“I need to go and get that.”
She shook her head. “You don’t get the doors from now on.”
“Raven!”
“Don’t Raven me. You’re the one who is in danger. I now have the club counting on me to not fuck this up, and guess what, I’m not going to.” Raven opened the bedroom door and stepped out, heading back downstairs. Her gun was still in her drawer beside the bed, but that would have to wait.
Her hands were just as deadly.
Checking through the peephole, she saw it was a delivery driver.
“Who is it?” she asked.
Carlos came downstairs.
When they’d been in bed together, he hadn’t worn a shirt, but now, he pulled one on with his sweatpants.
How had she not admired his semi-naked body?
He’d been pressed against her.
She hated to admit it, but the oversize sweats were very comfortable.
Raven waited as the man behind the door called his courier’s name and said he had an express delivery requested by a Mr. Santiago.
“They’re your clothes, Raven.”
She didn’t even want to think about what kind of wardrobe he intended to set up for her.
With no other choice, she eased the locks, remaining tense as she opened the door.
The young delivery driver looked bored. “You need to sign for these.”
“Carlos,” Raven said. “You need to sign for these.”
She rarely took any deliveries.
Carlos smiled as he took the form from the driver, along with the pen.
A swipe of his signature, and then the driver was gone, having already dumped multiple designer labels on the doorstep.
“When did you buy these?”
“When you were getting changed. I had the assistant keep a tab.”
“How?” Raven asked, bending down to pick some of them up.
“How what?”
“How did you know I would need these clothes? You hadn’t been attacked.”
“Raven, can’t a guy plan ahead?”
“You planned for me to want to hang out with you?” Raven asked. She wasn’t buying it.
“No, I had hoped you’d agree to have an illicit affair with me, which would result in you coming to visit me.”
“An illicit affair.”
Carlos stepped close to her. “You can’t tell me that you don’t … feel it.”
Raven stared at him and then reached down to grab a box.
“Hold on,” Carlos said.
She expected him to push his point, but instead, he grabbed the boxes. After opening them up, he picked a pair of the pastel-color linen pants and a cowl-neck white shirt. She was about to tell him she had black underwear, but the bastard had also ordered lingerie.
Raven had no idea how he had done it. “It might not be in my size.”
“It is.”
She gritted her teeth, wanting to argue with him, but instead, forced a smile to her lips and then looked at the tags as he held them up. “Ah, so they are.”
“I’m an observant kind of guy. I know what my woman needs.”
“I’m not your woman.”
“Oh, but you will be.”
“I’m not wearing these,” Raven said.
“Don’t you think it’s best for you to start playing this role? When we go back to my home, and we will soon, you’re going to be surrounded by people who are curious. They’re going to want to know everything about you, and you’ll need to be in character.”
She wanted to argue with him, she did, but he had a fucking valid point, which only pissed her off. “Fine,” she said, taking the clothing from him. “I’ll go and get changed.”
“I’ll do the same.”
Raven wanted to scream. She kept it all bottled up inside.
Arriving at her bedroom, she threw the garments to the bed and just stared at them for the longest time.
Putting them on, it felt like she was stripping away part of her soul. The Raven of Fort Clover would never wear these clothes. They were not for her, but Smokey had asked her to do this for the club, and to deny him felt wrong.
She shoved off the sweatpants and actually missed the feel of them around her body. Stepping into the panties he’d provided, followed by the pants, she couldn’t help but feel comfortable. Next, her baggy shirt came off, replaced with a bra and a cowl-neck white shirt.
There.
Done.
With a brush that she found in the drawer, she made her way into the en-suite bathroom and took care of her hair. For a second, she paused. In her mind, she saw her mother. Raven didn’t smile, but she saw her mother smiling back at her.
Closing her eyes, she dropped the brush to the counter.
“No!”
She snapped the word at herself, attempting to bring herself out of it. Her mother wasn’t here. It was just her own reflection.
Get a grip.
Counting to ten, she pressed a palm to her chest and then opened her eyes. She wouldn’t remember. Her mother was not with her.
The woman in the mirror was herself.
All of the bad memories were gone. Wiped from her mind. Refusing to take root.
It wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t listen to them.