Chapter 25 #2
I stare at them. “What is wrong with you two?”
They do not answer. They just look at the door, then at me, like I am supposed to open it.
“Ugh, fine,” I grumble, swinging my legs off the bed. I cross the room and wrap my fingers around the handle, then pull the door open.
Talon stands in the hallway.
Not in his usual clothes, and not in his comfortable, cocky, half-slouched way of existing.
He is wearing an actual suit, dark and fitted and crisp, like he stepped out of a different world entirely.
His hair is styled like he took time with it.
His collar sits perfectly against his throat.
He looks expensive, and dangerous in a cleaner way.
In his hand is a bouquet of wild late-autumn flowers. Deep reds, bruised purples, stubborn little yellow blooms that look like they were picked from a field somewhere.
He smiles when he sees me, soft around the edges in a way that does not match the suit.
“Evening,” he says.
Behind me, Hailey and Lila go outright into a fit of laughter.
I don’t even turn around to look at them anymore. Suddenly everything clicks into place. I lift an eyebrow and stare at Talon, trying my hardest not to squeeze my legs together under the weight of the way he’s looking at me.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You asked those two to keep me occupied for a while?”
He lifts the bouquet slightly.
“Sharp as ever, Little Grim,” he says, and waits for me to take it.
I take the bouquet because what else am I supposed to do? My fingers close around the stems, and Talon’s eyes track the movement in a way so blatant, so hungry, it sends heat straight between my legs.
He doesn’t bother hiding it.
I feel myself getting wet just from that look, and I really, really don’t want to. Not with Hailey and Lila watching me like two blushing schoolgirls.
I force my face neutral and step out into the hall. I shut the door behind me, and only when the latch clicks do I let out a breath.
“What,” I whisper, “are you doing?”
Talon leans one shoulder against the wall, hands sliding casually into his pockets, suit pulling perfectly across his chest. That smug, molten grin curves his mouth.
“Celebrating,” he murmurs.
“Celebrating what?”
“You’ll see,” he says, and pushes off the wall.
He steps into my space. He smells like a cologne I don’t know, one he probably stole from somewhere. Smells expensive and warm and very musky. His hand lifts, brushing the edge of my jaw with two fingers, and then his mouth is on mine.
His tongue slips past my lips immediately and the kiss turns filthy in a heartbeat. A low sound tears out of my throat as he drags his tongue against mine, wet and possessive, and his body presses me back into the wall with the full, hard line of him.
“Talon….”
“God, your mouth,” he groans against my lips. “I swear I get hard the second you open it.”
As if to prove it, he grinds against me, and I can feel the thick, rigid length of his cock along the top of my thigh.
Heat rushes straight between my legs, my pussy going soft and wet so fast it makes me dizzy.
“Talon,” I choke out, “we’re, fuck, we’re in the hallway.”
“I don’t care,” he mutters, mouth grazing mine again like he can’t help himself. “I need you to remember this is a good thing, not a bad thing.”
“What? What is?”
But he doesn’t answer. He catches my hand and pulls me with him down the hallway like we’re running from an altar, like he’s some rebellious groom determined to piss off everything and everyone, and all he cares about is getting to me.
And then there’s me, completely out of place. Regular jeans, a blue T-shirt, a black open sweater thrown on top, and I’m pretty sure there are a couple pieces of popcorn stuck to it. I look completely freaking random.
What the fuck?
As if he can read my thoughts, he doesn’t take me to the bottom floor. He takes me one level up instead, straight to his room. When we get there, he opens the door and gestures for me to go in alone.
“There’s a box on the bed,” he says. “It’s a dress. Put it on.”
I just stare at him, more dumbfounded than ever. A dress? For me? Since when do we care about dressing like some goddamn mafia family? I’ve always been a sweats-and-hoodies kind of girl. Sweats and hoodies that he, along with the others, has brought me more times than I can count.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he says. “Just do it.”
I feel awkward about it, but with the way he looks in this goddamn suit, I don’t have the heart to deny him. So I step inside, close the door behind me, and cross the room to the bed. The box is right where he said it would be, waiting like it belongs there. I lift the lid.
And for a second, my brain just… stops.
Inside is the most magnificent dress I’ve ever seen, which is saying something considering I don’t even like dresses.
It’s a full ball gown, black at the top and falling all the way to the floor, and then the color shifts at the waist into midnight blue, a soft gradient like the sky deepening after sunset.
Over it all is a layer of tulle embedded with a thousand tiny silver dots, and when the light catches them, they glint like stars.
I’m going to sound like a broken record, but what the hell?
It looks like it cost a fortune. I have never owned anything like this in my life. Even on my wedding day, Mark and I rented my dress. It was more practical, and I didn’t have to feel guilty about spending money on something I’d wear once.
And this one is even better than what I wore back then, the fabric richer, the stitching cleaner, every detail too perfect to be real.
My hands start to sweat just thinking about putting it on.
I do it anyway.
All at once, it hits me that I don’t really have a choice. My guys went to such lengths to prepare this for me, and now I feel obligated to accept it, no matter what it is.
It feels serious.
It takes me ten minutes to get it on properly, to zip it up, and to find the confidence to march out in it. I keep my shoes the same, flat black boots, though the fabric falls over them so completely that they cannot be seen at all.
When I am finally done, I leave the room.
Talon is waiting in the hall, and the second he sees me, something stunned and wicked flashes across his face. He offers his arm without a word. I take it.
“Remember,” he murmurs, “it’s a good thing.”
I believe him. He would never hurt me. And even if he wanted to, I think I would let him.
I would let him take me all the way to the end of the world, into whatever is waiting for us there.
So I close my eyes anyway, trusting his hand at my side, and let him guide me toward whatever surprise he’s planned.
And what a surprise it is…