Holding a piece of toast between her teeth, she bent to do up her boots. Mr. Cannon’s restoration job was coming in this morning, and she was anxious to get started. Plus, they had a few other smaller jobs coming in. Busy for a Tuesday, but today of all days, she was happy for the distraction.
They had three months to prove Deacon wrong. If they had several big jobs lined up, it would blow his theory that they’d set themselves up to fail, that they were playing shop.
She stood and pulled her hair back, tying it in her usual ponytail, then opened the door and stumbled back a step.
“Shit.” Some guy dressed in a suit and hat stood there about to knock.
He dropped his hand and smiled. “Miss Franco?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m Martin. Mr. West’s chauffeur. He wanted me to deliver this to you.” He held out a large box and one of those fancy store bags that had ribbon for handles.
“Um, just a sec.” She got rid of her toast and took it from him. Martin was tall and had graying hair and a kind face.
She could tell, despite spending his days carting Deacon around, he was fit and took care of himself. “What is it?”
He smiled. “I couldn’t say.”
“Right. Well, thanks, Martin.”
The older man tipped his hat and left her with her packages. She looked over the rail to the garage below.
The doors were still closed. Thank God. The last thing she wanted was for Piper or Rusty to see his car parked outside her place. She shut the door and carried them to the living room, putting the bag down and placing the box on the coffee table. She slowly circled the thing like it was stuffed full of poisonous spiders waiting to pounce.
The name on the box was written in another language, maybe French. She’d never seen it before. Then her curiosity got the better of her, and she pulled off the lid.
White tissue sat on top, and she folded it back. “Damn.”
A dress of the deepest red sat among more white tissue. At least she thought it was a dress. She could see the top half.
It looked simple, elegant. Rubbing her hands on her cutoffs so she didn’t get peanut butter on it, she lifted the fabric carefully from the box. It had spaghetti straps and a sheer overlay. Beautiful. She’d never owned a dress like it. In fact, she didn’t own any dresses at all. She hadn’t even gone to her prom. She didn’t do clothes shopping, especially in the fancy stores.
She always felt out of place. She might fix cars for a living, but she was girl, and sometimes she wanted to feel like one.
Sometimes she wanted to wander around those extravagant stores and try on beautiful clothes like everyone else. Deacon knew it, too. She’d told him once, after one too many sneaky beers at Rusty’s seventeenth birthday. He hadn’t laughed at her confession; he’d smiled at her, eyes soft, and said, “You deserve nothing but the best, Alex.”
She pushed the memory aside, doubted he even remembered now. She looked back down at the dress, and her pulse sped up, heat rushing to the surface of her skin.
Jesus, she was actually looking forward to wearing it, to spending time with Deacon. Deacon, who was a controlling, blackmailing asshole.
Her phone rang and she jumped, dropping the dress back in the box. “Shoot.” Yanking her phone from her back pocket, she saw Deacon’s name flash across the screen.
As much as she wanted to, she didn’t think ignoring him and pretending none of this was happening would make him go away.
“Do you like it?” he said as soon as she answered.
She didn’t miss the way his voice had deepened, sounding rougher than usual. Obviously, he liked it.
Her traitorous body instantly fired to life at the sound of his voice, the memory of how he’d growled dirty things to her in the darkness. How she’d become putty in his hands when he’d taken control of her body, how she’d loved every second of it.
Gah! She squeezed her eyes closed. She had to stop thinking of that night.
She wasn’t going to fall all over him just because he bought her a damn dress. No way would she make this easy for him. “How did you find the time to get it? I only agreed to be your sexual plaything last night.”
He was quiet for several seconds. “Don’t say that, Alex. That’s not what this is.” He sounded pissed.
She wasn’t touching that with a barge pole. “Sorry, does escort suit you better?”
