Staring at the rows of exquisite clothes, I push my hair off my face, resisting the urge to shove a chunk in my mouth and chew on it the way I used to do as a kid. “I couldn’t pay this back. This must be… it must have cost…” I turn to Lizzie. “God, what must it have cost?”
“He won’tactuallymake you pay him back. Not when you didn’t ask for it. He’ll just call it a loan to make you feel better and never ask for the money.”
My shoulders sink and a laugh cracks from my mouth. “Phew. Okay. But won’t he want…something? In exchange?”
Lizzie tilts her head to the side. “Like what?”
Like a blow job?
I blink, wishing my mind hadn’t gone there, and praying Lizzie can’t tell it did. “I dunno. I could make dinner?”
She chortles. “What would you make? Scrambled eggs on toast?”
I scowl, but don’t correct her. I barely know how to cook, and she knows it.
She rubs her hands together, a gleeful smile erupting over her face. “Try something on. I want to dress you up like a doll. I’ve had enough of seeing you in these tracksuits that totally drown you. It’s like you don’t even have boobs under there.” She gestures to my chest. “And I know you have a great rack. Oh, hold on—” She pulls open a drawer, revealing designer lingerie in all sorts of colours. Lace, silk. Bras, French knickers, thongs. The whole lot.
“Holy crap, your dad bought me underwear,” I blurt, wide-eyed as I slam my hands over my mouth, trying to ignore the heat searing through me at the idea of him picking these items out, maybe even wondering what I might look like wearing them.
Lizzie draws her neck in, her mouth twisting in near disgust. “I don’t think he would have done that.” She screws her face up even more. “Ew. It would have been his PA and the styling team.” Her expression relaxes. “You can’t replace a wardrobe without getting the undergarments too. It’s like trying to build a house without scaffolding.”
Giggling at her comparison, I pick up a bra, hooking the strap over my index finger as I raise it. Lilac lace with a silk trim. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I raise my eyebrow suggestively and purr, “Well,someonehas great taste in women’s underwear.”
Lizzie sticks a finger in her mouth and fake-retches. “I wish you hadn’t put the idea of my dad buying them in my head. It’s gross.”
Oh, Lizzie. You have no idea.
After I’ve tried on all the clothes and pranced about the penthouse like a catwalk model, Lizzie suggests we crack open some champagne. Apparently, my new wardrobe is cause for celebration in the Bastion household.
“This really suits you,” Lizzie says, indicating the baby pink, tiered silk evening dress I’m sporting as she fills two crystal champagne flutes with Vintage Dom Perignon, because that’s a cheap one that her dad won’t care about.
“You need to invite me to a party to justify this one,” I say, spinning around and gesturing to the dress as she slides the glass towards me across the marble island. I lift the champagne and take a sip, savouring the bubbles popping on my tongue. “Really, what will I say to your dad? It feels a bit weird accepting an entire wardrobe from him.” Putting my glass down, I grab my boobs, one in each hand, and shove them together. “And this bra is a miracle-worker. Look what it does for the girls. Look at that cleavage.”
Lizzie doesn’t laugh like I expect her to, but her eyes lift to something, orsomeone, over my shoulder.
A cold chill works its way down my spine, and slowly, frozen in position with a boob in each hand, I turn.
And there he is, just like I knew he would be. Rafe Bastion, looking handsome and grumpy as fuck. His eyes drop to my cleavage.
He dips his head, almost like he’s bowing in apology for even noticing. “Excuse me,” he says, turning away as though he means to pass through to the living area.
“Wait, Dad,” Lizzie calls. “Have a glass of champagne with us.”
My heart thumps as he pivots back to face us. “I need to change,” he says. “So do you. We’ve got the opera tonight.”
Lizzie’s mouth drops open. “The opera?”
“Yes,” he says, elongating the word like he knows she’s forgotten. “Madam Butterfly.”
“Oh…”
He presses his lips tight. “You forgot.”
“Eek. Yes. Sorry,” Lizzie admits, touching her fingers to her temple. “I can’t go. I have the meet-up with my travelling group. The social. It’s the first time we’re getting together before we leave. I have to show up, Ihaveto. Otherwise, they’ll all get to know each other and I won’t and…”
She trails off as her father stands in the doorway, staring at her with disapproval. He undoes his tie, tugging it out from beneath the collar of his shirt. It slides free, and he wraps it around his fist, and I can hardly breathe as I imagine him wrapping it about my wrist instead and dragging me to his bedroom where he would proceed to tie me to his bed.
I stare at the floor, feeling like an intruder in this father-daughter misunderstanding, and trying desperately to ignore all the lewd images running through my mind.
