She tucked the card in the pocket of her jeans. Then, plucking a strip of bacon from her plate, she went to find Simmons.

Allie had the blond chauffeur drop her off at home first. While he remained in the car, she let herself inside. Since she was rarely home by herself during the day, she stood in the living room, taking in the quiet—except for the high-pitched whine of the refrigerator. Somehow, her dad never got around to fixing it.

Making her way to the kitchen, she surveyed the damage. A carton of milk had been left on the counter, coffee grounds were spilled in the sink, and a dirty pan sat on the stove. She hoped her dad had at least remembered to make Monica and Brynn lunch.

Allie put the milk away and found the pork chops from yesterday still in the fridge, so she wrote her dad a quick note on how to prepare them and propped it next to the coffeepot. And she needed to remind her father that Monday was trash day. He always forgot.

She washed a load of laundry and cleaned up the kitchen. Then, taking one last glance around, she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to go to shopping.

***

Six hours later, she was exhausted. Nancy, her nice but rather manic personal shopper, made Allie try on more clothes than any one person could possibly need. And as Simmons and Arnold made trip after trip from the car to Allie’s room, she watched the bags pile up around her. For what she’d spent at Agent Provocateur on underwear, she could have bought a used car.

“Why don’t I bring you a cup of tea, miss?” Frances asked from the doorway. “Then you can have yourself a nice hot bath, and I’ll put these things away for you.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll put everything away myself.”

With a frown, Frances looked at the dozens of bags littering the room. “But it’s my job.”

Some of the things on Trevor’s list were pretty risqué—barely there thongs with ruffles, completely transparent teddies, and sheer waspies—corset-like bands that circled the waist with garters dangling from them. She’d never seen one before today. She was used to buying her underwear in packages of six.

“I don’t mind,” Allie said.

“All right, but I’m bringing your tea, and that’s that.”

Once Frances was gone, Allie pulled out the more questionable purchases of the day and shoved them in a dresser drawer. This really was mistress wear.

The fact that Trevor had specifically requested all this made her stomach knot in worry. The man obviously knew what he wanted, was used to women wearing this type of thing. Allie was comfortable in an old T-shirt and pajama pants. Trevor’s other women must be in a completely different sexual category. Allie would never measure up. Not that she cared what Trevor thought. If he didn’t like her lack of technique, too bad. Maybe he’d send her home.

Frances reappeared with a tea tray. “Make sure you eat, now. You hardly touched your breakfast. I’m going to run you a bath.”

Falling onto the bed, Allie grabbed a sandwich and ate. She had finished her second cup of tea by the time Frances reentered the room.

“All ready. In you go, and I’ll put away the rest of your things.”

While being waited on still made her feel like a diva, Allie gave in. With a smile of thanks, she slipped into the bathroom. Humidity from the hot water made her skin damp, and the tub brimmed over with frothy bubbles that smelled of lavender. She hadn’t had a bubble bath since she was a little girl.

Quickly shedding her clothes, she pinned up her hair before sliding into the water. God, it felt good—soothing and warm. She’d just started to drift off when the door opened. Thinking it was Frances, she smiled and opened her eyes to find Trevor staring at her.

Allie’s heartbeat kicked up a notch. “What are you doing in here?” Granted, it was a stupid question, but he’d taken her by surprise. She sank further into the suds and slapped an arm over both breasts as if she were a virgin in a Regency novel. She knew she was behaving like an idiot, but that didn’t stop her from covering the girls.

“What do you think I’m doing? Taking tea with the queen? I’m here to speak with you, of course.” He’d removed the jacket and tie from this morning, undone a couple buttons at his throat, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. With his black hair and wicked gray eyes, Trevor looked sexy and disheveled. He strolled into the room and parked on the side of the tub. Stretching out his legs, he made himself at home. “Did you have a good day, Miss Campbell?”

“Shopping on a rich man’s dime. Oh, yes—I’ve reached the pinnacle.” Every word carried the sting of sarcasm.

“You haven’t come close to the pinnacle, Miss Campbell. And you’ll know when you’ve reached it, because you’ll be screaming my name.” His eyes met hers as he scooped his hand into the tub, skimming her thigh in the process. She skittishly shifted her leg and watched him, her attention fixed, as he brought a palm full of bubbles to his lips. He blew them at her, and a bubble blob landed on her nose.

He laughed when she crossed her eyes to stare at it. Swiping at it, she left an even bigger blob on her face.

“Allow me.” Trevor bent toward her. He was so close she could see the lighter flecks of silver in his eyes. Softly, he brushed off the bubbles. “There.” He slid one finger across her jaw. “Did you get everything on my list?”

He still didn’t move back. His clean scent teased her and mixed with the lavender. It was a compelling combination. The open collar of his shirt left a V-shaped gap, exposing the hollow of his throat. Allie’s gaze flickered to the pulse beating there, lifted over his stubble-covered chin, lingered for a brief second on his firm lips, and finally, she stared into his eyes. “Your list was ridiculous.”

He held her gaze for a moment before brushing her lips with his own. Then, straightening, he again trailed his hand through the bubbles, but this time, he lowered his fingers into the water and found her leg. She froze when he slid his palm along her calf, rubbing down to her ankle until he held her foot. “My lists are never ridiculous. You can try everything on for me after you get out of the tub.”

She tried to pull away, but he kept a firm grip on her heel and took it out of the water, placing it on his leg. He didn’t seem to care that his pants were getting soaked.

“Forget it, English. I spent the whole day trying that stuff on, and I’m not going through it again.”

He began kneading the bottom of her foot, and his soapy hand slid up the arch, to her toes, then back down to her heel. He increased the pressure right where she needed it. “So you don’t enjoy shopping?”

“Maybe your other mistresses love it, but I don’t.”

“You seem very preoccupied with my mistresses, Miss Campbell. Afraid you won’t measure up?”

Again, she tried to pull her foot from his hands, but he held on and continued to massage. She wasn’t going to lie—at least not to herself—his thumbs pressing into her arch felt wonderful. She almost sighed in pleasure but caught herself at the last second. She barely refrained from thrusting her other foot in his lap and having him rub that one too.

“So, you do this type of thing all the time?” she asked.

“Rub women’s feet?”

“Pay them to have sex with you? If that’s the case, God only knows what you’ve caught. You could be a walking petri dish.”

His face became a blank mask. “If I recall, it was your idea to barter your services.”

“I didn’t hear you protesting.” She sank further into the water. “I want you to wear a condom. Every time.”

“That’s terribly unfortunate, Miss Campbell. I like to ride bareback, feel every sensation as it were. No barriers. Just my skin against yours.”

Now her cheeks were on fire. But she wouldn’t back down. “Tough. I’m not taking any chances.”

Sighing heavily, he shook his head in mock sadness. “Though it will be a tremendous sacrifice, I suppose I could glove up. But just so you know, it won’t be the same.”