“There’s no deal. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
He moves closer, and his imposing figure looms over me. With nowhere left to escape, I feel trapped as his sickly cologne swirls around me while he grabs the rail and leans in close to my face. “I was polite last time, but even my patience has limits, Mrs. Delacroix.”
When I try to look toward the changing rooms, he tuts and grabs my jaw in a punishing grip.
“Your friend won’t come to the rescue. She’s busy.”
With a frown, I jerk free, only to gasp when he fists a handful of my hair and yanks my head back. “What did you do?”
“I might have paid the assistant a hefty sum of money to keep your friend occupied while we chat.”
“What do you want from me?”
“It’s easy,” he drawls. “Delacroix has sensitive information on his hard drive. I want you to find it for me.”
“Are you crazy? What information?”
He pulls my hair, making my scalp ignite in uncomfortable prickles. “Do as I say, or you won’t like the consequences.”
“W-what consequences?”
Beaumont shifts closer, pressing up against me, and grabs my ass with his free hand. “There are other ways to ruinDelacroix. You see, he has a weakness. I can always hand you back to the Bishop.”
Ice runs through my veins. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“No?”
“You’d be left with no blackmail to use against my husband.”
Beaumont is aroused, and I feel his hard cock against my stomach as he leans down to brush his lips against my ear. I try to push him away, but I’m trapped between him and the dresses.
His wet breath fans my neck, and he pulls harder on my hair. “I wonder if he would touch you again after I take you for a spin.”
“No.” My fight turns desperate as my stomach drops to my feet. I try to scream, but he muffles the sound with his calloused hand, which smells of tobacco, as he shushes me.
“Calm down, Mrs. Delacroix. Give me what I want, and I promise not to touch you.”
I clamp my eyes shut while he makes a show of squeezing my breasts through my top.
His rough touch has my skin crawling in the worst way possible.
“I would lie if I said I’m not tempted,” he whispers. “You’re a fine woman.”
As he yanks up my top before shoving down my bra to smack my left breast, my eyes brim with tears, but I refuse to let them fall.
The creep tugs on my tender nipple until fiery pain throbs in the wake of his touch and says, “Consider this payment for testing my patience. A little taste. You have one more chance to give me what I want, or I’ll return for more.” He releases me and walks away, the bell dinging above the door as he exits without another word.
I slump, forcing down a wretched sob, and then straighten up to right my clothes. Lauren calls out my name from the changingarea, so I wipe the tears from my cheeks and plaster on my best fake smile.
I can do this.
I can pretend everything is fine.
The following day,I try to look as innocent as I possibly can when I open the door to my husband’s office.
He’s seated behind his desk, his gun in his hand, like a dark mafia lord. Across from him, appearing far more relaxed in a navy suit, is Sinclair.
Hesitating in the doorway, I look between them. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
