G-Men: The Series (115 page)

“Is there something you need, Darcy?” he asked tersely.

“Uh, well I was wondering if maybe I could get to a mall or something today. I wanted to do a little shopping while I’m here. I noticed there were several boutiques near the salon I went to yesterday, I mean if it’s not a problem,” I said, twisting my hair around a finger.

“Of course, that’s not a problem,” he replied. “I can take you or if you’d prefer, I’ll have my driver take you; it’s up to you.”

I didn’t want him going along while I shopped for something sexy and skimpy to wear tonight. After the whole deal yesterday with my hair and make-up, I preferred shopping without his input.

“If your driver’s available, that’d be great.”

“I’ll arrange it then. He’ll be ready and waiting in ten minutes,” he replied, turning away from me and proceeding down the hall.

“Great. Thank you, Easton,” I called after him meekly.

I was enjoying a bubble bath in the lovely, claw foot tub. I’d die to have a tub like this back home. My hair was piled high on top as I relaxed against the sloped back and rested my head on the rolled edge of the tub. It was so soothing after the three hours I had spent shopping. Dennis, Easton’s driver, had been a great sport. I didn’t find anything I liked at the boutiques that were nearby, so he’d driven me to some other upscale shops he knew about until I found just the right cocktail dress for my night out on the town.

I’d taken my time shopping, since Dennis was in no hurry. During my little British excursion, I kept thinking about the conversation I maybe not-so-accidentally overheard earlier when Easton was speaking to Devon over the phone. I knew a man with his power and status hadn’t gotten to where he was without having to be ruthless now and then, but for crying out loud, I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for poor Devon, getting her ass chewed like that.

I thought about the angry comments Easton had made regarding babies and motherhood. Something Lacee had said to me that day in the conference room came to mind, something about his mother having no use for him. Maybe that had soured his view of women, mothers in particular. I couldn’t imagine any mother turning her back on a child, no matter what the circumstances. I wasn’t about to pry into Easton’s private affairs—well any more than I already had, courtesy of Taz, that is.

I finished my bath, stepping into the shower long enough to wash my hair. After I finished, I was in my robe, blow drying my hair when someone knocked on the door to my suite.

“Come in!” I hollered out from the bathroom.

Easton sauntered in, our eyes connecting through the bathroom mirror. I watched him lean up against the wall by the tub, no more than six feet away from where I was drying my hair. He seemed fascinated by the way I held the blow dryer in one hand and a round brush in the other, using them expertly from years of experience.

Finished, I shut the dryer off, placed both items down on the counter and looked at him looking at me using our reflection.

“Secret bathroom rendezvous already, eh?” I asked.

He tilted his head, studying my reflection. “Hardly,” he replied softly. Stepping away from the wall, he slowly walked over to where I was standing.

“How was shopping?” he asked, standing right behind me now.

“It was fine. I found something for tonight.”

“Did you?” His hands found their way to my hair.

Even after mulling over his conversation with Devon most of the afternoon, I had to admit that I secretly loved Easton’s minor obsession with my hair and the way he could never quite stop himself from running his hands through it.

“I hope you had lunch. I apologise for not asking you before you left what time you’d be back.”

“I had Dennis stop on the way back and got a little something to tide me over,” I replied.

His hands stilled. “You’re upset about something.” Easton’s eyes met mine again in the mirror.

“No,” I replied, realizing I’d been a tad curt with him. “Everything’s good,” I reassured him. “What time are we leaving?”

Finally, looking over at him, I saw him glance at his watch. “In about an hour. I’m going to grab a shower and get ready. It’s nothing fancy tonight, so don’t feel like you have to over-dress,” he said, giving me ‘the look.’

“I’ve got it handled,” I replied, finally finding what I was looking for. Grabbing my heavy make-up bag, I made my way back into the bathroom.

Forty-five minutes later, my hair and make-up were finished, and I was slipping into the cute little cocktail dress I’d purchased earlier. It was a London fashion brand called ‘Lipsy’ that specialized in party-wear. I’d selected a short, black stretch, poly-blend dress with a ruched panel in the front and lace shoulder panels. The low-cut sweetheart neckline allowed for ample cleavage to show. The back was open with a zip fastening. I’d found a cute faux (and very fuzzy) lamb’s wool bolero jacket in black to wear with it after the evening chill set in. The shoes I’d bought to go with my ensemble were black, low-cut vamp 4-inch high-heels. Smoking hot was my first thought when I caught a glimpse of them in the storefront window.

I’d pulled my hair up on top of my head, allowing curly tendrils to cascade down around my face and neck for a messy, yet playful look. I’d just fastened my dangly earrings when Easton tapped on my door.

“The car’s waiting. Are you ready?”

“Be right there,” I called out, grabbing my clutch and jacket, heading out the door. He was waiting for me in the hall, dressed impeccably in black trousers with a matching black, loose-fitting sport jacket. He had a white tee shirt on underneath the sports jacket and wore black pointy boots.

“Hmm,” I said, giving him the onceover. “You’re quite the London boy tonight, I see.”

He was perusing my outfit, a slight frown creasing his otherwise perfect forehead. “I’m not sure about your outfit,” he said, scratching his chin.

“What? You don’t like it?” I asked, disappointed, turning my back to him so that he could finish zipping me up.

“It’s not that,” he continued, pulling the zipper up as far as it would go. “It worries me is all.”

“What are you worried about?” It was my turn to frown as I faced him once again.

“Frankly, that some of your body parts will be made public,” he replied tersely.

“I swear, sometimes you act older than my father,” I said, waltzing past him to the staircase. “I’m not changing,” I announced to his scowling face.

“At least hold onto the handrail,” he snapped following behind me. “I don’t see how women are able to walk in shoes like that. Ten to one, I’ll be carrying your ass before the night’s over.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be ‘arse’?” I teased.

“Either way, the odds are still in my favour,” he shot back, a hint of a smile making an appearance.

^{chapter 28}

~ Easton ~

I took a peek beneath my lashes for the hundredth time at Darcy’s legs as the limo was taking us to meet Colin and Veronica at “Rapture,” one of the newer London hot spots. It was easier to gawk this way; she presumed I was taking a power nap. Hell, I told her I was going to take a quick nap for this very purpose. It was difficult to openly admire her body if she was aware of it. I didn’t need her reading things that weren’t there into any of my recent actions.

Her legs were probably the most gorgeous pair I’d ever laid eyes on. I sat back, recalling how they’d felt wrapped around my torso. Her ass was epic and her tits drove me to distraction. Right now, in particular, they were fairly spilling over the bodice of that slinky excuse for a dress she was sporting. Great! Fine time for my cock to spring up and take notice! Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice since she thought I was napping.

“Easton, I know you’re
not
sleeping,” she blurted out.

Bloody hell! Did she actually notice?

“Are you trying to avoid having any conversation with me this evening?”

Oh Christ! Yet
another
reason I didn’t do relationships. Women and their
infinite
need to talk when silence would do just as well. I didn’t react to her statement. I didn’t want to talk pleasantries or otherwise right now. I was feeling myself slide into something I clearly didn’t want and it pissed me off! Having her come across the pond was simply a bad idea. I was looking forward to her going back to the States on Monday, so I would no longer be bothered with the distractions.

“Yeah, okay, have it your way,” she grumbled, uncrossing her legs and shifting away from my view, then re-crossing them and looking out the window of the limo. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in my
arse
all afternoon, anyway. I’m so looking forward to hanging with normal peeps tonight. You give Brits a bad name,” she mumbled irritably.

I felt myself smile at her remarks. “I’m only half British, Darcy,” I said, opening my eyes so I could look at her. “In case you didn’t know, I was born in the States. Trace’s father is
my
father if you recall?”

“So, what’s your point?” she asked, glancing over at me.

“My point,
darlin’,”
I said, using my version of a southern American drawl, “is maybe I get my assholiness from my American side. Have you considered that?”

She then turned back around to face me. “And
why
is it that when Brits attempt to imitate the American accent it always sounds as if everyone in the U.S. is a
hillbilly
? Talk about stereotypical generalizations.”

“What’s wrong with hillbillies?” I teased.

“There’s nothing
wrong
with hillbillies,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “It’s just that there are lots of accents in the U.S., why that one?”

She was definitely in an argumentative mood this evening. In fact, she’d been rather surly all day. God—she was probably menstrual, in which case, I may send her back across the pond on a flight yet tonight…

I sighed. “Is there some particular reason why you’re so snappy with me this evening? We don’t have to go if you’re not feeling well.”

“I feel fine. I told you that earlier.”

“Indeed,” I replied. “But I’m not convinced for some reason. If it’s an uh…a…female thing or something, I can have Dennis stop at a pharmacy before we get there.”

“Yet another stereotypical comment,” she laughed, shaking her head. “With men, it’s perfectly fine to have a mood. God help us females though. It must be
hormonal!”

Clearly, there’s an issue here.

I remained quiet for the rest of the trip. I wasn’t stupid enough to step on that hornet’s nest again.

It was a week or so after my break with Bianca. My mother had come to the manor for an unexpected visit. That was usually the case, since I never invited her over. She was dying to get the sordid details, having heard the gossip trickling in from Milan via tabloids to the London socialites.

“Oh darling,” she gushed, coming in to my study from the hall. “I’m so shocked to hear about the horrific scandal involving Bianca and that photographer! What a wretched thing she’s done to you! Do you really believe the baby she aborted was yours?”

“Thank you for your concern, Mother. I didn’t realise the news had traveled this quickly, but then I forgot how fond you are of gutter press.”