Page 77 of Bound in Possession

CAMILLA

The deep emerald silk of my gown clings smoothly to my waist before falling into a sleek, floor-length skirt with a subtle slit running up my left thigh. The dress is elegant, striking, and simple, leaving my collarbones and shoulders completely bare—the perfect canvas for the heavy weight currently sitting in my hands.

I lift the diamond necklace out of its box, tilting my head back slightly as I position it against my skin. It’s the very piece Maksim gave me on the morning of our wedding—a breathtaking, intricate cascade of diamonds that practically glows under the warm vanity lights. It’s too prominent, too impossibly expensive for everyday wear, but lately, whenever I’m preparing to step out of this house and into his dangerous world, I always find myself reaching for it.

I still stand firmly by the fact that I am not his property. I belong to no man. But as I look in the mirror, watching the ice-cold diamonds catch the light, a traitorous shiver runs down my spine. There is something ridiculously, dark, and undeniable sexy about wearing Maksim’s brand wrapped around my neck for the whole city to see.

I am struggling with the tiny, stubborn clasp behind my neck when I hear the heavy bedroom door click open. A moment later, Maksim appears in the doorway.

He stops, his dark eyes sweeping over me in silence, taking in every inch of the emerald silk before he moves forward. Without a word, his large, warm hands gently push my hair over one shoulder. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin at the base of my neck, sending a flicker of heat straight down my spine, before he expertly snaps the tiny diamond clasp into place.

His lips brush against my ear. "You look beautiful, princess."

I turn to face him, adjusting his lapels. "You look ridiculously handsome yourself."

And it's the absolute truth. Instead of his usual shadow-black, he’s wearing a tailored emerald-green tuxedo jacket that perfectly complements my gown, hugging his broad shoulders and giving him a lethal, breathtaking presence.

"Turn around," he says softly, his voice dropping into full Pakhan mode.

The romantic moment shifts instantly into something electric, dangerous, and deeply intimate. First, he fastens a sleek, delicate diamond-encrusted band around my left wrist. "This is a distress beacon," he explains, his thumb resting over a raised stone. "Press the center gem twice, firmly. It bypasses security, sends a localized ping straight to my watch, and alerts Dmitri's men outside."

Next, he steps close, leaning down as his fingers trace the edge of my gown's sweetheart neckline. He carefully secures a microscopic, flesh-toned wire just beneath the seam of my bodice, his knuckles grazing the top of my chest. "Audio link," he murmurs, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Dmitri will hear everything within a ten-foot radius. If you're separated from me, talk loud."

Finally, he drops to one knee in front of me, his heavy hands trailing up my bare calf, parting the high slit of my gown. The cool air hits my leg, but the heat of his touch burns. He straps a slim, lightweight holster high around my thigh, sliding a compact, sleek black pistol into the leather.

He rests his forehead briefly against my knee, his breath warm on my skin, before looking up at me. "Three rounds per clip. Safety is off. If anyone puts a hand on you without my permission, aim for the heart."

He stands, cupping my jaw in one broad palm, bringing his lips inches from mine. "Main doors, left side emergency exit, and the backstage service route. Memorize them. If the lights go out, stay where you are—I will come to you."

The intense, meticulous preparation leaves me breathless, my skin tingling where his fingers touched me.

"Ready?" he asks softly.

I take a deep breath, smoothing down my gown over the hidden steel against my thigh. "Ready."

Hand in hand, we leave the room and step out into the night under heavy, suffocating security. Three black, bulletproof SUVs form an impenetrable procession down the winding driveway, flanked by armed guards who scan every shadow until we reach the grand, glowing steps of the opera house.

Inside, the grand hall is a swirling sea of gold, crystal chandeliers, and high-society elite, but Maksim moves through them like a phantom through a ghost town. He keeps one solid hand resting firmly against the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd and straight up the winding marble staircase toward the grand private balconies.

Before we step into our suite, Dmitri glides silently up behind us. He leans into Maksim, speaking in a low, swift tone. "Matteo is late. His convoy hasn't crossed the perimeter yet."

Maksim’s jaw sets, a dark glint in his eye. "We wait inside."

Dmitri nods, opening the heavy velvet doors to our private box before taking his post outside with two guards. The heavy oak doors click shut, instantly cutting off the ambient noise of the bustling theatre lobby, locking us into absolute isolation.

The box is luxurious, draped in deep crimson velvet tapestries that absorb every stray sound from the hallway. Plush leather seats rest near the gilded railing, but the architectural design places the back half of the box in deep, intimate shadow. Below us, the main hall dims completely, leaving only the dim, dramatic wash of stage lighting filtering into our private sanctuary as the orchestra strikes its opening, thunderous chord.

The dark, soaring, tragic opera music, and the utter privacy of the enclosed space instantly heighten everything.

Maksim doesn't sit in his designated seat near the railing. Instead, he steps into the velvet shadows behind me, leaning his front against my back. His heavy warmth wraps around me like a velvet cloak, his chest rising and falling against my shoulder blades in sync with the dramatic swell of the violins below.

The subtle scent of his expensive cologne, layered with the metallic tension of the night, fills my senses. I feel his broad hands slide slowly around my waist, his long fingers splaying over the smooth silk of my gown, pinning me gently against his frame.

"Comfortable, princess?" he murmurs, his voice a low, rough vibration right against the sensitive curve of my ear.

I swallow hard, leaning my head back against his shoulder as the music swells to a breathtaking crescendo. The hidden gun against my thigh, the diamond necklace around my neck, and the heavy press of his body against mine send a violent spike of electricity straight down my spine. The line between danger and desire completely blurs in the dark.

"Yes," I whisper back, turning my head slightly until my lips nearly brush his jaw. "Always."