by Paige North
His expression humors me, but then Frannie’s voice echoes from down the hallway.
“My husband is waiting for me at home!”
“Noted, Ms. Bradford,” Connor calls, then he looks at me. “I’ll be getting ready while you’re doing the same. Now go to her before she sends a search party.”
With one final look at me in my silky shift, he lets out a sigh filled with such friction that I feel it drag down my skin with rough lust. Nerves and need swirl in my belly as I leave him.
What follows is a different kind of education for me: Frannie Bradford has a definite idea of what I need to look like when I step out of this penthouse, and I quickly learn that expertly applied makeup and a sexy hairstyle with the right dress and accessories can turn a pixie into a siren. Or at least the facsimile of one.
In the end, I stand in front of my full-length mirror looking at what Frannie has created. I’m wearing a gorgeous, floor-length, black lace halter dress with a daring cutout in back and a tasteful slit up to my thigh. Strappy designer pumps and expensive diamond earrings add sophistication along with an upswept ‘do that gives my blond hair some movie-star style.
I don’t recognize myself, especially with all the makeup that transforms me into the image of a woman Connor would escort around town.
I think I might give off the impression that I’m in his league, but I feel as if I’ve put on a disguise. Now, more than ever, I see Allyson Barnes, a girl who’s gotten into someone else’s closet and played dress up. Maybe I’m the only one who will see that.
“Lovely,” Frannie says, walking around me, clapping her hands together. “I’ve outdone myself.”
“You have?”
“In my younger days, I was a makeup artist on film sets. I dabbled in hair and wardrobe until the Kenyons snatched me up to consult for them. Normally I don’t dress Connor’s dates, and I have no idea why he secretly enlisted me to do it tonight, but I haven’t lost my touch.” She beams. “I can certainly turn Tinkerbell into Taylor Swift.”
Tinkerbell? Goldilocks? I must’ve cornered the market on fairy-tale gamines.
I look at myself again, and I guess I’ve fooled Frannie the stylist into thinking that I can be a bombshell. But the realization isn’t comfortable at all.
What am I doing? I think again. What if she’s seeing what she wants to see and everyone else out there sees right through me? What if they say I don’t belong with Connor?
But the alternative is unthinkable. I’m darned sure not going to sit in his home and wait for him as he takes someone else out on dates. I already promised myself that I won’t go through that again, and he agreed.
With a rush of heat, I feel him behind me. He’s standing with his hands in the trouser pockets of a fresh, dark designer suit with a blue tie. There’s a tug of war going on with his expression, as if he doesn’t recognize me.
Welcome to the club.
He begins to leave the room, barking a single order over his shoulder. “Take about half of that makeup off her face.”
As he disappears, I want to tell him that this is what the world expects—I look like one of his showpieces. He sure paid enough for me to be his master showpiece, so why not flaunt me?
Frannie only presses her lips together in obvious disagreement with his command, but she brings me back to the vanity table. She takes off some of the thick eyeliner and mascara I was wearing before, then replaces the sophisticated red lipstick with a creamy pink shade.
She sighs, and I know it’s because the more subtle cosmetics make me look more like…me.
Did Connor not like me with a high-style makeover? Or maybe he saw that I hadn’t fully bought in to the goddess act and he doesn’t want the paparazzi to record my discomfort for all the world to see. Even so, I have to admit that the dress could wear itself, and it clings to me in beautiful ways. It might not make me a sex goddess, but I feel like a bombshell in my own right.
When I next see Connor, he’s in the elevator lobby, checking the fancy watch on his wrist. He brings his gaze to me as my heels click on the marble tile.
He surveys my makeup. I fidget with my dress as waves rise and fall in my belly. Then he gives me one of those looks that tell me he wants to get me back inside to have his way with me, but he also seems torn.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“Okay?” he asks. “You’re…”
What? I hold my breath for his answer, but his gaze becomes remote, and he presses the elevator button.
“You look gorgeous, Allyson,” he says.
Gorgeous is good. Really good. But I have the feeling that he still doesn’t want to take me out into the spotlight. When he looks at me again with fiery blue intensity, I know that he’s aware of what I’m thinking.
“Come on,” he says, crooking his arm for me to take it. “Time to hit the town.”
I slip my arm into his, my nerves going on and off like nighttime neon in the city, anticipation sizzling in me with the same wonderful heat.
A limousine waits for us outside. It’s the Kenyon Motors electric prototype sedan I rode in before, complete with two sets of dark leather seats facing each other, a sound system that’s playing serene yet worldly music, a bar, and a sensually dim atmosphere.
I take a seat next to Connor, breathing in his soapy scent. I could bury my face against his skin right now and inhale him until I’m high, but I’m already there. High as a kite, giddy as a schoolgirl.
After he raises the partition that separates us from the driver, he gestures toward the iced champagne bucket.
“No thanks,” I say. “I still haven’t gotten over those martinis.”
“Then don’t mind if I do.”
He gets a flute, pops the champagne cork with practiced ease, then pours the fizzy, golden nectar. He drinks it down, then pours some more while restlessly sucking in air between his teeth. Then he sits back and watches the night-lit streets go by.
I’ve been around Connor enough to know when he’s on edge, and I’m sure he’s that way now because he’s wary of the flashbulbs that are about to go off around us as he escorts me into the restaurant.
I just want to soothe him, so I rest my hand on his hard thigh. He presses his large hand on top of mine, enveloping me in warmth.
“Where are we going?” I ask as my belly feathers with tickles.
“A new Japanese fusion restaurant down in Tribeca. It’s trendy and, as you’d say, swanky. It’s been all over the news. You’re going to get what you asked for.”
Cameras, plus a place alongside the other women he’s not embarrassed to parade around town. Yup, I asked for it. “Are you regretting this?”
“What? Putting you in the line of fire?” He makes a negligent motion with his free hand. “It’ll be a new adventure to add to the one you started with. It’ll be something to tell your grandkids about after you find the true love you mentioned this morning.”
He makes everything sound so empty, and a hollow pit forms in my belly as I realize that maybe going out with him to prove that I’m as good as his usual dates isn’t what I really want.
What do I want from him then?
There are no questions I want to ask him this time, no comments I want to make. And as the drive continues, my anxiety grows in a different way.
I look out the tinted window at the bustling city. I’m going to be a part of it tonight. Finally.
The limo finally slows down in front of a restaurant with a red awning and a crowd outside on the sidewalk. I see cameras flashing as a glamorous couple huddles against the paparazzi while forging inside the door, and my pulse shrieks.
This is happening.
Connor takes my hand, and I cling to it, my eyes wide as I look at him. He lifts his free hand and strokes under my chin with a finger, and for a moment, I think he might be reassessing how I’ll look for the public.
Then I realize that his gaze isn’t cold, it’s warm, and the sensation spills through me like the night has turned sunny.
/> He kisses me softly, then lightly grips my chin.
“Smile for the cameras, Allyson.”
When the driver opens the door, flashes wash over my sight, and in a flurry of seconds, everything speeds up: Connor is guiding me out of the limo, I’m standing on the sidewalk, voices are calling for my attention, cameras are clicking amid the chaos.
I feel Connor’s hand tightening over mine, and my heart taps in a fierce rhythm as he unhurriedly leads me forward as if I’m his…
Wow. I don’t feel like a highly paid, adventure-seeking escort. Right now, I’m his queen. And when he pauses in front of the doorway that the doorman is holding open for us, Connor looks down at me. He smiles in a secret way that only I can understand.
The man of mystery with a woman who’s just as much of an enigma.
The paparazzi goes nuts, shouting out more questions. I hear two of them above all the others: Who is she, Connor? Where did you two meet?
In a final, flashing burst, Connor ushers me into the restaurant where a seductive waterfall greets us in the lobby. I hear someone’s voice—the maître d’—say, “You made it in just after a Kardashian. The wolves outside were hungry for more.”
I feel everyone watching us as we’re taken to a booth, but then I recognize famous faces—politicians, actors, singers, athletes. And they all greet Connor with a deference that impresses me.
As we’re seated, Japanese music plays over the trickle of water that flows down the rock walls, and after our waiter greets us and leaves us with our menus, I finally calm down enough to enjoy the serene ambience.
Connor’s gaze connects with mine. “You’re glowing. Blushing.”
“You can tell under my makeup?” I laugh, giddy all over again. I made it. “You know, that wasn’t as bad as you made it out to be.”
His jaw tightens. Then he lifts his menu. “I wonder if you’re truly ready for what comes after this.”
“I’m prepared for anything.”
He shakes his head, but I’m too on-top-of-the-world to really heed this warning from a man who knows better.
Chapter 14
Dinner is amazing, full of things I’ve never tried before, like a starter of oysters with spicy, tangy sauces; salad with a Japanese/Latin fusion dressing; lobster, salmon, and Wagyu sashimi; scallops in a piquant salsa. It’s all topped off by a palate cleanser of green tea, which ends our meal. Connor tells me we’ll have dessert soon, somewhere outside of the restaurant, and I don’t think he’s talking about more food.
The way his gaze has been burning as he watches me eat all these new, lovely things tells me I’m on the menu.
I find out just what he means by dessert after we escape even more paparazzi on our way out of the restaurant and settle into the limo again. We’re already being driven away when Connor gives me another heated look.
“How was dinner?”
He’s holding a plain white box from the restaurant, and I have no idea what’s inside.
“Fantastic,” I say. “Thank you so much, Connor. I’m going to remember this forever.”
He notices that I’m eyeing the box, but as usual, he withholds any and all information, making me work for it. “Was it everything you hoped for when you demanded that we go out?”
“That and more.” I press my lips together, thinking about all the great food, the soothing and expensive ambience. I smile and say, “It’s no wonder that place is so popular. If I had as much money as you, I’d be going to places like that all the time, paparazzi or not.”
“It takes someone like you to remind me that my experiences are out of the ordinary.” He leans toward me, all heat and temptation. “You have no idea what else the city, much less the world, holds, do you?”
“You knew I was naïve when you bid on me.”
“I didn’t know the extent of it. And I like watching you discover everything, one day at a time.” His arrogant smirk is suggestive. “One night at a time.”
My stomach quakes in anticipation. “Connor, what’s in that box?”
The city lights roll through the windows as he falls silent. The partition is up, enclosing us in our own little world, the music dreamlike with a moody beat.
“You’re not going to tell me what’s in it?” I ask.
“Only if you cooperate.” He jerks his chin toward my side of the limo. “Turn around toward your window, Allyson.”
A vein in my neck palpitates, sending the same rhythmic, tortuous signal throughout my body. My temperature rises until my skin feels prickly with heat.
I obey him, facing my window, pacing my breathing. The bare back of my black-lace halter dress leaves my skin exposed to him, and I shiver some more.
“I watched you eat all night,” he says quietly. “I watched you enjoy. With each bite you took, I got harder and harder for you. You got me hungry again.”
When I feel his fingertips run down my spine, I gasp. His usually warm skin is slightly cool, as if whatever is in the box made it way.
“What was your favorite part of the night?” he asks.
I think for a moment while holding my breath. I want to feel him again, wish he would just touch me. Every beat of my pulse begs for it.
I finally speak. “I liked it when you walked me through the paparazzi gauntlet and into the restaurant. I felt like a queen.”
As he slips his fingers into the sides of my dress, I close my eyes and revel in the provocative sensation. He explores the ticklish skin over my ribs.
“Why else did you like that so much?” His mouth is so close to me that the fine hairs on the back of my uncovered neck stir with his warm breathing.
Goose bumps rise on my flesh. “As you walked with me, it felt as if you actually wanted me to be with you tonight.” A moan swells in my chest as he keeps stroking my ribs. I push the sound down, only to feel it grow. “Even though you put up such a fight about taking me out in public at first, I felt as if I belonged with you here.”
“I did want you with me tonight. And you do belong with me for the next several days.”
Yes, I think. Then I’ll be gone.
He slides his hands farther into the dress, around me until he cups my breasts. I sway, opening my eyes. He lazily plays with my nipples, stimulating them. Lava seems to bubble through me until it settles in my belly, simmering, then flowing between my legs.
I can barely speak now. “Did you hear those questions the paparazzi were asking?”
Connor presses his mouth against my neck and makes an mmm sound that tells me he might or might not still be listening to me. Meanwhile, he keeps teasing my breasts, priming me.
“They wanted to know who I was,” I whisper. “Where we met.”
He nips at my shoulder, and I jump a little.
“Too many questions,” he says.
Does he mean from me or the paparazzi?
He trails his lips over my back, kissing one shoulder blade then grazing his teeth over my skin until he gets to the other. Anxiously, I reach down to slip off my shoe. I fumble off the next one, too.
In a burst of passion, he lifts one of my arms so that it’s around his neck. I’m twisted around to face him, and our gazes meet and spark. Then, with a tight groan, he undoes my halter clasp.
My top falls forward, revealing my breasts.
“Do you know what to do next?” he asks in a taut voice. “Have you learned yet?”
“I think so.”
“Then do it, Allyson.”
With my free hand, I reach into the slit in my skirt to grasp my panties. As Connor negligently rubs his knuckles under my breast with an intense focus that makes me as hot as hell, I work my undies down my legs, then off.
“You’re getting very good at that,” he says.
“I’ve had plenty of…”
He gently pinches my nipple, and the word gets stuck in my throat.
“Practice?” he finishes for me.
“Yeah. You could call it that.”
He reaches to the floor where
he put the white box at some point. My juices gush, drenching me with every throb of my pussy. Then he opens the box and shows me what’s inside.
Little mounds of colorful, powdered treats.
“Mochi ice cream?” I ask. I haven’t ever eaten it, but I know it has something to do with rice dough shaped around balls of ice cream.
“I told you we were having dessert,” he says.
He brings one of the light orange mounds out of the box and lifts it to my mouth. I take a small bite, and the sweet coolness tickles my taste buds. It has the flavor of mango fruit.
Connor lowers the mound to my nipple and circles it. The iciness makes me haul in a breath, and I get even more aroused. Then he bends down to suck the cream off of me, slowly, hungrily.
Dizzily, I watch him working my breast, licking my nub with his tongue, back and forth, then gently eating me as if I’m dessert. The intimate sight makes me so wet that I’m afraid I’ll melt as quickly as the ice cream.
He stops only to spread more of the cream over my other breast, then cups me underneath, bringing my nipple to his lips. He laves me there, too, seducing me with his mouth. I rub my face against his thick hair, my fingers caressing his neck.
“Is this my reward for doing well in public for you?” I’m slurring like I’m drunk, but I haven’t had any booze. I’m only intoxicated by him.
“You could call this a reward,” he murmurs against my breast. He looks up at me, nuzzling me as he talks. “You did well, Allyson. Very well, and your biggest reward will be when you come for me harder than you ever have before.”
His dirty promises make my clit feel swollen, aching, and when he suddenly shifts my position, turning me away from him again, I know I’ll be coming like a flash flood.
I instinctively part my legs for him just before he strokes his fingers up and through my folds. When he gets to my clit, he massages it.
Everything sounds so wet, so deliciously slick, and I wiggle my hips until I feel his fingertips against my opening.
