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“Is there anything else, sir?”
“Not at the moment.”
“I’ll be off then,” he says and waves a short goodbye before glancing around the room, I imagine to spot the lady these clothes are intended for.
Much to my gratitude, the front door closes before Suzette quietly makes her way into the room. Her bare feet padding softly on the hardwood floor give her away. With her hair a messy halo, and dressed only in one of my undershirts, she could not possibly look more fuckable.
My grip on the mug in my hands tightens as I suppress a groan.
“Good morning,” she offers, brushing her hair from her face. As her arms fold in front of her she gets reacquainted with my penthouse, glancing around before stopping in front of the set table.
“Good morning. Your clothes arrived.” I motion toward the bags with the mug. “Coffee’s on as well. Should I make you a cup?”
With surprise lightening her gaze, it dances between the bags and myself. “I’m sorry, did you say clothes arrived?”
“I think you could use some caffeine,” I state rather than answering her. As I make my way to the kitchen, the tissue paper crinkles behind me.
“You ordered these for me?”
I pour her a cup, listening to the sounds of her opening each bag. “You needed something to wear home. Cream and sugar?”
“Please.” Tentatively, I take in her posture. She’s not unfamiliar with wealth, but I imagine it can be difficult for a woman like Suzette to readily accept.
“I should pay you back,” she murmurs. I imagine she’s attempting to tally the total.
“It’s a gift.”
“You didn’t have to,” she tells me, still holding an crimson silk shift dress with both of her hands.
“You keep saying that and I’ll keep reminding you, it’s because I want to.” Setting her coffee on the table, I add, “Besides, I will very much enjoy seeing you in that dress.” It’s that deep red shade she seems to love so much. “I just hope it fits you.”
“You’re too much,” she tells me, and I catch her gaze. “Thank you.”
Good. That’s all she needs to say.
“And breakfast?” She finally sets the dress back into the shopping bag, careful with the fabric, and gives me a simper. “You made breakfast?” She selects a small chunk of fruit.
“I thought you might have an appetite this morning.
“You would be right. I’m famished.”
“I was thinking breakfast and then a shower?”
“As much as I like the smell of you and your body wash, I don’t have anything to shower with.”
“Everything you need should be in one of those.” I motion toward the bags.
“Toiletries?” Again she seems surprised. Nodding, I take the seat across from her, making my plate of bacon and pancakes.
She seems shy as she speaks. “Thank you for letting me stay overnight … and for all of this.”
What kind of men has she been with? Did she think I’d fuck her and then send her home in a taxi?
Her apprehension fades as we eat.
“What are your plans for the day?”
“I’m behind on a contract for—” she starts, picking up a slice of bacon and then pauses. “What are the rules for the weekend?”
