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I swallow hard and snatch them off of the bed. When I finally have them on, both zipped up, and straighten to look at myself in the mirror again, my jaw almost drops.
What the fuck was I afraid of?
Connor had talked about hiring submissives at the club, but looking at my reflection, I think I look anything but submissive. The boots make me feelpowerful, the leather climbing all the way up to mid-thigh, more heeled stockings than boots, really, leaving only a small triangle of visible flesh between the top of the dress’s slit and the boots. I feel like I could conquer the world in these things, and it makes me wonder why he chose this outfit, instead of something tiny and slutty that would have made me feel shy and embarrassed all night.
You’re overthinking it,I tell myself as I grab the small black satin clutch that I planned to take with me, running my fingers through my loose hair once more before grabbing my room key and heading for the door. I leave the collar on the bed, my one defiance against this whole setup that Connor has managed to bait me into.He can’t have put that much thought into it,I tell myself as I hurry down the hall as quickly as I can in the unsteady heels to the elevator—but at the same time, IknowConnor picked this outfit out himself. He doesn’t have a personal assistant or a secretary to do it for him. He chose this for me, and thinking of that sends a warm flush over me as I ride the elevator down, feeling the soft leather cling to me like an embrace.
I have no idea what the night ahead of me holds, and I’m terrified. Still, I can’t deny that there’s a flicker of excitement deep in my belly, too, wondering what’s going to happen.I’m not going to let him touch me,I tell myself firmly.Not even a kiss. He’s not going to bait me into that again.
When I step out of the hotel and see him waiting there for me on his bike, I instantly question my ability to keep that resolve.
He’s wearing tight black jeans and a black button-down open low enough to show a smattering of hair at the top of his chest, a long silver chain hanging from his throat along with a corded leather necklace equally as long, both disappearing into the shirt. I catch a glimpse of silver and onyx rings on his fingers where he’s gripping the motorcycle, his reddish hair darker than usual with the product he used to style it, and a nicer style of black leather jacket over it all, rather than the beat-up, weathered one I usually see him wearing. Even his boots look cleaner.
He catches my gaze on him as I approach the bike and laughs, the sound rolling over me, deep, rich, and throaty. It sends a shiver down my spine that seems to settle between my thighs, tingling as I look at the bike and try to determine if I can actually ride it in my current getup.
“I chose the dress with the bike in mind,” Connor says with a smirk. “Those slits will let you straddle it no problem. And as for the shoes—“ he winks at me. “Hang on to me, lass, and you should be just fine.”
Hanging onto himis precisely what I know I shouldn’t be doing, but I’m not backing down now. His gaze rakes appreciatively over me, taking in my figure wrapped in the black leather he sent, and I can see the heat in his eyes—all the way until his gaze reaches my throat.
“You’re not wearing my collar,” he says gruffly, and god help me, something about that sentence sends another jolt of electric need straight through me.What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I’m not wearing any collar,” I tell him stiffly. “If you want to own me, Connor McGregor, buy me a diamond ring. I believe that’s how civilized people contract such terms.”
He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It has nothing to do with owning you, Saoirse. At least,” he corrects himself, “not between you and I. Trust me, if I wanted to collar you for real, I’d go about it very differently. It’s for your own protection tonight.”
My eyes widen slightly. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a sign to other men in the club that you’re spoken for.Mysubmissive, for tonight, anyway. No one else will touch you. They’ll know that you’re mine.”
Mine. The word sends another tremor through me, my pulse leaping in my throat. Everything about this has me off-kilter, unbalanced—but then again, Connor seems to do that quite easily all on his own, even without leather and collars and sex clubs involved.
“I can’t go up and get it,” I say sharply. “If my father catches me—”
Connor laughs. “I brought a spare with me,” he says. “It’s not as fancy as the one I had sent to you—that was solid rose gold, by the way. I thought it would look nice with your hair. But I figured you’d balk and refuse to wear it, so I have one in the saddlebags.” He gestures at the leather pouch hanging off the side of his bike.
Something about the idea that he knows me so well already that he knew how I’d react makes me seethe, enough that I want to turn on my leather-booted heel and stalk back up to my room, tell my father that I want to go back to Boston and leave Connor McGregor in his own English mud.
He grins rakishly at me, revving the motorcycle. “Are you coming, Saoirse? Or should I assume tonight has gotten the better of you?”
I want to turn tail and run. But Connor was right about one thing. He’s thrown down a gauntlet—and I absolutely can’t back down from this particular dare.
