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Miranda laughs, the sultry tone irritating rather than attractive as she presses her fingers against my arm, drawing my attention back to her. “We’re aby appointment onlystore, remember? Kate will get our undivided attention for the next hour… As will you,” she adds under her breath.
“Yeah?” I say, looking over at Kate who’s watching us both with barely veiled jealousy. I really shouldn’t get a kick out of that, but fuck, do I.
“Collette will be with Miss Davidson in just a moment. Can I interest you in a drink in our lounge whilst you wait?”
“As tempting as that sounds, I’m under strict instructions from the boss to ensure Kate picks the perfect outfit, but I’ll take that drink,” I reply, knowing full well that an invite into the lounge is just a euphemism for a blow job or, if the ladies are feeling extra generous, sex. It’s why the majority of the gangsters bring their ladies here because of the extra services provided. Their wives and mistresses get a whole new wardrobe and turn a blind eye to what happens in the lounge. Fucked-up if you ask me.
“After work then?” Miranda asks, stepping closer as she bites on her bottom lip.
“Sorry, I’m washing my hair,” I reply, which draws laughter from Kate’s lips as I stride towards her.
“What’s wrong, Beast? It’s not like you to pass up an offer like that,” Kate says, searching through a rack of dresses as she side-eyes me.
“I don’t sleep with everyone that offers themselves up to me. As you well know, Princess,” I say, dropping onto the armchair just outside the fitting room. I meant it as a joke, a lighthearted way to let her know there are no hard feelings but it comes out condescending and I mentally berate myself for being such a fucking dick.
Kate’s fingers still on the rack, her shoulders stiffening before she grabs a bland-looking dress and twists on her feet to face me. “And I don’t offer myself up to just anyone, asyouwell know.”
“Princess—”
“Screw you,” she snaps, striding past me as she enters the changing room and roughly draws the curtain closed behind her.
“See, that’s the whole fucking problem, Princess…” I mutter, scraping a hand over my face as I try to figure out how to deal with this situation.
“Has Miss Davidson found something to her liking?”
I snap my eyes open to find a pretty redhead, short in stature but not in curves, staring down at me. Her eyes alight with interest, and if I wasn’t having issues with my fucking tormentor cursing my name behind the pulled curtain, I’d definitely be interested. As it is, my cock has other ideas, because no matter how hard I try to stop it my dick only springs to life for Kate.
“Yeah, she found something,” I reply, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “She’s trying it on now.”
“Perfect,” the pretty redhead replies. “I’m Collette by the way.”
“Yeah, Miranda said.” I give her a once over, still my dick remains comatose.
“Nice to meet you, Mr…?”
“Just call me Beast.”
She smiles, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. “Beast,” she murmurs, then turning her back to me, searching through the rack and picking several dresses, hanging them on another rack on wheels.
My eyes fall to her shapely butt encased in a short, form-fitting black dress, and I cock my head trying to imagine bending her over and fucking her from behind, which until recently would’ve been exactly what would’ve happened. Not anymore. I ain’t interested which, again, is a fucking problem.
“I don’t like it,” Kate says half a minute later, her bare arm poking out from behind the curtain, dress in hand. “I feel like a bloody housewife in it.”
“Okay, so the Gucci dress isn’t to your liking,” Colette says, taking the dress from Kate and hanging it back up. “I’ve taken the liberty of choosing some dresses that fit the brief. Any one of these should be suitable.”
“Wait, what brief?” Kate asks, yanking open the curtain, hand on her hip.
She’s only in her fucking underwear, which I know shouldn’t come as a surprise given she’s standing in the changing room of an upmarket clothing boutique, but still, I do not need a fucking reminder of all the things I cannot have. Especially when her tight body is encased in black lace.
“Your father rang ahead, he was quite specific in his requirements.”
“He didwhat?” she snaps.
“He called ahead…” Collette repeats, her voice trailing off as she looks between us. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Kate is about to blow a gasket.
“What exactly were his requirements?” she asks through gritted teeth.
“No skirts above the knee. No bare shoulders. No thigh high splits. No low cut front or back. No corsets.”
