Chapter 18
ANNA
If my life got any more fucked up, I was going to have to keep track of it on Post-it notes.
Of course, I wouldn't be able to find my Post-it notes, because they were all put somewhere by the over-controlling mafia boss who somehow thought he had the right to clean my fucking apartment.
The bathroom door opened behind me, steam rolling out like a warning.
"You're still standing there in a towel." Darius's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "We leave in twenty minutes."
I spun around, clutching the towel tighter. He was already half-dressed in tuxedo pants and a crisp black shirt, unfastened at the collar. The sight of him shouldn't have quickened my pulse, but it did.
"Maybe I'm not going."
"You are." He crossed the room in three strides, picking up the garment bag draped across my bed. "And you'll wear this."
"I don't take orders from—"
His hand wrapped around my wrist, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind me exactly who was in control. "Yes, you do. Now get dressed."
Heat flooded my core even as anger flared in my chest. I yanked my wrist free. "Get out."
"Ten minutes." He didn't move. "Or I dress you myself."
We stared at each other, the air between us crackling with tension. Finally, he turned and walked out, closing the door with deliberate softness that felt more threatening than a slam.
Arrogant asshole.
I unzipped the bag with shaking hands. The dress inside was stunning—a black floor-length gown with a slit that would show far too much leg. Of course he'd chosen something like this. Of course it would be perfect.
I had just pulled it on when he walked back in without knocking.
"I said—"
"Zipper," he said simply, already moving behind me.
His fingers brushed my spine as he drew the zipper up slowly, deliberately.
I felt each inch of fabric close around me like another layer of his control. When he finished, his hands lingered on my shoulders.
"Breathe," he murmured against my ear.
I hadn't realized I'd stopped.
He turned me around, his eyes traveling down my body in a way that both stripped me bare and worshipped me. Then he spotted the shoes still in the bag at my feet.
"Sit."
"I can put on my own—"
"Sit. Down."
Something in his tone weakened my knees. I sank onto the edge of my bed, and he knelt before me. The sight of this dangerous man on his knees should have given me power, but somehow it didn't.
He lifted one foot, his warm hand wrapping around my ankle. His thumb traced a slow circle against my skin.
"Red bottoms," he said, sliding the stiletto on with agonizing care. "Do you know what these are for?"
My mouth went dry. "Walking?"
His eyes flicked up to mine, his expression dark and amused. "No."
He lifted my other foot, his hand sliding higher up my calf than necessary. The dress's slit parted, exposing my thigh, and his gaze followed the line of bare skin hungrily.
"Then what?" My voice came out breathless.
He slid the second shoe on, his fingers lingering at my ankle. "For reminding a man exactly what he wants to do to you." He stood slowly, pulling me up with him. "And for making every other man in the room wish he could."
I wobbled slightly on the unfamiliar heels, and his arm went around my waist, steadying me. Claiming me.
"I hate you," I whispered.
"I know." His thumb brushed along my jaw. "But your body doesn't."
In the mirror, I looked like someone else. Someone elegant and dangerous. The dress fit like it had been designed for my body, the sweetheart neckline framing the diamonds that could kill me.
"Perfect," Darius said behind me, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection. "Every man there will want you. But you're mine."
"I'm not anyone's."
His hand settled on my hip, possessive and burning through the thin fabric. "Keep telling yourself that."
"You're a monster."
"Yes." He leaned in, his lips barely grazing my ear. "But I'm the monster who knows exactly what you need."
My stomach flipped, desire and fury warring inside me. He saw too much. Knew too much.
"I should be screaming. Fighting you."
"But you're not." His breath was hot against my neck. "Why is that?"
I didn't answer because I couldn't. Because the truth was too damning.
He wrapped a cashmere pashmina around my shoulders, the gesture almost tender if not for the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Time to go."
He led me down the stairs, his hand possessive on the small of my back. The Range Rover was waiting, and when I climbed in, I couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath as my still-tender ass hit the leather seat.
Darius slid in beside me, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips.
"Problem?"
"You're an asshole."
"And yet you're wet for me right now." He said it so casually, so certain.
Heat flooded my face. "I'm not—"
"Liar." His hand landed on my thigh, just above where the slit ended, his fingers splaying possessively over my skin. "Should I check?"
The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
I grabbed Darius's wrist, my nails digging in. "Don't."
"Then behave." But he didn't move his hand. The heat of his palm burned through me, a constant reminder of his control.
We sat in tense silence as the driver navigated through DC. Darius’s thumb traced lazy circles on my inner thigh, not quite high enough to be scandalous, but enough to make my body ache for more.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked, hating how breathless I sounded.
He didn't answer, just watched me with those calculating eyes.
Then I saw it—the massive white building with golden lights glowing over the Potomac.
The Kennedy Center.
"No." My voice cracked. "Not here."
"Especially here." His grip on my thigh tightened. "Every politician in DC will be there tonight. Including your mother."
"You bastard."
"Careful." His voice dropped to that dangerous purr. "Keep misbehaving, and I'll put you over my knee again. In front of everyone."
The threat—or promise—sent a bolt of heat straight through me.
"Why are you doing this?"
He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. "Because you're mine to show off. And because watching you squirm while you pretend to be perfect will be the most entertaining thing I've done all week."
The car pulled to a stop.
The door opened.
And there was nowhere left to run.