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When I emerge from the bathroom, Gio’s back. He’s pacing by the humongous bedroom window as he talks on the phone. He stops mid-sentence, his electric blue gaze landing on me. Though it’s room temperature in the suite, a shiver courses through me.

Since meeting Gio, I’ve discovered there’s nothing quite like being on the receiving end of his stare. It’s paralyzing and penetrating all at the same time, like he possesses the power to pierce straight through me, past the exterior, into parts of me otherwise unknown.

Unsure of what to do with myself, I stand in mock confidence, thrusting my chest out and putting a hand to my hip. Maybe I can distract him with sexy cleavage while I pretend his piercing stare doesn’t make my vagina dance. “Do you like what you see?”

He licks his lips and hangs up on whoever is on the phone. Striding past me, tearing his gaze off me with what I sense is difficulty, he says, “Come. There’s a car waiting on us.”

I don’t know what to expect as I slide into the back seat of Gio’s luxury town car. Several of his men give me funny looks, as if questioning what the hell I’m still doing alive. Funnily enough, I’m wondering that myself, but I tamp down those thoughts for the time being.

It’s a warm September day with no shortage of sunshine anywhere you look; the crowds are out and about all over the Vegas Strip as the driver pulls out of the Vittoria’s valet parkway.

Our drive is a short one. I haven’t even acclimated to the car ride by the time we’re pulling into another valet entrance for Caesars Palace. From the generous tip Gio slips the valet to the VIP treatment we receive as soon as we set foot inside the opulent bright and gold atrium, we’re treated like royalty. A concierge leads us down past the many columns and statues carved of marble, listing off all the preparations he’s taken for Gio’s arrival. On our left and right, Gio’s men flank us, our own private security detail.

People stop and stare. Some snap photos, probably thinking we’re celebrities or something. Hell, even I look over my shoulder a couple times to double-check Mariah Carey isn’t anywhere in the vicinity.

We end up in the Forum Shops. It dawns on me as we enter Jimmy Choo, the store has been closed for us. Another concierge is on us at once, offering to bring over champagne and strawberries. Unsure of how to respond, I bite the inside of my cheek, and let Gio answer. To my surprise, and slight horror, he defers to me.

“Show the lady whatever she likes.”

I almost choke on air. “Me?”

He raises a brow. “Yes,Honey. Don’t you remember I promised to buy you anything you desire? What do you think this shopping trip is for?”

Definitely not to buymeshit. I fidget out of instant discomfort. I glance at the nosy, grinning concierge, then to Gio’s men, who are stone-faced and quiet, and lastly, to Gio himself.

“Can we talk alone?”

He looks at the others. “You heard the lady. Give us a moment.”

The others scatter. The concierge announces she’s going to fetch us our champagne and a few items she thinks might look good on me. His henchmen disperse to the outer edges of the high-end boutique. Even though we’re now alone, I still keep my tone low.

“You’re being serious? I’m supposed to pick something out?”

“Pick out whatever you like.”

“But…why?”

The flat expression on his face is condescending, like the answer is obvious. “If you’re to be my woman for the next few weeks, you’ll only be dressed in the best. You said it yourself: it has to be believable.”

I stare at him. “But I can’t afford any of this. Did you miss the part about scribbling Sharpie marker on my boots?”

“Pick out whatever you like,” he repeats. “Money is no object.”

As if on cue, the concierge returns with an even brighter smile. She eases a flute of champagne into my hand and then steals me away. The next thing I know, I’m strutting across the boutique floor in a $2,000 pair of crystal-encrusted Jimmy Choos. I pivot with ease on the stiletto heel, hand on my hip like a model on the runway. The concierge eggs me on with an impressed nod and claps.

It’s the first pair of many. For the next hour, I try on so many shoes, I lose count. Every time I like a pair, I glance in Gio’s direction. He’s sitting in the lounge area, sipping his champagne. For each look I give him, he gives back a nod.

We leave Jimmy Choo’s with an armful of bags—bags one of his henchmen carries for us. It’s on to Versace and Valentino next. In both we’re met by another overeager concierge more than willing to dote on me like I’m the Queen of England.

“I want you to put my woman in a dress as beautiful as she is,” Gio says in Valentino.

My cheeks heat up. Though I’m aware Gio’s attracted to me, it’s different hearing it out loud. Spoken in front of everyone in the store. Before I can gather my bearings, he surprises me a second time, placing his smooth hand on the small of my back. He drops a kiss on my cheek that further sends me into a tailspin. Not only am I flushing on my face, but I’m attacked by a dramatic increase in heart rate.

At that point, the concierge shows mercy and takes my hand. She already has racks upon racks of different dresses waiting for me in the dressing room—a dress for literally every occasion you can think of. I make sure to model each in the lounge area for Gio’s approval.

I get the feeling helikeswatching me try on these different outfits. He sits back, relaxed with one arm along the back of the accent chair and his right foot at rest on his left knee. The last dress I model in Valentino’s is a dress I’m pretty sure the devil himself would say is too damn sexy.

It’s black and strapless, with a plunging neckline that accentuates my décolletage. The super sexy top half transitions into a long skirt that flows dreamily as I strut out of the dressing room. The mood in the boutique shifts as everyone sets eyes on me. I spin in a slow circle.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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