Page 83 of Cruel Promise


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Jesus, she’s in a shit mood. But that’s because she doesn’t know what awaits her. She onlythinksshe does.

She looks the dress up and down, then crosses the room to take a pinch of fabric between her fingers. The pinch turns into a handful, and I know I’ve got her. I knew she’d love the way it feels. Hell,Ilove the way it feels.

She takes the hanger from me and holds the dress at arms’ length, touching it, turning it, even looking inside it. Christ, she’s inspecting it like it’s something she’s going to eat.

But when she looks back at me, her eyes are dull and flat. I don’t like that we’ve done that to her. “Want me to try it on or something?” she says, bored, like she has nothing else to do.

I look around her room and see a book on the floor next to her easy chair. I guess sheisbored. All she’s been doing all week is reading. That and walking around the property, especially my parents’ garden.

How do I know this, when I am working nonstop? First, there are cameras everywhere. And second, both the household staff and security regularly report to me what she’s been up to.

They think it’s a safety thing. But truth be told, I’m interested in what she does with her time. How she reacts to things. Which books she selects.

Fuck, I’m just interested inher.

She comes out of her walk-in closet wearing the dress. Because I didn’t bring any high heels for her to try on with it, she’s walking on her toes, loping across the room like a giraffe.

Regardless of her stilted demonstration, the effect she has on me is devastating. I actually get a lump in my goddamn throat, and I don’t think I’ve cried since I was told my parents died.

The dress floats down the front of her body like someone painted her in gold. It clings to her small breasts just enough to show their shape, but not enough to show everything. Her nipples protrude in the cool room like little gold nuggets.

I twirl a finger to get her to turn.

I’ll be damned if the back of the dress isn’t even better than the front. She’s totally bare down to the back of her waist, the dress’s sash draping perfectly around her hips. The fabric glides over her ass cheeks just enough to show a little jiggle when she walks.

The embodiment of flawless perfection, that’s what she is.

What every man wants. And few can afford.

“Charleigh, I’m not going to tell you how beautiful you look, because I’m sure you know. But I have something to talk to you about.”

She releases an exaggerated sigh, followed by rolling her eyes.

This is like a strike to the heart. My mother, my long-suffering mother, putting up with my father’s dalliances and other bullshit, used to do the same thing.

Clearing my throat, I force myself to look away, thinking back to how a lifetime with my father nearly wore her down. But she still loved him. I was told when their bodies were found, they were holding hands.

Is it too late for Charleigh? Have we completely worn her down? Ruined her? Put out the bright light that has enchanted my brothers and me since she arrived?

“Come here, darling,” I say, surprising myself with the tenderness in my voice.

Her gaze glued to mine, she crosses the room, no longer on tiptoe. She holds a bunch of fabric to avoid tripping.

“Yes?” she says defiantly when she is inches from my face.

She is not mine. And yet she will be. There’s no turning back now.

I reach behind her neck and untie the dress. It tumbles to her waist, leaving her breasts bare, and slides the rest of the way to the floor once I loosen the sash.

Before me stands a naked beauty, like Botticelli’s Venus or some such, the sort of vision that steals away all your words and even your breath. The kind that makes time stop while you just look at it, your gift, until you tire of it.

Although you know you never will.

* * *

CHAPTERSIXTY-EIGHT

Vadik

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