His Pretty Toy by Shanna Handel

Chapter 3

Ashe

The damn zipper on the dress is stuck. Shit. I’m going to be late. I shimmy as best I can, trying to bring the shiny material of the gown together in the back, hoping to relieve the tension and loosen the zipper.

It’s no use.

I scramble from my shoebox of an apartment to my neighbor Tabby’s unit. Three brisk knocks from me—our code—and the door flies open. She stares openly at me from behind the thick frames of her glasses. Her frizzy hair is like a halo around her face.

“What,” her eyes scan me head to toe, “the fuck are you wearing?”

She knows me for my jeans and tee shirts. Now I’m dressed in a blood-red, floor-length, curve-hugging, neckline-plunging, backless, no-bra piece of couture ready for the red carpet and black four-inch stilettos.

“I don’t know, but can you help me get into it? Please?” I teeter on the heels, turning around for her to zip it.

“Come here.” With a twist and a yank, she brings the zipper up to my waist. “Damn. Your ass looks like a million bucks in that dress.”

A million bucks—that’s what it feels like he’s paying for this ass.

“Thanks.” I smooth the gown down, looking it over. It’s a perfect fit. Gretchen had me send over my measurements last night, and this evening, the gown arrived with the black leather heels. There were no undergarments with the package, so I assumed and went without.

Tabby gazes at me with big eyes. “You sure about this, Ashe? You can still back out.”

When I got home yesterday, I spilled the whole story to her. About how I received the strange note, went to the estate and met with Gretchen, and about the whole indecent proposal. I just didn’t tell her the price tag.

It’s not a million. But it’s pretty unbelievable.

Tabby’s my safety, promising to call the cops if I don’t return in twelve hours. Gretchen told me that under no circumstances would I be spending the night, but who knows how long he’ll want me for?

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t make it any harder for me.” My voice softens. “You know why I have to do this.”

She nods. “I know. I know. All for a good cause.” She offers me a somewhat sincere smile. “Besides, isn’t true feminism about making choices for yourself? However slutty those choices might be.”

She pokes me in the ribs and I bat her away. “Okay, I’ve got to go. There’s a car meeting me downstairs in…” I check the clock on her wall, “shit! Ten minutes ago.”

I scramble to turn.

She gives my ass a swat. “Knock ‘em dead, kid!”

“I’ll try.” I teeter off to my apartment, grab my purse, and try to make it down the stairs without breaking my neck. Halfway down, I want to give up and slip off my shoes, but the sticky floors make me reconsider and I press on.

Outside, there’s a silver Mercedes SUV looking terribly out of place in our run-down neighborhood, trash blowing by its shiny chrome wheels. A man I recognize as the driver who handed me the note the other day stands by the door. “Ms. Ashley Barnes.”

“Just Ashe.” I breeze by him, sliding across the leather backseat. My silky gown is thin, the cold of the leather creeping over my ass. I peer around the car, eager for a glimpse at my meal ticket. “Where is Mr. Lavigne?”

“He’s awaiting your arrival at the yacht.” The door closes.

The… yacht?

“Ah, okay…” I try to think of how far we are from the lake. I’ve not been since moving out of my mom’s house outside the city. “How long is the drive?”

“About a half hour.”

Thirty minutes. Damn. I was hoping he’d be in this car, that I could get the first part of this night out of the way right away—meeting the man who bought me. But he’s not here and now I have too much time on my hands.

Nerves and doubt creep in, making my gut twist and my head feel light. I should tell the driver to stop the car. I should go home. But my mind travels to my just cause and I grab the door handle till my knuckles turn white, forcing myself to stay seated.

I can do this. I can do this. I can’t do this.

Can I?

Deep breaths, Ashe.Only I can’t take a deep breath because this damn dress is so tight around my waist, pushing my breasts up to the sky. My shoes pinch and a damp nervous perspiration dots my lower back. Everything suddenly feels so wrong. Tears burn at the backs of my eyes.

This man is a monster. Who does this? Who offers to buy someone, demands what they wear, whisks them off to a yacht…

My scrambled thoughts quiet as we pull up to a dock. That’s a… yacht? The boat looks like its own city, it’s so big and tall. I stare up at it, wide-eyed, wondering what’s in store for me.

Then I see him.

He steps out from the shadows and he’s nothing like I pictured him. The older, balding, paunchy, creepy gazed man I imagined is nowhere to be found. This man is… gorgeous.

What on earth does he want with me?

I mean, sure I cleaned up nice in couture but get rid of the dress and I’m just your average woman. I don’t even wear makeup.

And this man is not only crazy rich, but he’s also a god.

He wears a black suit, perfectly fitted for his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He stands, hands clasped behind his back, waiting. His thick, dark hair is combed back, his handsome face a mask of stoicism, save for the flicker of a muscle dancing along his tight, chiseled jaw.

I get the feeling he doesn’t do a lot of waiting.

The driver opens my door. “Ms. Ashe.”

“Thank you.” I take the hand he offers me, grateful for his help in these shoes. I stand there a moment, taking it all in. The man, the yacht, the early night breeze as it caresses my face.

Our eyes lock.

My breath catches in my throat. I’m scared. His eyes are dark and what’s behind them—he’s so serious, I feel my hands shaking.

Then he speaks. “You’re late.” His voice is deep, his tone deadly calm but irate.

No, he doesn’t do a lot of waiting.

“I guess I am.” I make my way toward him, my palms sweating. I don’t hold my hand out to greet him. He’s too far and my hand is too damp from nerves. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Ashley.” He looks me up and down. Tingles dance behind the trail of his gaze.

“Ah—it’s just Ashe,” I say.

“I prefer Ashley.” He stares at me, daring me to argue. I don’t. “And Ashley?”

“Yes?” My voice comes out as a squeak.

“I don’t do late.”

“Okay. Point taken.” A few more wobbly steps and I’ll be within an arm’s reach of him.

One… two… three… almost there. The tip of the stiletto gets caught in between the wood planks of the dock. I go flying.

“Shit!” My ankle turns and I fall forward.

“Whoa.” He reaches out, grabbing me in his strong arms. “Walk much?”

I go to think of a snide remark but I’m frozen, staring up at him. The scent of his cologne wafts around me, masculine and clean. The heat from his hands transfers to my bare skin as he grips me. We’re so close he’d only have to lean down to kiss me.

He lets me go.

Without a backward glance, he walks toward the boat. I guess this is where I follow a stranger into the night, hoping he’s not a serial killer. Taking a deep breath, I move forward.

And almost tumble once more. The pointy heel of my black stiletto is stuck in the floorboards. I’m trapped. And he’s almost to the boat.

“Ah… a little help here? I’m stuck.” I tug at my foot but it’s no use.

He turns, one dark brow cocking to the heavens. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously.” What’s his problem? He’s the one who wanted me. Now his face is wrinkled with disdain.

He looks at me as if debating whether to call the whole thing off and leave me there with one shoe. After a hefty sigh, he comes to my rescue.

He goes down on one knee before me. “Hold still.”

His hand slips under my dress, up my bare, just shaven and moisturized leg. My skin feels hot where he holds it. My hand goes to his broad shoulder to steady myself.

He flinches when I touch him. An instant wave of humiliation crashes through me. Am I that undesirable?

He slips my foot from the shoe, holding it in the air so it won’t touch the ground. With his other hand, he gently wiggles the shoe, back and forth so as not to damage it as he extracts it from the dock.

He succeeds, slipping it back on my foot. “Try to be more careful.” His tone is annoyed, harsh, but when his eyes meet mine, I wonder if I’d imagined the flinch.

There’s something there between us, an energy, a tension, and it makes an excited curiosity warm my belly.

He stands, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Come.”

The warmth oozes from my belly, creeping through my core, heating me between my legs. He guides me to the boat, offering me his hand as we reach the stairs.

I slip my hand in his and his fingers close around it, big and strong and warm.

I feel almost protected. Then I remember how I got here, how a man with too much power and money demanded me and got me. I swallow back the shame and climb the stairs.

When I reach the top, I’m mesmerized by the view. The setting sun is just about to disappear, beneath the rippling horizon of water. A woman with a perfectly groomed bun wearing a uniform-like outfit, a white button-down shirt and black pencil skirt, offers me a glass of champagne and I accept. I take a long sip of the crisp, bubbly liquid, and smile.

If I’m going to sell my soul, I’m going to enjoy it. If I can. A lot of that depends on my host and what he has in store for me. For my body.

I sneak a glance at him. He stands tall, his jaw clenched with irritation, an attribute I’m beginning to find incredibly sexy. My pussy clenches, my body out of sync with my worrying mind. I feel that oozy warm sensation of arousal between my thighs. If this keeps up, the silk dress will be ruined. I press my thighs together, taking a deeper sip of my drink.

The breeze comes off the water. Modern classical music plays softly, piped in over the speakers on the boat. I can do this. The champagne is kicking in. I’m just beginning to relax when he reaches over, taking my glass from me.

His eyes are cold, his tone ice. “It’s time you find out what happens to little girls who keep me waiting.”