Coerced (Billionaire romance)(13)

Designers didn’t make clothes for people her size. They made clothes for people who were shaped like a hanger.

As if summoned by her apprehension, a soft knock at the door signaled that the designer had arrived and Elizabeth was tempted to go hide in the closet and wait for them to give up and leave.

Yeah, and imagine what Sutton will do when he realizes you didn’t obey his direct command?

Oh screw Sutton and his rules.

But by the third knock, Elizabeth was dragging herself to the door, loathing every step but still going to answer.

Cringing, she opened the door with a tiny, nervous smile to find a rather normal looking — although very elegant — lady wearing a welcoming smile on the stoop.

“You must be Elizabeth,” she said with the loveliest touch of a French accent. “Of course, you are. Look at those exquisite cheekbones and those to-die-for curves.”

At Elizabeth’s obvious shock, the woman chuckled and walked past her, saying, “Darling, we shall have so much fun together. Shut the door ma petite chou, we have work to do.”





Bookmark: 10



-10-

Elizabeth began to close the door and follow the woman, only to realize with a start that an entourage came with her.

She stepped away to allow the army of people come in, sets of people pushing racks of assorted clothing until the living room looked like a department store with a clearance sale going on.

“Oh gosh,” was all Elizabeth could manage as the woman returned to her with an outstretched hand.

“Bonjour, let us introduce ourselves as we are to become quite fast friends.” The woman clasped Elizabeth’s hand in a gentle but efficient shake. “I am Chantal and I will be your designer from hence forth as per Mr. Buchanan’s desire.”

Elizabeth sighed and cast a nervous look toward the racks. “I doubt there’s anything that will fit me on that rack if you came thinking you were going to outfit a supermodel.”

Chantal laughed, a light, tinkling sound of delight and mirth that Elizabeth couldn’t help but enjoy. “You are adorable, ma cherie. No, you have a lovely figure, all rounded hips and curves. Never fear. We came prepared to dress you as a queen deserves.” She paused to wink. “As we know the Buchanans suffer no disappointments.”

Ah yes. The Buchanans and their infernal reach. “Do you know Sutton well?”

Chantal motioned to her assistants and a tape measure was placed in her small hand. “I’ve known the Buchanans much longer than most,” she answered with a brief smile. “Now, darling, I will need you to strip to your skin. No modesty, dear. We haven’t time for such things.”

Elizabeth gaped and instinctively her hands went to her breasts even though she hadn’t even undressed yet. “Is that necessary?”

Again that laugh.

“You are so sweet. It’s no wonder Sutton fancies you. Now, off with those rags, if you please. I cannot do my job with all this” she waved her hand dismissively at Elizabeth’s clothing “distracting me.”

Knowing there was no help for it, Elizabeth slowly removed her shirt and soft cotton shorts until she was standing in her bra and panties.

“That too,” Chantal instructed and Elizabeth wanted to groan. Chantal gave Elizabeth a look of understanding, then said, “My sweet, you have a beautiful figure and nothing to be ashamed of. You have the body of a voluptuous goddess, so flaunt it! Now off with it; we are on a tight schedule.”

How could she refuse Chantal’s sweet but firm request?

Elizabeth unsnapped her bra and dropped her panties, cheeks flaming like the sun at high noon.

Chantal soon started measuring like a French butterfly flitting in and around Elizabeth’s body, alighting here, exclaiming with delight there, until Elizabeth was completely measured for future creations.

And then started the exhausting part.

Chantal, had indeed, brought clothes that would fit well enough to gauge interest and style until fresh clothing could be made to fit.

Elizabeth was shocked to learn that dressed stylishly, she wasn’t as hopeless as she’d always believed herself to be.

It was possible to admit that she looked quite nice, which was quite a revelation as Elizabeth had long stopped wistfully wishing she’d look like a model someday.

But you know what? She felt like a freaking model today and it was, a little bit, awesome.

After make-up and hair was done to match, Elizabeth didn’t know what to think about who she’d been transformed into but a tingle of excitement tickled her spine at the idea of being someone new.

Someone who didn’t hide from the mirror or from people.

Someone who owned the skin she lived in — no matter what size that happened to be.

“Ahh, very nice,” Chantal said with warm approval at the red cocktail dress clinging to her curves like a second skin.

Then she shocked Elizabeth when she reached into the dress and resituated Elizabeth’s breasts as if she were rearranging decorative glass globes! “There! Perfect.”

Elizabeth gasped but then one of Chantal’s assistants propped the full-length mirror in front of her and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

The dress — never something she would select for herself in a million years – accentuated her flared hips and showed off her shapely legs while the bare shouldered bodice pushed her breasts up until they practically flowed over.

Her blond hair, curled and piled on top of her head, showed off her soft, rounded shoulders and petite dangly diamonds hung from her earlobes.

Chantal nodded with happiness as the air escaped Elizabeth’s lungs in a whoosh.

“Yesss…Sutton will not be able to resist you in this dress — that I can promise.” She winked conspiratorially. “That dress on your body…a combination that puts rings on fingers, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth shook her head, flushing at the very thought. Married to Sutton? The idea was preposterous but Chantal didn’t know their backstory.

Yet, there was a niggling suspicion that even if Elizabeth shared all the sordid details of how Sutton had basically coerced her into being his sex toy, Chantal would just laugh that cute little laugh of hers and roll her eyes as if entertained by the story.

Chantal was French, after all.

“We don’t have that kind of relationship. He…”

“Of course, you don’t, sweetheart,” Chantal said with a secret smile.

Oh dear. What did Chantal think of her?

Swallowing, Elizabeth forced a smile, saying, “I only work for Mr. Buchanan. Trust me, he doesn’t have romantic ideas about me.”

Chantal waved away Elizabeth’s statement and snapped her fingers at her assistants who then began to clear away the evidence that they’d been camped out all day in the living room.

“Darling…I have never been summoned for anyone who wasn’t something to Mr. Buchanan. Perhaps he does not know how he feels yet. But after he sees you in that dress…”More tinkling laughter “He will not know what hit him. Au revoir, beautiful girl. Enjoy!”

And then they were gone.

Elizabeth stared at herself in the bedroom mirror, still shocked by the transformation that an army of stylists could create.

Mon dieu, as Chantal would say.

Yet, even as dazzled as she was by the change, she could still see the nervous, shy girl reflected in her own blue eyes.

Would that Elizabeth always live with her? Something told her…yes.

So what exactly did Sutton see in her?

In her secret heart of hearts, there was a desperate part of her that wished to see what Sutton saw, the reason why his eyes hardened with instant lust, why his hands seemed to twitch with the need to touch, and why, above all else, why he’d selected the wall flower when he was most likely surrounded by delicate, exotic blooms.

But to admit that would be to admit that she cared and she refused to care about Sutton in any way.

He wasn’t allowed in her heart.

Not ever.

***

Although Sutton had considered going to pick up Elizabeth, he deliberately ignored his impulse and desire, choosing instead to send a car for her.

It was important to keep a reminder between them that she was his property and operating at his will and that meant being as his disposal if it pleased him.

And it pleased him to have her brought to him like a pretty, plump package just waiting to be undone.

But as he enjoyed his brandy, awaiting her arrival at the restaurant Swank he wasn’t prepared for the jolt his heart gave as she walked into view.

Mouth suddenly dry, his heart banging like a drum against his chest bone, he fought the urge to stare at the vision walking toward him in what seemed like slow motion.

Was that music in his head? Or was she actually walking to the tune of ‘Pretty Woman’? No, that wasn’t possible.

But good-fucking-God. That dress. Those hips. AND THOSE TITS!

And then he realized he wasn’t the only one staring and a possessive growl threatened to rip free from his lips.

Sutton recovered enough to rise with a reserved but approving smile as he helped her to her seat, unable to stop gazing at how her lovely, bared shoulders begged for the press of his mouth.

“People are staring,” she murmured, glancing around nervously. “Is there something wrong? Is the dress too tight?”

“It’s fucking perfect,” he growled, shocking her with his answer, his gaze hardening as he sent warning looks to all the other men who seemed unable to tear their stares away.