by Sienna Blake
I step in front of the mirror and gasp at my reflection. The emerald silk is bold and vibrant against my skin. It sits off the shoulder and dives like a swan across my collarbone. The skirt skims off my hips and falls to a gather at my knees and calves, giving me a screen-siren-like hourglass shape. I blur a little behind the moisture in my eyes. It fits me perfectly. Like he has been dressing me all his life.
The thought that his fierce green eyes had been all over me, studying my body so intently that he fitted me like he was my damn tailor, has my whole body buzzing. Suddenly, I’ve never been so aware of my skin, from the ends of my toes up to the tips of my ears.
A wave of fear rushes through me, cracking against the heat like cold water. I can’t go. I can’t wear the dress. I won’t let him dress me like his little doll. I can’t let him. If I take the gift then I’ll owe him. I don’t want to owe anyone anymore.
Jacob makes me twirl in this large plush dressing room. I can barely breathe as I stand in this silk red corset, matching G-string and garters turning my legs into two dark pins in black stilettos. He instructs me turn around and bend over so I am touching my toes. My cheeks heat with shame as I feel his eyes on my barely covered ass and pussy, held in the air for him like a cheap stripper. The whale-boning digs into my hips as I bend. Like bars of a cage.
“Yes,” his voice cuts through the air towards me. “You’ll wear this tonight and only this.”
When I stand again and turn to meet his eyes they are already tearing me apart. My arms come up to cross my chest. “But I don’t feel comfortable−”
“You’ll wear it.” His eyes narrow to slits. “Because I tell you to.”
I shake my head until that memory dislodges from my mind. I won’t let him dress me. I won’t wear this dress. I need to get this off. I can’t. Oh God. I can’t breathe. A wave of panic overcomes me and my fingers grab at the zipper and tug it down. I fling the material from my body.
I stand up straight and glare at the crumpled material as my breathing returns to normal. I thrust my chin in the air. I don’t have to wear his dress. I’ll just go in a different one. I’ll show him who’s in control.
It’ll just be the one date. Just one. Just to tell him that it will only be this one time. We can have sex so I can get him out of my system then I can disappear back into this piecemeal existence that I call my life.
I’ve never been to the Hotel deCrystal bar before. As I step into the opulent space I try not to gape. Chandeliers drip with real crystals, the cream and gold carpet is so plush my heels sink into it, the waiters are dressed in tailored coat and tails. In my left hand I hold a bag containing the box of unwanted obligation in the form of emerald silk. I wear a red dress, strapless and knee-length, the most formal thing I own, but I still feel so out of place. I almost wish I’d worn the green dress.
My heart pounds more than it should at the thought of seeing him again. My stomach is in knots. What will he say when he sees that I didn’t wear his dress? How will he react? I glance around and remind myself that I’m safe from his reaction in this public place. I was feeling so assured before, but now that I am here…
I don’t even know his name.
I see him sitting at a small table, staring out the full-length window beside him. He looks thoughtful, his finger tapping on his chin, a frown marring his profile. For a second I almost panic and run. He spots me and his face softens as he stands to face me. For a moment, my world becomes silent.
He is devastatingly beautiful. More beautiful than I remember. He has shaved his face since the last time we met, revealing smooth golden skin that glides across the strong plain of his jaw and his protruding cheekbones. His dark hair has been slicked down and back. He is dressed in dark pants and a white button-up shirt under his dinner jacket. Holy Jesus. The way he fills out that suit makes my belly tighten.
I get the feeling like I’m standing on the edge of the sea about to dive in. Below me sharp brutal rocks have been submerged in a calm and elegant high tide, flawless and alluring from above, but underneath, the danger remains.
I force myself forward. My knees are trembling so much I have to focus on each step to make sure I don’t trip on my face. He meets me halfway. Even with my heels on I have to stare up at this man. God, he is huge, thick and tall and towering. I catch his scent of wood smoke and that feeling of safety washes over me. His eyes are hooded and intense and they have me caught in his gaze.
“You look incredible.” In that moment, under the spotlight of his eyes, I feel it.
He scoops my hands up and places a soft feathery kiss on my fingers, sending tingles all over the back of my hand. I try to pull my hand from his. He won’t let go just yet. His lips part and he drops his mouth over my knuckles to give me a second kiss. Eyes still on me, he drags the tip of his tongue across my skin in a lick that I feel all the way down to my toes. I swallow a moan.
Two kisses. One sweet, one wicked. These two kisses represent the duality I can already see in him.
He leads me to the bucket sofa next to the seat that he was sitting in when I arrived. When he lets go of my arm I sink into the softness. I expect him to sit in the armchair to my left. He doesn’t. He squeezes his frame in between the table and the couch, one leg pressing against mine. He looks down expectantly at me. I choke silently as he towers above me. I realize he wants me to move up so he can sit next to me. For some reason I can’t move. I don’t want to. Without meaning to, my gaze drops to find the delicious bulge at the front of his pants. My mouth parts around a silent Oh. God.
He pushes one leg between mine. Then the other, forcing my knees further apart. Now he’s standing with his hips right there for me. Oh yes. We both want this. My mouth waters as I lean forward, my hands quickly unzipping his pants and finding his...
I flinch and sink back into the seat, snapping my legs shut, my cheeks on fire. He has already moved past me, oblivious to my dirty mind, and is turning around so he can sit down. His proximity is making my brain turn to mush. I need to put some space between us. To regain some of my control.
I expect him to sit on the other side of the couch from me. He doesn’t. He sits right in the middle. Right next to me. Right. Next. To. Me.
As he settles in and his knees fall out a little, our thighs touch. My skin practically burns through this dress. I could push myself up and over him and slide right down on him and I’ll bet I would fit perfectly around his…
I lean back against the arm of the chair, needing space, needing air. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t act this way around men. Not even good looking men. I am always the one in control. I am the one who they are flailing around. Not the other way round. Not like this.
He turns his torso towards me and rests his left arm along the back of the couch. At this angle it only serves to highlight the leanness of his waist under that tucked-in white shirt, and the width of his shoulders are highlighted by the soft black cotton of his suit and its wide lapels. I can feel the heat of his forearm through his jacket across my bare shoulder blades. Good lord. I can’t move. I feel like I am being held here. Imprisoned. Even though he’s barely touching me.
“I am so glad you came.”
Somewhere through my haze, I find my voice. “Did I even have a choice?”
“You always have a choice with me.”
Do I really? At the moment it doesn’t feel like it. My eyes move across this muscled form so lavishly cloaked in black Armani. It feels like my body is planning a mutiny on my sensibilities; its sole thought is to completely submit to this beautiful man. Whatever he wants…
Damn him.
“You sent this dress as emotional blackmail.” I shove the bag at him, pushing it between us like a shield.
He ignores the bag and doesn’t take his eyes off me. “It isn’t emotional blackmail.”
“Really? Then… what the hell is it?”
“A gift.”
“What do you want for it?”
“Nothing.”
/> “Then why did you give it to me?”
“Because I wanted to.”
For a second I’m stunned into silence.
No. He’s lying. He must be. I push the bag into his chest. “I won’t accept it.”
Only then does he look down at the crushed bag in his lap. “You didn’t like the dress? You aren’t wearing it.”
I lift my chin. Stay strong. “I didn’t want to.”
He smiles and places the bag at his feet. “You look beautiful regardless.”
I peer at him closely, looking for a twitch in his jaw, a crease between his brows. For a sign of the monster underneath. But… I see none of those things. “You… You’re not mad that I’m not wearing the dress?”
He laughs and the sound rolls over me like silk. “No. I wouldn’t get mad if you said you didn’t want to do something I asked you to. I would instead make it so that you didn’t want to say no.” His finger strokes along the back of my neck, a light touch that awakens my nerve endings all the way down my back. I have to fight not to visibly shudder. Stupid carnal needy body. I can’t deny that a part of me wants to say yes to him. He can’t know this. I have to regain my control over this conversation and myself.
“Ha,” I scoff. “You’re so sure of yourself.”
“You think I’m arrogant.”
“You are.”
“You just think that because you don’t know what’s coming.” He leans in close to me, so close I can feel his breath rushing around my cheeks. His green eyes crackle with fire. “You’ll say yes to me. You’ll say yes to me and only me. You know how I know?”
I shake my head, trying to swallow but failing. The heat emanating off him is so intense it has caused my mouth to go dry. With his nose he nudges my cheek to the side so he can access my neck.
His voice, so low and hot, fucks my ear. “I’m going to make you feel so good that it’ll ruin you for all other men.”
Oh dear God.
I whimper.
He pulls back so that I can see his face. The intensity of his expression hasn’t softened – if anything it has darkened. There’s no playfulness in what he has just said, no lightness to his expression, no quirk of his lips. Just a promise. A promise I know he’s going to deliver.
A single white-hot flame licks between my thighs, leaving me aching and my thin lace panties wet. I tear my gaze away in case my eyes have become transparent and he can see how much he’s effecting me inside. I cross my arms over my breasts to hide my nipples which are pressing so torturously against the material of this dress.
The waitress arrives at this very moment, breaking the tension. She places two black napkins down in front of us before adding drinks. “Your scotch, sir. And your Shirley Temple, madam.”
My drink is tall and orange and filled with ice. I play with the straw and take a sip just to be polite. I frown when I detect something missing.
“I noticed that you don’t like to drink,” he says, noting my reaction. “So I ordered you a virgin cocktail. I hope you don’t mind.”
A strange feeling starts to invade me. He knows where I live, he knows what size dress I wear, he knows I don’t drink. It has been a while since another man has known anything personal about me. It’s been a long time since any man has cared to know.
“You know so much about me already,” I say, “but I don’t even know your name.”
“Caden. Caden Thaine. Some people like to call me Cade.”
Caden Thaine. I roll these words silently around my head. They fit him. Like that jacket fits him and those pants fit him. And that knowing twist to his lips fits him. Fuck. Even the scar across his eyebrow fits him.
Caden Thaine.
“Okay, Cade.” I’m thrilled at the sound of his name coming off my lips. I love how my tongue has to flick up at the roof of my mouth when I say it. Even that little movement is sexy. “Who are you? And what do you want?”
He smiles but there’s a glint in his eyes like the edge of a blade. “Be careful what you ask me. You may not like the answer.”
He is baiting me. I’m not biting. “You don’t scare me.”
“Maybe I should.”
I watch him. Despite how brutal he looks even smarted out in this suit, I still can’t help the feeling of safety I get around him. It makes my panic about the dress earlier seem silly. “No,” it comes out before I can stop myself, “I’ve known bad men, truly bad men. You’re not one of them.”
“No?” I see a flicker of something behind his intensity as he searches my face. I see… hope.
“No,” I say softly. “You don’t feel like one of them. You think you’re bad. Maybe you’ve done bad things. But you’re not. Not really.” The words he used against me the other night come to my mind. “You may think you’re beyond redemption, but… you’re not. You just need someone to remind you.”
I catch the surprise washing over his face. For a moment I can imagine him as a boy, scarless and vulnerable and carefree, before whatever happened to make him the jaded man he is now. His face changes as the doubt draws back over him like a tide that can’t be held back. He leans back again, looking uncomfortable.
“Touché,” he says softly. He scoops up his scotch and tilts back the whole shot in one gulp. When he lowers his glass the mask is back on his face. I feel the distance between us again. For one moment we were just two people being real. I feel like I have lost sight of something precious, and the disappointment this brings me makes it hard to continue looking at him. I turn my head to gaze out at the glittering view from the window.
This bar is on the very top floor of the Hotel deCrystal, which sits like a gem in the center of a city that stretches out across the darkened landscape of the night. Below us is a fairground of twinkling, moving, whirling lights. A pretty circus that I can never truly be a part of.
I feel a sudden rush of sadness when I remember that I’m here with Caden only for tonight. One date is all I can afford to have with him. One date, one night of passion. That is all. I can never be a part of anything significant. I can never be a part of anything real or lasting. Not anymore.
It doesn’t matter that we’re having the most intimate conversation that I have had in years. It doesn’t matter that I already feel oddly close to Caden. I can’t keep seeing him. Caden Thaine, regardless of how patient he is, will eventually want to get closer to me. He will eventually want to know about me, who I am, where I came from. I can’t let him. I can’t get close to someone without revealing the things that need to be kept buried.
“You look sad, kitten.”
I turn to him, a little startled. I didn’t think my thoughts had been playing across my face. I always take such great pains to hide what I’m feeling that it has become second nature. I don’t know whether I have already started dropping my guard around Cade or whether he can just read me. Either situation is just too risky.
“I can’t see you again after tonight.”
“Oh? Are you going somewhere?”
Not yet.
I shake my head. “No. I just can’t do…” my fingers flutter between us as if I am trying to capture the right words to say from the air. But the right words are like disobedient butterflies and won’t be corralled. “…this,” I finish lamely.
A knowing look softens his features and Caden catches my hand in his. His thumb brushes along my fingers. I marvel at how gentle he can be with those large, brutal-looking hands.
“You are not a conventional woman, I know that. But I’m not a conventional man. We both have parts of ourselves that we can’t share. This is why we fit each other. We are cut from the same cloth. Why can’t we design our own version of together?”
Our own version of together.
My heart feels like it’s already filling with the hope that the thought of together brings. Is it wise for me to hope?
“What does that mean? Our own version of together?”
“It means whatever we want it to mean. You would never have to tell me anything
you didn’t want to and neither would I. We wouldn’t have to involve ourselves in each other’s lives, we could just be together when we were together. Things could be simple. Our own version of togetherness.”
God, it sounds like heaven. It sounds like he isn’t asking for anything more than what little I have to offer. Because I am broken.
I realize that maybe Caden is broken, too. Maybe we really could carve out our own version of togetherness?
I can’t entertain this thought for another moment. Whatever we could have, no matter how perfect the arrangement, one day I would have to leave and it would have to end. I’m about to refuse him, but…
“Aren’t you tired of being alone?” I can hear the whisper of a deep and hungry pain in his voice. “I am.”
His words stab me so violently through the heart that I swear it stops for a second.
I am.
I am tired. So tired.
It hurts me to think that this beautiful man could feel so alone, too. Maybe we could be less lonely together?
“Would you start something,” I say, “even if you knew it would eventually have to end?”
“Everything ends. Relationships, love, life itself… But you don’t stop living because you know you will die one day, you live because you know you will. Or, at least, you try.”
For a few seconds we just sit, basking in each other’s gazes. Even though the stare is intense it sits like a well-worn coat, warm and comfortable. I feel like he just understands me.
“You don’t stop living because you know you will die one day, you live because you know you will.” I stopped living some time ago.
I want to live.
After the date Caden insists on walking me home. He winds my arm through his and leads me through the streets of the city. We are both quiet on the way, but it isn’t an uncomfortable quietness. It’s the soft, soothing quiet of lolling waves, a rocking hammock, our own version of togetherness. I find a smile playing upon my lips. Fancy that. Who knew I could still smile?