I pad into my bathroom to start my shower. Staring at myself in the mirror, I put my hair up to be sure it doesn’t get wet. Soon steam fills the space, and I step into the stream, a soft moan leaving my lips the moment the hot water touches my body. My moment is short-lived, though. If I’m going to be on time to meet Easton, I’ll need to be quick. So, I hastily scrub every inch of my body, rinse, and snatch the fluffy towel hanging on the loop next to the tub.
The difference in temperature in my room from the bathroom sends a shiver down my spine. Goosebumps form on my skin, but I ignore it as I glide over to my dresser and pull out a pair of black lace panties. Unfortunately, the dress Easton picked out isn’t ideal for a bra, so I guess I’ll be going without one.
I toss the panties on my pillow and remove the dress from its box for the second time today. The dark-green material almost shines in comparison to my white comforter under it when I stretch it out on my bed. It’s long and will probably drag my short five-foot-three frame, but seeing as it’s my exact size, I know the material will wrap my body snuggly.
I finally open the bag I didn’t bother to check and see another box inside. No doubt it’s the shoes Easton mentioned. I extract it and lift the lid to reveal gold strappy heels. When I flip them over, the number six is etched into the soles.
“Good guess, Mr. Stalker,” I mutter.
Letting the shoes fall to the floor gently, I continue getting ready. I moisturize my skin from top to bottom, slip on my panties, then shimmy into the dress. I was right. It touches the floor, but it’s not bad. It’s almost whimsical, in a Cinderella type of way. It’s one of those one shoulder, mermaid tail dresses with a slit that travels all the way up my right leg, stopping right below my hip. The green color seems to make my pale skin glow, too.
I adjust the top, making sure my girls are in place. I don’t have much in that department, and what I do have sits up nicely on their own. It’s a good thing, too, because with the way the single strap falls midway down my arm, there isn’t much support. But it’s still snug and hugs me in all the right places, just like I knew it would.
Finally, I slip my feet into the heels and buckle them around my ankles. I step back into my bathroom to look at my reflection. The only thing that doesn’t fit is my hair. It’s still up in a messy bun from my quick shower, and I know he said to leave it up, but what’s the fun in listening?
I remove the hair tie, run my fingers over my scalp, and shake out the loose waves. My brown locks fall to my shoulders effortlessly. A smirk pulls at the corners of my lips at the realization that I’m disobeying his request.
Satisfied with myself, I turn and head toward the front of my apartment, stopping briefly to grab my keys and to check my phone for the time. It’s seven-thirty, which means I’ll be late getting back to the store to meet him, but oh well, he can wait since he made me wait for three days.
Grabbing the wristlet hanging on its hook by my entrance, I stuff my phone inside then pull open my door. I’m instantly taken aback, a nervous wave sweeping across my body.
There he is, standing on the outside of my home. He rakes his eyes over me, his gaze dark with a twinge of disapproval lingering on his features. I didn’t expect to see him here, but if I’m honest, it isn’t in the least bit surprising.
“Your hair isn’t up, amore,” he says authoritatively.
Chapter Six
Arloe
My throat swells around the lump that forms there. It’s massive, choking the life out of me. At least that’s what it feels like. I knew he’d have my address, yet I still can’t breathe seeing him in front of me. His gaze is dark and laced with a mixture of things.
Anger?
Disapproval for sure.
But there’s something else, something that shoots through me like lightning. It eats at me, taunting and drawing me in at the same time.
Lust.
That’s it. He lusts for me, but there is something about the tension in his shoulders. Despite how relaxed his face is, his jaw tics as he looks me over. Taking in my hair and drawing in a deep, aggravated breath, he traces the rest of my body, his pupils dilating, saying so much without him speaking at all.
I pull my spine straight and hold my head high because—shit, I don’t know. It makes me feel less small in his presence like I at least have control of the way I appear. He glances at my hair again, letting his gaze fall to the ends of my long waves.
I swallow, roll my shoulders, and tilt my chin so that my head remains high. “How do you know where I live?”
Easton leans forward with his palms on the doorframe. “Why isn’t your hair up?”
I hate that.
Him answering my questions with questions. Not once in the few short days that I’ve known him has he been straight with me. It’s his way of showing me who’s really in charge here. Proving to me that the only thing that matters is what he says. And tonight, I guess that thing is my hair.
“I like my hair down,” I say pointedly.
Easton checks his watch, his face still void of emotion, all except for the twitch in his jaw. He steps closer to me, his six-foot frame crowding over mine. He’s so close that I smell his cologne. My skin ignites with recognition, every sense in my body heightened. The way he smells, the feel of him against me, and the sad thing is, he’s barely touching me. If not for the rise of my breasts and the torturous brushes they make along his hard chest with each breath, I’d feel nothing.
There’s only the tiniest bit of space between us now, and even that isn’t enough. I think he’s going to touch me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches around me and pulls my door shut. We make eye contact, and it’s dangerous. I see that now. Forget the fact I witnessed him in the act of murdering someone, that wasn’t enough to steer me away. It’s at this moment, with him in my space, making demands of me without ever really using words, do I realize this is all a mistake.
“Where are we going?” I ask while craning my neck to look up at him.
Easton uses his eyes to direct me toward the elevator. I don’t move, refusing to cave so easily.
“I’m not going anywhere until you answer at least one of my questions,” I protest.
He watches me, and somehow, I know to continue.
“Where are we going? And how do you know where I live? Why did you buy me this dress?” The words fly from my mouth in rapid succession before I can stop myself.
His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “I have business to attend to, and you’re my date. Now, let’s go, amore, people are waiting.”
“What people?”
He walks away, stopping a few feet ahead in front of the elevator.
“Answer me.”
Still nothing.
“Did you kill that man?” I ask with a shaky voice as he presses the Call button on the elevator.
The lift dings, the doors screeching when they open, and he holds a hand out to keep them from closing. “Is that really what you want to know?” he counters with his hands in his pockets.
The material of his black tux stretches across his muscles, tight and appealing. He looks good—like he could be a model if he wanted to. His hair is cut lower than it was three days ago, his beard trimmed, outlining his features perfectly.