“Insanely.” I roll my eyes. “Go see to my kitten. Make sure she’s happy.” I dismiss him.
“I think the only time she’s happy is when she’s with you,” he says over his shoulder as he walks out the door.
I really fucking hope that’s true.
JETT HAS SPENT THE LASTtwo hours primping me. I have never been dolled-up this much in my life. He has straightened my hair and pinned half of it back. Smoked my eyes out with purple shadow and black eye liner. Put on false eyelashes and stained my lips a bright pink. Presently he is slipping me into some sheer intricate lingerie number that’s nude-colored, floor length, and has a plunging neckline. There’s a butterfly pattern on the front made out of white lace that barely covers my breasts and wraps around my ribcage. With a skimpy thong to match, I think it’s the most clothing I’ve worn since I’ve been here.
Jett crosses his arms and stares at me, admiring his handy work.
“Bellemiso.” He makes that gesture where he kisses the tips of his fingers.
I eye him entertained. “You are a very odd individual.”
“I know. One of a kind.”
“How did you come to be this way? If you were gay, I’d understand.”
Jett smiles his oh-so-pretty smile while running a hand through his blond hair. “One day I’ll tell you the whole story. But the cliff notes version? I grew up around a lot of women.”
“Sisters?” I ask.
He laughs like it’s some kind of private joke. “No, not exactly, but my mom did take in a lot of strays. Me and a house full of females, I learned a few things.”
“Like how they think and what they like?”
“Yes, that, among otherthings.”He emphasizes the word things.
“What things?” I probe.
He clams up.
As close as I feel to Jett, I know very little about him. Besides his favorite color being blue, his favorite ice cream mint chocolate chip, and his weapon of choice, wax.
“Jett, since I’ve been here, you have bathed me, dressed me, and groomed me. Made me laugh and consoled me. It’s sort of unfair. You know more than most about me, and I know nothing about you.”
“You know that I care about you,” he counters.
“Jett.” I put my hands on my hips and glare playfully at him.
“Those eyes are killer.” He sighs as his resolve crumbles. “My mother was a Madame, Ellie.”
“What?” I respond bemused.
“Yup. I grew up in a very affluent whore house. While other boys were playing football in high school, I was learning the family trade.”
I’m rendered speechless.
“It’s how Mansion came to be,” he informs me.
“Mansion?” I question.
“Yes, that is what we call the business. I train all the women who work for us.”
“Train? Like how Kayne trained me?”
“Yes. Very much like that.”
“And they just let you?” The concept is foreign to me.
