"Christian, I forgot my heels!" I said, clenching my toes as he carried me away from them on his back. People at the club stared, smiling and curious, as he swept me off.
"You'll have no use for them," he replied. "I'll carry you all night." The possessive edge in his voice left me breathless. I rested my arms on his shoulders, surrendering to wherever he'd take me.
He lowered me into the Jaguar E-Type convertible through its open roof. I tumbled into the seat laughing as he slid inside, the engine rumbling to life. Before I could adjust, he hit the gas.
"You're such a devious woman," he said, grinning.
"Me? I'm just a sweet little angel," I replied, fluttering my eyelids innocently, hands tucked beneath my chin. "From what I gather, isn't it you they call the devil in a three-piece suit?"
"Do you think I'm the devil incarnate or something?" he asked, shooting me a sidelong glance.
"You're much more dangerous than him with your enemies," I said, draping my feet over his lap. "But with me? I think you're the sweetest man alive."
He eyed my French-pedicured toes wiggling against his thighs. I felt the hard bulge beneath his slacks and shifted my foot to tease it. Then I noticed the damp imprint from my champagne-soaked feet staining his groin.
"Oops, looks like I've made a puddle on your pants," I said, lifting my leg toward his face. "My feet are drenched in champagne. Want a taste?"
The boldness stunned me—I'd never dared act so brazenly. What if New York's most powerful man bristled at my audacity?
Before I could fret, Christian snatched my foot and nipped my toes. I yanked it back, feigning offense. "Ouch! Oh no, you didn't!"
He laughed, low and wicked. "Give your leg here! I'll devour every inch of you if you don't behave, Melissa."
I eyed him warily. "Maybe we should stop at a restaurant before you eat me alive."
"Let's get you into dry clothes first," he said, his hungry gaze piercing through my bravado and soaked dress, leaving my heart racing.
He turned the wheel with the palm of his hand, steering the car effortlessly to the left. I bit my lip unconsciously, my gaze fixed on the tattoo spanning his wrist to his upper arm—teardrops framing the name *Catherine* in crimson script.
"Who's Catherine?" I asked, jealousy sharpening my voice.
He kept his eyes on the road, as if shielding his expression. "My mother. My father impregnated a night worker at some club. Took me despite the shame of it—no heirs otherwise. Rumors say he cut her tongue off so she'd never admit she was my mother."
"Your father would do such a thing?"
"Maybe. I've never heard from her, so there's truth to it. Probably paid her a million to disappear." His tone was icy, but I caught the flicker of pain in his eyes. I laid my hand on his arm, clutching him like a vow.
"Why tattoo her name?" I pressed. "What do the teardrops mean?"
He met my stare, his gaze unnervingly intense. I felt the pulse thrumming in his veins.
"To remember that attachment brings misery. Any woman leaves if the price is right. It's either sacrifice others or be sacrificed in this world."
"Don't say that, Christian!" I snapped, wounded. "I'd never leave you. I *want* to be with you."
His expression softened, as if reminded of who I was, but his ringing phone shattered the moment. He answered tersely, "Santino? How many? Recall the men at the casino's eastern gate. Now."
He pulled over beside a boutique, likely where he meant to buy me clothes, but I no longer wanted his charity. Tears burned behind my eyes. I flung the car door open as he spoke.
"Melissa," he called, muffling the phone against his palm. I didn't answer, sprinting barefoot toward the store, desperate to hide my crumbling composure.
But the boutique's opulent facade halted me mid-stride. It bore the name of the most expensive and exclusive brand in New York.
"You've got to be kidding me…This is where he wanted to get me clothes?" I muttered.
An employee approached, raking his gaze from my necklace to my bare feet. He raised a condescending hand.
"The thrift shop's across town, miss. We don't sell to those wearing *fakes*."
"Fake?" I gaped at his audacity. *Thank God Christian hadn't heard.* Yet I couldn't blame the man—I stood drenched, shoeless, flaunting a half-million-dollar necklace like it was costume jewelry.
Suddenly, the clerk's sneer dissolved into terror. His voice thickened as he stammered, "M-Mr. Marasco! I didn't realize she was with you. We'll ensure she's treated impeccably."
I turned. Christian loomed behind me, his glare intimidating without him needing to say a single word.
"No, I will make sure of it myself." Christian said, dismissing the employee.
"Trying to run, Miss Merritt?" he murmured, leaning close enough for his breath to graze my ear.
"Wouldn't dream of it. How does one hide from a man who owns New York?" I replied, meeting his stare with defiant admiration.
His smirk curled in approval as he raised his head. His hand slid possessively to my waist, guiding me inside as I trailed champagne footprints across their pristine floors.
"Christian…please, I don't want anything from here. Just drive me home. These are too pricey for me."
"Let me worry about that," he said gently, giving me the faintest hint of a smile. Why wasn't he taking my protests seriously? Didn't he realize he'd almost lost me over the way he'd judged me—projecting his mother's shadow onto me?
"Your words *hurt* me. I don't want you to think I'm just some girl you can buy off. I've only accepted these things to avoid embarrassing you. It's *you* I want. All these gifts…they wedge between us if they make you doubt my intentions."
"Melissa, I know," he said, guiding me to sit as he grabbed a towel and dabbed it along my leg. "I was speaking in generals. I haven't had an easy life. Doubt and pessimism kept me alive. In my world, trust invites hardship. This…radar I've got—it's hard to shut off. But listen—you're the only woman I've ever trusted. And that terrifies me."
My eyes widened. *I* put fear in this dangerous man? He'd peeled back his armor, revealing vulnerabilities he'd surely buried beneath that fearsome mask. And his weakness…was *me*.
"Fear of losing you," he rasped. "I've never felt this alive. Never loved like this. If someone took you from me—or if you shattered that faith—I'd burn the world to find you again."
"I'm not going anywhere," I murmured, offering my softest smile. He stared into my eyes, his usual scowl melting into something tender, fingers kneading my calves.
"I'll hold onto you forever," he growled. His hands slid beneath my thighs, possessive and hot, locking me in place as I gasped. Butterflies stormed my stomach. Frantic, I snatched fabric from a nearby table and tossed it at him to break free.
*Big mistake.*
Mr. Marasco rose, stalking toward me with a predatory smirk. I wheeled the swivel stool backward with my toes, laughing as I dodged his reach. He lunged, fingers grazing air as I slipped through silk drapes.
His footsteps thrummed at my heels. I ducked between garment racks, but he spun one sharply, sending me spiraling into his arms. Trapped. Breathless, curls wild, I stared up as he pinned my wrist to the wall. "What now?" I whispered.
The store owner let out a stifled cry nearby—we'd trashed his boutique.
Christian's lips brushed my ear, voice low and raw. "I'm dressing you before more men stare…and I commit crimes." If not for his grip, I'd have melted into the tangled silks.
He took my hand and selected a strapless zip-up dress paired with pink slippers that gleamed like glass. I let him choose, curious how he'd envision me—delicate, princess-like, it seemed.
"I'll take the dress, but these shoes look like torture. I'd rather have those white sneakers instead."
He smiled at my demand. "Limited edition Off-White Jordans. You've got taste."
*Goddamn it*, I thought. *Why is everything here so expensive?* Still, I wanted them. No backing out now. I hooked my fingers into the sneakers and marched to the changing room.
"Christian," I called, "come help me." He looked baffled. I'd always loved flustering him. If he could embarrass me with pricey gifts, I'd retaliate.
He swept the changing room curtain aside. I faced the mirror, back turned to him, then jerked my body sharply, peeling off the damp undergarment to reveal I wore no bra.
Christian's jaw slackened, gaze fixed on my bare back as he fought not to glance at the reflection of my naked chest. Playfulness prickled with irritation—how could he resist me *this* long?
I shimmied out of my shorts, the red string of my thong on full display as I bent to free my ankles. Nowhere was safe for his eyes.
I lifted my arms, gathering my golden curls into a ponytail, blue eyes glinting mischief through the mirror. His stare now burned into my ass, composure crumbling as he inched closer.
"You *promised* to dress me," I said. "Isn't that why you're here?" He stiffened, arousal taut in his limbs, then grabbed the dress and circled it around me.
I shuddered as the fabric grazed my nipples, his warm fingers brushing them *accidentally*. He looked wrecked, betrayed by his own trembling hands as he zipped me up.
His lips brushed the hollow below my ear, fingers skimming the sensitive curve beneath my arms. Nervous sweat prickled my skin. "My perfect woman," he murmured.
I frowned faintly—*perfect* felt like a lie in my own mind—but I turned and kissed his cheek, playful and swift. Then I snatched the sneakers and bolted from the changing room, darting toward the stool to slide them on.