Rosalind
Of course, he won’t get married. Not to me. He’ll end up with some mafia princess for…reasons. I know enough that men always say that to someone they don’t want, so I don’t know why I’m surprised, or hurt, or feeling anything at all. Oh, hell, that dumb wedding dream’s sure done a number on me. I don’t want to marry him. He’s a monster; gorgeous, devastating, a thing I crave, but this life isn’t mine. He’s using me.
I want to say it’s Stockholm still, but this craving…it’s unavoidable. Their world, one I was born into, has stripped mine away. Because of him, I have exactly that.
Nothing.
So no, my need for his touch has nothing to do with Stockholm Syndrome, not anymore. I recognize what he is, I know the danger, and something in my soul sees it all as familiar. Maybe it’s my dad’s blood in my veins, I don’t know.
I pull my knees up under my chin, wearing one of the dresses Mia left for me this morning, thankfully not a pink one. I hate pink now. It’s also not red. This is a pretty one, with white and yellow flowers. It’s simple, thick straps, something that falls along the lines of my body to just below my knees. It reminds me of springtime, but it’s way too simple for tonight’s event. I wonder what Nikolai will let me to wear for it.
Let me. I snort at that. The fact that I have to let a man tell me what to wear and when is absolutely insanity.
When he fed me last night, I felt…not loved, but special. It’s a craving in me, that, but his words hurt, too, the soft flatness of his stating he wouldn’t ever get married. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. It was just a dream. I guess some part of me-some childish, romanticized image of my future-still cares, still wants some kind of normalcy in this chaos.
This ball tonight may just be what I need right now, the perfect place to escape the isolation and see things more clearly. This won’t be just mafia.
It’s going to be big.
Yet…when he asked, I said yes because there’s a small part that wanted it, was flattered. And-
There’s a knock on my door. “Come in.”
I’m not sure why I say that. It’s not like I can stop anyone, especially Nikolai, but it gives me a little autonomy, no matter how fake it might be.
The door opens and Tony comes in, his bulk taking up most of the door. He clears his throat. “Rose-Rosalind, Nikolai sent this up for tonight.” He holds out a big, glossy, golden box, and of course, on top is a single red rose.
I narrow my eyes, thinking about ignoring it, making him wait, but Mia’s husband hasn’t hurt me or humiliated me, so I get up and take it from him. It’s heavy. Then he turns, picks something up from outside, some more boxes to leave on the bed, all glossy gold except one. It’s a flatter square in an almost satin black.
“Thanks.”
My stomach flutters as I take it all in. Whatever’s inside these things are going to be beautiful. A dress, maybe underwear, shoes, and…that box… jewelry.
I glance back at Tony, who rubs the back of his neck and looks a little uncomfortable. “If you’re thinking of running tonight, don’t.” He breathes out and shifts. “There are worse things than Nikolai.” “My father.” I hate saying that.
He nods. “Nikolai won’t let you get far. For your safety.”
“And when he hands me back?” I stiffen my spine, not sure where this is coming from because I’m not even bothering to deny I was thinking of running tonight. “How safe is that?”
“He’s a deadly man, a careful man, and he considers you his. He protects his own. He’ll keep you safe. Plus, we’ll be there.” A hardness comes into his face. “This is between us, but it’s the truth.” With that he leaves, but then he pokes his head back in. “The jewelry box? Nikolai will drop by to help with that.”
I sigh and turn, taking in the dubious spoils. With shaking fingers, I set the box to one side, aching to look inside, but something tells me to wait for him.
Instead, I open the box with the dress and gasp. It’s a shimmering gold material, almost a deep burnished gold, and I pull it out and fall in love. It’s a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that has gathered extra fabric to resemble the heads of roses. It’s high fashion, something models would wear on a Paris runway.
A piece of paper flutters out, and I catch it.
Please be my beauty queen -N.
The note makes me smile. Maybe it’s the “please,” or maybe my mind has just given up, but the note is weirdly sweet somehow. Do I want to indulge in the fantasy of a date with my lover, just for a few moments?
Heart skipping, I pull out the black, glossy shoes with the high heels and lattice detail. There are golden thigh-highs and black garters, and underwear, if you can call it that. It’s just wispy, black lace so scant and see through, it’s like being naked. More naked than naked. There’s no bra, but I’m guessing it doesn’t fit under the dress.
Without wasting another minute, I jump in the shower.
Nikolai is sprawled on my bed, gazing at the panties he’s holding, and I shiver. I let the towel around me drop. His dark eyes go from the panties to me, and then he proceeds to take his time to eye-fuck me, lingering last between my thighs.
He grins. Then he does something bizarre. He licks the gusset of the panties, and I swear my entire body twitches and spasms. It was hot walking out here seeing him holding them, knowing I’ll be wearing them, but it’s hotter still knowing I’ll be wearing him-something his tongue’s touched-close. I can’t explain it, but that’s how it feels, like I’ll be wearing him, up against my pussy, all night long.
“Fuck, Rose, you don’t need weapons to bring a man down. You are the weapon.” He gets up and hands me the panties. “Put them on.”
I do, and he unclips my hair where I had it up for my shower. He studies me and then sweeps up my hair and twists it, pinning it again. “Up, I think.”
I want to touch him. He’s barefoot, in dark jeans with a distressed knee and a gray, soft-looking T-shirt. The tattoos on his arms are hot. I’ve seen them before, obviously, but when he dresses down and I see them, it’s like he sets a fire deep inside me. Nikolai is just pure man and sexual power, whether he’s naked, in jeans, or in a suit.
I think I love him most like this. Not love, but…appreciate. It’s a raw edge, an intimacy.
“Here.” He helps me into the dress and buttons it up down the back, smoothing the off the shoulder sleeves. I go to look at myself in the mirror. “No. Not yet. Stay where you are.”
The words are careless, but as commanding as if he’d barked them at me. So I do. I stay.
He returns and he lays something around my throat. It’s cold, smooth metal, and he clips it into place, checking with his finger that it’s not too tight or too lose.
“Another collar?”
“Yeah, because they’re fucking hot on you, Rose. This is subtle, like the first one. And…I marked you. It’s obvious I had a belt around your throat, so I figured you didn’t want the fucking world to know what we do alone. I don’t give a shit, but I think you do. So, since it’s a date, I’ll give you that.”
I suck in a breath. “On your terms.”
“On my fucking terms.” He touches a spot just above the piece on the left side of my throat. “We’ll leave this mark, though, and…” His fingers brush the swell of my right breast. “This.”
He turns me and our gazes meet. The air is thick and heavy with intent. “Any other bruises from those fuckers? Cover those.” His lips brush mine. “Look the part of my date. I’ll see you down by the car in about thirty minutes.”
He kisses me again, and then he’s gone. If I live to three hundred, I’m not sure I’ll ever understand him.
Nikolai leans against the huge black SUV when I get outside. He’s on his phone, and he’s cutting a lean and debonair figure in black. He looks up, and, as he straightens, my heart lurches.
Debonair? In the rich, black tuxedo with the single button and pale dove gray shirt, black bowtie, he’s dangerous. Hotter than hot. The man could melt entire solar systems.
If I wasn’t in this dress, I’d drool all over it. As it is, I can barely stop the trembling and throbbing that starts deep between my thighs. My panties are going to be dripping by the end of the night. They’re already damp.
“Come here, Rose.” The fire in his gaze excites me, and I cross to him. “Fucking stunning.”
Nikolai touches the onyx studded, black metal lattice that adorns my throat, and there’s a matching ring on one finger, a thicker black one on his thumb, too.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur.
“It doesn’t look like a collar, just a choker, but make no mistake, this black rhodium is just that. My collar.”
He opens the SUV’s door and helps me in, smoothing the voluminous silk skirts around me. He clips the seatbelt into place, which makes me want to giggle-big, badass mafia boss worried about car safety and road rules. Then he taps the driver’s seat and the driver nods. We roll out. His hand is next to mine, touching, the heat and spark a thrill in my blood.
“I wanted to get a limo, but they’re not quick, and my car and the town cars don’t have the room I want.”
My stomach dips at that, and then it soars as his fingers absently stroke against mine. There are lots of things I want to say, but I just nod and wait.
“This is a big event. Tons of famous and important people, Rose, so you need to be on your best behavior.”
“I always am.”
“Uh huh.” There’s a smile playing with the corners of his mouth.
“When I have to be,” I add.
His gaze cuts to me, and the temperature in the car soars. “You have to be, so stay by me at all times. You’re mine and everyone’s going to know it. If I’m talking to someone, don’t speak to anyone else. No one should have the actual balls to speak to you directly.”
“If they do, I shoot them? Stab them with a cocktail fork?”
“Fuck me.” His gaze is fire on my skin. “If they do, say very little, smile, and look happy.”
Happy. I want to be happy. If Nikolai weren’t my captor, if he was-not normal, he could never be normal, he’s too…Nikolai to ever be normal- different and actually my man, then I’d be happy. “I can do that.”
He studies me a moment. “Don’t drink too much. Enough to take an edge off is fine, but not enough to make a mistake.”
“And my father?” It’s so hard saying that, and it’s getting harder when it should be easier.
Nikolai slips his fingers into mine and squeezes, like he can see the struggle, feel my revulsion. “Don’t worry about that fuck, sweet Rose. I promise, you’ll be protected as long as I’m around.”
“Really?”
This time, there’s no smile, but there’s something calming in the hardness his gaze. “I’m a man of my word.”