Chapter Three
Samantha
When the elevator doors open, Dante leads me down a short hallway. Dark wood paneling, marble floor. Everything gleams. He unlocks the door at the end of the hallway and steps aside, waving me in.
The first glimpse of his penthouse gives me a definite “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” kind of feeling. The same dark wood paneling from the hallway wraps around the wide-open area, except for one wall of windows, which looks right out over the bay. A kitchen and dining area are at one end, expensive-looking stainless steel appliances and black granite everywhere. Wood floors span the area. At the other end is a large living room with dark gray furniture and a large fireplace.
“Your room is this way,” he says, heading down a hallway. I follow, taking in the gleaming floors, the expensive looking artwork on the walls. He opens a set of French doors and steps into a room. I follow.
This room looks out over the bay as well. Another set of French doors leads out onto a small balcony. There’s a fireplace, a king-sized four-poster bed, an antique-looking dressing table, and a dresser.
“Bath is this way,” he says, opening another door and turning the light on. A huge clawfoot tub, sleek white tile.
“We need to lay out some rules here,” he says, and I nod. “You will live with me until the month is up. When I need to attend an event, which is often, you will accompany me. You will wear what I tell you to wear. You’ll be where I want you to be. You’ll take care of yourself. Pamper yourself. Eat well. When I want you to spend time with me, I expect you to do it. You’ll eat your meals with me.”
I bite back a comment about how bossy he is. But of course he’s bossy. He just paid a million dollars for me. He can be as bossy as he wants.
“Speaking of events, you’ll be accompanying me tonight. You’ll wear this,” he says, opening the closet doors. My jaw drops at the sight of the stunning red Valentino evening gown and matching shoes.
“How did you know my size?” I ask dumbly.
“Harry has all of your measurements,” he answers, and I nod. Of course.
“Be ready to go by seven. Wear that. I assume you can handle your hair and makeup, or do I need to call someone?”
“I can manage just fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice pleasant. What an arrogant ass.
“Good. Get ready. And when we get there, don’t talk unless you’re spoken to.”
I bite back a smart ass reply, settling for a curt nod instead. He stalks out without another word, closing the doors behind him.
“Don’t talk unless you’re spoken to,” I mutter, mimicking Dante’s gruff, commanding tone. I look at the gown again. It’s obviously expensive as hell, and I know before I even pull it on that it’ll fit me like a glove. I run my fingertips over the silk and shake my head.
Okay. So this was not what I expected. I mean, really, I had no idea what to expect. A month of lap dances? Thirty days of me prancing around naked whenever he told me to? I don’t know. From the hungry way I’ve caught him looking at me, I get the distinct impression that he’s thinking he’d like me to spend a lot of time on my back or knees.
I also know, from the way he behaved at the club, that whether that happens or not will be my choice. This isn’t a man who needs to force a woman, or a man who needs to pay for sex. I know that as surely as I know my own name. Why I’m here at all is a mystery to me, but I’ll take it. This is saving my Pops. This is giving both of us a fresh start.
And, yeah…part of me is scared to death that Dante’s going to want more. And another part of me wonders what he’ll be like if I decide to give him what he wants.
I grimace. I would lose my virginity to a man who is paying me. I’ve held onto it for so long, much longer than any other girl I knew, expecting that my first time would be with a man I was head over heels in love with. I knew there are men out there who are more than happy to use a woman and then toss her aside. I promised myself I’d never give myself to someone who didn't respect me.
And here I am. Contemplating the possibility of giving myself to a man who is paying for my time. I’ve been thinking about how he’d feel inside me since the first time his dark, hard gaze met mine, and I’ve barely stopped since.
My stupid, romantic dreams versus my father’s life. It wasn’t even a debate. I can fall in love later. My father was running out of time, and I couldn’t lose him, too.
I spend some time doing my makeup and pulling my hair into a perfect chignon. It looks sleek and sophisticated. It goes with the dress.
I am playing a part. Acting. All I need to do is keep reminding myself of that.
When I slide the dress on, it fits as perfectly as I suspected it would. It’s a gorgeous, off-the-shoulder gown that clings to every one of my curves. There’s a slit up one thigh, and my breasts are on the verge of spilling out of it.
I’ll have to remember not to breathe too hard, or Dante’s going to have to worry about a lot more than me speaking to someone without being spoken to.
I dab on some of my perfume and look myself over. I don’t recognize myself. Well, almost. This is the me who goes out on stage and wows the audience, an actress made for a role.
Maybe, at my core, that’s all I truly am.
***
When I step out into the living room, Dante’s standing at the windows, holding an amber-colored drink in one of his hands. He turns and looks at me, and his eyes darken.
“Much better than that slutty schoolgirl costume,” he says, and I nod. It isn’t exactly a compliment, but why should I expect one?
He sighs. “Well, let’s go.” We head out, and he rests his hand at the base of my spine as I walk past him out of the penthouse. The heat of his palm sears my flesh through the slinky fabric of my gown, and I nearly trip. I do wonder, for about the hundredth time since he told me we were going out, why he didn’t have a date for this. I thought about asking him but changed my mind. It was probably best if we didn’t talk to each other too much. I don’t need to get to know him. I just need to make it through the month.
A black stretch limo is waiting in the garage, and the chauffeur helps me into the back. Dante follows, and within moments we’re driving away. I glance up at him to see him sitting in the seat across from me, dark eyes on me. His gaze flicks down to my chest and I blush.
“It, um,” I begin, clearing away the weird little catch in my throat at the way he’s looking at me, “It fits perfectly. This dress probably cost more than the house I used to live in,” I add with a nervous little laugh. Why the hell won’t he stop looking at me like that, like I’m some kind of package he’s just dying to unwrap?
“It does. I had a feeling you’d look good in red.”
I blush and glance away, and when I look back at Dante, he’s wearing this little smirk that has me pressing my thighs together.
He gives me one more assessing look, like he’s picturing me without the dress or anything else, and then he looks away. “This event is going to be boring as hell. Stay on my arm unless I tell you to go elsewhere. Smile and nod when people introduce themselves to you. If you’re forced to answer any questions, you’re an old friend of mine accompanying me for the night. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“But, in general—”
“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Don’t speak unless I’m spoken to. I got it.”
“Does that bother you, me telling you what to do?”
I shrug.
“Answer.”
“You’re the one shelling out the big bucks, right? I’ll keep my mouth shut all you want, boss.”
“But it bothers you,” he presses, and I wonder what the hell he cares.
“Lots of things bother me. Right this second, I’m finding that you’re bothering me with questions that are pointless for me to answer.”
“Did you just politely suggest that I shut up, Samantha?” he asks, and there’s a gleam to his gaze that has me squirming, just a little.
“I didn’t think I was all that polite about it, but sure.”
“Man, I could think of a few fun ways to put that sassy mouth to use,” Dante mutters, and I shoot him a glare that feels mostly like a farce, because my body’s about to combust at the deep growl in his voice. He looks out his window again, and I force myself to stop drooling over the way his muscles bulge under his tux, or how large his hands are, or how they felt when he touched me earlier.
It’s going to be a long night.