The paper-thin walls were painted black. A violently orange cushioned bench stretched the length of the back wall. How many people had tried on lingerie, only to end up on that bench after finding out how quickly they could get it off?
Sensible knit dress pants and button-down blouse hit the floor in an unceremonious heap. She reached for the fourteen. A size twelve hadn’t fit since before the Twinkie binge nearly four years before.
The black leather bustier was tight. Jessa sandwiched her body in and zipped up the front. Her breasts bulged out over the top, cleavage enough that she was in danger of drowning in it.
Her standard white cotton panties looked ridiculous under the matching garter belt but she tried it on anyway. A strange sensation settled into the pit of her stomach. Mouth dry, she lifted her eyes to the mirror. Needless to say, Jessa liked the reflection. Maybe even a little too much.
Breasts lifted, waist trimmed, hips a soft flare. She looked…alluring. Maybe it was the freaky lighting in that place, but her eyes shifted from brown to green and her hair burnished to a honey color. Several of the long strands slid forward over her shoulders, resting against the curve of one breast.
Oh my God.
She bought everything, even adding a pair of stockings and a black leather thong. She didn’t have any intention of actually wearing the stuff. It was just one of those things to have in the closet. A just-in-case thing. In case of what, she hadn’t a clue. But Jessa was lying to herself anyway, so it didn’t matter.
“Put it on this, please.” Jessa handed the Gothic Princess Will’s platinum MasterCard.
The machine beeped when the magnetic strip slid through the reader. Jessa was just savoring the fact that she’d charged over three hundred dollars on Will’s business credit card at a porn store when the Gothic Princess threw her a curveball.
“Do you want to put this purchase toward your frequent buyer program, Ms. Kincaid?”
The shock of that question penetrated even the lingering numbness of Will’s desertion. Jessa managed a curt nod before pulling her lower lip into her mouth and biting it until the acute discomfort overcame her shock.
Another bombshell, this time dropped from afar. Frequent buyer? If Will’s card was already in their system, it could only mean one thing. Will had been a customer. And from the sound of it, he’d been a frequent customer.
Chapter Three
Jessa wadded up the bag from Accessories and More and stuffed it into her Coach handbag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she continued her walk down the street. The wind chilled her to the bone, but Jessa didn’t mind. Any sensation was preferable to the emptiness Will’s rejection had left in its wake.
It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she’d spent nineteen years killing herself with the transformation into perfect wife. She’d swallowed more pride than she’d ever thought possible. Not to mention all of the boring meetings, events, and functions she’d muddled through.
And at the end of it all, what had those people and that life ever done for her? Nothing. They condoned Will and his decision. She was nothing but yesterday’s girl.
Windows painted over in black gave way to a set of heavy wooden double doors. Neon beer signs flanking the doors announced that it was some kind of bar. Jessa didn’t need to see the name to know it wasn’t the kind of bar she should go into. Women like Jessa didn’t go to bars, much less unaccompanied in the middle of the afternoon. Whatever.
“Fuck them,” Jessa muttered before grabbing the handle and hauling the heavy doors open.
Once inside, the doors slammed shut with an ominous thud. It took several moments for Jessa’s eyes to become accustomed to the dim interior. Once they did, she realized there wasn’t much to see in the entrance. It was a lot of drab tile flooring and some kind of cage blocking the rest of her view. She spun to get a better look.
“I’ll need to see some ID.”
The sound reverberated throughout her body like a sonic boom. Turning, she found herself face to chest with the owner of the voice. His tree-trunk legs were encased in well-fitting black cargo pants. The material was snug at the hips and clung almost obscenely in the crotch area. The soft blue cotton blend shirt stretched taut across what could’ve only been a perfect washboard stomach. His biceps and broad shoulders tested the confines of the material. And his sleeves were rolled to the elbows to showcase a massive set of forearms corded with muscle and dusted with downy black hair.
She chanced a look up and was almost sorry. A body like that deserved an angelic face and long flowing locks. But his head was clean shaven, jaw set in iron, lips thinned, his nose aristocratic beneath deep-set eyes as black as night. His gaze looked like a glimpse at the pit of hell. It was positively unnerving. He was hard, masculine beyond any feminine daydream, and about as approachable as a demon.