Chapter 15 – Poppy
Oh, merciful heavens! I never felt like a hooker before, but this dress gave me a pretty good idea.
Not to mention the size was perfect. I had a slight frame like my mother that filled out plump in the past few years thanks to my father’s genetics and my addiction to baking.
However, I was confident that using cleaner ingredients and cooking wholesome foods would extend my longevity, unlike him.
The whisp of a dress clung to my body like a second skin, skimming the tops of my thighs and barely covering my backside.
I would have to be extremely careful not to bend—not even a little.
And my boobs barely stayed in the top. Since I hadn’t packed a strapless bra, I had to finagle mine with ponytails to be supportive and stay in place.
“I look ridiculous,” I muttered to my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Purposefully forgetting the shoes, I opted for the simple black ballet flats. There was no way I could have walked in the skyscrapers that were asking for a broken ankle or worse. I wasn’t one of those girls who could effortlessly glide on platform stilts.
If Ivan wanted someone taller, he shouldn’t have asked me to the poker match.
The question of why he’d asked me needled and prickled in the back of my head.
Rayko was glued to the TV when I emerged.
He didn’t look up, didn’t offer some lewd male remark over the ridiculous getup.
I scurried into the bedroom, wincing at the squeak in the hinges.
Brady took a deep breath but remained asleep.
I paused at the side of the bed. A blessing played on my lips.
The prayer I whispered over him every time I caught him sleeping.
It was such a simple thing. But in this world of chaos, divine protection seemed the only resource I could pour over the child.
I resisted the urge to smooth back his wild mane, not wanting him to wake and see me like this.
Hell, I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. It wasn’t me.
Grabbing a button-up cardigan, because it made me feel more comfortable, I slipped outside. My timing was perfect. Ivan’s sleek sports car pulled into the alley, then turned into the drive.
“Your prisoner is ready,” I quipped, sliding into the passenger seat and reaching for the buckle.
When he remained quiet, I finally summoned the courage to look at him.
He wasn’t wearing the same tee he’d left the house in.
Holy Virgin. I was not prepared for the sight of him. My insides tightened. That midnight hair fell in a curtain to his shoulders, perfectly combed. Soft black pants hugged his powerful thighs. A dark shirt buttoned over his torso, but the material left little room for the imagination.
He was savagely handsome.
And the sight did things to me.
Things I didn’t want to admit but couldn’t fight.
“I was coming to the door,” he objected quietly.
In his hand was a large, expensive bouquet of flowers.
“Oh, well, um, I can go back,” I protested lamely.
Ivan leaned over the center console. It was suddenly hard to breathe in here. His scent, spicy with a burst of cool mint, wrapped around me. But it wasn’t just the smell of his cologne. His very presence seemed to swallow what little oxygen blew through the air vents.
“Is that how you see yourself, Poppy?” He gently laid the flowers on my lap.
I blinked in confusion. Crap. What were we talking about?
As if he could read my mind, he rephrased his question. “Do you really feel like my prisoner?”
“Yes.” The answer came quickly.
It felt…wrong.
But it was the truth.
My heart hammered. Double crap. Now I was all confused.
There was just too much of him. I felt like I was being swallowed whole. But I couldn’t bring myself to open the door and escape his clutches.
“You’re already mine,” he breathed. “There’s no need to make your stay unpleasant.”
If he was hurt by my observation, it was hard to say.
I should be angry. He’d forced my hand at every turn.
Instead, a trickle of hurt slid over my heart.
This was the man who believed romance was nonsense.
A fairytale. He was sweet, bringing me flowers, but there had to be an ulterior motive.
And I needed my brain to focus on that, instead of being swept away by the gesture, the look in his dark eyes, and the possessive note in his voice when he claimed I was already his.
Instead, I lifted the flowers to my nose. “They’re beautiful.”
Although the headlights mixed with the floodlight on the garage, the harsh glare left us steeped in shadows inside the car. Still, I was fairly certain there were more of those yellow flowers interspersed in the mix of greens and other vibrant blooms.
“May I?” He lifted his fingers. One of those chunky, gold rings winked in the light.
I forgot how to breathe. My chin dipped ever so slightly.
He took the small nod as permission. But instead of kissing me, he merely pushed a lock of hair behind my ear.
“You’re free to leave, you know,” he whispered.
I was. Me. Singular.
“You know that I can’t,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my tone.
He nodded. “Let’s go to dinner.”
Leaning back in his seat, he put the car in reverse. It was easier to breathe, but just barely.
It wasn’t until we cruised down the highway that enough oxygen found its way to my brain.
“Wait, you said a poker match, not dinner,” I clarified lamely.
Ivan’s hand skimmed over the wheel. The skin on the tops of my thighs prickled as I watched him drive.
“The game doesn’t start until midnight,” he explained. “Dinner is for us.”
For us…. My heart skipped in a wild rush.
I shouldn’t like the sound of that. Hell, I shouldn’t be participating in any of this.
But I was already lost in the woods. Might as well see where the big, bad wolf led me.
Twenty minutes. That was all the time I had to fight the traitorous reactions in my body and gather common sense around me like a shield.
The car purred to a stop in front of a building with polished stone columns and a valet stand manned by attendants in crisp uniforms. Through the tinted windows, I could see the golden glow of chandeliers illuminating a marble entryway.
“Antonelli’s?” I whispered, recognizing the exclusive steakhouse from influencer posts. The kind of place where celebrities dined and business moguls sealed million-dollar deals over aged ribeye.
Ivan handed his keys to a young valet who appeared at his window. “Stay.”
Stay.
Did he just…order me like a dog?
Before I could reach for my door handle, Ivan was there, opening it for me, his hand extended.
Panicking, I raised the bouquet as a weapon against the possibility of having to touch him.
His face was unreadable, a mask of pure politeness.
His hand waited. I avoided looking at the three gold rings, struggling when it would have been easier to accept his help.
I clutched my flowers against my chest as I stepped out, suddenly self-conscious about my revealing outfit.
The cool evening air kissed my bare legs, reminding me how much skin was on display.
If it wasn’t for the thin cardigan, I would have felt naked.
“You can leave those in the car,” Ivan offered.
“They’ll wilt,” I said sadly. “I should have taken them into the house before we left. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Ivan reached up and brushed a knuckle along my jaw. Metal and flesh whispered over my skin. “I’ll buy you more.”
Someone save me! I was in danger. Not even growing up in my father’s house had I ever been in this kind of trouble.
Reluctantly, I laid the flowers on my seat.
Ivan snatched my hand the moment it was free. He looped it through the crook of his arm, only releasing my fingers to lay them over the muscles that no suit jacket could hide.
Wait. When did he put that on?
I must not have paid attention when he exited the vehicle, too focused on the command to notice.
But the jacket completed the ensemble. He looked good. Damn good. Just expensive enough to prove he belonged to this crowd at the restaurant as we entered, but there was something even the polished exterior couldn’t hide.
I felt it, along with the few hurried glances shot his direction.
It was a danger. Like the crackle in a summer breeze, right before the storm breaks.
Some of the women were bolder than others, their gaze lingering on Ivan as we walked past their tables. By the time we passed the third, I tipped my chin up. They could look, but I was the one walking in step with the herald of death.
It had to be the proximity. There was no sane reason I enjoyed this role.
Ivan pulled out a seat and deposited me with my back to the restaurant.
His was to the wall. Just because I couldn’t see them didn’t mean I didn’t feel the curious looks.
I felt young. Dressed in this revealing outfit and sitting across from a man whose power was compounded by the years he spent harnessing it.
They know doubt whispered. In their eyes, I was probably a gold-digger, an escort, or a woman in peril.
The truth—that I was the mother of his child, an introvert who missed her small town—would be laughably unbelievable.
I tried not to fidget as the waiter poured our water and asked about drinks.
I also tried, and failed, not to sneak glances at the man across from me.
Every time I did, unconscious thoughts danced through my mind, ranging from topics about how good he looked, how much I wanted to see the ink that teased around the collar of his shirt spread down over his body, or the worst, how badly I wanted to reach across the table and lock my fingers through his.
It would be too easy to feign interest in his rings, to give myself an excuse to touch his hands, which was why I fisted my own in my lap.
As soon as the waiter disappeared with our drink orders, Ivan’s eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my throat go dry.