Page 67

“Giving you your dress back,” she says, catching the tongue of the zipper between her fingers to pull it down. She shrugs her shoulder and it slips down, skimming over her hips to pool softly at her feet.
I’m not sure how much the lingerie cost but whatever it was, it was worth every goddamned penny. Strapless black lace cups her breasts. Skims around her ribcage. Follows the curve of her waist. The scrap of matching lace that hugs the gentle flare of her hips dips between her thighs to cover her pussy.
Jesus Christ.
I must’ve said it out loud. Either that or she really can read my mind because she smirks at me again.
“I left the tag on.” She steps out of it completely. Takes another step and this one closes the gap between us. “Maybe if you’re lucky, Anton will take it back.” She picks up the balled-up receipt and tucks it into the pocket of the dress shirt I’m wearing. “You probably want to hang on to that,” she says with a sweet smile, patting a hand against my chest. The heart that’s hammering away inside of it.
She’s walking away from me.
Defiant.
Brazen.
I’m so fucking hard it hurts.
I catch her at the door, her hand on the knob, about to turn the lock. I reach up, slapping a heavy palm against the door, caging her in. “I bought the rest of it too, remember?” I remind her, running a single fingertip down the length of her spine. “You think I’m gonna let you walk out of here, wearing what’s mine, you’re crazy.” I don’t sound like myself when I say it. At least not the me I try to be. I sound like him.
The Declan who destroyed her.
Because, right now, That’s exactly who I am.