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“Taste?” Unease settles in me.
“—of your company. I’ll come and get you after you freshen up.”
And she takes off without another word.
I walk into the mansion, captivated by the modern glamour of the space. It’s bright and airy with polished marble and exquisite glass lighting fixtures. I walk through the halls until a woman who looks worn down by life guides me to one of the bedrooms. She’s in a crisp black old-school dress with a white apron to denote staff.
She doesn’t speak. Her eyes are tired and weary, like they’ve seen it all and wished they hadn’t. I sink into the opulent bed and fold my hands, trying to process all that’s happened over the past few hours.
Is Jaxson a gun runner? Contracts with the government are different than selling stolen goods. Even I know that. But… it could fit. Anything could, and that’s the problem.
He’s that evasive.
But the longer I’m here, the more I know one thing.
I should have left when Jaxson said. Shouldn’t have gotten my ass in a twist about Smith.
He didn’t say he knew Smith, but a nagging feeling makes me think he does. And if that’s the case, he’s keeping it close.
I clench my hands. Smith. My real father, not that Smith knows I know. Harley and I aren’t meant to know, but we did a lot of sneaking around and listening at doors when we were kids.
I waited and waited for Smith to tell me. He never did. Never had much to do with me.
Something that still burns deep.
Thank goodness that Harley’s dad, Alejandro, took the role and treated me like another daughter.
My real-life father is rich, shady as hell, and colder than a block of ice. He barely acknowledges me and talks to Harley’s dad all the time, but never gives me the time of day. Smith is a complete asshole, neglectful and dismissive of his only child.
But I’ve never missed having him in my life.
So where did this whole Daddy thing manifest from? Why did I have such a natural urge to say the word to a man not old enough to be my father, not unless he started really, really young?
Is there something wrong with me?
It’s not that I want him to actually be, or to pretend to be, my father. That’s gross. But the idea of calling him a mythical Daddy, of the possibility of reaching the depths of depravity under his stern and trusted guidance, of his punishments and protection…
That’s what I want.
I’m a virgin once removed, and all of a sudden I’m twisting down into wanting hard-core game playing with a man I don’t even know beyond the pure carnal feelings he stirs up inside of me?
Jesus. Maybe Smith did more of a number on me than I want to admit.
With a sigh, I take a shower and then look for my backpack where I dropped it on the floor.
It’s gone.
I search on either side of the bed, under the bed, and it’s not anywhere.
What’s even more creepy is the purple dress is gone, too. I’d stripped it off just before stepping under the hot spray.
Someone came into the bathroom while I was in the shower and I didn’t even notice.
I hug the towel tight, and out of frustration, I throw open the closet door.
Relief crashes over me. Clothes. But as I reach for a white dress, I realize it isn’t the flowy one I packed. This one is fitted, short, and revealing. I flip through the hangers. They’re all the same. Tiny bikinis. Microskirts and halters that seem like they’re either see-through or too small.
There are gowns, too, long ones that glitter and shimmer and come with buttons and zips and slits that make them easy to remove. Everything is very revealing and borderline pornographic.
