CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Two days after Christmas
From the outside, Liberty looks less like a department store and more like an old Tudor house, as if it had been plucked from the past and dropped into the middle of London.
Inside, the central atrium is multiple stories of open space with a glass ceiling, all dark timber framing and carved scrollwork along the open galleries at the sides.
Steeped in expensive perfumes and fresh fabrics and polished wood, I breathe in a world that feels both luxurious and alien to me.
“Ah, Mr. Frost, it’s been a while!”
A woman approaches with a wide smile on her face.
She looks to be in her middle fifties, wearing a fitted midi dress in a stunning pigmented floral print.
Her hair is swept back into a neat bun; she’s dripping in class.
The only hint she’s an employee is the name badge on her lapel that reads “Lorraine.”
Jake bends to kiss the woman on each cheek. “Lorraine, a pleasure as always.”
“And this must be Evie.” Lorraine extends her hands to me, and I take them, even though I’m not sure if I’m supposed to.
“Nice to meet you, Lorraine.”
She twinkles at me. “Oh, you’re lovely. I’m going to enjoy this. I’m your personal shopper for the afternoon. Please, follow me.”
As she leads us through the store, I whisper to Jake, “I thought you said you don’t have a personal stylist.”
He slides an arm around my waist. “I don’t. But I do have four sisters, a mother, and a grandmother. Lorraine has helped me find the perfect gift on more than one occasion.”
“But how did you arrange this on such short notice?”
Jake answers with a wry, playful smile. “I think, as far as they’re concerned, I also spend the perfect amount of money.”
On the second floor, Lorraine directs us to a private fitting suite.
Inside, the lighting is soft and warm. Champagne awaits on a glass table.
Full-length mirrors surround us, and an oversized lounge chair sits opposite them.
A rail loaded with dresses stands near the wall.
Four different cream sweaters sit on a side table, neatly folded.
They look so soft in this light, they seem to have a misty haze around them.
I let my fingertips trail across each one. Cashmere.
Lorraine quietly backs out of the room. Jake casually follows her to lock the door once she’s gone. Behind me, he says, “I wasn’t sure which one you’d prefer.”
I turn to face him. “I was wearing a stained cream cashmere sweater on the flight here.”
Jake crosses his arms and leans a hip against one of the oversized chairs. “I know.”
I shake my head. “But that’s the only time you’d have seen it.”
“I memorized everything about you the first moment I saw you, Evie.”
Pressing my knuckles to my lips, I cross the room to where the dresses wait. Heavy gold sequins, shimmering green velvet, a sparkly champagne minidress I’d never have been bold enough to select for myself. Richly hued florals like Lorraine’s. At least a dozen more.
One of the maxi dresses gives distinct wedding-dress vibes. Ivory velvet with a cowl neck and spaghetti straps. A split in the fabric hits mid-thigh, giving it extra movement. I’m feeling cheeky, so I decide to start with it. It fits like a fantasy.
“How did she know my size?” I turn to face Jake.
“I’ve had my hands all over you for most of December, my love. I’m good at estimating.”
Teasing, I say, “I thought I told you not to call me ‘love’—”
“Is that what I said?” His mouth is curved up in a tiny smile, but his eyes are heated. “Turn around.”
I turn to face my reflection again, watching him prowl towards me in the glass. He stops behind me and slowly winds a thick lock of my hair around his palm. His touch is feather light. Leaning over my shoulder, he meets my eyes in the mirror. “May I?”
Whatever he’s asking for, my answer is a very breathy “Yes.”
The fist in my hair pulls taut, and an involuntary moan slips off my tongue. Jake tips my head back to expose my throat. Pleasure-pain in my scalp spools down my neck and gathers heavy in my breasts.
“Jake.” The tension between my legs is hot and swift. “What—”
Without hesitation or sound, his broad palm flattens above my pubic bone to jerk my body fully against his.
Inch by inch, he walks his fingers down my thigh, bunching the fabric into his hand until the triangle of my panties is exposed in the mirror.
Black. Lace. Low-cut. A provocative contrast to the plush ivory of the dress.
I arch my back, silently begging him to touch me. He breathes out through clenched teeth, the heat of it stitching goosebumps down my arms, raising my nipples to aching attention.
He’s hunched over me, urgently hard against the split of my ass.
Strands of my hair cling to his mouth. He slides his hand under the lace, entering me with two firm, flattened fingers.
He’s not easing me into this at all, but I’m already slick for him.
He pounds out the same unyielding pace on my clit that I’ve seen him use on himself. Perfect, relentless, tugging friction.
“Don’t come, darling.” Jake doesn’t slow the pace of his strokes, even as he’s telling me not to pop off. “This isn’t our dress, and you’re a messy little love, aren’t you?”
I’m so wet I can feel it on my thighs. My bare toes dig into the plush carpet, my hips jerk against him. A stitch busts in the crotch of my panties.
“Please,” I gasp. Knees trembling, I plant my feet wider so I don’t collapse. Eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten to the point of pain, I let my head fall back against him.
He’s locked against me, his chin digging into my shoulder, his free arm surging upwards to take my breast fully in hand. “Are you asking me to stop?”
“No.” I gulp air like I’m drowning.
“Then tell me—” He squeezes his eyes shut and shudders against me. His rhythm falters for a beat, and he makes a strangled little noise in his throat. “God damn it,” he breathes. “Tell me what you want.”
“Let me—”
Before the words are out, he doubles his pace and I chase the friction like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
I vaguely wonder if there are cameras in here, and I almost laugh, because not only is it a bit late to worry about that—the thought of it just turns me on even more.
An orgasm throbs to ravenous life between my legs, exploding me wide open.
I slip down Jake’s chest, grinding and bucking against his hand as pleasure rips me into orbit.
He yanks me back up with a rolling, satisfied growl.
Three minutes. That’s all it took.
The skirt of the dress slithers down my legs as Jake lets it unspool from his fingers. He sidesteps to stand next to me in front of the mirror, chest heaving, cheeks red with a raging flush.
“Look what you made me do, Evie.”
Next to the prominent imprint of his erection, a wet spot slowly spreads across his crotch.
I laugh, panting. “Good thing you wore your long coat.”
* * *
Jake makes all the arrangements for delivery of the dresses, so when a dozen white boxes arrive at his flat later that afternoon, I’m stunned. He bought every frock I showed even the tiniest interest in. I feel like a Regency romance heroine being visited by the modiste’s staff.
“Jake, I will literally never have anywhere to wear these the rest of my life.”
He responds with one of his lazy, tilted smiles. “We’ll see.”
* * *
Since my bag is already here from our Christmas trip, I dress for our dinner date at Jake’s place.
I choose the champagne sequined mini with long fitted sleeves and a scoop neck.
It makes my collarbones and legs look incredible.
These heels will make me nearly as tall as Jake, and I don’t bother with jewelry.
The low chignon I attempt for my hair comes out much better than I’d expected.
A smoky eye, a nude lip and a dewy shimmer on my cheekbones, and I’m done.
When I emerge, Jake doesn’t say a word, but his body goes tense. His brows boost high on his forehead. He takes me in completely, then lets out a breath and mouths, Wow.
And him. My god.
He’s in a midnight-blue dinner jacket that’s fitted to his waist, satin peak lapels accentuating his wide shoulders. Flat-fronted black pants taper to a clean stop over glossy cap-toe Oxfords, and he’s got the waves of his hair tidy and sideswept away from his face.
Mine.
* * *
Our black cab pulls up to the Shard. Jake steps out first, extending his hand to steady me when I crane my neck to look up. The building just keeps going, a beam of neon light soaring into the night sky. It gives me a bit of vertigo, but it fades when Jake’s hand squeezes mine.
A host greets us in a gleaming lobby, and after a short exchange with Jake, directs us to the elevator.
We’re whisked into the air so quickly the rising floor numbers on the LED screen change faster than I can blink, and my ears pop.
I’m disoriented for a moment when the doors open.
The space before us is dark, lit only by low lamps and chandeliers, and candles on tables.
It’s striking, but to me, it’s obvious what the real feature here is. It’s London itself.
The walls of the space are floor-to-ceiling glass, revealing a glittering city beyond. The lights seem so tiny, so far away, that I feel like I’m on the precipice of space, and a single step forward will launch me into a sparkling abyss.
Then I feel Jake’s hand on my back, and I’m tethered. Safe.
There’s a low hum of conversation and occasional laughter.
There’s not much privacy to be had, and I think our table next to the window is as secluded as it possibly gets here.
Beneath the table, Jake extends his foot towards me, as if he knows how unsteady I’m feeling. I let my own foot nestle next to his.
He’s going to ask me to stay. That’s what tonight is for. It has to be.