Falling for My Boyfriend's Dad(19)

"Janine," he said, looking pointedly at her name tag. "I'm gonna leave  my credit card with you for safekeeping because we're here to do some  serious shopping."

I gasped again, coloring. Why would he hand his credit card to a perfect  stranger? Even if she was a sales associate, it made no sense, there  was no need to put his card down before we'd even started browsing. But  everything happened so fast. Mr. Martin slipped his card into the  woman's open hand, and it was then I realized why. Because the card was  an American Express Black, the kind that only millionaires have with a  sleek finish and discreet silver lettering, and he wanted to make sure  she knew who was shopping, that some serious moolah was in the building.

"Oh of course," she simpered, the card disappearing into her portfolio.  Yes, the salespeople here carried leather portfolios, beautifully  embossed, maybe especially for this purpose. "I think some emeralds  would complement the lady's green eyes today," she purred. "Come with  me, I have just the thing."

I gasped again. I have brown eyes, not green, but Rob grinned at me again and whispered, "Let's see what she's got."

And as if in a trance, I floated, mesmerized, to a private back room,  sitting on an elegant overstuffed chair, the décor expensive, discreet  yet sumptuous.

"Here we are," said Janine, holding up a brilliant emerald that had to  be at least five carats. "Isn't this pendant gorgeous? Perfect for a  beautiful girl."

I gasped again because I wasn't beautiful, I was just plain old me,  Alison West. But Mr. Martin was already nodding his head as she snapped  the lock around my neck, the gem dropping in hollow of my throat like it  belonged there.

"That's it, it's gorgeous," he muttered, eyes ablaze as he looked at me. "It's perfect for her."

And I flushed again, this time determined to make myself heard.

"Thank you so much for your help, but I can't," I told the salesgirl firmly. "I'm so sorry for taking up your time."

But the salesgirl merely looked at Mr. Martin, who gave no sign that he was ready to leave.

"Janine," he commanded. "On my charge card."

"Right away," she said snappily. "Would you like to wear it out of the store, or should I pack it up?"

And the big man looked at me speculatively, his eyes caressing the gem slung around my elegant neck, the dip of my collarbones.

"On," he said with finality. "Let's let her wear it. But we're not done  yet," he said with a smirk. "Can you bring out a couple more things?  Things the lady might like?"

And of course the saleswoman bowed again, obsequious, happy to do whatever he ordered.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Martin," she practically panted, thinking of the  commission coming her way. "I'll be back in just a moment," she said,  scurrying off, probably going into their private collection to pick out  their most expensive stuff.

But once she was gone, I turned to Mr. Martin, eyes blazing.

"Are you crazy?" I said under my breath. "What is this for?"

Rob looked at me amused.

"It's not often that you buy a beautiful woman jewels and she's  offended," he said dryly. "What do you think it's for? It's because  you're amazing, honey, absolutely amazing and I want you to have it."

I flushed hotly with pleasure, but then went ice cold once again.  Because was he paying me for the physical? Paying me for the right to be  in my body, to taste, to touch, to own?

And so I looked at him frigidly.

"You don't have to pay me," I said, voice clipped. "I'm giving of my own  free will, it's not something you have to fork out jewels for."

And Rob threw his head back and laughed then, white teeth flashing, mirth dancing in his blue eyes.

"Honey, I'm not paying you anything, these are gifts," he said mildly.  "I'm giving them to someone I care about, someone who means a lot to me,  and I want you to take them and look beautiful," he said with an amused  grin.

I was taken aback. Was I someone he cared about? Did I mean a lot to  him? How much? It sounded good, really right actually, and I wanted to  ask more, to press on, but at that very moment Janine walked in again, a  huge tray of rings in one hand, another huge tray of bracelets in the  other, the gems winkling and sparkling under the lights.         

     



 

"Here we are," she exclaimed, sitting down once more. "These are all  size seven rings, honey, so they'll be too big for you but we can  re-size everything so that it fits perfectly."

And there was nothing I could say as gems glimmered under the lights,  the saleslady presenting one bauble after another, Mr. Martin nodding  far too many times as he looked at each one, placing them on my hands,  my wrists, my ears, my neck. It was like he loved dressing me up, like I  was his favorite doll except that instead of cheap doll clothes, I was  being decorated with millions in jewels.

"Gorgeous," he murmured, looking at me, blue eyes burning with fire. "Absolutely gorgeous."

The saleswoman tittered.

"They are, aren't they?" she cooed. "The rubies are from Burma, we actually own the mine they come from."

But Mr. Martin shook his head.

"Naw, not the rubies, the girl," he ground out. "Ally you're stunning, absolutely the right setting for these babies."

And I colored then. It was embarrassing that he was talking like this in  front of a stranger, so I just nodded stiffly and grabbed his hand.

"Can we go now?" I choked out. On the one hand this was an amazing  experience, I've never been treated like a VIP anywhere I've shopped,  but on the other, I still hadn't settled into my comfort zone, not  entirely. It's sad, but I'm more at ease in a Barnes and Noble or  community bookstore, so this whole special treatment was still  unsettling, leaving me a little breathless. Besides, Mr. Martin was  spending so much money, my head was spinning, lungs growing tight and I  needed to get some air, step outside for a moment. The alpha caught on  immediately because a big hand descended over mine then, strong,  reassuring.

"Of course we can," he ground out, looking at me closely. "The lady  needs some air. Can you pack this up please? We'll take them," he said  with finality, and in a jiff, all the jewels were rolled up into velvet  cases, each one sealed in a beautiful blue box.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Martin," our saleslady purred once more as  she escorted us to the door. "Remember, my name's Janine and you have my  cell if there are any questions. Please come back anytime. Happy  Thanksgiving!" And with that, I was whisked outside onto the sidewalk.

I sat back into the seat of the cab, head still spinning. I wish I could  say that getting out of the store helped, but now in the tiny backseat,  I found I needed air even more and rolled down my window, letting the  frosty wind hit my face. It did feel better, I could feel the blood in  my brain begin to cool a bit, my lungs expanding with relief.

"What was that?" I turned towards the big man, keeping my voice steady, nerves calm. "What happened back there?"

And the big man just looked at me, amused.

"You know, usually when a woman receives gifts, she's ecstatic and  gleeful," he said mildly. "Ready to do whatever her man wants."

But that was totally unhelpful, so I tried again.

"I told you in the store," I said in a low voice so the cabbie couldn't  hear, "you don't have to buy me. This stuff," I said, pointing to the  blue bags at his feet, "isn't necessary. I'm yours, with or without the  baubles."

And the big man's blue eyes grew dark instantly, his big form still.

"I know baby," he ground out, gaze seizing mine. "I know you're mine  with or without the accoutrements, but I wanted to see you in them," he  said. "You deserve it, you belong to me, and heck, I've got the money."

But I sighed again. This wasn't about money, not even close.

"But why?" I asked. "We've only being seeing each other two days," I  blushed. "I'm just visiting for Thanksgiving break. And I'm your son's  girlfriend," I reminded, although the words were as sour as a lemon on  my tongue, making my lips purse involuntarily. "It's just temporary."

The big man looked out the window then, not meeting my eyes.

"Maybe it is," he rumbled, taking in the swell of passerby, the throngs  of people out doing their shopping. "But even if it is, what I know is  that it means something," he ground out. "It's been fucking amazing,  little girl, I haven't felt this way in so long and it's the real thing.  Trust me," he rasped. "I'm a forty-five year old man, I know when the  real thing comes along."

And I colored then. Real as in "dating," kind of real? As in  "relationship," kind of real? I wanted to talk about it more, delve  deeper, but at that moment we pulled up to the apartment building and  the doorman stepped forward to open the car door. But the conversation  wasn't over yet. Once we were inside the apartment, I turned to him once  more.