Page 97 of From Hell
Dread in my gut sits like a dead corpse, heavy and bloated, unable to be moved.
“I needed something to wear.” At my feet is a bag containing a cheap dress I grabbed off a rack before we left the mall. It’s not something I would ever buy.
Smirking, he saunters over, his gaze sliding to mine. “You never buy new. It’s not sustainable.”
I blink up at him, shivering not from the cold but at the carnal way he looks at me. “You remembered.”
“I distinctly recall you telling me off for adding to the landfill problem.” I did. I got on my high horse when I learned how much he spent on his wardrobe every season. I cast my eyes over his assemble today. Tailored. Almost definitely. “Not that you listened.”
“I’ll call Pippa, my stylist. She’ll sort you out.”
I narrow my eyes, irritation running hot over my skin like sandpaper. “I told you, I have a dress.”
He raises a brow and gives my cheap shopping bag a cursory glance. “Whatever is in there, you can take it back. Reduce landfill.”
Uncurling my legs from under me, I snatch up my bag. “So I can buy something even more expensive from your personal stylist?”
“Pippa runs Rewind Wear. A styling company that loans or resells designer clothes once they’ve been commissioned and worn and then donates the profits to charity.” He pulls out his phone, types a succinct message to someone, and then pockets it. “She’ll be here in twenty minutes.” He sighs. “I’ll need to explain about the shirt you hacked up.”
I stare at him, open-mouthed. Unable to say squat back.
When Pippa arrives with a portable wardrobe of diamond-studded dresses that must cost the earth, I like her immediately, much to my annoyance. She’s direct, helpful, and honest regarding what I look like. Before she rushes off to her next appointment, having squeezed her favorite client in as a favor, she zips me into a gown made for some distant European Princess who is perfectly my size. She also leaves several dresses and outfits commissioned and donated by celebrities, such as pop idol Lana Langfield, and some eye-popping negligée with leather straps in the spare room wardrobe.
“For your time with Jaxon,” she winks before air-kissing Jaxon and leaving us alone.
Time with Jaxon?I’ve no idea what she means by that, but I can only imagine it implies that she dresses Jaxon’s dates a hell of a lot.
When I emerge from the bedroom half an hour later, with my hair and makeup done, wearing the princess dress…Jaxon’s reaction is worth it. His eyes track me across the room as I saunter to his living area bar to make myself a drink.
The dress is a vision with a bodice, peplum, and a delicate shoulder shrug sweeping down to a mermaid skirt covered with black diamonds, each glistening like drops of dew across a midnight fabric. The smaller stones form intricate patterns around a larger gem at the waist, like constellations in the night sky.
I nearly threw up when Pippa told me it was a five-carat black diamond set in white gold.
I knock back a straight vodka and then meet those molten silver eyes. “What?”
“I might have to kill someone today with you looking like that.”
Normally, I’d laugh like it was a joke. But with Jaxon, it’s not, and to make it worse, my skin blisters hot, and warmth dips down into my stomach at his words.
Why do I like that he says things like that? What’s wrong with me?
I must be broken. It can’t be normal to lust after a man who rips women apart on his nights off. I don’t have evidence that Jaxon is the Ripper, but I’ve always known it in my dark, twisted heart.
Like attracts like, that’s what they say, right?
Jaxon drives us to the charity auction event to raise funds for the Foundation. In the privacy of the Maybach, he looks like any other arrogant billionaire; classical music waltzes heavily through the air between us, and the scent of rich leather and cherries threatens to drug me as Jaxon drives dangerously fast, attacking the country roads as though they might disappear into the night.
He’s so arrogant that even the traffic gives way to him. As if reading my thoughts, he looks my way. “Penny for your thoughts?”
I fidget in my seat, sweating in my diamonds. May as well come out with it. What’s the worst that could happen? I stare at the darkened road, luminous with the glare of headlights, and swallow my fear. “I don’t appreciate you still stalking me.”
His gaze burrows under my skin, almost like it could enter my soul, even though I’m not looking at him. After a few seconds, I give in and meet his half-lidded look. “When?” There’s a sharp edge to his tone.
“Today, you followed me to the mall to make sure that was what I was doing.”
The muscle in Jaxon’s jaw tightens.
“You can’t follow me everywhere,” I carry on.