Lorenzo is right. She needs clothes. Why is she being so obstinate about his generous offer? It’s because he’s done so much for her already. She trots beside him along the quay, trying to ignore the scandalized voice that rings in her head.
He is not your husband. He is not your husband.
She shakes her head.
Enough!
She’s not going to let anything make her feel guilty. He was good to her and she likes him!
Also Lorenzo said that she is on holiday, and if it gives him pleasure...After the pleasure he’s given her, how can she refuse? She blushes recalling his...what did he call it?
Early-morning wake-up call.
Danica fights back her smile. He could wake her up like that any day. And he cooked her breakfast again.
He is spoiling her.
She hasn’t been spoiled in a very long ti.
Ever?
She glances up at him as they walk into the center of Padstow, and her heart lurches. He looks down at her, his eyes lively, and his handso face erupts into a wide grin. He looks roguish this morning. It must be the stubble on his face. She likes the feel of it beneath her tongue. She loves the feel of it against her skin.
Danica!
She had no idea she could be so wanton.
Lorenzo has woken a monster. She laughs to herself.
Who knew?
Her thoughts take a somber turn. What is she going to do when they go back to town and the holiday cos to an end? She wraps one hand around his biceps and squeezes his hand with the other. She doesn’t want to think about that. Not now. Not today.
This is a holiday.
As they walk, the words beca her mantra.
This is a holiday.
Padstow is bigger than Valon, but the old, cramped houses and narrow lanes are the sa. It’s a picturesque little town. The place is bustling with people, tourists and locals out enjoying the sunshine in spite of the cold. There are children eating ice cream. Young people holding hands, like Lorenzo and her. And older people happily arm in arm.
Danica is amazed that people can express their affection so freely on the streets. It feels foreign to her.
************
*LORENZO*
I turn into the first shop that sells won’s clothing. It’s a local chain store, and I stand in the middle of the shop staring at all that’s on offer. Everything looks pleasant enough, but frankly I’m a little overwheld.
Danica is hanging on my arm like a limpet. And I have no idea where to start. I’d had the vague idea that I’d have her cooperation, her enthusiasm, even but she doesn’t seem interested in the rchandise.
A young sales assistant approaches us. Blond and breezy, with a bright, girl-next-door smile and a bouncing ponytail to match, she asks, “Can I help you, sir?”
“My...um, girlfriend needs everything. She’s left all her stuff in the city, and we’re here for a week.”
Girlfriend? Yes. That works.
Danica looks up at , surprised.
“Sure. What do you need?” the assistant asks with a cheery glance at Danica.
Danica shrugs.
“Let’s start with jeans,” I interject.
“What size?”
“I do not know,” Danica replies.
The assistant looks puzzled, and then stands back appraising her. “You’re not from around here, are you?” she says pleasantly.
“No.” She flushes.
“I think you’re a small, either a size eight or ten.” She gives us an expectant look, waiting for confirmation.
Danica nods, though I think it’s because she doesn’t want to be rude.
“Why don’t you go into the changing room, and I’ll find so jeans in those sizes, and we’ll go from there?”
“Okay,” Danica mumbles, and with an inscrutable look at , she follows the assistant to the changing rooms.
I hear the assistant inform her, “My na’s Sarah, by the way.” I breathe a sigh of relief and watch Sarah retrieve a couple of pairs of jeans from the shelves.
“Dark and light denim and a pair in black,” I prompt. Her ponytail bobs rrily as she flashes a smile and gathers several pairs.
Wandering around the shop, I rifle through so clothes racks trying to decide what would look good on Danica. I’ve been shopping with won before, but they’ve always known what they wanted. I am dragged along on these trips either to pay or to give an opinion that will be ignored.
The won I know all have confidence in their own style. I wonder if I should send her shopping with Carla.
What?
Back in the city?
No. That’s probably not a good idea.
Not yet.
I frown. What am I doing?
I’m fucking my cleaner. That’s what I’m doing.
In my mind I hear her cry as she orgasms. My dick hardens at the mory.
Fuck!
Yes. I’m fucking her, and I want to do it again.
That’s why I’m here.
I like her. Really like her. And I want to protect her from all the shit she’s endured...And I have so much, and she has nothing.
I snort. It’s a redistribution of wealth. Yes. How altruistic and socialist of . My mother would not be thrilled. That thought makes smile.
I find a couple of dresses I like, one in black and one in erald green, and hand them to the assistant.
Will Danica like these?
I sit down in a convenient chair outside the dressing-room area and wait, trying to put aside my disquieting thoughts.
Danica appears wearing the green dress.
Wow.
I feel a little light-headed.
I’ve never seen her in a dress.
Her hair cascades down below her breasts, which are swathed in a soft fabric that clings.
Everywhere.
Breasts. Flat stomach. Hips. The dress stops short at her knees, and she’s barefoot. She looks sensational, a little older, maybe, but more womanly and sophisticated.
“Is it not too low?” Danica asks, tugging at the neckline.
“No.” My voice is hoarse, and I cough to clear it. “No, it’s fine.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. Yes. I like it a lot. You look lovely.”
She gives a shy smile. I hold up my finger and motion for her to turn around. She does quickly and giggles.
The fabric clings to her ass too.
Yep. She’s gorgeous.
“I approve,” I say, and she heads back into the dressing room.
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