Muse in Lingerie_Lingerie 1

  Muse in Lingerie

  Lingerie #1

  Penelope Sky

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Hartwick Publishing

  Muse in Lingerie

  Copyright © 2018 by Penelope Sky

  All Rights Reserved

  1

  Sapphire

  I sat alone at the bar with a scotch on the counter in front of me. The amber liquid was strong down my throat, but not strong enough to fill me with the warmth I needed to survive this nightmare.

  My mother’s house had been repossessed by the bank. The single asset I inherited had been taken away from me with the snap of a finger. Now I didn’t have a place to live, and what was worse, I still had to pay off the loan.

  All because of my brother, Nathan.

  His girlfriend left him, he got mixed up in the underworld, and he made a gamble he couldn’t afford to lose. The guys killed him once his pockets were empty, and since Nathan had so much debt racked up, the government took the house to pay off everything he owed.

  I couldn’t believe this bullshit.

  The house had been left to both of us, so we were both on the deed. Since I had better credit, and I was the more responsible one, the loan had been made out in my name. Now I had to pay for his stupidity by losing everything.

  And I mean everything.

  The house was gone. I still owed five hundred thousand dollars to the bank. My financial aid for college had been canceled because my credit was shit. Now I owed money for an education I couldn’t afford to finish.

  But that wasn’t the worst part.

  The crew Nathan got mixed up in hadn’t been compensated for the money they were due. They couldn’t take the house because the government beat them to the punch. Knuckles, the leader of their organization, was one of the biggest crime lords in the world. Everyone spoke of him like he was a myth because they hadn’t seen him in person.

  Lucky bastards.

  He was untouchable by the police because he had more power than any man should.

  They called him Knuckles because that was his weapon of choice—his bare hands.

  And I was his next victim.

  I stared at the piece of paper sitting in front of me. Scribbled in black ink were simple words.

  Three days, sweetheart.

  Knuckles liked to play with his food before he went in for the final cut. He was torturing me, watching me struggle without a penny to my name. In random places, I would find these notes, usually slipped into my backpack when I rode the subway. Since I was homeless, I was crashing on people’s couches.

  And lying about my circumstances. They thought my place was being fumigated.

  It was such a stupid lie, I couldn’t believe people actually believed it.

  I only had three days of freedom left before Knuckles closed in on me.

  And turned me into his personal sex slave. He promised there would be whips and chains. He promised there would be pain and pleasure. He promised he would get every cent he was due between my legs.

  It was the final punishment for Nathan—even though he was long gone.

  Knuckles warned me not to leave, that there would be dire consequences if I did. He had the resources to find me, and once he did, there would be a lot more pain than pleasure. There would be brutal torture along with his cock ramming me in every hole I possessed.

  Fuck, I couldn’t believe this was happening.

  I wasn’t sure who I was more pissed at. Nathan, Knuckles, or myself.

  Myself because I should have known what Nathan was up to. I shouldn’t have been so absorbed in my studies and work. I should have had a clue about what was going on around me. Nathan lived with me… How did I not see it?

  I finished my scotch and ached for another, but I simply couldn’t afford it. One was enough for the day.

  The TV in the corner switched to Entertainment Tonight, and Lacey Lockwood appeared on the screen. One of the most beautiful models in the world, she was blond with blue eyes and a body that would make every man fall to his knees. She modeled the most luxurious lingerie created. It was the kind of stuff that every woman wanted a man to buy her. It was beautiful, simple, and elegant. “Conway Barsetti is a genius. Everyone compliments my appearance, but he’s the man who deserves your praise. He’s the most meticulous and brilliant man I’ve ever known. Even on my worst days, he makes me feel beautiful.”

  With a size zero and a smile like that, how bad could her worst day really be?

  The image changed to Conway Barsetti, standing for pictures outside one of his fashion shows. In a gray suit that fit him like a second skin, he stood in front of the cameras with pure indifference. It was like dozens of people weren’t taking his picture at all, the bright flash hitting his eyeballs over and over. His hands rested in his pockets, and his broad shoulders contrasted against his narrow hips. For a man who designed clothes, his tastes were very simple. He turned his head slightly to give another angle for the photographers, his intense expression hardening like he was annoyed.

  Not once did he smile.

  And he obviously wasn’t going to.

  He had deep brown hair that looked black without the sun hitting it directly. Green eyes smoldered with vibrant intensity. His jawline was chiseled like the bone had been molded from marble. His face had been cleanly shaven, but it was obvious he could grow facial hair overnight. A large Adam’s apple protruded from his throat. Instead of looking like the designer who belonged behind the camera, he looked like he should be the focal point of everyone’s attention.

  He was damn gorgeous.

  There were a few other interviews with the models, all gushing about the designer they worshiped like a god. Maybe they were being genuine, or maybe they were just kissing his ass to get a better spotlight. The show was taking place in Milan. Then the camera turned back to Lacey Lockwood.

  “Conway Barsetti is always looking for the perfect woman to show off his art. I was sitting in a coffee shop when I was approached. My life changed forever in that moment, and I couldn’t thank him enough for giving me this opportunity.” The camera turned back to Conway, showing him shaking hands with a few other men in suits.

  As I sat there pissing away whatever money I had left on a good drink, I watched this beautiful man living the dream. Rich, admired, and a level of beautiful that could only be described as stupid, he had everything. Women were plentiful, and money wasn’t an issue. He could order as many drinks in that bar as he wanted.

  I’d never been jealous like this before.

  I was never rich, but I’d always had everything I needed. I had a roof over my head, food on the table, family, and an education. If you ask me, that was living the American dream. Then suddenly, it was all taken away.

  And there was nothing I could do about it.

  I stared at the screen a while longer, watching the images change as they showed more aspects of Conway Barsetti’s life. It showed his Italian villa in Verona, surrounded by vineyards and gorgeous land. It showed him posing outside a building in Milan, a bicycle leaned up directly beside him. Every image was more beautiful than the last, and not just because he was in it.

  It was a beautiful place.

  I’d never been to Italy. I’d never been outside the US. I’d been too busy being broke and going to school to afford such a lavish trip.

  But now, I had
nothing. Just enough money to buy a plane ticket.

  Knuckles threatened to hurt me even more if I ran. In three days, I would officially be his possession. Calling the cops wasn’t an option because he’d kill every friend I had. But the idea of letting that man have me made me sick to my stomach. I wasn’t going to wait around until he caught me off guard and wrapped his hand around my neck. I wasn’t going to let someone turn me into a slave. I wasn’t going to pay for a crime I didn’t commit.

  “Conway Barsetti’s team just announced they’ll have a special one-time opportunity for women to audition for a spot on the runway. The auditions will be held in Milan…” The reporter’s voice trailed away once I tuned her out.

  I left some cash on the table and grabbed my bag from the floor. Knuckles might be watching me that very moment, but I wasn’t going to sit around until he appeared out of the darkness. I was going to run like hell until he caught me.

  And I’d never stop.

  2

  Sapphire

  Even with only a few bucks in my pocket, Italy was a beautiful place.

  The most gorgeous place I’d ever seen.

  The small towns were surrounded by vineyards, flowers, and marketplaces full of fresh produce along with homemade cheeses. Wine was more plentiful than water, and strangers had no problem sharing with someone they didn’t even know. Not having money to pay for food wasn’t an issue because everyone was so generous.

  If I were in America, I’d look like a beggar on the street.

  I took the bus to the neighboring towns around Milan and explored them. It was easy to be a tourist when the most beautiful sights were all free. I slept under the stars because it was warm, and I showered in public restrooms. It wasn’t my finest hour, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either.

  It was still better than being a slave.

  At first, I looked over my shoulder every other minute, expecting to see that horrific man watching me. But three days had come and gone, and he obviously knew I was no longer in New York City. After a quick search, he would find the manifest of the plane I was on. There was no doubt in my mind he’d tracked me to Italy. But since I was only using cash and not checking in to hotels, there was no way to trace me.

  It was like I didn’t exist.

  Being homeless was a freeing experience.

  The feds would keep searching for me since I owed so much on my mortgage, and they wouldn’t stop until they put me in prison or took all of my wages from whatever job I managed to pick up. I would work forty hours a week just to be piss-poor for the rest of my life. I couldn’t even afford to resume my education.

  Starting over in a foreign country sounded like my only option.

  I just hoped no one caught me.

  I didn’t have a false sense of my appearance. I understood I was pretty, but I certainly wasn’t model material. But if I could ask for a job doing something else, like sewing or being an assistant, I could make some money to get by. And I would also work for a very powerful man. It might make it difficult for Knuckles to touch me. That was also the last thing anyone would expect me to do, get a job working for a famous person. People would assume Conway Barsetti would turn me in, but judging by the empty expression in his eyes, he wouldn’t give a damn who I was running from. He had more important things to do—like count his money and his women.

  I returned to Milan later that night with a bag full of bread, cheese, grapes, and crackers. The villagers I met had pushed more food into my arms than I could carry. I ate most of it when it was fresh and saved the rest for dinner. I slept in a hostel that night and had a bed and a real shower after a few days without that kind of luxury.

  Tomorrow, I would head to the audition and hope for the best. I didn’t have nice clothes, but my clothes shouldn’t matter because I wasn’t looking to be a model.

  I’d even be a janitor—if it paid enough.

  * * *

  I had to check in like everyone else and was given a number to stick against my clothes. All the women there were already in heels and lingerie, dressed up for the part. Beautiful, skinny, and with enormous hair, they were all qualified to be the next model for Conway Barsetti.

  I was the only one fully dressed—and that made me feel naked.

  Most of the women raised their eyebrows when they looked at me then whispered something to their friends in Italian. Some even laughed at me, like I was an idiot for showing up dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. My makeup and hair were done, and I dressed nicely for a walk through the park, but in the context of the audition, I looked like the biggest freak on the planet.

  Numbers were called, and women worked the stage like it was the real deal. They strutted, pivoted, flipped their hair, and threw smoldering gazes at the men sitting behind the table.

  Conway Barsetti wasn’t there.

  He must have more important things to do than pick out his next model. Or maybe he was watching—but he couldn’t be seen. I was a bit crestfallen when he was nowhere in sight. A beautiful man like that was fun to stare at.

  They finally called my number, 228.

  I walked up the stairs and passed the woman who just hit the runway. She didn’t contain her laugh as she passed me, wearing a silver bra and panties and heels that were so tall she was practically walking on her toes.

  I ignored her and walked up to the table where the three men sat. All dressed in suits, they moved their eyes over my body, taking in every feature with experienced gazes. It wasn’t the look I received from men when I went downtown in a short dress. It was pragmatic, completely observational.

  The one in the middle spun his finger. “Turn and walk.”

  “I’m not here to audition to be a model.” I kept my hands by my sides and didn’t bother with a fake smile. I wasn’t there to impress them with my appearance, but my mannerisms. “I have a lot of other skills I think will be useful to the Barsetti lingerie line. I can sew, clean, cook, organize…anything. I’m looking for work, and I’m willing to fill any position you may have.”

  The man in the middle had dark hair and eyes. A pen was held in his fingertips, and he absentmindedly rotated it within his fingers. His eyes were dark like coffee, with just a splash of cream. “Modeling is the position we’re trying to fill. You want it or not?”

  I immediately wanted to challenge him until he caved and directed me to someone who could hire me in a different field, but judging by the hostility in his eyes, he was already fed up with me. It was unlikely anyone spoke to these men that way, not when they could make dreams come true. “Do I look like the modeling type to you?” I’d shown up in jeans and a t-shirt with flat sandals on my feet. I wasn’t photogenic like the rest of them. I didn’t smile with perkiness or smolder with my sensuality. I was plain and boring. I knew it—and they knew it.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You haven’t walked the runway yet.”

  “I don’t think my ability to walk is the deciding factor here.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Look, I’m desperate for work. I just moved here, and I’ve got twenty euros in my pocket. I can do anything.”

  “Then walk the runway.” He flicked his wrist and indicated to the stage with his pen. “Or leave.” He challenged me with his dark look, telling me his patience had been officially drained. The other two men watched me in silence, hardly blinking.

  I swallowed my pride and did as they asked. I’d seen two hundred and twenty-seven women walk that runway all afternoon, so I knew exactly what to do. I knew how to hold my shoulders, how to shake my hips, and how to pivot. I felt like an idiot for doing it dressed that way, but I was desperate.

  And desperate people did desperate things.

  I walked to one point on the stage and then turned back, walking with a straight back and tense posture. I didn’t smile or wear a smoldering expression. That was where I drew the line.

  The man in the middle set his pen on his clipboard. “Scars?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you have scar
s?”

  “No.”

  “Lift up your shirt.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “I need to see your skin,” he said. “Blemishes, acne, etc.”

  “Just take my word for it.”

  He made notes on a piece of paper then snapped his fingers at me.

  I placed my hands on my hips, regarding him with an ice-cold expression. Something told me that snap was specifically for me—and I didn’t care for it. “Do I look like a dog to you?”

  “Woof.” An asshole smile spread on his lips. “Get your ass over here and take this. It has your instructions.”

  “My instructions?” I slowly inched forward, my eyes on the small piece of paper he held in his hand. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re going to the next stage.” He placed the paper in my hand. “Show this to the men at the door. Otherwise, you won’t get in.”

  “Whoa, hold on.” My eyes scanned the information written down. It had an address as well as a time. “You’re seriously considering me?”

  “Yes, sweetheart.” He still wore that asshole smile.

  “Don’t call me that.” Anytime I heard that name, I felt the terror constrict my throat. Knuckles was the only man to ever call me that, so I’d developed a deep aversion to the horrific nickname. No man would ever call me that for the rest of my life. “And are you insane? Do you see all the gorgeous women out there?”

  “You don’t think you’re gorgeous?” He cocked an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter what you wear. Real beauty can’t be hidden. Now get off the stage. We have a lot of women to see.”

  I stared at the paper again, unable to believe what had just happened. I didn’t know how much models got paid, but it was definitely enough to get an apartment and have a hot shower every day. It could be enough for me to start over. “When I said I wanted a different position, I wasn’t lying. Is there really nothing else?”