Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
HOLLY
The green dress hangs on my closet door like a question.
How did he know about it? The thought of Dominic's security team in my small apartment, examining my belongings, should disturb me more than it does.
Instead, I find myself wondering what else he knows about me, what other details he's collected and filed away.
The dress was an impulse buy six months ago—an emerald silk that cost more than I usually spend on an entire month's worth of clothes.
I've never worn it, never had an occasion that warranted something so overtly sensual.
The neckline dips lower than I'm comfortable with, the fabric clings to curves I usually try to downplay, and the slit up the side reveals more leg than I typically show.
It's a dress designed to attract attention.
His attention, specifically, though I didn't know that when I bought it.
My hands shake as I apply mascara, a rare addition to my typically minimal makeup routine.
My reflection shows a woman I barely recognize—cheeks flushed, eyes too bright, lips slightly swollen from Dominic's demanding kiss.
That kiss in the alcove replays in my mind on constant loop.
The way he pressed me against the wall, his body hard against mine, his hand tangled in my hair.
The absolute possession in his touch, as if he'd been claiming territory.
And the most disturbing part? How completely I surrendered to it.
How eagerly my body responded to his dominance.
This isn't me. I don't lose control like this, don't let attraction overpower my professional judgment.
I've worked with attractive clients before without falling into their beds.
I've built a reputation for being professional, reliable, discreet.
Yet one week with Dominic Sterling, and I'm preparing for a dinner that we both know will end in his bedroom.
"What are you doing, Holly?" I whisper to my reflection.
The woman in the mirror has no answers, only questions. How did we get here so quickly? Why does my body respond to him like it's been waiting for his touch my entire life? What will happen after tonight—after we cross this line that can't be uncrossed?
I've dated, of course. Had relationships that were pleasant, comfortable, occasionally even passionate in a mild sort of way.
But I've never felt this—this consuming need that makes it hard to breathe when Dominic is near.
Never had a man look at me the way he does, like he can see through every layer I've built around myself, straight to the core of desires I didn't know I had.
His intensity should frighten me. The possessiveness in his eyes when he caught me with the lighting contractor, the calculated way he arranged for me to work near his office all day, the presumption in his declaration that I've belonged to him since I first entered his house—these should all be red flags.
Instead, they ignite something in me that I've never felt before.
A desire to be possessed, to be the focus of that singular attention.
I slip the green dress from its hanger, the silk cool and fluid in my hands.
Putting it on feels like a decision, a surrender, an acknowledgment that I want what's coming next.
The fabric slides over my skin, settling against my curves like a lover's hands.
When I look in the full-length mirror, I barely recognize myself.
The woman reflected back at me is sensual, confident, ready for whatever the night brings.
It's almost seven-thirty. Dominic's driver will be here any minute.
My stomach twists with nervous anticipation, butterflies performing acrobatics beneath the silk of my dress.
I've never been this nervous about a date—if that's even what this is.
Date seems too casual a word for what Dominic has orchestrated.
I think of his words in the alcove: "I'll take you to my bed, where I'll spend hours learning every inch of your body. Where I'll make you come so many times you forget your own name, but never mine."
Heat floods through me at the memory, settling low in my abdomen. The raw hunger in his voice, the absolute certainty—as if my agreement was a foregone conclusion. And wasn't it? Haven't I been moving toward this since the moment our eyes first met in his private collection room?
The doorbell rings, startling me from my thoughts. I grab my clutch, take one last look in the mirror, and go to meet my fate.
Dominic's driver is professionally discreet, opening the door to a sleek black car without comment on my appearance or the unusual nature of the pickup.
The back seat is luxurious—soft leather, plenty of legroom, a subtle scent of something expensive and masculine that reminds me of Dominic himself.
As we pull away from my modest apartment building, I feel like I'm leaving more than just my home behind.
I'm leaving the old Holly—cautious, professional, content with the safe and expected—and moving toward someone new.
Someone who craves what Dominic is offering.
The city lights blur past the tinted windows.
In less than thirty minutes, I'll be sitting across from him, pretending we're discussing business while both of us know exactly where the night is heading.
The thought should make me turn around, tell the driver to take me back home.
Instead, I find myself watching the minutes tick by on my phone, impatient for our arrival.
What is it about him that affects me this way?
It's not just his wealth or power—I've worked for wealthy, powerful men before without this reaction.
It's not just his physical appearance, though God knows he's the most attractive man I've ever seen.
It's something more fundamental, something in the way he looks at me like he sees parts of me I've kept hidden from everyone else.
The way he touches me with absolute certainty that my body belongs in his hands.
The car turns between the familiar gates of Sterling Estate, the driveway curving through manicured grounds now dusted with evening snow.
Christmas lights twinkle in the distance—not my work yet, but the existing landscape lighting that makes the massive house glow like something from a fairy tale.
A dangerous fairy tale, where the castle's owner demands more than most are willing to give.
But I am willing. That's the truth I've been circling all evening.
Despite all the reasons to walk away, despite the warnings blaring in my mind about mixing business and pleasure, despite the intimidating intensity of his interest—I want this.
Want him. Have wanted him from the first moment he looked at me with those penetrating blue eyes.
As the car stops at the front entrance, I take a deep breath, gathering my courage.
Tonight will change everything—my professional relationship with Dominic, my carefully constructed boundaries, perhaps even the direction of my career.
Once I step inside, there's no going back to the safe, predictable life I've built.
The door opens, and Dominic himself stands there rather than a servant or his ever-present assistant. His eyes darken visibly when they take in the green dress, his expression one of pure male appreciation mixed with something deeper, more possessive.
"Holly," he says, my name on his lips sounding like both a greeting and a claim.My breath tangles in my throat. "Hi," I manage, because that's all I've got left in my vocabulary when he looks at me like this.
He doesn’t answer right away, just stands in the doorway and absorbs me.
The silence stretches, thick and expectant, until I feel my cheeks burning.
The green dress was a good call—he's devouring it with his eyes, and if he doesn't like it, then my instincts are officially broken.
I see the flex of his jaw, the way he swallows once, and I know he wants to touch me but he's holding back. For now.
He offers his arm, a courtly gesture that feels wildly out of place in the modern entryway.
I slide my hand into the crook of his elbow, and the muscle beneath his shirt is as hard as the marble beneath my heels.
He leads me in, and the doors boom shut behind us. Trapped. Exactly where I want to be.
The house smells faintly of wood polish and fir. The corridors are empty, the usual parade of staff mysteriously absent. My heels echo on the tile. He says nothing as we walk, but his hand covers mine, anchoring me tightly against his side, as if I might bolt. Or as if he can't bear to let me go.
The private dining room is small by mansion standards—just a table for six, an ornate chandelier, a wall of windows turned black by night.
Candles flicker on the table, playing shadows over crystal and silver.
A single place setting, at the head of the table.
A second, right next to it. No room for polite distance.
I don't know if that's what he intended, but with Dominic, nothing is an accident.
He pulls out my chair, waits until I've sat to pour me wine. The color glows deep, garnet in the candlelight. For a moment, I stare at the glass, unsure if my hands are steady enough to lift it. He sits, pushes his chair close enough that our knees almost touch. He doesn't touch me. He just waits.
"I'm not sure what happens next," I confess, breaking the silence.
A flicker of amusement. "You eat. You drink. You tell me about yourself, beyond the curated professional profile. I want to know you, Holly. Not just your work."
This should be comforting, the low-pressure opening gambit. It isn't. My pulse hammers harder. He wants the real me, the one I keep carefully hidden. I don't know how to give him that. I don't even know if I have access to that version of myself anymore.