Crawford says something else in Italian to Eleanora, and she nods enthusiastically before she pushes me back behind the curtain.
I wait, and then something is pushed through it that makes my whole body stiffen. It’s lingerie. Beautiful, lacy,exquisitelingerie, but if Crawford thinks I’m displaying myself in front of this lovely elderly woman and her assistant like this, he has another thing coming.
There is more murmuring behind the curtain, and I take the underwear like it’s a bomb, holding it with the tips of my fingers and hanging it hastily on a hook.
I will not walk out into that room in nothing but a corset and see-through panties to be examined like a piece of meat. I stand there, paralyzed for what feels like forever, until I hear a soft footfall outside the curtain.
“Is everything alright?”
Christ, that deep voice. My whole body starts to tremble. Whether from desire or rage, it’s unclear.
“I’m not putting these on,” I snap, and then recoil, horrified by my tone. I sound like a toddler.
To my surprise, Crawford chuckles and pulls the curtain back, leaning against the frame of the fitting room and raising an eyebrow. I look behind him, but there’s no sign of Eleanora or the other man.
“Is that right?” he says, sounding amused.
I chew my lip, attempting to get my temper under control. I should be grateful. This must be costing him thousands of dollars, but I won’t be displayed like some trophy—no matter what my job is.
“I’m not… I don’t want to show them to anyone but you.”
I mean it as a boundary, as a way to stop myself from being put on display, but his eyes darken at my words, and I can tell he likes that idea.
“Hmm. You only wantmeto see you in them?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes.”
“Well, then, try them on. I need to see if they suit you.”
I scowl at him, and he laughs. “I didn’t realize you had a temper. I do enjoy roping your goat.”
“I donothave a temper,” I say, and that only makes him laugh again as he steps into the fitting room and pulls the curtain across.
“I think you do, Amelia, and I think you’re annoyed I brought you here without asking. I think you’ll be even more annoyed when I force you to leave that old suit behind,” he says, looking at the creased pile of tan fabric on the chair behind me with disgust.
“I can’t do that, it’s my mom’s,” I say without thinking and then glance up at him self-consciously.
Panic pulses through me, and I quickly change the subject, hoping to distract him from what I just said.
“Why are we here, anyway?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there are plenty of high-end places in New York we could have gone to, but instead we’re in a basement down murder alley.”
His lips twitch. “Eleanora’s the best, and it’s quiet here. I can’t bear department stores and pushy salespeople. Here, it’s individual and tailored to what I want. As all the best experiences are.”
He quirks his brow at me, and it shouldn’t be so hot. He’s effortlessly casual, hands in his pockets.
“Try them on.” He says, nodding to the lingerie. “Don’t worry, we’re alone. Try them on. Now.”
The authority in his voice sends a full-body shudder through me. I can feel heat between my legs, an ache throbbing there that is a new and unexpected feeling. One quick glance at his crotch confirms he’s just as turned on as I am.
I’m annoyed that I’m so eager to please him when he’s acting like such an asshole. All the same, I pull off the beautiful suit, hanging it back up carefully.
I look at the underwear Eleanora selected for me. There’s a garter belt and corset among them, covered in red roses against cream satin.
“Which one?” I ask. His eyes are fixed on my body now, running over it incessantly.
