She stands before me in simple cotton underwear. Practical, modest.
The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I force myself to remain still, to watch as she steps into the emerald silk, drawing it up over her hips, her torso, slipping her arms into the delicate straps.
“Can you...?” She turns, presenting her back to me, the dress gaping where she can’t reach the zipper.
I step forward, hands steady as I draw the zipper up, sealing her into silk that clings to every curve as if it was made for her body alone. It was. I had her measurements sent to the designer.
“Turn around,” I tell her.
She does, slowly.
And then she’s facing me, and the green makes her eyes glow, brings out highlights in her hair I’ve never noticed, makes her skin luminous.
For a moment, all I can do is stare.
She is exquisite.
“Do you like it?” she asks, a hint of uncertainty in her voice as she smooths her hands down the front of the dress.
“I love it.”
I cross the distance between us in two strides, my hands finding her waist, drawing her against me. Her gasp of surprise is swallowed by my mouth as I kiss her hard, everything I can’t say poured into the press of my lips against hers.
When I pull back, we’re both breathing hard again, her hands clutching my shoulders, my grip on her waist tight enough that I might be leaving marks on the silk.
She believes me. Believes in this impossible thing growing between us. Believes in me, scars and walls and all.
And I’m starting to believe too.
Chapter Ten
NOLA
I tracethe edge of my bottom lip with my fingertip, careful not to smudge the lipstick that took me three attempts to apply evenly.
I’ve never been a lipstick person. But tonight is not a jeans-and-lip-balm kind of night, and the woman at the department store counter was very persuasive. Or I was very panicked. Either way, my lips are now “Crimson Reign” and my hands won’t stop shaking.
My reflection stares back at me from the hotel mirror. A woman I barely recognize in an emerald silk dress. She looks like she belongs here, in this five-star hotel, in this life. Like she hasn’t spent the last year couch-surfing after losing everything. I keep waiting for her to blink and turn back into the girl in the yellow dress with the fraying cardigan, but she doesn’t. She just stands there looking like someone who has her shit together, which is the most impressive illusion I’ve ever pulled off.
Behind me, the bathroom door opens. Caleb steps out in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped low around his hips. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and something hot and possessive flashes across his face before he schools his expression.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low and rough.
I turn to face him. “You’re not even dressed yet.”
“We still have plenty of time.”
I watch as he dresses, each layer adding another piece of armor. Black pants, crisp white shirt, onyx cufflinks, black bow tie. By the time he slips on the jacket, he’s transformed from the man who carries me to bed and calls me “good girl” into something polished and powerful and untouchable. The kind of man who fills magazine covers and makes people nervous in elevators. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. It is anyway.
I step closer, place my palm against his back, feel the heat of him through the expensive fabric. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We could go back to the compound right now.”
He turns, catching my hand, bringing it to his lips. “I know. But I want to. It’s time.”
I reach up to trace the edge of his scar with my fingertip, the gesture that’s become our private language. He doesn’t flinch from my touch anymore. Instead, he leans into it slightly, eyes closing for just a moment.
“Ready?” I ask softly.
