I arch a brow. I recognize this game. She says something along the lines of, “No, I can’t possibly accept.” I insist. She weakly fights back. I insist again. Then she pretends to be reluctant about accepting. We’ve been playing this routine for days, every time another delivery appears at her door to rebuild her house.
“Do you, or do you not want it?”
“You’ve gotten me too much already.” Again, she makes a show of refusal without actually saying no while staring longingly at the bag.
“Yes or no?”
She hesitates. “Leo . . .”
“I don’t have the receipt, so should I give it to Joyce instead?”
I’ve never seen this woman’s eyes flash with jealousy, and, shit, I’ll admit I get a kick out of it.
She sighs almost theatrically. “Fine, I’ll take it. But you can’t keep buying me things.”
That’s not a “stop, don’t get me anything.” The same way she hasn’t condemned me for taking a life, stalking her, or breaking into her room to feel her up while she’s asleep.
I ignore her added commentary and nod at the replacement makeup I ordered for her. “You can get changed last.”
Her nostrils flare, and she subtly eyes the bag one last time before dragging herself out of bed and plonking down at her desk, all huffy and tight-lipped. I chuckle to myself and lie in the spot she was in, folding my arms behind my head as I watch her.
Music plays in the background to fill the silence. Every so often, she quickly glances at the nondescript gift bag. Whenever she catches me staring, a red blush crawls up her neck and beneath the light layer of makeup she’s applying. It’s surprising how long she stayed away from me when she’s so impatient.
She’ll find out soon enough that I found her notes app full of her clothing wish lists. They’re all en route, and she’s going to have to come to my place to get them.
This is the first time I’ve seen her doll herself up, and my dick is fucking saluting her for it. I was already at half-mast after seeing the outline of her nipples through the T-shirt she stole from me, and now I’m even harder. Watching her add waves to her hair and line her eyes, I’m half tempted to cancel dinner and ruin all her efforts because—fuck—she’d look perfect with mascara streaming down her face and her lipstick smeared around my cock.
The sentiment remains even as she applies the finishing touches, and I move to sit at the edge of the bed to get closer to her when she finally ventures nearer to sate her curiosity.
Mina chews on the inside of her cheek as she pulls two boxes out of the bag. The top is thinner than the bottom. Her jaw drops at the logo. She moves lightning quick, throwing the lid open, then carefully unwraps the paper. Her eyes widen with familiarity when she holds the garment up.
“This . . . This dress costs overtwogrand.”
“Does it?” It was three. If she thinks that’s bad, she doesn’t want to know how much her new living suite costs.
“Are you sure?” Cautious hope tints her voice.
I nod once.
Actually, I change my mind. She can take her time getting used to being spoiled if she acts as if I bought her the moon. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to not feel smug about the look of awe painted on her face.
She gently sets the dress back down and goes to the next box, peeling back the paper with the barely restrained excitement of someone freaking out that they got a puppy for their birthday.
I’m fairly certain she squeaks when she realizes it’s the boots that have shown up a great many times in her search history.
“Holy shit.”
Thatwas definitely a squeal.
“H-how did you know I wanted them?”
I debate lying since it’ll help her get over the whole mutual stalking thing faster. Instead, I settle for, “I saw them and knew they’d suit you.”
Red crawls up her neck, but she’s too busy looking at her gifts to register my answer. That pleases me for about two seconds. By the third, I’m realizing it’s possible to be jealous of fuckingshoes.
“Put the dress on,” I tell her.
Mina’s dark-brown eyes snap up to me, and something shifts. There’s a tremor in her hand as she sets the boots down. I frown. What’s that from? Nerves?
