. “Go on, then.”
I return his smile. He stands, watching me with an amused look on his handsome face. A tall, too skinny, too blonde woman comes rushing over, her cheeks pinkening when she sees his face. “Hello there. How may I help you, Mr. Bachman?” She either doesn’t see me or prefers to pretend I don’t exist.
I instantly feel short, pudgy, and invisible.
Damn genetics.
She bats her eyelashes, flashing a smile of impossibly white teeth.
He doesn’t meet her adoring gaze. “We’re just fine, thank you. The lady would like to look around... unencumbered.”
Her face drops. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.
“We’ll be sure to let you know if we need any help,” he adds politely.
“Okay.” She gives me a small side glance of envy before she walks away.
The lady would like to look around... without a tall blonde model hovering next to her, thank you very much.
He hadn’t even looked at her. His gaze was still on me.
Saleswoman forgotten, I look around the store. I have no idea where to start.
His warm hand presses into my lower back. Shivers run up my spine. It’s a delicious feeling, to have a man’s strong hand resting on that spot. It’s caring, so protective. Possessive. I flick through the files of memories in my mind. Has a man ever touched me there before? I can’t recall.
I love it.
His hand remains in that place and he gently guides me to the left side of the store.
My hands clasp together, wringing tightly as if stopping one another from grabbing something off a shelf and stuffing it in beneath my dress.
I am not here to steal.
I am an actual customer of Daughtry’s—the most elegant, classy place a New Yorker could purchase a coat. Okay, so I’m not the one doing the purchasing, per se, but still.
He leaves my side and steps toward the display of women’s coats. My back feels cold and lonely where his hand was.
Carefully, he puts his folded coat on one of the chairs that sits beside us. Focusing on the display, he reaches out, flipping through the rack. His brow narrows as he examined the options. Holding them out and looking at the length. Feeling the fabric between his fingers. It’s a pleasure to watch him. He takes such care with each one, handling the coats as if they are a treasured pet.
Finally, he settles on one.
Winter white.
Is there a more beautiful color choice for a coat? It looks to be knee length and made of cashmere. It’s accented with big wooden buttons, stained a dark brown.
It is gorgeous.
He holds it out to me, judging the fabric against my skin. “Try this one.”
“Please?” I say jokingly.
His brow rises. “Now.”
A shiver runs down my spine, my pussy clenching. I hope he can’t see my hard nipples through my dress.
He holds the coat out, waiting for me to comply.
I slide my arms into the white silk lining. It feels like cool clean water against my skin.
A perfect fit.
I look down, admiring the coat. My hands run over the thick fabric. “How’d you know my size?”
“Easy. You’re tiny.”
“Well, I don’t know about that—”
My words catch in my throat as he takes a step toward me. We stand only inches apart. “May I?” he asks. His long fingers reach for the first button without waiting for my permission.
I look up at him. Our gazes meet. His eyes are soft, caring. Beautiful. There’s something in the way he is looking at me that makes my heart beat faster. My knees go weak.
“Yes,” I whisper. His fingers are already on the button. I feel the slightest pressure against my breast.
Bronson: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 4
