Chapter 163
Chapter 163:
“Package for Ms. Solomon,” the courier said, holding out the electronic pad. “Instructions say leave with neighbor if unavailable p>
Dallas paused. He muted his call and looked at the box — black velvet, heavy, with gold lettering. His first instinct was art supplies. His second, less comfortable instinct was Anson. Suspicion prickled at the back of his neck.
“I’ll take it,” he said. He signed the pad.
He set the box on his kitchen island. The apartment was still mostly bare — just stacked boxes and the essentials — which made the velvet package look strangely like a centerpiece. He ended his call, walked over, and examined the return label.
Agent Provocateur.
His eyebrows rose.
This was not paintbrushes. And it was certainly not from Anson.
Eliza bought this?
He stared at the box. The name was synonymous with high-end, provocative lingerie. The idea of Eliza — careful, reserved Eliza — ordering something like this didn’t fit at all.
Unless.
Rea𝘥 o𝗇 𝗮ո𝗒 𝗱e𝗏𝘪се 𝗼n g𝘢l𝗻𝗈𝘃еlѕ.𝗰𝘰𝘮
Azalea.
He groaned and pressed two fingers to his temple. He knew exactly what this was. A trap. A silk-and-lace trap, gift-wrapped in velvet.
He should leave it untouched. He should wait for Eliza to come home, hand it over, and say nothing.
The box sat on the counter and radiated temptation. It felt less like a package and more like a bomb — one that smelled faintly of expensive perfume.
The door buzzer sounded.
Dallas checked the monitor. It was Eliza. She looked tired, her bag slung over one shoulder, her hair loose and slightly disheveled.
He unlocked the door.
He looked back at the box on the island.
He didn’t move it.
Eliza knocked on the door of Unit 4A. “Dallas? Mrs. Gable said you took a package for me p>
The door opened immediately. Dallas stood in the frame wearing a dark grey t-shirt that clung to his chest and a pair of sweatpants. He looked amused. And something else — something considerably more dangerous.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside.
Eliza walked in. The apartment was still stark and mostly bare, but the kitchen island was dominated by a black velvet box.
“I didn’t order anything,” Eliza frowned, moving toward it. “Is it from the studio p>
“It has your name on it,” Dallas said. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.
Eliza reached out and lifted the lid. Tissue paper rustled softly beneath her fingers.
She pulled it back.
Her breath caught.
Inside lay a scrap of black lace so delicate it looked like spun cobweb. A garter belt with gold clips. And a pair of panties that were less underwear and more suggestion.
The heat started at Eliza’s neck and flooded her face in an instant. She dropped the lid back down as though the lace had singed her fingers.
“Oh my god,” she choked. “I didn’t — this isn’t p>
Dallas didn’t look away. He reached into the box and lifted the bra between two fingers, holding it up to the light. “Size 32C,” he observed, his voice clinically detached, though his eyes were anything but. “Accurate p>