Page 71 of The Bronze Garza

“Oh, you cocky, cocky bastard,” I mumble to myself as I watch him go.

I’m unable to focus after that, itching to dash across to the condo to see the outfit he got me. But I force myself to remain seated and wait for a full forty minutes before I shut down my laptop and amble at snail’s pace through the gardens, over the pool area bridge, and back across to the condo. Just in case he’s somewhere watching me. I’d hate to give him the satisfaction of knowing how eager I am.

When I get up to my room, I find a garment bag hanging outside the closet door, a shoebox on the bed, and a smaller black box on top.

I set my laptop down on the dresser and go for the garment bag first. Unzip it.

I smile.

Just like that, he got it right. Purple, thigh-length, flirty, with a flouncy hemline. But what I appreciate the most is the demure high neck, which means neither my cleavage or bare back will be on display. The last thing I want is to have a bunch of strange men at a “thing” staring down my cleavage.

Even before I was taken, I was never a skin-exposer, always dressed in over-sized clothes, sometimes multiple layers—unless the weather demanded fewer. In Russia, I’d been forced to become comfortable prancing around half-naked twenty-four-seven. It was hard at first, but eventually became second nature.

Now that I have a choice again, I still prefer adequate coverage. It’s always jeans and t-shirts two sizes larger for me whenever I’m going out in public. Today is the first time in alongtime that I’ve donned short shorts, and they’re not even mine. Tillie loaned them to me this morning.

What this dress choice tells me is that Torin has been paying attention. He’s more thoughtful than I give him credit for.

Smiling, I tuck the dress back inside the garment bag and zip it closed, then pad over to the bed. I pick up the small black box and open it. Waterfall gold earrings. They’re absolutely gorgeous.

I open the Rene Caovilla shoebox next. Golden sandals. Again, freakinggorgeous.

Who did he enlist to help him pick these out? There’s no way that grumpy, miserable, human-hating bastard did this on his own.

Feeling like Cinderella, I fall back onto the bed and hug them to my chest. Then, I begin counting down the hours.

ChapterNineteen

“Because I want you with me tonight.”

Lyra

Monica and Tillie are in theliving room watching a movie when I make my way downstairs, all primped and raring to go. I haven’t been this eager to go out in ages.

Both women’s attention come to me, confusion creasing their faces.

“You’re going out?” Monica asks.

I nod as I go to the kitchen for a drink of water.

“Let me rephrase.Shouldyou be going out? I thought you came here to lay low. Whatever that means for you.”

“Maybe not,” I say, filling a glass under the tap. “But it’s Torin who invited me out, so I think I’ll be fine.”

Monica and Tillie exchange looks.

Careful not to smudge my lipstick, I sip the water.

“Torin?” Monica asks as though she doesn’t believe me. “As in my son Torin?”

“MybrotherTorin?” Tillie chimes in, also with disbelief.

It’s hard not to take umbrage to their tones and expressions. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to become part of your family or anything. I’m aware I’m no Lexi. I’m just a job and he’s taking pity on me.”

“Oh, no, no, that’s not what—” Monica starts, but a key turning in the lock cuts her off. We all look to the side door as it sweeps open and Torin walks in.

My heart skips a beat and I gulp down a sigh. He’s so stinking handsome it hurts to look at him.

He’s semi-casual, in black jeans and a black button-down with the arms folded up to his elbows, first three buttons undone, the neckline of a white tank peeking out.