16. Clara

CHAPTER 16

Clara

Breakfast is indeed just breakfast. Thomas takes me to a gorgeous Renaissance-style cafe flooded with morning light, and I do my best to focus on bite after bite of my mushroom omelet instead of the man sipping coffee across from me. He hasn't said anymore about what he expects from this banquet, or from me.

He hasn't said anything about what we did in his car, and at this point, I'm afraid he never will.

At least I'm wearing my own clothes today. Well, new clothes, the ones Iris bought for me. Running around without underwear yesterday was not comfortable.

Though it did make it easier for Thomas to undress me in his car…

When we've finished eating, Thomas walks me to a boutique right next door. The two women standing at the desk up front greet us with elegant smiles.

"Good morning Mr. Warwick!" one of them says. "We were so honored to be chosen to fit your beautiful date for this occasion."

I feel my cheeks flush, but Thomas doesn't respond to the word at all. "Miss Benton, Miss Valdez, this is Clara Speare," he says.

The sound of my last name makes both of them start, but they quickly regain their composure. I wonder what Thomas stands to gain by spreading the word that he and I are out together, and decide it's easier if I don't know.

Miss Benton, who seems to own the shop, leads us to one of three sitting areas sunk into the floor of the boutique. There is a pedestal in the middle surrounded by plush couches, and three floor-length mirrors are set up between them. A circular curtain rod and a velvet curtain hangs from the ceiling, providing privacy to the person on the pedestal when outfits have to be changed. It feels viscerally wrong to be led onto the pedestal by Miss Valdez, and I carefully avoid Thomas's gaze as he sits on the sofa directly in front of me.

I expect the two tailors to bring out a selection of dresses, but Miss Benton only fetches one from an otherwise empty rack nearby. It's a backless evening gown in the softest shade of lavender. Tiny pearl beads drape across the open back, and the silk skirt swirls around itself like running water. I can feel my mouth fall open as it's brought toward me.

I can't wear this. It's more elegant on its own than I could ever hope to be.

"All right, let's see how it fits," Miss Benton prompts, handing the dress over to Miss Valdez and reaching for the curtain to pull it around us.

"Leave it open," Thomas orders from the couch.

All three of us freeze, but my tailors recover quickly yet again. They exchange intrigued and mischievous looks while I turn red from head to toe. Thomas tilts his head expectantly, and I almost want to curse him.

Instead, I open the buttons of my shirt, one by one. Slide my pants down my hips until they pool on the floor. I shouldn't let him intimidate me like this. I shouldn't be embarrassed. I raise my head, trying to brave the attention, but it's a mistake. Thomas's eyes travel meticulously over every inch of skin I've exposed, and his gaze is as good as fingers on skin.

When I'm left in nothing but my new underwear and bra, the tailors step forward to help me into the dress. The material is cool and impossibly smooth. It's a little loose in the hips, but with some carefully placed pins, Miss Valdez perfects the fit of it.

"What a wonderful choice, Mr. Warwick," Miss Benton praises, and I meet Thomas's eyes in surprise. He chose this dress for me? And there weren't any others waiting to try, which means that he saw this one and knew without even seeing it on me that it would be right.

It feels as intimate as a touch, and I don't know how to process that.

Thomas's hazel eyes search my face. Can he tell I've been thrown by him again? "Give us a moment alone," he says without breaking my gaze.

This time, the tailors can't quite hide their smiles. They hurry toward the door of what I assume is an office, and disappear within with a bitten off giggle.

Thomas stands, and when he steps onto the pedestal with me, I realize this is it. His face is stoic but his eyes are on fire. He's going to take me in his arms and ravish me right here in the middle of this boutique.

And I've been waiting for it. I've been craving it.

He stops inches from me. His hands are so, so warm when he takes my shoulders, but my whole body thrills with goosebumps. He applies the slightest pressure and I comply, turning in place as he guides me to face one of the floor length mirrors.

"Look at that," Thomas murmurs, and I do. He probably means that I'm supposed to be looking at the fine gown he's buying me.

But all I can see is him.

He's behind me in the mirror, his broad shoulders framing mine, his face tipped toward my bare neck. I have to fight hard to maintain my good posture, to not arch back into him and rest my head on his shoulder. Would he like me to watch as he raises the lavender silk of my skirt and puts his fingers inside me?

My throat is so dry I can't even swallow. My cheeks are as red as my hair, and blush is spreading to my neck and collarbone. Thomas meets my eyes in the mirror, casually observing the effect he has on me.

His hands run down my arms, mirroring the way he touched me after the fire. This is seduction, calculated, carefully crafted. The difference now is that I know how this can end, the amount of pleasure this man can give me. What if I don't care that he's trying to get something out of me if I have the chance to feel that again? If I walk into it with my eyes open, is he really the one manipulating me in this scenario?

"I think," he says, low and slow in my ear, "that you've been running long enough."

One of his hands moves behind me, and I shiver when his fingertips brush through the pearls hanging down my back, tickling my skin. "I think that it would be a much better use of your time and energy to shape this world to be exactly what you want it to be, instead of trying to leave it behind."

That touch traces my spine, going down, down, down the bare length of my back. "I think that if you put your mind to it, you could accomplish anything .

"And I think, Clara," he whispers, letting his lips move over my bare shoulder, "that you look like a goddamn perfect mafia wife."

I suck in a breath. My spine is turning to liquid under his teasing touches, and I don't fight it anymore. I arch into him, my butt pressing back into his crotch. Between too thin layers of fabric, I feel him pulse against me. A tiny mew of desire escapes my lips.

I don't want to be standing when he takes me again. In the front seat of the car, I was on top of him because there was hardly room for anything else. But now, we have an abundance of soft couches to choose from. I want him to lay me out on one of them and cover me entirely with the weight of his body. I want him to order Benton and Valdez to close the boutique and leave. What could Thomas do to me with endless free hours and no bodies to hide in a car? What if he had the space to put his mouth between my legs? Could he force himself even deeper inside me, maybe rearrange my insides to make room for all of him? I want to know, I want to know, I want to know .

It'll be a shame to wrinkle this beautiful dress, but there are few inanimate objects in this world I'd regret destroying for the sake of getting Thomas inside me again.

Thomas presses his hips forward, grinding his hard, impressive length against me. His hot breath puffs against my shoulder. "Was that your first time?" he whispers.

I reach back with one trembling hand and squeeze his thigh. A plea, a demand. "Y-Yes," I gasp, an admission as much as a reassurance. I'm ready for him, can't he see it? Why tease us both by keeping us clothed and standing for one more moment? "Yes!"

Then- Thomas is gone. He steps off the pedestal and returns to his spot on the couch, which is behind me now that he made me turn around. The loss of him is so abrupt that I almost stumble, but I regain my balance just in time. My chest is heaving like I've run a race. My pupils are too wide. I clench my trembling hands together to keep them from fisting in the silk of my gown and ruining it.

All of a sudden, I realize how insane I'm being. I look wild and hungry in this mirror, a feral cat draped in finery. Just yesterday I thought of Thomas as a predator wearing a nice suit, but now… I see a hint of that in myself, too. And I can't take my eyes off the woman I could be.

A goddamn perfect mafia wife .

For the first time in my life, I wonder what that would be like. Me, at the helm of my family. The Warwicks and the Speares reunited. The city, our oyster.

No, not for the first time. Because I was a fifteen-year-old once, and I'd had an embarrassing crush on the heir of the Warwick family. And on the very few occasions that the two of us were in a room together, for a formal dinner or a family event or what have you, I'd daydream about catching his eye. I'd imagine Thomas Warwick and I as king and queen of everything-

I blink, pulling myself forcibly out of the dream. I'm back in the boutique in a gown chosen for me, and Thomas is in the mirror's reflection, watching my face closely.

I can't believe myself. Just yesterday I'd accepted that my mother was dead because she didn't get out when she should. Now I'm being tempted by sex and power? This isn't what I want. I want the freedom to paint. I want a gallery and to live in peace.

It's a relief when Miss Benton and Miss Valdez poke their heads into the room a few minutes later. They help me out of the gown so they can make their final adjustments, and I redress quickly.

As Thomas and I walk out of the boutique, I get the feeling I've failed a test. And that Thomas isn't the only one disappointed by that.