Manwhore +1 (25 page)

My body temperature is suddenly too high for what I assume is healthy so I step away toward the bra area, finding the matching one to the yellow thong he seems to like so much.

I walk around the store, picking up other stuff. I’m playing along, a little excited and more than a little reckless. Some black lace stockings with a matching garter, a white silk cami set, and Malcolm brings three more thongs (dark blue, white, and purple), and a tiny-looking corset, oh god.

“This has to go on you.” Now he’s being just wicked.

“If you want a corpse in your bed. Saint, these don’t let you
breathe
.”

He discards that and goes to find a pearl thong. “All right. So this.” He looks at me coaxingly.

“That’s sooo uncomfortable. I like my pearls on my neck and soft things between my . . .” I go up on my toes and add, “Cheeks.”

He catches me by the hips and pulls me close. “Try it on for me.”

“Nobody tries on underwear before they buy.” I walk around when he follows me and wraps his arms around me.

“Then let’s buy it. Try something on for me. A nightie. Sheer and pretty where I can see your blush just beneath.”

I scan the store quickly. “I don’t see any nightie here with that description . . .”

He produces a flimsy-looking gauzy thing from behind his back, eyes glinting.

“Malcolm.” I groan, and though I keep rummaging through the offerings, now I’m just looking for things to tease him. I grab a pair of huge granny panties. The kind that cover you up to your breasts and cut unattractively down on your leg. “This looks comfortable.”

“Like hell.”

“And this.” I pull out the plainest, biggest bra I can find. “Would you let me buy these?”

“Yeah minx. And we’ll use them for a bonfire.”

His eyes turn devilish and he grabs the big panties, the big bra, and the little nightie, and then tugs me to the dressing rooms, and I’m acutely aware of the salesladies possibly watching us. He yanks open a velvet dressing-room curtain, and when I go in, he follows me inside.

“Sin! What if they see you in here?”

“Trust me, they know I’m here.”

I stand there, dumbly holding the panties and nightie to my chest. Dressing-room lights are always so
bad.
Though Saint looks glorious as usual. He’s leaning back against the wall with his legs spread and his hands in his pockets. The top three buttons of his polo are unbuttoned and he’s looking at me with laughter in his eyes.

“Can you at least close your eyes?” I plead.

He shakes his head no.

When I just stand there, shy like I
shouldn’t
still be feeling with him, he lowers himself to the only seat available and crooks his index finger at me. “Come here.”

I walk toward him, entranced by the gleam in his eyes right now. I hold my breath when he puts his warm, strong hands on my hips and places me between his legs, the top of his head reaching just below my breasts.

He eases my blouse off first, then he unbuttons my jeans slowly.

My throat starts to close at the utter sensuality of the moment. I focus on a spot on the wall behind him, trying to calm myself down. He slowly pushes my jeans down until they’re a puddle on the floor. I step out of them automatically then toe off my shoes, and he runs his hands slowly up my legs until they’re resting on my hips again.

I’m standing in my top and light-blue panties. He looks up at me with his green eyes and I know in this moment that he could do whatever he wanted to me and I would let him. Wholeheartedly, I would let him.

I’m scared of how reckless he makes me. I can feel my breathing get faster as he hooks his thumbs in the edge of my panties and slowly starts to pull them down. His eyes stay on mine the whole time, until my panties are on the floor. I step out of them and he reaches for the nightie, taking my arms and sliding them into the flimsy, fluttery sleeves. I fasten the bow at the center as he watches. By now, I am a horny mess.

He leans over, and parts the already-wide parting of the nightie and places a kiss on the top of my navel. Edging the bow up and kissing my stomach softly before turning me around in his hands so I can see myself in the mirror.

The nightie feels weightless and soft as a cloud wrapped around me; I can feel the silk molding to my body, hugging my waist, fluttering to my bottom, where it just—ends. Exposing my ass. I can tell he’s having fun because he’s looking at the back, smiling. Then his eyes hold mine in the mirror. He looks dark, manly, and powerful, with his hands on the sides of my thighs while he sits back on the bench, looking at me in the mirror.

My body’s gone haywire but I can’t help my reactions to him and I think Sin very well knows it. Oy, me.

He pats my ass after he stands in that deliberately slow way of his. “I’d say this one for sure,” he murmurs close to my ear, brushing a hand up my side in a caress that hums through me like his whisper.

We can’t seem to take our eyes off each other as he slowly undoes the ribbon and lets it unfurl open. I’m shaking head to toe, ready to make out or even do more, when I look for the first thing to cover myself. I hop quickly into my panties as he sits down again and pulls out the huge panties.

“Go on. Turn me on.”

I hike one brow. “The only way I can try it is over my jeans.” I slip on my jeans and then slide on the humongous panties. And I’m laughing so hard at his face. Then his eyes darken and he pulls me down on his lap, and says, “These look like a dress on you.”

“A very ugly dress?”

He shakes his head, smiling.

“A very big dress?”

He shakes his head.

“Should I take a thousand of these?”

“I dig you in these, Rachel. I dig you in everything.” He looks at me with hot tenderness, stroking his hand down my back as he looks down at the ridiculous view. “The more you get, the more I get to rip off you. So yes. Take them off.” He pats my ass. “We’re getting you everything,” he says, almost to himself.

I’m laughing and tossing the huge panties at him along with the nightie and everything else.

But inwardly, I’m blushing.

Is he blind?

I looked ridiculous.

He looked at me like I was so . . . perfect.

When he brushes past me to pay, I swear that this simple intimate act of shopping together has taken my arousal to a whole other level.

When I slip on my clothes and step out, the saleslady is gushing at him and handing Malcolm her card. “Anything, you can absolutely call or email and we will be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” he absently murmurs, his gaze on me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and that’s where it stays as he swings the bags behind his shoulder and we head out of there.

“Saint,” I chide. “Don’t spend this kind of money on me. You’re already like the man of my dreams.”

I laugh and duck my head after the admission, blushing when I see the hot look in his eyes.

Outside, I shoot him a sidelong glance. “Do you give your black credit card to all your lady friends?”

“No, I give them the gold.”

“Malcolm!” I hit him playfully. He grabs the back of my head and leads me down the street, where a guy approaches us quite frantically.

“Saint, any comments on your father’s acquisition of
Edge
?”

Malcolm puts himself between me and the guy and continues walking me toward the car, silent, leaving the guy behind.

“I admire you.” I shoot him an awed glance and shake my head. “How you so easily dismiss the attention.”

Then I loosen the elastic band on my hair and pull it to my sides to use it as a curtain to hide my face. He watches me in confusion. I can feel people staring at us now, and uncomfortably, I grab the aviators he just pulled out and slip them on my face.

He looks down at me with a half smile and eyes narrowed in speculation. “Want a fake mustache with that?”

“I’m good.” I grin.

I follow him to the car and we don’t bother to set the bag in the trunk. The car is super spacious anyway. He opens the door before Otis can fully make it and we ease inside.

“Rachel . . .” He falls sober, plucking off the aviators.

I’m smiling, but I also feel ashamed. “Sin, I’m sorry.” I drop my face. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to the attention you get.”

“Don’t notice it. Don’t give it even a moment’s thought. I never do.”

“Hmm.” My mouth twists wryly. “It’s not only the attention, but wondering what lies they’ll put out . . . having no control over that.” I feel my heart squeeze a little as our eyes meet, him sitting across from me, broad and muscular and drop-dead gorgeous. And I admit the closest thing I can say to
I love you.
“It’s hard when everyone stares at the man you want, and you want him to want nobody but you.”

He simply says two words that melt me.

“He does.”

W
hen I come out in my bikini, Malcolm is leaning on the railing. He seems to be talking to some guys out on the lake. He’s in swim trunks and a polo, his wide torso stretching his shirt in a way that I can see the muscled grooves on his back as he leans forward.

I hear the guys down on the lake daring him to take out his Jet Ski and race them. They’re boasting quite loudly that they’re going to kick his ass this time. “It’s long due, you fucking bastard!”

In reply to that, Saint lets go a low, throaty laugh, and he yells down at them, “Nah, I’m with a friend today!”

“Lady friend or lady friends?” they bait. But Saint doesn’t bite, and I hear the zoom of Jet Ski motors as they leave.

Barefoot, I kind of stand a few feet away, not knowing what to say. Every muscle on his back and shoulders is visible through the stretch of his shirt as Malcolm jerks a hand over his hair and then he pulls out his phone, starts dabbling.

“Do you know everyone on the lake?”

When he hears my voice, he turns, and the smile he’s wearing fades. There’s a breeze and I hate that my nipples are quick to scream,
We’re cold!

I rub my arm and he says, lowering his body sideways onto a nearby chaise, “Come sit.”

He pats the space beside him, and though he looks in control, I see him inhale, very slowly and very deeply. I take the chaise next to his instead, smiling and feeling shy.

“This is . . . well, I guess you bought me this. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look at the bikini; he’s looking at my face, almost as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “You’re welcome.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and his voice drops a decibel. “You’re making my mouth water.”

I stare at his sparkling green eyes, at his seductive smile, not knowing what to say.

A nervous laugh leaves me.

But he just stares, his extremely intense attention homed in on me. Water laps against the boat as the Chicago wind does its thing.

“Do you believe your father’s interest in
Edge
is purely business?” I ask him, remembering the reporter we just encountered.

“He’s competitive. I’m like him in that respect.” His lips curl in a sneer as he turns to contemplate the lake water.

“He’s competing against . . .”

“Me.”

“Goading you?”

“Using you.” He levels his stare on me. “He sees you as my weakness. He’s right. He’s waiting to see if I rise to the challenge. He’s been wanting to show me he still has power over me for years.”

Silence.

The heavy kind that weighs on your heart.

“After Mother died, I broke free of him. Moved out, left the family business. I was old enough to take my stock. I sold my shares to his worst enemy, forced him into bed with the last man he wanted there.” He snarls and laughs, his eyes gleaming ruthlessly now. “Payback for all the times he cheated on my mother.”

I wait with bated breath for him to tell me more, and it doesn’t take him long. It sounds as if he’s speaking about someone else, he’s that distanced from his father.

My father died; his father is alive, but somehow it feels as if we both grew up without one.

“With that money, I started my empire. I supposed he thought I’d lose it all on whores and Vegas. I don’t need to pay women to be with me. And I have better sense than Vegas.” He smirks proudly at that. “No one has ever underestimated me like my father.”

“What happened to the family business?”

“Weakened. He lost control of his own board. Had to buy back his own stock to recoup the majority of his business. By then he’d formed a bad reputation. Not paying suppliers. He couldn’t stand growing weaker while his weak kid grew better and stronger.”

His smile is brief and regretful.

“I’m over it, but he’s never backed off from trying to step on my heels. For years I’ve been weeding out his hired snoops, who are rabid to know what I’m after next.” He looks fondly at me and winks. “I move too fast for him. But damn me if I shouldn’t have seen
this
coming after . . .” He trails off.

I ache in my ribs, my chest, my stomach. “I’m sorry, Malcolm.”

“
Edge
is worthless to him without you. He’s testing me out to see how much I care.”

“But we’re not formally together. After what happened, why would he think you cared?”