I shifted in my chair, my hands curling into fists on the armrest. Control. I needed to maintain control.
“Try the first one on,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.
Vivian grabbed the strapless gown and shimmied into it with a muttered curse. She turned, her arms spread wide in mockery, her lips curved into a sarcastic smile.
“Does this do it for you?”
I leaned back, narrowing my eyes. “Nah. Next.”
The second dress barely made it over her shoulders before I dismissed it. “I hate it. Take it off.”
Her glare could’ve melted steel, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she peeled the dress off with an exaggerated slowness that felt like a deliberate taunt.
By the time she reached the third dress, a lace creation with delicate cap sleeves, my composure was hanging on by a thread. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper.
“Turn around,” I said, standing before I could think better of it.
She obeyed, albeit hesitantly. My fingers brushed the warm skin of her back as I grasped the zipper, tugging it upward. Goosebumps erupted across her skin, and I froze, my throat tightening.
The scent of her—soft vanilla with an edge of seduction—wrapped around me, intoxicating me. I glanced up, meeting her gaze in the mirror. Her dark eyes held mine, wide and unguarded, for a fleeting moment.
“It’s perfect,” I said gruffly, stepping back quickly. I needed distance, space to regain the control she was so effortlessly stripping from me. “This is the dress.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.
I turned toward the door, ready to escape before I did something I’d regret. But a thought struck me, and I paused.
“I’ll give you access to some of your equipment,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
Her brows knitted in surprise. “Why?”
“Curiosity,” I admitted. “What’s this big project you’re working on?”
Her defiance returned like a storm cloud. “None of your damn business.”
A slow smirk tugged at my lips. “We’ll see about that.”
Our fingers brushed again as I handed her glasses back, and I felt that zing travel up my arm again. With one last glance at her, I left the room without another word.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to the back of my neck.
Vivian was getting under my skin in a way I could not tolerate. This woman was going to be the death of me. And only I had the power to prevent my own funeral.
13
VIVIAN
Footsteps echoed down the hallway outside my room, followed by a sharp knock on the door. I opened it to find two of The Shadow’s men, their expressions as unreadable as ever, standing there with several large boxes. My stomach twisted, a mix of apprehension and relief washing over me.
“Miss,” one of them said gruffly, inclining his head slightly. “Your equipment.”
I stepped back to let them into the room. “Put those over there,” I instructed, gesturing toward the corner near the window where the light was best. The words felt strange on my tongue, like I was reclaiming some tiny piece of autonomy in a place where I had none.
They gently set the boxes down exactly where I’d indicated. A third man came in, carrying a desk that looked like it had been dragged out of some unused part of the estate. It was sturdy and simple—functional, if not aesthetically pleasing.
“Anything else, Miss?” one of them asked, his tone clipped but polite.
“No,” I said, crossing my arms. “That’ll be all.”
