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Whatever the third thing is, I don’t fucking care.
He can deal with that himself.
18
MATTEO
I go to Dominic’s office after the meeting with the Don. I pretend it’s to review the security measures he’s put in place for Sicily via his connections in Italy. We also need to discuss the oversight of my businesses he’ll have while I’m gone, but honestly, it’s to cool off after the meeting with the Don. And to avoid going back to my apartment.
Even if she is locked up in her room, I’ll be conscious of her being there. What I didn’t take into account when I hatched this plan is that Tasha is going to be in my space 24/7.
It’s almost eight at night by the time I head back, and as I walk into my apartment, the buzz of female voices dies down. Four pairs of eyes turn to me, and Burley stands from where he’s been observing from the kitchen island.
“Thought the ladies would be done by now, boss. It took some time to arrange, and Esta only arrived an hour ago.”
My gaze jumps to Tasha, who looks down at her feet, blushing. I left her naked and frazzled this morning with another old T-shirt; now she’s in a frilly summer dress that hugs her curves.
Rosalia’s contact from the boutique clasps her hands together and looks toward her friend, uncertain. Burley comes to stand close to his wife, picking his side. I glance them over, saying nothing.
The place is a mess. A rail with at least twenty evening dresses stands to one side, and two more with day dresses, trousers and blouses, and one with underwear and silk pajamas make a square of private shopping in the space between the living room and the twelve-seater dining table. Three full-length mirrors complete the setting.
Rosalia steps forward, staring straight at me with a dare in her eyes. She’s right. I asked and she delivered.
“Get out,” I say. The boutique woman shoots a nervous glance at Burley and then at Rosalia, but Burley understands me perfectly and herds them along, probably to his own place next door to wait for further instruction.
Tasha doesn’t move, clinging to the two dresses they were discussing when I came in. I walk past the evening gowns, running my fingers over the expensive fabrics, then make my way to the underwear and silks.
“Found anything you like?” I ask as I pick up a bra and panty set in virginal white.
She hesitates. “Yes?”
I hang the underwear back up and make my way towards the wine bar. Dirty dinner plates are stacked on the kitchen counter in a rush. She’s been eating. Good. I reach for a bottle of red and two glasses and walk over to the sectional. I open the wine and pour, feeling her gaze on me.
I sit down with my wine and get comfortable. “Show me.”
“Okay. Everything Esta brought is my size, so it’s just a matter of picking a few things.” Tasha glances around, seeming nervous. “I’m torn between this pink one and the bl?—”
“Show me,” I say again, and the command sinks in. She goes pale but turns away and hangs one dress up.
“I’ll just go to my room to cha?—”
“Do it here.”
She bites her lip, ready to spew spit at me, which is rather entertaining. Kitten is catching on.
“Fine. After all, there’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she says as she drops the two dresses onto the sofa and in a smooth move pulls the one she has on over her head and tosses it to the side.
Fuck. She’s wearing a lacy underwear set in pale pink, which only accentuates the purity of her unblemished skin. Her nipples harden under my gaze, becoming more pronounced through the bra’s thin mesh and lace. I grind my jaw at the thought that she hates her body, but this is the type of thing that gives women confidence if handled right. She’s going to need it when we’re in Cannes, as she’ll be the star of the show.
She pulls the pink dress over her head, struggling a bit because it’s fitted, but manages and pulls up the hidden side zip. With a raised eyebrow she swishes her hips and the full skirt sways side to side. “What do you think?”
“Very, very pretty,” I say, showing with a finger that she should turn.
“Really?” She complies, stops to look at herself in the mirrors, then completes the turn.
“Yep, you look stunning. It’s a keeper. Next.”
She smiles. “There are a few in the same cut, different colors though.”
