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“And he wants me to come.”
“He wants to brag to the other bosses and chiefs. He—”
She stopped me with a cutting motion. “He wants to show me off. I get it. I’m the prize he can’t stop bragging about.”
I grunted, acknowledging her statement begrudgingly.
She studied my face, then looked down at the dress she had on last night. “And what am I supposed to wear tonight? I don’t have any clothes here.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
I took Sloane into Oranmore—thesmall town a few miles north of the compound. It wouldn’t have all the designer labels she was used to wearing, but it was as good as it was going to get—at least for now.
Torin trailed us as I showed her the half dozen clothing stores on the high street. When we finally reached one that Sloane had a vague interest in, I told Torin to go and get something to eat, then come back. We didn’t need the extra eyes drawing attention to our location.
A bell signaled our entry into the boutique and caused the assistant to look up from the stock she was sorting through. “Hello, Mr. Kent. Can I help you with anything today?”
“My friend here needs a dress for tonight, as well as some casual clothes. Can you help her?”
The woman smiled. “Of course.” She approached Sloane with that friendly smile still in place. “My name’s Maeve.”
“Sloane.”
“What size are you, Sloane?”
She bit her bottom lip, making me groan. “I’m not sure. The sizes are different from in the States.”
“She’s an eight,” I provided.
Maeve nodded and took Sloane by the arm, leading her toward some racks with long evening-style dresses. Taking a seat in the plush chair that was positioned facing the changing room, I watched the two women discuss their options, setting aside some dresses and discarding others.
“That one,” I said, pointing at the ugly-as-fuck, full-length, shapeless, long-sleeved, dress.
Sloane looked over at it, her mouth puckering. “You can’t be serious.”
But Maeve dutifully added it to the collection to try on while Sloane glared at me.
When there were half a dozen dresses on the hook in the dressing room, Sloane stepped inside to start trying them on. When the dress she was wearing hit the floor, I shifted uneasily in my seat. Knowing she was in nothing but the bra she had on yesterday was torture to my already hard dick.
A few minutes passed before she drew back the curtain, showing off the first option.
I inched forward in my chair.
The silvery fabric clung to every one of Sloane’s curves, highlighting her breasts, hips, and long legs. The hem sat at least seven inches above her knee, while a fringed hem covered the next couple of inches of her thighs.
She looked fucking phenomenal, but I didn’t want everyone to see her like that.
“Not that one,” I told her, my voice thick. “Try on the one I chose.”
She fucking pouted, and I wanted to take her over my knee. “I like this one.”
Fuck, so do I. But I was in serious danger of shooting every motherfucker who laid eyes on her if she wore it.
“My choice.”
She glowered at me as she stepped back inside the changing room and drew the curtain.
