Sallinger, Elene - Reflection (The Chrysalis Series)

‘Yes. You need to get rid of those things you call underwear and embrace your inner sexy. Especially now you and Connor are sleeping together. And –’ she raised an eyebrow at Bridget ‘– don’t give me that look. I’m not off my rocker because of the baby; I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time.’ Her voice was watery, but she was less brittle. Bridget, however, was beginning to fall apart.

‘You never said anything,’ Bridget snapped.

‘I love you, Bridg. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this seems to go deeper than underwear and I want you to be happy.’

‘But Connor is fine. He hasn’t said anything.’

‘Nor is he going to, Bridg.’ She smirked. ‘Do you really think he’s going to say, “Bridget, as badly as I want into those panties, they are hideous and deflate my dick when I look at them”?’

Victor almost choked trying to hold back a laugh and Bridget shot him a warning look.

Claire continued, ‘No, honey. He’s just going to get you out of them as soon as possible.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with what I wear.’ She barely got the words out as anger, completely out of proportion to the situation, overtook her. ‘Victor, tell her,’ she demanded.

He blanched at being drawn into their argument, but nevertheless leaned forward, a chagrined look on his face, and said, ‘Claire’s right. You are a beautiful, sexy woman and you hide behind all that boring, ugly cotton.’

Shock ran through Bridget at his betrayal. She’d always thought he understood. She began to argue, but he held up a hand to stop her. She bit her lip in frustration.

‘I tell you what.’ He stood up and smoothed his slacks. ‘Try on what I’ve got put aside for you and if you still don’t want it, so be it. If you love it, then you get a slew of sexy lingerie to drive that man wild. OK?’

He held out a hand to her. She stared at it as she struggled inside. She knew she was overreacting, but she didn’t want to do it. Period. And she didn’t appreciate them putting her back up against the wall like this.

This shouldn’t even be an issue. It was none of their damned business in the first place! But what if Connor really was holding back? It’s not as if she’d exactly been flexible. And he really had been going out of his way to accommodate her in so many things. Stirrings of guilt began in her gut.

‘Please, Bridg.’ Claire’s face softened and she grabbed Bridget’s hand. ‘I’m honestly not trying to hurt you. But I don’t like seeing what is obviously a scar from what happened. Besides, what harm is there in wearing something to turn Connor on? He’ll appreciate it.’

Bridget remained rooted in the chair, paralysed with uncertainty.

‘Bridget, look at me.’ Claire’s voice was soft, imploring. Bridget turned to face her and teared up at the concern in her face. ‘You helped me more than you could ever know with Evan. I needed a friend as much as I needed him. Let me be the same kind of friend to you now. You may not like what I’m asking, but please, just try.’

Victor had never moved, his hand still offered. Before she could second-guess herself, she took it.

It was like looking in a fun house mirror. Her, but not her. Even before the rape, Bridget had never worn anything like this. It was as risqué as they came while still providing complete coverage. Emerald green silk and mesh covered her breasts. It was as much a camisole as a bra, with strategic support for her ample cleavage. The design gave the impression of being transparent, when in reality it was not. A shadow of nipple was apparent, but you couldn’t actually see anything.

The panties – also the same deceptive material – were some kind of hybrid between boy shorts and a thong. She’d long ago quit following trends in ladies’ underwear and had no idea what the term for them would be, but they were surprisingly comfortable given the fact that they were clearly up her rear end.

There was more where these came from. Victor had handed her a pile of things to try. There had to be at least 20 sets, in a rainbow of colours.

Examining herself critically, Bridget tried to relax the muscles in her body that were clenched into knots. The problem definitely wasn’t the fit. They melded to her body as if they’d been made especially for her.

No, it was that Bridget didn’t recognise the pin-up girl in front of her. The woman in the mirror belonged in the ranks of Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe, and Marlene Dietrich. All of those classic women in satin and lace adored by the masses and tacked on walls around the country. They’d driven a whole generation of men mad with lust.

The thought made her sick. Literally.

Beads of sweat bloomed along her skin. She gripped the wall and did her best to breathe through the anxiety clawing up her chest.

‘Bridget?’ Victor’s voice reached her through the fog. ‘You coming out to show us?’

The Earth would change its orbit before she let them see her this way. No way, no how was she walking out there and putting herself on display.

Pins and needles were spreading across her flesh. She could no longer feel the wall under her palm. She felt lightheaded.

What was wrong with her? Panic choked her. She couldn’t get the words out to tell Victor to go away.

The sounds of a key scraping in the lock echoed in the small dressing room and tears streamed down her cheeks at the knowledge that Victor would discover her this way.

Black dots floated in front of her face and the room began to recede. She was going to pass out.

‘Bridget!’ Victor’s deep voice came to her from far away before strong hands gripped her shoulders and she felt herself enveloped in warmth as he sat on the chair in the corner and tucked her into his lap.

She sobbed into his shoulder. She had no idea why she was responding this way. It was just underwear, for heaven’s sake. But she felt stripped bare and exposed despite being covered in more material than the average bathing suit.

Victor didn’t say anything, just held her as she cried. Eventually, he began stroking her back and murmuring soothing noises.

As she wept, the panic receded. The numbness faded. Even her chest unclenched. Eventually, she was able to draw breath and speak.

‘This is ridiculous. Could I be more foolish?’ Her words were laced with bitterness.

‘Why?’ He seemed genuinely confused by her words.

‘I’m sitting here blubbering like an idiot over nothing more than being dressed in sexy underwear.’

‘Are you sure that’s what this is about?’ He tipped her chin up and began to wipe the tears from her face.

‘What else would it be about?’ She felt exhausted now. As if she could sleep in an instant.

‘You’d have to tell me, honey, but I will say this. Whatever is going on, it’s not about the lingerie.’ His brown eyes peered knowingly into hers. ‘It’s about vulnerability. I know you have something traumatic in your past even if I don’t know the specifics. All that grandmotherly cotton you wear, that’s armour.’

Bridget felt something break open inside her at his words and once more tears flowed. She let them come. She couldn’t have stopped them anyhow. She was just too tired.

She heard movement behind her and Victor saying something to Claire, who must have come to check on them. He obviously waved her off though, because when Bridget finally lifted her head, they were once again alone.

‘I’m sorry, Victor,’ she murmured as she attempted to right his collar which she’d soaked with her weeping.

‘Don’t be.’ He grinned rakishly. ‘I’ve fantasised about you in my lap dressed only in lingerie I designed for you.’

Her shock must have registered on her face because he laughed. It was a deep, masculine laugh that reached all the way to his eyes.