I felt each inch of fabric close around me like another layer of his control. When he finished, his hands lingered on my shoulders.
"Breathe," he murmured against my ear.
I hadn't realized I'd stopped.
He turned me around, his eyes traveling down my body in a way that both stripped me bare and worshipped me. Then he spotted the shoes still in the bag at my feet.
"Sit."
"I can put on my own?—"
"Sit. Down."
Something in his tone weakened my knees. I sank onto the edge of my bed, and he knelt before me. The sight of this dangerous man on his knees should have given me power, but somehow it didn't.
He lifted one foot, his warm hand wrapping around my ankle. His thumb traced a slow circle against my skin.
"Red bottoms," he said, sliding the stiletto on with agonizing care. "Do you know what these are for?"
My mouth went dry. "Walking?"
His eyes flicked up to mine, his expression dark and amused. "No."
He lifted my other foot, his hand sliding higher up my calf than necessary. The dress's slit parted, exposing my thigh, and his gaze followed the line of bare skin hungrily.
"Then what?" My voice came out breathless.
He slid the second shoe on, his fingers lingering at my ankle. "For reminding a man exactly what he wants to do to you." He stood slowly, pulling me up with him. "And for making every other man in the room wish he could."
I wobbled slightly on the unfamiliar heels, and his arm went around my waist, steadying me. Claiming me.
"I hate you," I whispered.
"I know." His thumb brushed along my jaw. "But your body doesn't."
In the mirror, I looked like someone else. Someone elegant and dangerous. The dress fit like it had been designed for my body, the sweetheart neckline framing the diamonds that could kill me.
"Perfect," Darius said behind me, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection. "Every man there will want you. But you're mine."
"I'm not anyone's."
His hand settled on my hip, possessive and burning through the thin fabric. "Keep telling yourself that."
"You're a monster."
"Yes." He leaned in, his lips barely grazing my ear. "But I'm the monster who knows exactly what you need."
My stomach flipped, desire and fury warring inside me. He saw too much. Knew too much.
"I should be screaming. Fighting you."
"But you're not." His breath was hot against my neck. "Why is that?"
I didn't answer because I couldn't. Because the truth was too damning.
He wrapped a cashmere pashmina around my shoulders, the gesture almost tender if not for the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Time to go."
He led me down the stairs, his hand possessive on the small of my back. The Range Rover was waiting, and when I climbed in, I couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath as my still-tender ass hit the leather seat.
