How he smiled at that, crooked-lipped and dimple-deep—as if it were the best thing he’d heard in a while. “Did a little research on me, I see.”
“Don’t be flattered—”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“It was only to make sure you weren’t wanted for murder or something. I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t.”
“Well.” His smile only widened. “I’m glad you decided to put your life in my hands anyway. Funny how a little money turns the other cheek.”
She followed Beau to the back of the store, frustrated at her lack of comeback.
He stopped at a clothing rack. “Here are the things I’ve preselected. I’d like to see them all on you.”
“For one evening?” She balked at the price tag. “Some of these cost more than my month’s rent.” She flipped it over. “Make that two months.”
“While you’re with me, you’ll be dressed the part—every hour, every minute.” He took her champagne glass from her. “I’ll refill your drink. You can change around the corner.”
She picked up the first dress and took it to the fitting room, holding it away from her as though it might break. It was lovely and expensive. She hated it. The high neck and gathered fabric along one side was completely out of line with her taste.
Just as she’d stripped down to her underwear, he knocked. She glanced at the door. Beau might be proving difficult to decode, but Lola was sure about one thing—he liked power. Control. He fed on weakness—in a single bite—and it made him stronger.
Lola wasn’t weak, though. She’d let Beau do the biting, but just enough to keep him satisfied and no more. It’d been a while since she’d had the attention of a man like Beau, but she
had, and she hadn’t forgotten this game.
Lola opened the door wide. She slid her hand up along the edge and cocked her hip just enough for him to notice. “You knocked?”
He schooled his expression in one quick second, but not before Lola caught his surprise. His slow gaze drifted down her neck, past her wide-strapped, sea-foam-green bra, over her naked stomach to her mismatched, oversized panties.
“Stubborn right down to her underwear,” Beau said, more amused than annoyed.
“It’s laundry day.” Lola shrugged. “My less modest things are—well, probably in Johnny’s hands as we speak since it’s his week to do the wash.”
“Good thing they carry lingerie here,” he said, less amused.
“Oh, don’t waste another dollar on me. I’m fine with this if you are.”
He smiled thinly. “I’m not. As I said, you’re to dress the part every hour, every minute. That includes our time alone.” He passed her a fresh glass of champagne. “I’ll take care of it, but for now, I’ll be outside your door. Talk to me while you change.”
She shut herself into the fitting room and went to lock it but didn’t bother. If Beau wanted to come in, he would. Wouldn’t he? It’d been almost an hour and he hadn’t made any move to touch her yet. When he did, would she like it? Could she enjoy being touched by Beau when she loved someone else? She shivered and passed her hands over her biceps. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Have you ever been here?”
“Rodeo Drive? Sure.” She removed the dress gingerly from the hanger. Despite her feelings about it, it was still a beautiful piece of clothing. “Mostly to walk around. Truth be told, it isn’t really my style.”
“No, I don’t suppose there’s a lot of leather here.”
“You don’t like the leather?” she asked, smiling a little to herself.
“I didn’t say that. What are you doing now?”
She looked down. “Pulling on the dress.”
After a moment, he asked, “How about now?”
“The dress is tight, so it’s taking a minute to get on. What are you doing?”
Beau laughed. “Well, now I’m picturing you struggling with a tight dress. Something I look forward to seeing later.”
“Later?” Lola had expected to be in his bed by now, but his behavior bordered on gentlemanly. Curiosity urged her closer to the door. “Not now?”
He didn’t respond right away. “No,” he said. “Now I’m using my imagination.”
“Can I ask you why without you taking it the wrong way?”
“Which way would be the wrong way?”
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.”