Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
L ily
I look up at him. “Dinner?”
“Yeah. Dinner.” He says it so casually but there’s a tension in his face I can’t read.
Dinner.
But it’s not that simple.
I leave him hanging for a moment while I think. I loved going down on him. How much he loved it, how turned on he was. I love all the sexy things we do together…
‘Join me for dinner’ should be a pleasant request but I’m instantly overwhelmed by the offer. Dinner is not a blowjob or a spanking. Dinner means more. It means the potential of a relationship.
Which means the risk of being hurt.
Especially for someone like me.
“Hmm. Dinner. Let me think…”
I’m not from his world; he could easily realize that he’s dating below his pay grade, his age. The women he’s used to would be confident. They’d know what to wear, what to say, how to keep his attention on a night out.
Which fork to use.
A date. A proper date. With the city’s most eligible bachelor. It’s a daunting idea.
I mean, the man has a plaque with his face on it, for goodness’ sake.
Sensing my nerves, he moves in close, a reassuring hand caressing my lower back. “We don’t have to if you don’t want. Sorry if I misinterpreted… things.”
To see him like this, so open, so vulnerable, it makes me forget my worries. “No! Dinner sounds nice. I was just quiet because…” In an effort to reassure him, I make up a white lie that isn’t really a lie. “I just didn’t know what to wear.”
A smile takes over his features. “You have nothing to worry about. The women will prepare you.”
“The women?” My mind instantly goes to a stark hospital hall filled with nurses in outdated little white caps. “What does that mean?
“You won’t have to do a thing. We have a spa on site. Just for the women who live here. An entire team devoted to preparing you for our night out.” He smiles. “Remember I told you I’m in charge? And right now, I want to spoil you.” He takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. “Let me spoil you.”
“You’re too good to me. Thank you.”
Okay, now that I’ve agreed to the spa, that means in preparation I’ll need to shower, shave everywhere, deep condition the hair, and put on a face full of makeup so these women think I take care of myself… but Jesus.
What to wear?
All these beautiful clothes to choose from and I have no idea what to put on. He’s not giving me enough information. The dread of possibly showing up to a casual night out of bowling in an evening gown and strappy sandals clenches my stomach.
“Should I bring a dress?—”
“When I say you need to worry about nothing, that’s exactly what I mean.” His big hands rest heavy and comforting on my shoulders. He caresses my forehead with a soft kiss, leaving me with a delightful, warm, protected feeling spreading over my skin. “And if I catch you doing a bit of prep work before you go to the spa, you’ll be spanked, showing up to all those women with a pretty red ass. The point of the spa day is so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”
Don’t worry. Like it’s as simple as following a command. Impossible. Men just don’t know women, do they? We inhale worry with each breath, thinking of every possible issue that could arrive and how we would solve it.
It’s how we’ve survived all these years.
Still, thinking of me and the spa day is very, very sweet and very much appreciated. “Thank you.” I press up on the balls of my feet to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Dressed in casual loungewear and flip-flops in preparation for the pedicure I’m hopeful is coming, I stride across the Village toward the bright white building that looks too spotless for me even to set foot on its pristine stairs. A beacon of purity promising me I’ll be walking out with the smooth skin of a hairless cat. I flinch at the idea of wax strips ripping away at my coarser parts but I’m starting to wonder if the information Google left out about the Bachmans is that the whole gang of them are kinky AF.
I have no idea what this man has in store for me but when I find out, I’m sure I’ll be shaking like a leaf and I’d like the added confidence of knowing my body is at its best. But… the pain of waxing, the awkwardness of exposing my naked naughty bits to strangers…
Stalling for a moment, I stand in front of the spa, biting my lower lip. “I can do this.”
The doors suddenly fly open, making me start. A flock of normally dressed women, wearing loungewear similar to my own, their hair tied back and comfy shoes on their feet come flocking down the steps to join me.
The head bird introduces herself as Emma as she links her arm with mine. “Lily! We’re so glad you’re here! Rockwell told us you’d be here any moment and we’ve been looking for you.”
Another woman greets me with an arm around my shoulder. “Come along with us, love, we’ve got a wonderful day planned out for you! And you deserve every moment of pampering, don’t you?”
“Do I?” Surrounded by the protection of the flock, I float up the steps, my feet feeling like they’re barely touching the ground.
Emma says, “Of course you do! Mr. Bachman has a beautiful evening planned for the two of you and we’re going to make sure you’re prepared to enjoy every moment of your time together.”
Two hours and two glasses of champagne later I’m snoozing in what feels like a chair covered in soft lamb’s wool while a team of women massage a newfangled cream into my skin that smells like vanilla and warms at the touch. I’ve been told it painlessly removes all hair while moisturizing and softening the skin. My fingers and toes are painted a glossy pale baby pink and have been massaged for so long they feel like they’ve detached from my body.
I’m totally and utterly relaxed as they wipe my skin clean with warm, damp towels, steam rising from their soft fibers as they glide across my smooth skin.
After a scalp massage, deep condition, and blowout, I’m kissed with a hint of makeup and left standing across from a full-length mirror in a short white waffle-knit robe so cozy that I’m tempted to take it with me when I leave here.
Rockwell’s stern voice and blue eyes flash through my mind and I put the thought of stealing from the Bachmans far, far away.
They’ve already got a full outfit waiting for me. A lacy white sundress that is so delicately beautiful, it could be a wedding dress for a simple beach ceremony. Is that Vera Wang’s name on the tag?
My God, the closest I’ve come to wearing something like this is pronouncing Target, Tar-jey in a fake French accent when I’m shopping their clearance rack.
The dress has been paired with satin ballet slippers, a little bow centered with a tiny pearl on the elastic band of the shoe.
And underneath?
No bra anywhere in sight.
Nothing between the gauzy dress and the world but a pair of innocent white cotton panties.
When I’m dressed in the outfit, the mirror reveals an innocent-looking virgin staring back at me.
Pure. Fresh. Beautiful.
Sexy…
When I go to leave, Emma holds a crisp white paper bag out to me. “Here you go. It’s a robe. You seemed to love it so much, I had a new one packaged up for you to take home.”
“Emma!” I peek inside the bag, warming with glee when I see the soft waffle-knit robe. “Thank you so much.”
She gives me a quick hug. “Enjoy your evening, love!”
“I will, thanks!” I give the women a waggle of my shiny, pink-tipped fingers. Filled with the confidence that can only be bought by a full day of beauty treatments at an upscale spa, I stride across the Village back to Rockwell’s townhome.
The hem of my skirt flutters in the breeze as I move, my hair bouncing in soft waves.
When I reach his home, there’s a note on his navy blue door. It’s addressed to me. I read it out loud to myself. “Go inside and wait for the driver to pick you up. There’s a white suitcase in the foyer. The driver will bring it with you. No peeking and no lifting. I don’t want you to do a thing.”
“Wow.” I stand there, stunned, staring at the thick cardstock. Not only do I look the best I ever have, I smell like beauty and now… I’m not even going to be lifting my own suitcase. A smile like the cat that got the cream to go with her cookies spreads across my glowing, blemish-free face.
I open the door, stepping in. The note tells me he’s not home but still, I call out, “Hello?”
No answer.
The soft soles of my shoes are noiseless as I tiptoe around the house. The suitcase is there, as he said it would be. Is the driver not far behind? The excitement of being alone in his house makes my belly fill with wings. I take my time, giving myself a slower tour of the first floor. Really taking in the paintings he’s chosen. The beauty of the polished hardwood floors. The elements that make the kitchen any woman’s dream room. An extra set of cabinets and countertops tucked to the side as a coffee bar, a place to make yourself a cozy little latte while in the comfort of your pajamas.
The stairs beckon me.
Do I have time to snoop?
I don’t want to. I’m a woman. I’m quickly becoming involved with a mystery billionaire. And I’m alone in his home. I know I shouldn’t. But I have to.
Don’t I?
Not even sure what I’m looking for or if I want to find anything anyway, I dash up to the third-floor bedroom. At first, I do the okay thing, just walking slowly by his dresser, looking for photos, jewelry, signs of relationships. The dresser top is wiped clean, not even a speck of dust mars its sleek black top.
Strange, isn’t it? To not have a single family photograph in your home?
Naughtiness tickles the tips of my freshly manicured fingers. I reach toward the top drawer of the dresser, the small, dark space that we humans have universally agreed upon as being an acceptable hiding spot for our most important possessions.
The ones we don’t want anyone to see.
Guilt fills me as I grab the small metal knob, pulling the drawer toward me. Leaning forward, I peek into the small space. Socks, tightly rolled in the anal way I would expect someone like Rockwell’s socks to be stored.
Lifting a pair of black and red argyles, I peek underneath. “Oh. Right. There it is.” The thing I’ve been looking for without knowing what it was.
A small red leather box, with the gold words, Bachman’s Jewelers, scrolled over the top. I know what’s inside before I open the lid. Still, I pop that sucker open.
A gleaming diamond nearly blinds me as the light hits it, shooting rainbows across the room.
“What is that? Five carats?”
It’s huge. Massive. A fairy could ice skate on the darn thing.
Who could it be for? Is he dating someone? Then saw me having my purchase declined and swooped in to help me? A charity case, a broken toy to fix? A man with all the money in the world, bored and using me as a distraction?
All along having a girlfriend—wait—fiancée hidden somewhere?
There’s a knock on the door. “God!” I jump a mile in the air.
“Ms. Watkins? I’m here to pick you up. Is it alright if I go ahead and take your suitcase?”
“Yes! Coming! Be right there.” I take one last look at the ring, flip the lid closed, and carefully replace the socks.
I close the drawer and fly down the stairs.
There’s a man waiting for me, dressed in coat and tails. He holds the suitcase handle in one hand, the door handle in the other. “Miss. Are you ready?”
“Yes. Thank you.” His old-timey suit makes me have to hold back a curtsey.
I follow him down the front porch stairs and it’s only when I get to the bottom that I look up at the street and see the mode of transportation that’s waiting for me.