I stare at the dress laying in the middle of my bed with so many questions on the tip of my tongue that I don’t know which I should voice first.
Where the fuck did the dress come from?
How the fuck did it get into my apartment?
How the hell did they know my dress size?
Is it actually the designer it says on the label because if it is, it could pay off all my debt and then some.
Who am I kidding? I know the answer to all of those questions without ever having to ask any of them out loud.
Rayne fucking Saint James.
When I woke up yesterday after sleeping for fifteen straight hours, Rayne was gone, but he was all could see, all I could smell. He had invaded my small space and now everywhere I looked, I saw him. He left his mark on my apartment, and when I finally dragged myself from the sanctuary of bed, I found the note he left me on the kitchen table. Words were sprawled across the paper in the familiar scratchy handwriting I recognized from when Rayne helped me in the office.
Something came up, I won’t be at the Center today.
I had some groceries delivered while you were asleep, I expect you to eat something.
I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow night for the gala.
Rayne.
I stared at the words for longer than I should have, analyzing what they meant. Did he regret what we did? Surely he would have woken me if he needed to leave unless that were the case. The harsh bite of rejection burned more than I would ever admit. I understood. I’d had a few one-night stands over the years, but I thought it was more than that. The way he spoke, constantly talking about my safety and health, stocking my fridge and cupboard like a professional chef was about to move in, how he forced me to take the money because he didn’t want me to go back to the club, it seemed like the opposite of rejection.
And then the dress arrived while I was at the venue setting up the tables and making sure everything was ready for the night. I was hoping to avoid having to work throughout the gala because Dad needed me to network. He wasn’t good at that kind of thing, and I often took the reins.
The dress is stunning, way better than the one I was planning on wearing. The floor-length gown has a slit up one leg, long lacy sleeves to cover the bruises Russo left on my wrist, and a plunging neckline that will make my chest look incredible. The only problem is that I’m covered in hickeys.
Rayne marked me so many times I’m grateful for winter because I’ve had an excuse to wear a scarf whenever I’m outside the apartment. When I first looked in the mirror, I thought I had been attacked in my sleep, but then I brushed my fingers across the darkened skin and remembered how his mouth felt as he made each mark.
I never thought I would like pain in the bedroom, never going beyond a few quick slaps to the ass, but holy shit, the pain that mingled with the unbelievable pleasure Rayne tore from my body was intoxicating. Just thinking about it now makes me crave it.
I don’t know what to think now that the dress has arrived. I thought he left to avoid the inevitably awkward morning after. The fact that he sent an expensive dress, the most incredible designer shoes I’ve ever seen, in my size might I add, and jewelry to complete the outfit seems to suggest that maybe I was wrong. Maybe he did leave because he had something going on and he wanted to let me sleep.
No. I can’t allow myself to fall for Rayne. He’s not a good guy, and the more I allow myself to get attached to the big bad wolf, the more likely I was to get bitten. Even if he isn’t the one to hurt me, his enemies will. I’m not so naive to think I can get involved with a criminal without having any repercussions. Hell, look what happened during my last dance with an ex-con, I got conned. Anything Rayne was into was almost definitely worse than whatever petty crime Brad was doing while we were together, which means the stakes are higher, and so is the threat to me and all I hold dear.
I bite my lip. Even if I’m not going to let things go any further with Rayne, it would be rude not to wear his gift, wouldn’t it?
Two hours later, I’m primped and primed and climbing from my dad’s old classic Mustang out front of the gala. Camera flashes catch me off guard as I slip out of the car and plaster a smile on my face. This is the part of these nights that I’ll never get used to. But it comes part and parcel with the guests we invite, hoping to attract the donations we need.
Butterflies fill my belly as I smile and pose for photos I know will never be seen. Last year there was one photo of Dad and me in the paper, and it was only because we were posing with the mayor of Chicago.
I’m more nervous than I can ever remember being, because we need the donations more than we ever have. The Center is struggling to keep the programs we have going, and if we can’t raise enough money tonight, I worry we’ll have to start cutting down more than we already have. It’s the reason I’ve killed myself the last few months planning tonight. I need everything to go well.
I know Dad is nervous too. He fidgeted as he drove, tapping on the steering wheel restlessly, and changing the radio station six times.
I take a deep breath once we’re past the paparazzi. Thank fuck that’s over. Now the real work begins.
I snatch a glass of champagne from the passing waitress and step into the ballroom we’ve rented for the evening. The Saint James family purchasing the tables they did allowed us to upgrade to the larger room at the function venue, and there are more tables than we’ve ever had in the past. Hopefully that means there will be plenty of money rolling in.
“Emerson!” Jack, one of the older boys from the Center, waves. He’s wearing a suit that his grandmother found him at a local thrift store, but you wouldn’t know from looking at him.
“Oh my goodness, don’t you look handsome!” I grin.
We always have some of the kids attend, it’s an incredible opportunity for them, and it allows the donors to see what we do. When I asked Jack if he wanted to come a few weeks ago, I’ve never seen the kid’s face light up like that.
“You look really pretty.” Jack smiles at me.
“Thank you, Jack.” I can’t help the grin that tugs at my lips. The moment reminds me of why we do this, of why I’ve worked so hard over the last few months to make this happen. For kids like Jack.
One of the other boys calls him over and he quickly heads back to his table. Dad looks around in awe and pride bubbles in my chest.
“This is incredible, Em. You’ve really outdone yourself.”
“Thanks Dad.” I drop my empty glass onto a passing tray and take a deep breath. I needed the champagne to settle the nerves threatening to pull me under.
“There’s Senator Cane. We should go talk to him.” Dad points as the first of our guests start to arrive.
Here goes nothing.
I’m on my third glass of champagne and smiling dutifully at my sixth politician when I feel eyes on me. I don’t turn right away, trying to stay in the conversation as Dad talks about the breakfast program, telling our audience about the kids that sometimes don’t eat for an entire day. Their faces all turn down into frowns, but whether or not that sympathy will translate to donations is yet to be seen.
I glance over my shoulder and meet eyes so dark they’re unmistakably Rayne.
His gaze is intense, freezing me in place, unable to look away and somehow pulling me toward him.
I excuse myself and walk toward the table he’s standing beside, wearing a fitted suit that shows off the impressive planes of his body. I would have drooled if I hadn’t already seen his bare chest, so delicious I wish I had taken the opportunity to lick every inch of skin he showed the other night.
“Sweet girl.” The greeting comes out as a growl, and my step falters. He sounds mad, but I don’t understand why. He’s the one that left me yesterday, the one that hasn’t checked in aside from breaking into my apartment to leave a dress and no note.
“Rayne.” I force a smile to my lips, stopping a few feet away from him. I can’t trust myself to get too close. My body is drawn to him, and the closer I get, the more likely I am to walk straight into the flame.
“I went to your apartment to pick you up, imagine my surprise to find you weren’t there.”
My eyes widen. He went to pick me up? “I-I-I didn’t think you meant it, and I needed to arrive with Dad anyway. When I didn’t hear from you today, I assumed you were busy.” I shrug like the idea of his rejection hadn’t been playing on my mind since the moment I woke up without him.
“I thought you would know by now that I don’t say anything I don’t mean.” His voice is harsh, menacing even, and I find myself wanting to appease him, to hear him praise me like he did as he played my body like it was an instrument he’s been playing his entire life.
I tug my bottom lip between my teeth, only fleetingly thinking about the red lipstick that covers it. “I’m sorry. I just assumed…”
“I was very clear with my instructions in my note, Emerson. It seems you’re not always very good at following directions, are you?” Rayne brushes my curls over my shoulder and grimaces as though he’s taking me in for the first time. “You covered my marks.” His fingers trail along my collarbone and down my bare cleavage.
I follow his eyes, feeling proud of the makeup I managed to stack on to cover the excessive number of bruises that marred my skin. “I had to. It looks like I’d been mauled by a wild animal.” I roll my eyes and pick up a glass of champagne as it passes. I need it if I’m going to deal with Rayne’s intensity.
“How many of those have you had?” he barks.
The glass pauses a breath from my lips, and I stare at him with wide eyes. I don’t understand what he’s so upset about. Everything I’ve done tonight has made him mad, and it makes me uneasy.
“Why do you care?” I snap. “And don’t even think about saying my health and safety is a priority because I’m covered in so many bruises from you, Jackson Pollock might call for his fucking artwork back.”
