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“Liar.” He grabs the top of my dress and with one hard yank, he rips it right down the center. Holy crap he’s strong. “As good as you looked in the damn thing, I’m the only one that takes you out of your wedding dress.”
“My dress!” It’s now in a pile at my feet.
“Did you want to save it?” he asks.
I don’t know why, but I’m just shocked he ripped it. A little more turned on, too. Damn! “Pass it down to one of our daughters one day?” he adds.
“You want daughters?” My hand flies over my mouth. I can't believe I said that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a man say he wanted a daughter before. At least not from the men I’d grown up around. My father never let me forget how much better things would’ve been if I’d been a boy.
“Why wouldn't I want daughters?” He steps towards me, pulling me to him. My hand drops from covering my mouth to his chest. “I’ll take a son, too. Whatever you’ll give me.” His lips come down onto mine. Again catching me off guard, he kisses me deeply. Stars burst in my mind as he runs one hand to the nape of my neck.
But then he pulls back from kissing me and takes a step away. My hand drops from his chest. I fight myself not to lift it and put it back. This is going to be so much harder than I thought. He is supposed to be mean and cold. He shouldn’t be getting Ms. Kittles to purr. Me too for that matter. Every time he touches me, my body can’t help but give in.
His eyes roam over me. “Put clothes on before you come downstairs.”
For the first time there is actually a warning to his tone. I look down at my underthings and let out another small scream before bolting toward the bathroom and slamming the door behind me. I hear his laughter from the other side of the door.
“There aren't any weapons in there, my little vixen, but I’m sure there will be a steak knife at dinner you can steal.”
I hear his steps, then the doors to the bedroom close. The man is quick, not just in speed but in thinking. If I’m really going to kill him, I’ll have to be quicker. My eyes look up to the mirror. My lips are swollen, and my lipstick is gone. My hair that was perfectly styled is now a mess. I look sexy. My eyes trail down to the silk panties and bra I have on. I don’t remember thinking that I looked this sexy when I’d put them on. I close my eyes, taking a breath, trying to get it together.
When I fling open the bathroom doors, Ms. Kittles is sitting in the middle of the giant bed, having made herself at home.
“You’re not helping!” I snip at her. She lets out a cute meow. “Sorry.” I go over to her, petting her until she rolls over and gives me her tummy to rub. “We better get ready.” I kiss the top of her head. Luke was right. I am a liar. I’mstarving. I want to go to dinner and get out of this room before he comes back looking for me, and I give in to him. Best if I stay out of the bedroom as much as possible.
I head into the closet that I saw him disappear into earlier. My eyes almost pop out of my head. It’s bigger than my old bedroom. No, my old bedroom could fit in here three times over. All my things are already hanging in a neat row. Everything is put away as if it has always been here. It gives me a sense of comfort when I look it over. I didn't think when I left my old house that I’d ever see my things again. Not that I want to go back there, I just hadn’t realized what a difference seeing them here would make. It makes it feel as though it’s more of a home.
No.I stiffen my upper lip.This isn't my home. I didn't have one of those. Home is somewhere you feel like you belong. At least I think that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. My fingers run along Luke’s suits until I reach my own clothes.
I bypass them and stop at all the new things hanging with tags. Some I’ve never seen before. Beautiful, nonetheless. Some of these items I had searched and saved as favorites. This man really doesn't miss a thing. He’s going out of his way for me. I reach for the Dior dress that feels like heaven on my fingertips. I don’t even think it’s out yet.
I slide it over my head, and like my wedding dress, it fits me perfectly. I wonder if he handpicked it for me or sent one of his workers to get it. I don’t know why the thought of him selecting it for me brings a tingle to my body. My stomach growls, reminding me of the reason I’m actually getting dressed at all. I slip into a pair of red bottomed shoes and stop to look in the mirror. I look damned good in this getup. Let’s hope that looks can kill because if they can, it will save me a lot of trouble.
7
LUKE
She meets me in the hallway, and I stifle my need to pull her into my arms. Does she have any idea what she does to me? Turns me into a brute who can only think about pleasing her in every way she deserves.
“What’s for dinner?” She strides past, her chin up and the red-bottomed heels accentuating her long legs.
“I’m glad you asked.” I take her arm and walk with her toward the stairs.
She doesn’t shrug me off. Progress.
“I’ve hired a chef who’s prepared beef Wellington with risotto and seared scallops. I’d use my usual chef, but I wanted this to be especially delicious for you.”
She stops in the middle of the stairs. “That’s …” She narrows her eyes. “That’s the menu from Hell’s Kitchen that I have pinned on my Pinterest board. I love that show.”
“I know.” I escort her the rest of the way.
Her heels click when we hit the marble foyer. “Who’s the chef?” The suspicion in her voice is edged with excitement.
“I suppose we’ll find out.” I give her a short tour as we walk to the dining room. “And this can be your office, should you want one.” I point to the book-lined walls of my small, but well-curated, library.
“Yes, please.” Then she shakes her head and adopts a haughty expression. “I mean, I’ll choose whichever room I want once your body’s in the ground.”
“Of course,” I agree affably.
