Chapter 40 My Eyes Only
I don't protest as she washes me.
When she reaches my stomach, her pace slows, and she begins rubbing the sponge in slow circles that tease above where I'm already hard for her.
Catching her wrist gently, I give a warning tsk. "Careful, Scarlett."
She looks up at me daringly through wet lashes. "Or what?"
"Or we won't make it out of this shower."
"Maybe I don't want to," she purrs.
"As tempting as that sounds," I reply, taking the sponge from her. "I already made appointments I'm not willing to cancel."
"What appointments?" She asks. There's curiosity in her tone now.
"One with a hairstylist, for you, of course. And, the second with an esthetician. Both are the best in the city, I assure you." I say casually. "After that, we can go shopping. You'll get whatever you want."
Scarlett pauses for a moment. "Lawrence…I…"
"Shhh. If we don't hurry up, we'll be late." I take the sponge from her and continue soaping myself up while she watches me in mild confusion.
"Why are you doing this for me?" She asks softly.
I pause briefly. "I'm appalled you'd even ask that, baby. You're my girlfriend. Taking care of you isn't optional."
She blushes. "Feels really nice hearing you call me that."
I merely smile in response.
When we're both clean, I grab the biggest towel and wrap it around her. Then I lift her and carry her into the bedroom while she giggles against my neck.
We both get dressed as fast as we can.
By eleven, Scarlett is settled at the salon, already being attended to.
I sit patiently in the waiting area, working on my MacBook while they work on her hair.
She's leaned back in the chair, her red hair sectioned and draped in foils, while a stylist works at her scalp.
I like the expression of peace on her face as she sits through it all.
Within two hours, her hair is finished.
Scarlett's hair appears totally changed, falling in soft, bouncy curls past her shoulders. It gives her a new look, framing her face perfectly.
"Well?" She asks, a little nervous. "Do I look like a different person?"
I close my MacBook slowly, rising to my feet. "You look beautiful."
She smiles.
"Come on," I say, offering her my hand. "The esthetician is waiting."
I almost start reconsidering dedicating today to maintenance for Scarlett, because by the time she's done with the esthetician—her skin glowing, lashes fixed, nails done, brows perfectly shaped—I realise more men will be drawn to her because of the added glow all that gives her.
She twirls slowly for me in the waiting area. "What do you think?"
"I think," I say, pulling her close, "that I'm going to have to fight off even more men at the next event we attend together."
She laughs. "You flatter me, Lawrence."
"Come on," I say softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "We have one last stop."
The drive to the private shopping suite takes approximately fifteen minutes.
Thanks to the discreet concierge service, I was able to book the entire suite.
Scarlett and I are still keeping things low-key to avoid the curious eyes or unwanted attention from the press; we have to be careful.
More importantly, it gives Scarlett the space to herself.
After everything that happened with Kieran, I want this to be easy for her. Comfortable. Safe.
I want to give her everything.
The moment we step inside, Scarlett goes still.
Her eyes widen as she takes in the racks of clothing, rows of shoes, and glass displays lined with accessories.
It's an entire floor, curated down to the last detail, for her.
"Lawrence…" she breathes, turning slowly. "My God… what is all this?"
"A wardrobe update," I say simply, shrugging like it's nothing, when in fact I spent an hour on the phone some days ago with a stylist, describing her measurements and colouring. "Pick anything you want."
Scarlett turns to me. "This is…"
"Don't say it's too much, cause it isn't." I cut in, lowering to the plush leather armchair in the waiting area just as the stylist walks in.
She's a chic woman in her thirties, wearing a warm smile.
"I can afford it. So just…" I make a motion with my hand to shoo her away. "...have fun."
Scarlett scurries over to kiss my lips.
"Thank you!" She exclaims, then runs back over to the stylist.
They walk around, selecting a few clothes, before disappearing into the dressing room.
After a short while, she comes out, and my brain suddenly forgets how to function.
The thing she's wearing is barely a dress. It's burgundy, very short, and moulded to her body like a second skin.
The front dips in a razor-sharp V that plunges straight down to her navel, the edges barely covering the inner curves of her tits.
When she gives me a slow, teasing twirl, I realise the back doesn't even exist.
Her smooth skin from her nape to the two dimples above her ass is bared, held together by the thinnest, most pathetic strands of fabric that look ready to snap.
I almost have a fucking stroke.
The thought of her wearing this anywhere near other men, especially if Beverly drags her out clubbing, makes my jaw lock so tight it freaking aches.
Every bastard in Manhattan would be staring and imagining, wanting what's mine.
I can already picture their eyes crawling over her tits, her ass.
"No." The word rips out of my throat before she can even speak. I rip my glasses off and stand.
"Absolutely not."
The stylist in the corner bites her lips, failing to hide her smile.
Scarlett raises one brow, hands on her hips. "You told me I could get anything I wanted. And I kinda like this one."
"This isn't even a dress," I growl, my eyes running over every inch of her again, but slowly. "It's a goddamn invitation to get fucked in public."
She cocks her head, all innocent. "Doesn't it look nice on me?"
"It looks…" My voice comes out rough, and I pause to exhale. "It looks terrific on you, Scar. You know you have a great body."
A deep blush spreads across her cheeks, then trails down her chest, disappearing into that sinful plunge between her breasts.
I want to follow it with my tongue.
She taps a finger to her chin, pretending to think. "Wasn't it you who said my body was 'perfectly standard'?"
I cringe, but my dick is already throbbing.
"You put my eidetic memory to shame by how well you recall everything I've ever said, Scarlett." I drawl. "I'm not sure if I'm flattered or frightened."
She laughs and walks over to the standing mirror. The backless view hits me again.
My hands itch to grab her.
"I'm taking it, Lawrence," she says, her eyes locking on mine in the reflection.
Stepping behind her till my chest touches her bare back, my hands slide possessively onto her hips.
I stroke the bare skin above her ass and feel her shiver.
"But I'll wear it when I'm out with you," she adds softly. "Deal?"
Leaning down, my lips brush the shell of her ear. "Deal," I whisper, my voice dark and rough.
"But if any other man so much as looks at you in this, I'm kicking his ass, then ripping it off you the second we get home and fucking you so hard you forget anyone else exists."