by Maisey Yates
She moved away from the mirror and turned to face it, so that she could get a look at the gown for the first time since she’d put it on. It was beautiful. Elegant. And not her at all.
Which was a strange thought to have, because she had only just been thinking that she wasn’t certain who she was. But she was not this dress. That was all she knew.
She managed to unzip it on her own, and then stood in her underwear appraising the other garments that were available to her.
She reached out and touched one that looked like molten gold, the fabric shimmering as it moved beneath her fingertips. It was definitely flashy. Not something she would have gravitated toward under normal circumstances. Not unless she was trying to draw attention to herself for a con. But then, standing there, looking at all the dresses, she found she liked that one best. There was no reason for her to like it best. No brief that she was filling, except for her own.
And because there was no reason for her to like it other than that she simply did, she decided to try it next.
She removed it from the hanger and slipped it on. This one was strapless too, but the zipper was a little bit more cooperative. She removed her bra. The support built into the gown was all that was needed for her curves.
She looked up at her reflection in the mirror and her breath caught in her throat. Even without makeup, and without her hair done, she almost looked like a different person in the shimmering golden wonder. It lit up her complexion, catching the warmth in the brown tone of her skin and eyes.
She shifted and the light caught hold of the fabric, lighting the small space with a shower of sparkles. She tilted her head to the side and placed her hand on her hip, shifting her weight to her left leg. The fabric parted, revealing a high slit that ended well above her knee.
She liked this. And that hidden bit of daring meant that Rocco would probably like it, too.
She turned toward the curtains and walked out of the dressing room. Rocco was sitting in the chair, his posture casual, his manner disinterested. Until he lifted his gaze and saw her standing there.
Then his focus sharpened, his expression going as hard as stone.
“What do you think?” she asked. But she already knew what he thought. And it made her feel hot all over. Such an amazing thing, to be able to read the thoughts of another person so clearly. To be close enough to someone to be confident that she knew what he wanted.
And to know that what he wanted was her.
“You look very expensive,” he said, his voice measured.
“There isn’t a price tag on the dress. Which means it must be.”
“That is not what I meant. The dress doesn’t look expensive.” He pushed against the arms of the chair and stood. “You look expensive. There are not many things I can’t afford, Charity. But you look like you might be one of them.”
“Is that a compliment, Rocco?”
He cupped her chin, tilted her face upward. His dark eyes were burning with the dark flame. “How could it be anything else?”
“Some women might not like the implication that they can be bought.”
“That isn’t what I was talking about. I like expensive things,” he said, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. “Not because they represent status but...a certain amount of security. Stability.” He moved his hand, pushing his fingers through her curls. “It shows that you are not...weak. Not helpless. I am a man who has spent his whole life collecting things. To show that I am no longer a boy in an empty house. A boy with no power. I am now a man who has all the power. All the wealth that one could possibly want. There is nothing I cannot have...but you. You are far beyond me. Beyond any man who will be at the gala tonight.” He slid his palm over her cheek. “Expensive is perhaps...not the right word. Priceless. You look priceless.”
Charity tried to breathe and found that she couldn’t. Something shifted inside of her, an empty space filling. A part of her that had always felt reed thin, insubstantial and easily broken felt strengthened, wrapped up in his words as though they were spun gold, reinforcing her. Shielding her.
She had never felt valuable. From the first moment she could remember she had felt like a drain. Because her father had made it clear that having her cost him. That she had to earn her keep. She didn’t add to his life, she took away.
To have Rocco look at her and say that she had value...it was altering in a way she’d never imagined she needed.
“If I’m so costly...am I worth the trouble?” She knew she sounded insecure, desperate even... Right now she didn’t care. She was testing this newfound strength inside of her. Seeing if it could grow even more. Seeing if he might build it up or knock it down. Seeing if she could withstand it either way.
“Everything worth having in life is trouble. It comes at high cost, at high risk and with much work. Easy things are for those too weak to mine life for all its richness. At least that’s my take on it.”
“I’ll take this dress,” she said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips. “It had the exact effect I was looking for.”
“It made me want you? Believe me when I say, I want you in or out of the dress, Charity. It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”
“That isn’t what I meant. It makes me feel special. It makes me feel like me. I like that. But you said some nice things, too.”
A smile curved his lips. “As far as I’m concerned, that was damn poetry, woman.”
“Noted. And appreciated.” She closed her eyes and kissed him again, letting the feeling of closeness, the feeling of—if not camaraderie—not being at each other’s throats, wash over her. “I guess we’re done here then.”
“Not quite.” That smile of his turned wicked. “I was thinking perhaps you’d like a chance to choose some of your own lingerie, too.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE GALA WAS a glittering affair. From the high-gloss marble floors to the pristine white pillars, to the chandeliers dripping with crystal hanging low from the ceilings. But nothing glittered brighter than the woman on his arm. Charity was the loveliest thing he had ever held in his possession. And he only realized as he walked into the crowded ballroom, filled with other people, how desperate he was to take her back home and lock the door. To put her up on a shelf in his home for safekeeping, so that no one and nothing could touch her.
He had recognized her value. And now that he had put her on display like this, so would everyone else. So would every other man here. And that made him feel... It made him feel as though something that was his was under threat of being stolen. And there was nothing on earth that filled him with greater anxiety than that. Even as they walked deeper into the room, it grabbed him by the throat like the jaws of a hungry wolf and shook him hard. Because it took him back. To helplessness and empty rooms. And the loss he could never quite recover from.
No, that won’t happen. That’s the whole point of gaining power.
The ballroom came back into focus, and it was only then that he’d realized darkness had been crowding around the edges of his vision. He tightened his hold on Charity’s waist, moving his hands down around her hip, drawing her closer to him. She turned her head to look at him, her expression questioning.
She was so sensitive. Always looking for things in him that weren’t there. Though, in this instance, he supposed they were. But, he was hardly going to confide in her. He was barely going to allow the thoughts to take hold in his own mind, let alone speak them out loud.
“Are you all right?” he asked, because turning it around her was infinitely preferable to examining himself.
“I’m fine,” she said, her dark eyes moving to search the room. She was exquisitely made up tonight, compliments of the hair and makeup person he had brought in to help style her for the evening. She had been shocked, and slightly offended, but ultimately she had agreed, and the results were
beyond anything he had imagined they might be.
Charity was always beautiful. Whether dressed in clothing sent by him to humiliate, or in her waitress uniform, with her face bare. But tonight, she was somewhere beyond beautiful. He had told her yesterday that she was expensive. Had added priceless in order to make her understand. But that had been closer to the truth than he’d realized. She was beyond price. Something a man could sell all of his possessions for and never hope to buy.
The makeup artist had used shades of gold and orange around her eyes, the color enhancing their deep brown. Her cheeks seemed to glow, her lips looked slick, the color of juicy citrus in the sun. Begging him to take a bite. Begging him to allow them to satisfy his thirst.
Her black hair had been tamed into sleek waves, left loose around her shoulders, one diamond pin keeping back a few curls, sparkling beneath the lights.
And that was to say nothing of the golden dress. It looked like solid metal that had been melted down and poured over her curves, conforming to her skin, moving with her, the skirt billowing around her legs, the slit baring a tempting amount of tanned, toned thigh. All he wanted to do was grab her and pull her into a darkened corridor so he could take the gown off her and undo all the expert hair and makeup.
But, he supposed that ran counter to coming here in the first place.
Damn it all.
But he did need to stop her before they went out into the center of the room. Because he had one more thing for her. He almost didn’t want to give it to her now, because she was perfect as she was, and he was afraid that adding to it might ruin the effect. Or worse, steal what was left of his control.
All the more reason he had to give it to her. To prove that he had not, by any stretch of the imagination, ceded any of his control to her.
“I have something for you,” he said, bringing them both to a halt.
She looked up at him, surprise and something unreadable moving through her dark eyes. An answering emotion echoed in his stomach, and even while he felt it, he found he couldn’t put a name to it. “You have something for me?” She looked down. “Don’t I have enough from you? You’ve bought me all these clothes. You’re paying for the medical care...”
“I’m not keeping a tally,” he said, his voice harder than he would’ve liked. “At least, not beyond the million dollars your father stole from me.”
“So, you are keeping a tally?”
“Only that one. This is not on it. Neither is the dress. And certainly the health care that you’re receiving for the pregnancy, for our child, is not. Stop making me out to be more of a monster than I am.”
She looked up at him again. “More of a monster? That seems to imply that you are a bit of one.”
“You know as well as anyone that I am. A bit of one, anyway. And I have a gift for you.” He reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and took out a slim, long velvet box. Charity’s expression morphed from surprise to concern. “It is not a venomous serpent of any kind,” he said.
“I didn’t think it was.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“No one has ever given me a gift before. And no, the lingerie you had sent to my house back in New York does not count.”
“I would never have suggested it did.” He frowned. “Surely someone has given you a gift before.”
“Who would have?”
He had nothing to say to that. He had spent much of his childhood lonely. Without a mother. But he had had one for a while. And she had certainly given him presents. Yes, a great many of them had ended up being taken from him. But the act of her giving them to him... That could never be taken. Long after the things were gone, the gesture remained.
Charity had never even had the gesture. And so she was forced to receive it from him. A man who was not qualified in any way to be responsible for the emotional well-being of another person.
His stomach twisted, and he opened the box quickly. “It’s just a necklace,” he said. He wanted to minimize the gesture now, so she would stop looking at him that way. Expectantly. As though she expected him to know what to do now. As though she expected him to know what to say, as though she expected him to have some sort of remedy for the things that hurt her.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice a whisper, her eyes soft.
He wanted to tell her to stop doing that. And yet, at the same time he wanted her to look at him like that forever.
None of it made any sense. And he didn’t have the time to sort through it now, in a crowded ballroom.
“You should wear it,” he said, taking it out of the box and undoing the clasp.
“Okay. If you think it goes with my dress,” she said, wringing her hands in front of her as though she were nervous.
“I chose it to go with the dress,” he said. “Of course it goes with the dress.”
He turned to face her, holding the necklace out and placing it gently around her neck. He kept his eyes locked with hers as he worked on the clasp until he was certain it was secured.
He had chosen a heavy, teardrop-shaped emerald, one he had known would settle perfectly between her breasts once the dress was removed. He had lied about it being chosen to go with the dress. He had chosen it to go with her body. With her skin.
He had chosen it because of how she would look later, wearing only that.
But he had a feeling if he said that, the look of wonder and gratitude would slide right off her beautiful face, and he didn’t want to see that happen. If he mentioned it, he would wait until it was dark. Until he couldn’t see. Or, he would wait until he had her mindless with pleasure.
He reached out and slipped his fingers beneath the gem, testing its weight in his palm, before placing it gently back against her skin.
“Perfect,” he said, taking a step back.
She was. Indescribably so. Of course, now he had ensured that he would not be able to think of anything else but her, bare and wearing only that necklace. But then, the odds were high that all he would have been thinking about was her naked whether or not he had given her the necklace.
“Thank you,” she said. She was so sincere. And he wasn’t sure what to do with that. Sincerity usually skimmed right over his hardened veneer of cynicism, but hers had managed to find cracks he had not realized were there. He didn’t like it. But his liking it didn’t seem to be a factor.
“You’re welcome,” he said, knowing he sounded less than gracious. “Shall we?” He extended his arm, looking away from her and at a crowd of people at the center of the room.
He felt delicate fingers curled around his forearm, and he swallowed hard, using every bit of his strength to keep from looking at her. He led them both down the stairs and into the center of the room. And it didn’t take long for the devils in suits to notice that he had dropped a particularly beautiful angel in their midst.
But she was not for them. None of the assholes in here were worthy of her. Hell, he wasn’t worthy of her. But if anyone was going to defile her sweetness it was going to be him. Because she belonged to him.
He tightened his hold on her as they moved deeper into the crowd.
Leon Carides, a businessman from Greece who Rocco had had vague dealings with in the past, locked his eyes onto Charity, then looked back at Rocco, a slow smile spreading over his lips as he separated himself from the group he was talking to and made his way toward them.
“Amari,” he said, his focus now firmly back on Charity, “nice to see you here. And you’ve brought a guest. You normally come to these events alone.”
“Not tonight,” Rocco said.
“Clearly. Leon Carides.”
“Charity Wyatt,” she returned, holding out her hand as she had done to the woman in the boutique yesterday. Really, the only time he had ever seen her betray any signs of weakness was wit
h him. And he was under no illusion that initially she had been using it to try and manipulate him. But later, when she had come to tell him about the pregnancy, when he had gone to see her in the doctor’s office, she had shown him her vulnerability. And he was only just now realizing how rare that was.
“Pleasure,” Leon said, holding on to Charity’s hand much longer than Rocco would have liked. In fact, he was contemplating separating the other man’s hand from his wrist when he finally released his hold on her.
“Did you have business you wanted to discuss, Carides?”
“Not particularly,” the other man said, his eyes still fixed on Charity. “Though, I must say, I’m surprised that you brought a date. You seem to prefer stealing mine at the end of the night to bringing your own.”
For some reason Rocco bristled at the mention of his past behavior. He didn’t want it brought out in the open in front of Charity. Which was stupid. Especially since she knew exactly what manner of man he was, both because of his own words and because of the deeds he had committed against her.
Still, he didn’t appreciate Leon trotting it out for her examination.
“If you think you’re going to return the favor, Carides, think again.”
“That would be up to your guest, don’t you suppose?” Leon asked, his eyes glittering as he appraised Charity.
“His guest who is standing right here,” Charity said, her tone crisp. “And thank you for the offer, if it was indeed an offer. I’m flattered.”
“Oh, it was,” said Leon. “Do you have an answer for me?”
“No,” Rocco said. “Her answer is no.”
He felt Charity stiffen beneath his touch. But he didn’t really care if she was angry with him. All that really mattered was that Leon understood that Charity belonged to him and would be going home with no one else.
“I can speak for myself,” she said.
