When I step out, I find him exactly where I left him—body relaxed, taking up the chair with ease, head slightly tilted as his eyes move over me, studying every detail.
“What do you think?” I stand boldly, but his eyes are burning me.
“Let me try,” he mumbles and gets up, his monstrous body now towering over mine.
He gently takes my hand, lifts it, and spins me slowly, the movement effortless. My body follows automatically, completing the turn right in front of him. But his eyes never leave mine, not even for a second to check the dress.
“That could work,” he states, and I frown at him.
“That could work? Really? You know, you could say something about how beautiful I look right now,” I snap.
“Those words are overused and could never describe how I see you through my eyes, Kiara.”
His soft green eyes stay locked on mine, a hint of pain flickering in them, and I freeze, my heart picking up speed.
But then he suddenly lets go of my hand, drops to one knee, and reaches for a pin from the table, holding it between his lips.
I look down at him, the sight of him kneeling in front of me pulls up a flood of memories—times he did it to apologizewhen he didn’t know how, and other times for entirely different reasons. My cheeks warm up.
His hands settle on my hips, slowly guiding me to turn around. My insides burn at his touch, heat rising under my skin as I feel sweat gathering at the back of my neck, my ass now right in front of his face. I glance over my shoulder at him.
He takes the pin from his mouth and fixes it into the fabric at my waist, pulling the dress in just slightly. Then he turns me back to face him, checking the result from the front, his hands still resting on my hips.
I can feel the roughness of his scarred skin even through the thin material. Then his hand slips beneath the fabric through the slit in the side of my dress, closing around my leg just under the knee. He lifts it, bending it carefully and placing my heel on his lowered knee. I lose my balance for a second, shifting faintly, and he immediately steadies me, his hands finding my hips again. My hands shoot to his in response, holding on.
He looks up at me from beneath his lashes, and my lips part at the sight.
I want him like this. His large body kneeling in front of me, dark eyes filled with something deep and consuming, fixed deliberately on mine. I want to burn this moment into my memory.
Once I’m steady, he lets go, my heel still resting on his knee, and reaches into his back pocket. I don’t even register what he pulls out. I can’t take my eyes off him.
A black strap unfolds in his hands. He slides it high onto my thigh, fastening it in place, tightening it just enough. A quiet gasp slips from my lips at the sensation spreading from his touch.
“Too tight?” he asks, lifting his head.
Yeah, that’s what the gasp was for.
I shake my head slowly. “No, just enough,” I whisper.
He gently takes my leg and puts it back on the floor, taking his hands off, one of them brushing my leg briefly through the slit in the dress, and gets up. I move the material on my legs to the side and study the thing on my thigh.
“Knife?” I ask with a hint of shock.
The blade glints faintly in the low light, thin and black. I trace its handle, surprised by how light it feels against my skin.
“Small garter dagger, just a precaution,” he explains.
Precaution my ass.
Kasien’s still watching me, standing by the table behind him, brows slightly raised, waiting for me to ask. So I do.
“So how do I even use it?”
He sets his glass down with a soft clink.
“Come here.” His voice leaves no room for hesitation.
I walk toward him slowly, my heels echoing against the marble, every step louder than I want it to be. He doesn’t move until I stop in front of him so close I can feel his warm breath on my face. Then he reaches down, fingers brushing the strap on my thigh, he pulls the knife out and flips it in his hand, catching it by the blade before offering me the handle.
