Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(35)
He straightened and rose, walking back over to his lounger.
“We’ll be arriving in Paris soon,” he murmured, tapping his keyboard and noticing that the finger he’d used to make her come still gleamed with her abundant juices. He closed his eyes briefly to shut out the arousing image. It lingered, seemingly burned into the back of his shut eyelids. “Why don’t you go into the bedroom, wash up, and change.”
“Change?” she asked.
He nodded and dared to look at her naked beauty flushed from climax. Christ, she was beautiful: the dark eyes of a nymph, the pale, soft skin of an Irish maid, the lithe, voluptuous body of a Roman goddess. He resisted a nearly imperative, dark urge to pounce and sink his cock into the heaven of her like some kind of wild animal.
“Yes. I’m taking you out to dinner,” he said, shortly, instead.
“You bought me something to wear?” she asked, nymph eyes going wide in surprise.
He smiled grimly and returned his attention to his work with monumental effort. “I told you I’d give you everything you needed, Francesca.”
* * *
She must be becoming jaded, because when she saw the opulent, surprisingly large aircraft bedroom suite, she wasn’t stunned. Maybe that was because she was getting to know Ian better and knew he’d never be satisfied with anything but tasteful perfection. She opened the closet door, as he had instructed her to do, and saw a black knit evening dress hanging in the closet.
“Lin says to tell you that everything else you’ll need is either inside the top drawer in the bureau in the closet or on top of it,” Ian had said a moment ago. “She says the temperature in Paris will be a pleasant sixty-five degrees tonight, so the hosiery is optional,” he added, glancing at his cell phone, clearly reading a text from his efficient assistant.
Inside the built-in mahogany drawer, she found an exquisite black lace panty-and-bra set. She held up another ebony lace item, confused, before realizing it was a garter. A wave of embarrassment went through her at the thought of Lin arranging to have this intimate apparel made available to her. Perhaps she ran such errands for Ian all the time?
Her fingers ran over the last item in the drawer—silk stockings. She glanced nervously at the closed door to the bedroom and stuffed the garter back into the drawer. More than likely, Ian would want her to wear them, but she had no idea how to put on a garter and stockings. Besides, Lin had said hosiery was optional, hadn’t she?
On top of the bureau were two boxes—one made of cardboard and one of leather. She opened the shoe box first and gave a muted oooh of pleasure when she saw a black suede, supersexy pair of pumps nestled in tissue. Francesca wasn’t a shoe hound by any stretch of the imagination—her running shoes were the most prized and expensive item of clothing that she owned—but a woman’s heart must beat in her breast after all, because she couldn’t wait to try on the sophisticated heels. She noticed the brand and winced. The shoes probably cost more than she paid for three months’ worth of rent.
Feeling both thrilled and wary, she opened the last box. The pearls shone luminously against the black velvet lining. The necklace was an exquisite double strand, the earring studs simple. Both items epitomized understated class.
Was this all part of her payment for agreeing to let Ian possess her sexually for a period of time? The thought sickened her a little.
Setting aside the leather box, she hurried to the bathroom and dropped the blanket she’d wrapped around herself. A hot shower would ground her, help her cast off this surreal sense that kept creeping up on her stealthily. She twisted a towel around her head to keep her hair dry and turned on the water.
She walked out of the bathroom several minutes later, her skin gleaming with the scented moisturizer she’d found on the counter. She still hadn’t decided about what to do with all the expensive clothing and jewelry Ian had provided.
“We’re about an hour out. We got lucky. Conditions were perfect,” an electronic-sounding male voice said, making her start in shock. She realized it was the pilot, who spoke through a microphone somewhere. She thought of Ian out in the other compartment, glancing up, rising out of his concentration as he worked when he heard the pilot.
He expected her to wear the clothing he’d bought for her. He would be irritated if she refused. She didn’t want to do battle with him. Not tonight. Besides, hadn’t she agreed to this mad venture?
Hadn’t she sold her soul to the devil in order to fully experience his touch?
She discounted the melodramatic thought and went over to the drawer and withdrew the silk-and-lace panties.
Twenty minutes later, she walked out of the bedroom, feeling extremely self-conscious and quite sure she was going to fall on her face in the luscious heels she wore. Ian gave a brief sideways glance when she approached, then did a double take. His expression went flat as his gaze ran over her.
“I . . . didn’t know what to do with my hair,” she said stupidly. “I have some plastic clips in my purse, but they didn’t seem—”
“No,” he said, standing. Even wearing the heels, she was still a good three or four inches shorter than him. He reached out and ran his fingers through her unbound hair. At least she’d straightened it this morning, and it wasn’t too wild after her sleep. It looked smooth and lustrous next to the black dress after she’d combed it, but even Francesca—a complete fashion idiot—knew that the outfit she wore called for an upswept style. “We’ll get you something suitable to put it up tomorrow. But for tonight, you can wear it down. A crown of glory like that is never out of place.”