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“Did you choose it?” she asks. “I ask because it’s going to be revealing with that deep plunge. I’d hate for your jealousy to show.” She winks at me mischievously through her reflection. “Although the cut is so classic.”
“We’re going to the Maxton Auction House Saturday night. It will be appropriate.”
“Maxton Auction House?” She seems confused. “Do you mean Asta?”
“No. Maxton House auctions off items like art, furniture. Things, not people.”
“I’ve never heard of it.” Her brows pinch together as if she’s searching her memory for mention of it.
“It’s black market.”
Shaking her head, she says, “Why am I not surprised.”
“Well, are you going to try it on? I want to see you in that gown.”
Her lips tug slightly upward as she releases the towel and lets it drop in a puddle at her feet.
My eyes trail up her beautiful long legs to the sweetness between them. “Maybe I’d rather you stay this way.”
“And miss an opportunity to torture you a little? Never.”
She slips into the long, formfitting silver dress with the plunging neckline I wasn’t thrilled with, but it’s sheer perfection on Skye. She’s statuesque and beautiful. A starlet from the golden age.
“You look lovely,” I say.
“I’m thinking I should leave my hair down. Or up? Down.” She grabs her long tresses and lifts them, drops them, then lifts them again as she examines herself.
Going to her, I whisper near her ear, “Down.”
She turns to me. “Thank you for the clothes.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then she reaches for her collar’s clasp and undoes it.
Before she can drag the thing off her neck, I grab hold of her hands. “That belongs on you.”
“But…” she begins, and the confusion in her gaze is clear. “I’m not wearing it with the dress. Everyone will know that—”
“You belong to me,” I finish for her. “You do.” Stepping closer, I lean in so that my nose is in her hair. “Never take it off, Skye. As long as you belong to me, you will wear that collar.”
“Like a dog,” she hisses. “Will I wear a leash too?”
“Skye!”
Biting back whatever retort she has, she looks away. I can tell she’s fighting to keep her mouth shut, and in the end, she loses.
“You like owning me too much.”
A grin I hope reminds her of who I am spreads over my lips. “I don’t just like it. I love it.”
12
MAISIE
I’m in my room—or as much as anyone being held against their will can consider a room theirs—sitting in bed, flipping through the pages of my sketchbook.
The very first drawing is calledJustice Girl. She’s a police officer who turns vigilante when her partner is killed in action. For years, she’s invincible, taking down criminals by breaking some laws herself.
