“Can I ask you why without you taking it the wrong way?”
“Which way would be the wrong one?”
Absentmindedly, she touched the doorframe with a finger. “Not that I want this or that I’m trying to provoke you.” She carefully considered what she was trying to say. “But how come you haven’t done anything yet? You do know we only have tonight?”
“Tonight will be over before we both know it,” he said. “That may be good news for you, but I intend to unwrap you slowly so I don’t miss anything.” He paused. “If you were worried about me breaking into your dressing room and bending you over the bench…you can relax.”
Lola’s eyes went directly to the bench. If he bent her over it, she’d be face to face with herself in the mirror. She’d see everything—like Beau behind her in his tuxedo. She closed her eyes, willing away the warmth seeping through her. Things were not supposed to be this way. Her plan was only to endure his weight on top of her, not anticipate it. Not enjoy it.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You’ve been quiet for some time.”
She cleared her throat and moved away from the door. “I’m fine.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Unfastening my bra.”
“How come?” he asked.
“It’s the wrong kind. Should be racerback.” There was a weighty pause. “Now I’m zipping up the dress.”
“What’s the material?”
“Silk, I think. It must be silk.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s smooth and soft,” she said. “It feels…”
“Yes?”
“Silky.”
“You can’t see, but I’m smiling. Can I come in now?”
She opened the door.
Beau stood from his chair. “Beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“But purple doesn’t suit you.”
“I hate purple.”
“What color do you like?” he asked.
“Black.”
“I should’ve known.”
She left the room, went around the corner and past the rack of Beau’s selections. Something near the front had caught her eye when she’d walked in. She found it in her size and returned to the fitting room, where Beau remained in the same spot, watching her. Behind the door again, she was alone. “Beau?”
“Yes, Lola?”
Alone with his voice.
“Why me?” she asked.
She put the purple dress back on its hanger while he took his time responding. “I suppose I should’ve been prepared for this question.”
“You could just be honest,” she suggested.
“All right. It started with the first moment I saw you. Everything else just…ceased to exist. Time. People. Music. You stood there like a prize waiting to be claimed. It stopped me in my tracks.”
Jesus. Had he claimed her yet? Or was that to come? Her face flushed as if she were back outside the bar, having just put a dent in a teenager’s car with her tennis shoe. “That’s who I am.”
“Who are you?”
“The girl you saw that night. I’m not expensive silk dresses and Friday-night events. I’m just the scrappy kid I always was, a girl who’s made some bad decisions, good ones too. Nothing special.”
“That’s not what I saw,” Beau said. “I saw confidence, resistance, strength. Blue, bloodthirsty eyes.”
The girl Beau described reminded Lola of herself when she was younger. She was still that girl, just not as vibrantly as she’d been back then. “Will you zip me?” she asked.
She opened the door and turned to face the dressing room mirror. The black floor-length gown had two straps that came around her neck and dipped in the front. Soft, pebbled leather subtly trimmed the neckline.
Beau appeared at her back. In one hand, she held up her hair. He didn’t touch her once while he raised the zipper. Their eyes caught in the reflection. “This is the dress,” he said. “I don’t need to see any others.”
“You certainly know what you like, don’t you?” she asked.
They stared at each other. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to the curve of her shoulder. His stubble lit instant chills over her skin. She inhaled deeply, quietly. Her lids fell more with each careful, sensual kiss—along her neck, under her ear, on her cheek. She wet her lips and parted them for him.
“Not yet,” he said in her ear.
“When?” she breathed.
“Soon. You aren’t ready for me. I hope you are at some point, but either way, it will be soon.” He held her gaze. “You asked me why you? I’m drawn to you in a way that can’t be ignored for long. There are limits to my patience.” He backed away. “Wait here,” he said before disappearing.
It was a moment before she dropped her hair. His restraint surprised her more than anything else so far.
Her eyes fell to her faux-leather brown hobo-style purse slumped in the corner. It looked out of place even on the floor, which was plush, white carpet. She glanced over her shoulder then squatted and retrieved her phone to text Johnny.
Everything’s fine. We’re just shopping. Going to an event.
She put the phone back right before Beau entered the room with a saleswoman loaded down with shoes, jewelry and a clutch that matched the dress. She put everything on the bench above Lola’s purse.
Beau also had something for her in his hands, and he was clearly anticipating her reaction.
She took the lingerie from him without flinching. “It’s lovely,” she said. She ran a finger over the fine lace corset and then checked the price tag. “But is it necessary? I’ve never spent this much on anything and certainly not to sleep in.”
“It’s more necessary than anything else we buy tonight,” Beau said in a deeper voice than usual. “And you won’t be sleeping in it.”
The saleswoman visibly bumbled as she left the room.
Lola’s phone chimed behind her, and Beau’s eyes cut to her purse. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Tonight you belong to me. And no. Not just your body.” He went and picked up her bag, pulled out the phone and read the screen. “Your thoughts and your heart too.” He slipped it into his pocket. “As long as you’re with me, he doesn’t exist.”
Her mouth hung open a little. “I’m sorry if you thought any amount of money would get you my heart,” she said.
He stepped close to her. Mint cooled the champagne on his breath. “When it comes to which parts of you I own, don’t fucking challenge me again. Is that understood? I own them all. Period.” He took a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to calm him. “There’s still five hundred grand on the line. Act like you want to be here with me, or I’ll call everything off.”
She held his glare, trying to manage her own temper. She wouldn’t walk away now. Beau was regaining his hold on her, like the one he’d had the night they met. Giving all of herself over wasn’t an option, though—not if she wanted anything back when this was over.
“What’s it going to be?” he asked. With another step, his shirt ghosted against her nipples. “Keep the half a mil and walk right now, or give yourself to me until I say stop?”
“I asked you why me,” she said. “Your answer was that you’re drawn to me. I don’t believe you.”
“What do you believe?”
“That you have to pay women for their attention,” she said. She didn’t believe that at all, but his composure was unnerving, and she craved a real reaction.
“You looked me up. You saw the endless buffet of women I have to choose from.”
“You’re a pig,” Lola said. “A buffet? You think of women as food?”
He licked his lips quickly, reached up and brushed her hair away from her neck. “Those women are a buffet. But you? You’re a delicacy. I’ll eat you slowly with attention to every bite. I’ll drink you like fine wine, savoring your taste, inhaling your scent, letting you own me for as long as you’re in my mouth.”
Lola exhaled an unintentional noise.
> “I’ll swallow all of you, but you won’t realize it until it’s too late. Until you’re a part of me,” he said. “That’s what you sold me. That’s what I paid for.”
It would’ve been enough to frighten any other woman. It should’ve sent her sprinting back into Johnny’s arms, content with the five hundred thousand that had almost been enough. The idea of being consumed by Beau did scare Lola, but it excited her more.
She didn’t know whether to kiss him or back away, but it didn’t matter. He was already leaving the room. “Put the things you wore here in the shopping bag by the door,” he said over his shoulder. “Everything else in this room should be on your body tonight.”
Chapter 9
It took three technicians to turn Lola inside out. She was transformed. After their visit to the boutique, Beau’s next stop had been a nearby salon. Within an hour, her hair had been washed, dried and swept into a loose updo, and her makeup flawlessly applied. Her nails were the color of sweet cherries. Lola watched raptly as the makeup artist carefully glided on the final touch—vivid lipstick, also cherry, also sweet.
“Everything else will catch his attention,” the woman said quietly as she worked, “but this will be his undoing.”
Lola wanted to explain that she didn’t care if Beau was undone or not but her lips were occupied. Beau was never far away, and now he watched her in the mirror. There was no question he liked what he saw. And she liked that he liked it.
Maybe Lola did care if he was undone. After all, no matter how hard she fought her attraction, he was still a man and she was still a woman.
A fact she was reminded of with every movement. The corset Beau had picked out was not just an undergarment—it was a promise of things to come. The stiff, black lace kept her nipples at attention. It straightened her back, bared her while concealing her. It said, Always be delectable for whomever might look.
Underneath, black stockings, trimmed also with lace, stopped at the tops of her legs. When she rubbed her thighs together in the chair, the sheer parts felt silky, the lace parts coarse.
She hadn’t shown this much cleavage in years, and she found it ironic that even then it had been a form of survival.
When Beau approached the chair, everyone else faded instantly away.
“People have a habit of disappearing around you,” she said.
“They know what I want.”
Lola looked at his reflection. “And what’s that?”
“Privacy.” He frowned. “I told them to leave your hair down.”
“I told them to put it up.” She uncrossed her legs. “It suits the dress.”
“I don’t care about the dress. I only care what suits me.”
“You don’t like it?” she asked.
“I suppose.” He took one of the loose strands that framed her face between his fingers. “There’ll be plenty of time for me to do what I want with it later.”
Seated, Lola came up to Beau’s chest. The mirror framed them like a photograph. All made up, Lola finally looked as though she belonged by his side. “Beau,” she said, “there are things you don’t know about me.”
“I imagine quite a few.”
“It’s not just that Rodeo Drive isn’t my taste. I also don’t belong here.”
“Says who?”
“You think I do?” she asked, mostly to hear what he’d say.
He was no longer looking in her eyes. She followed his gaze to her mouth. “I think you should only care about one person’s opinion,” he said. “Mine. I don’t know who belongs where, but in my eyes, you’re a queen among peasants wherever you go.”
Lola stammered for a response. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Beau was attracted to her—he’d made himself clear on that point—but he still hadn’t given her a reason she could grasp. “Thank you,” she said lamely.
He looked up again. “In my office, you made a speech about how we have similar pasts, but now we’re on different sides. When you grow up on one side, though, you can never really cross over to the other. If you don’t belong here, neither do I.”
“Don’t you ever feel out of place?”
“If I do, I don’t let it show. I fake it. People will believe anything if you do it with confidence.” He checked his watch. “Come. It’s time to go.”
The limo idled out front. Her personal effects were taken from her. She didn’t care. Nothing had ever felt as good on her body as the things Beau had bought her.
“The rules apply even more so in public,” Beau said as they drove away from the salon. “You’re with me. Only me. Act as though it were true.”
“Will there be press there?”
“Yes. Let them speculate. A beautiful woman like you won’t go unnoticed, and I don’t want you to.”
Lola had the looks to back up her swagger, but Los Angeles was a hub for beautiful people. She doubted she’d get much attention amongst its upper crust. “Why not?” she asked.
“There are people who doubt my business practices because I’m…how do I put it? Social.”
“You sleep around.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Actually, no.”
She pushed his shoulder with her fingertips. “You’re such a liar. You must think I’m dense or blind. Women probably trip over themselves for a shot with you.”
Beau raised one eyebrow. “You didn’t. If you tripped at all, it was while running in the opposite direction.”
She lowered her head a little as she smiled. “That’s because I have a—” She stopped herself.
“So if you didn’t have a—”
“You’re trying to change the subject.” Beau was undoubtedly a catch, enough to make Lola wonder why he was still single. He had to have known things would be different between them without Johnny in the picture. It was one of those things better left unsaid, though. “Anyway, you were lying about how women aren’t all over you.”
“I didn’t say that at all.” He winked playfully. “But just because a woman wants me doesn’t mean she gets me. I’m selective. First, I choose the woman.”
“That’s it?” she asked.
“Of course not. I have to get her to choose me back.”
“Who wouldn’t choose you back?” Lola hadn’t thought before she spoke, which meant she was becoming too comfortable. She sat up straighter, leaning slightly back from him.
Beau tilted his head, studying her as if she were a science project. “In my experience, not many,” he said. “In any case, I don’t sleep with every woman I’m photographed with. Sometimes a photo is just a photo.”
“It doesn’t matter either way to me,” she said quickly. She changed the subject. “I’m not one of those girls, so I don’t think I understand my role tonight.”
“My being unmarried doesn’t make me more of a risk, but some people see it that way. I don’t make a habit of kowtowing to that kind of thing unless it affects my business, which it’s beginning to. It’s been four months since I’ve been in public with anyone. There’s speculation I’ve settled down. Might as well let them think you’re the reason for that.”
“So I’m the one you’ve ‘settled down’ with?” He was asking her to be herself. Instead of his sex object, now she was a person. It wasn’t quite what she’d expected from the night. “How do I be that if we’ve only just met?”
“Only give them your first name. A little mystery is good. Don’t answer anything personal. I don’t want your bar, your past or your partner associated with me.”
Lola’s confidence took a hit. “If I embarrass you, why even bring me at all?”
“Ah,” he said softly, as if comforting her. “It takes a great deal to embarrass me, Lola. I said that for your protection. The press has no regard for anyone. If they see you with me, then suddenly what I do affects you. Best if we can limit that to one night.”
He wanted to protect her? More and more he was uncharacteristically gentlemanly. There was a very small possibility her assumptions about a man who offer
ed money for sex were wrong. Maybe he wasn’t completely soulless. Maybe there was more to him than money and expensive suits. Lola thawed. She couldn’t think of anything to add, so she just said, “He has a name, you know.”
“Who?”
“Johnny. The way you say partner sounds sterile.”
Beau didn’t respond. He seemed more interested in what was out the window.
Beau’s limo door opened, and camera flashes blinded Lola. He offered her his hand. She only took it to be polite, but the noise, the brightness, the desperation crowding in on them—they were the reasons she didn’t let go.
Photographers called for him. They called for them together. They ordered her out of the picture, and Beau’s grip on her hand became crushing.
She smiled in every direction. The rolled-out carpet matched her nail polish. Behind them, a vinyl wall advertised the L.A. Philharmonic and the event’s sponsor, Rolex. At one point, there were A-list celebrities to her left and right. When she got her bearings navigating both the carpet and the press in towering shoes, she tried to pull her hand away. Beau kept it tightly in his. “Don’t,” he whispered and kissed her cheek. “I’m the one holding on to you.”
Whether he’d meant it or it was for show, hearing that made her a tinge protective of him. The media was made up of too many toothy smiles to count, and in the glaring lights, they became a unit. A snarling beast, hungry for Beau.
An entertainment channel reporter had caught his kiss. “Beau? Beau!” she cried from the other side of the velvet rope. Even with her teased, platinum hair that added a couple inches, she barely came up to Lola’s shoulder. In a leopard-print dress, the woman was about as opposite of Lola as it came. “Kissing in public?” She gasped. “Does this mean it’s serious?”
Beau slid his arm around Lola’s waist. She had to give him credit. There were practically stars in his eyes when he turned to her and said, “Very.”
The reporter’s gaze flickered over Lola without touching her face. “Who is she?”
Suddenly, Lola and Beau were no longer on different sides. Beau wasn’t these people. He looked her in the eye when he spoke to her. He didn’t talk over her or tell her to move out of the way. She craned her head to the microphone in Beau’s face. “She is Lola.”
Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5) Page 10
