Chapter 22
Rafaele
Istand with her in the empty hallway, and the big house echoes around us like it knows a secret.
Her eyes are bright with plans, and I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this, how damn happy she makes me.
I’m still not sure how I let it happen. How she got under my skin so fast. But she did, and now there’s no going back.
Not for me. She stretches up on her toes, gives me a quick kiss, and looks at me with that wicked smile.
“I want to grab a few things from my place.”
She thinks I’ll just say okay. She’s nuts.
I narrow my eyes at her, and her smile widens.
“No fucking way,” I say.
“Rafe, it’ll only take a minute.”
“You’re not listening,” I tell her. “The Red Hooks know where you live. You’re not setting foot in that apartment until I say so.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll survive,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Not worth the risk.”
Her lips twist, and I see a challenge there, a stubbornness I know too well.
“I need more than one change of clothes.”
“Then you’re in luck.”
I take her wrist, lead her to the room where she slept before she decided she’d rather keep me awake all night.
“Pretty sure this is empty.”
“There’s a closet,” I say.
Her eyes go wide, then narrow as she remembers the state of the place. The untouched feel of it all.
“Yes, I noticed. All designer and formal. I’m not exactly comfortable wearing a cocktail dress to bed.”
I cross my arms.
“Not budging.”
She lets out an exasperated breath, the kind that says she’s mad as hell but in no hurry to leave. I like the sound of it.
“Fine,” she says, looking at me sideways. “Take me shopping then.”
Damn it if I’m not already in too deep.
We’re on Fifth Avenue, and I have her in a high-end store with so much designer stuff, it could sink a ship.
The place is quiet, tasteful. The kind of spot where you can’t ask how much something costs because they won’t tell you.
It’s why I know she’s testing me when she holds up a pair of torn jeans like they’re the last pair on earth.
“Think they’ll go with a cocktail dress?” she asks, grinning, wide and smug.
“Doubtful,” I say. “But maybe if you pair them with this.”
I toss a top at her that looks like it could fit a twelve-year-old.
Her mouth drops open, and I smirk.
“Show me,” I say, nodding at the dressing room. “I want to see what my little prison princess is going to wear.”
She throws me a look like I’ve lost my mind, but she goes.
I wait, giving a once-over to some dresses on a nearby rack. I know what I want to see her in, but I also know she’ll fight me on it.
The curtain opens, and she’s standing there with her hands on her hips. My pulse does a little stutter step.
“Damn.”
I give her a long look. She makes even those ragged jeans look like they cost a fortune. The top clings to her like it’s painted on, and she looks more like Sloane than ever.
I walk over, and she bites her lip, that teasing edge back in her eyes.
“Now I know I’ve been kidnapped.”
I nod at the pile of clothes she didn’t put on. It’s all the stuff I want to see her in.
“Get those too,” I say, and she rolls her eyes.
“Really?” she asks. “I don’t even know what some of this is.”
“Try it all,” I reply.
She looks like she’s about to argue, but instead she makes a face and starts trying things on, one by one. Each time she comes out, I check her out. Gorgeous.
“Looks fine,” I say, readjusting my crotch.
She laughs at me, calls me a perv, and disappears behind the curtain to keep going.
It’s the damn best fashion show I’ve ever seen.
Fancy tops, casual dresses, things so tiny I’m not sure they’re legal.
She comes out in all of it, and I swear she looks more amazing every time.
It’s enough to make my head spin and my pulse jump, and I’m not even trying to hide how much I like it.
I watch her drag a hand through her hair, her lips twitching with that wicked, tempting smile.
The saleswoman hovers nearby, and I’m betting she’s never seen a shopping trip like this before.
The place is so quiet you can hear Sloane’s laugh echo through the racks, and the tick of the clock on the wall.
I could stay here all day, just watching her try to figure out how she ended up in this store and in my house.
But instead, I watch her come out one last time, and I cross my arms.
“Everything,” I say, shaking my head. “You need everything here.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I’m already at the register, and when I say I want all of it, I mean it.
“Crazy,” she mutters when I hand the credit card over.
We head out with more bags than she can carry, and I wonder if I’ll ever get tired of the way she bickers with me, the way she always says what’s on her mind.
She tries to keep up her front, but I see the excitement in her eyes.
The thrill she gets from getting under my skin, making me splurge like I’ve never splurged before.
Like a fool who’s already in too deep.
We don’t stop at one place. We hit the entire block. Shoes. Bags. Jackets. Enough outfits to fill her whole damn apartment.
Sloane protests at every stop, but I don’t let her words get to me. The way she lights up when I buy her something says more than her arguments do.
“I thought I was supposed to be in hiding,” she says, eyeing a red leather jacket with hunger in her eyes.
I nod at the clerk, who grabs it in her size.
“Best way to blend in is to look like you belong,” I say. “This town’s full of rich assholes. No one notices another one.”
She raises her eyebrows at me.
“So you admit it. You’re a rich asshole.”
I hand over the credit card again, watching as the bags stack up around us.
“Something like that.”
“This is insane,” she says. “I’m perfectly happy to shop at Target.”
I let her keep the illusion for now, because I know the second we get back to the mansion, she’ll see how serious I am. How willing I am to give her everything.
When we’ve bought out half of Fifth Avenue, I take her hand and lead her to a makeup boutique. It’s fancy as hell, and she looks like she might laugh out loud when we walk in.
“Rafe. Seriously.”
I’m already pointing out what I want her to have, like I have a clue. Perfume, shampoo, body wash, and lotions that cost more than some people make in a week. She just stands there, trying to decide if she should protest again or give up.
“Some of everything,” I say. “Wrap it up.”
She gives me a look, but it’s half playful now.
“And you call me a princess?”
We leave with more than either of us can carry, more than any sane person should buy, and I take her to a little bistro with the kind of menu that doesn’t list prices. She watches me as we sit, her eyes sharp and curious, like she’s still trying to figure me out.
“This is a little much,” she says, nodding at the mountain of bags.
“What can I say? I go big.”
“Pretty sure that’s an understatement.”
“I’ll keep it coming as long as you want.”
Her face gets serious, and she puts down her coffee cup, leans across the table.
“I don’t want your money, Rafe. You know that, right?”
“Don’t worry,” I smirk. “I have plenty.”
“I… I’ve never spent this much on clothes. Or on a car. Or anything. Think of what else this money could buy. Like I said, I can happily shop at Target and give all the money to, I don’t know, starving kids in Africa. I’d feel better doing that.”
She bites at her lip, looking like she’s not sure how to say what she wants to say.
“Spit it out, Carter. What’s on your mind?”
She takes a breath, puts her elbows on the table as she leans in.
Concern is etched in the little crease between her brows, and I wonder if she’ll ever understand.
How could someone like her ever know someone like me?
I watch her sip her coffee and eye the bags of clothes beside the table.
She’s got this worried look I’ve never seen before.
“I just… thank you so much for all this, really. It’s very generous. But would you mind too much if I sold some of this stuff so I can donate the money? Just so I don’t feel like a terrible person. I’ll keep a few outfits, of course… and maybe the red leather jacket.”
My heart twinges, and a hard tone enters my voice.
“You feel bad spending money on yourself?”
“Oh God, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” she says quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Forget I said anything.”
I examine her. She is a fucking enigma. All sassy comebacks and reckless moves, then she goes all meek when I show her the slightest kindness. It’s like nobody’s ever bought her a present before.
“You’re keeping the clothes, Sloane.”
“Okay.”
“And we’ll help save the drowning whales too, or whatever it is you want to do.”
I pull out my phone and spend a few minutes on it.
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
I hand her my phone, and she sees the screen. She stares, mouth dropping open.
“Rafe.”
“Picked a charity in Africa,” I say, grinning like an idiot. “Matched everything we spent, Sloane. Just for you.”
Her eyes are bright, like she can’t believe I did it. Can’t believe this is real. It’s a new look for her, and I want to keep seeing it.
“You’re something else,” she says, shaking her head, but there’s a warmth in her voice that is fucking addictive.
“Every penny you spend,” I say, “I’ll match the donation. So keep spending.”
“Rafe.”
“I mean it. Splurge on yourself, for once.”
She looks at me, long and deep, and I see the change in her. The way she sees the change in me. She can’t help a little grin.
“You’re going to regret this,” she says, a challenge.
I lean back, folding my arms across my chest.
“No, I won’t.”
She shakes her head, but I can tell she’s in this now. In it with me, no turning back. She’s taking it all in, letting herself have it, letting herself want it, even if it doesn’t come naturally. She’s strong enough to let me give her everything, and she’s smart enough to see I mean it.
“Come on, crazy man,” she says, reaching for the bags. “Let’s go.”
I watch her, happy and stubborn and mine, and I know this is just the start. I’m screwed, but I’m not sorry. I don’t care how deep I am.
I’ll match her penny for penny. The donation and the feelings.
Every damn cent.