her father—and, I’m assuming from the phone call, her brother. I sent my most intimidating foot soldier and gave them ten minutes. It wouldn’t be entertaining if they weren’t worried sick. “You’ve left all of this out. You must be having a hard time finding the dresser.”
“I can do it. Let me—”
I hold up a hand to stop her, and she folds herself back against the bed. “Oh, no, darling. It’s my pleasure. I’ll let you watch. How about that? I’ll decide what’s fitting for you to wear in my house, and you can watch.”
Haley stays silent.
The first shirt comes to hand, and it’s a twin of the one she’s wearing, only in dark green. I hold it up so she can’t help but see it. “Cute, don’t you think?”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Yes, but you don’t think so.”
Oh, I do.
“A Constantine shopping the sale rack.” I flip the tag out of the collar. “Target? I’m surprised you didn’t get tagged with a dress code violation.” I toss it behind me, out the open door. “No. I don’t want to see you in that here.”
“Because it’s from Target?”
“Because it’s not sexy.”
This is an outright falsehood. The shirt she’s wearing shouldn’t be sexy in the least. But the way it nips into her waist and shows a bare hint of cleavage is doing frustrating things to my cock.
Another top. I raise my eyebrows at Haley, then toss it out the door. “So you’ve never seen another Constantine, then.”
“I’ve seen my family.” Her chin comes up. “I’ve been to Constantine parties. If I—” Haley stops herself and tries again. “My brother packed for me.”
“Ah. He wanted you to look as unattractive as possible.”
“No.” This, softer than the rest. “I think he wanted me to be comfortable.” She nods toward the leggings in my hands. “Those are my favorite.”
I stretch them until the seams pop and the fabric tears. Her eyes follow my hands, my face. The shredded remains of her favorite leggings as they join the rest of her clothes in the pile.
“They’re not my favorite, darling.” Two more tops. Two more pairs of pants. “My god. Your brother is a sadist, isn’t he?”
Anger flashes in her eyes, but she gets it under control. “He didn’t have a lot of time.”
“He had enough to pack this disaster of a wardrobe. Either he genuinely thought these would be appropriate for stepping outside your house or he wanted you to go naked. Twisted.” I laugh at the image of that little Constantine boy scrambling to choose clothes for his sister. Thinking he might one-up me, somehow. God help him.
That’s the thought that keeps my temper in check. It’s hotter by the minute, with every piece of clothing I take from the suitcase. Because, infuriatingly, I like the clothes. The cheap, stupid clothes I would never dress Haley in. I wouldn’t be caught dead letting her walk around the world in clothes from a discount store.
But I like them on her all the same. The clothes aren’t demeaning enough for what I want to do to her—not enough by far. But I fucking like them. Haley is sexy even in those outfits.
It doesn’t make sense, which pisses me off. This was supposed to be simple. I planned it that way. Embarrassing Phillip Constantine and using him as bait was going to be easy to execute and easier profit from, and if I’d known his daughter would show up and be like this, all innocent and embarrassed and trying her level fucking best not to cower...
I still would’ve done it.
All that’s left in the suitcase is a collection of underthings. I hook one of the visible bra straps around my finger and lift it into the air.
Haley watches it, her cheeks a deeper red than I thought possible.
“What’s your excuse for this?”
“I didn’t want the boys at college staring at my nipples.” This, so deadpan and so at odds with the hot red of her face, almost takes me out. Leo Morelli, dead at thirty-two of a Constantine heart attack.
Just like Haley’s shirts, her bra is cute and cheap and flimsy.
There’s only one thing for it.
I tear through the lace with my teeth.
She freezes in place, all of her still except the quick rise and fall of her chest. I would give anything to know what she’s imagining in this moment, but asking her might give her the impression that I give a fuck.
Maybe I do.
But now’s not the time for that