Page 35 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

“Picking your outfit?” he asked from the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“No,” I lied, shuffling through the closet. I’d brought a wide variety of things. Comfortable clothes, like leggings and T-shirts, some jeans and blouses, and a slew of other items like dresses, shorts, and fancy tops. What did one wear to a place like The Vault?

“I’d recommend something you can dance in,” he reiterated, as if reading my mind.

“Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. You want me looking classy as fuck.”

“Exactly.”

When he stood there for several more moments, watching me, I stopped what I was doing. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. Wanted to know if you’re good with chicken and rice for dinner? Got any dietary restrictions I should know about?”

The question caught me off guard in its thoughtfulness. “Yes and yes. But chicken and rice will be fine.”

“What’s the restriction?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“I’ve got a dairy intolerance,” I admitted. “It’s why I use heavy cream in my coffee. It’s low in lactose. Tara always has my drinks made with either almond milk or heavy cream at Awake.”

“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind. So…you can’t do milk at all then?”

“Oh, I can. Believe me, I’m an ice cream lover. I just…small amounts, you know?”

“Otherwise, I’ll have to put caution tape around the bathroom?”

“Oh, my God!” I practically choked. “Can you please leave so I can get dressed?”

He grinned and walked out.

“Seriously,” I mumbled to myself, hiding my smile. “What the hell?”

I slammed the bedroom door shut and locked it so he wouldn’t drop in again, then planned my outfit. Bastian wanted me to dance, which meant tight dresses and skirts were out unless I wanted to show off my undies. I needed something I could move in.

I picked out a sassy skater skirt. It was made out of a flat black, leathery type material and came up to my belly button. It had built in spandex shorts beneath, perfect for what I needed. It made me feel like a cheerleader every time I wore it. Then I grabbed my shimmery silver tank top, relieved that I’d found it earlier among the mess of clothes in my apartment, unspoiled. It had a draping neckline in front, with a built in bra. Its spaghetti straps were embellished with clear beads, and the back scooped low like a ballerina top. The bottom half hugged my ribs and stomach, cutting off an inch above the skirt.

I finished everything off with a pair of black, studded booties, adding three inches to my height. In front of the mirror, I turned at different angles, ensuring I’d gotten it right. Yep, I understood the assignment. Black and silver were a perfect combination. Just enough to be eye catching and classy, but not too much. I didn’t need flashy colors when I had pink hair. That would draw plenty of attention.

I spent the rest of my time on my hair and makeup. I put most of my hair up into a messy bun, leaving a few strands free. I added gold shimmer to my eyeshadow, making my hazel eyes pop. I did the contours of my makeup, highlighting my bone structure, then settled on a deep, maroon lipstick, which I’d apply after dinner.

One last look in the mirror and I was ready.

The scent of Bastian’s cooking hit me as soon as I opened my door. I hesitated, inhaling. How did someone make chicken and rice smell so good? I strode through the house, my boot heels clomping on the wood floor, announcing my arrival.

I found him in the kitchen. He froze, frying pan and spatula in hand, hovering over two dinner plates. His lips parted as he made a slow perusal of my body. It sent tingles straight to my fingertips. I felt his eyes like a caress, gently gliding across my skin, hesitating on the low neckline of my top, snagging on the strip of exposed stomach, then faltering on the leather of my skirt, the length of leg on display, the boots that tied everything together. He worked his way up just as slowly. When his eyes met mine, they were nearly black.

“It’s perfect.”

My stomach exploded into flutters. I exhaled, running my hands down the fabric of the top. “You’re sure?” Hesitance crept into my voice. This was The Vault we were talking about.

“Positive, sugar. One look and you’ll bring them to their knees. Only reason I’m not on the floor is I didn’t want to ruin our dinner.” He winked, hefting the frying pan before finishing his work, loading a smothered chicken breast onto each plate.

“Uhm…is that what you want, though?”

“It’s exactly what I want. Don’t worry. I won’t let you out of my sight. You’ll be safe. Come, eat.”

He set both plates on the island. I moved over to one and sat down. My mouth watered. The chicken was smothered in sauce, paired with long grain wild rice and sautéed carrots that gave off a hint of brown sugar. He’d garnished everything with fresh rosemary.

“Dig in,” he said, adding a glass of ice water beside my plate.