Page 3 of Possessed (Darker Steamy Shorts #2)

ISLA

W hen I wake up, it's to the low drone of the city outside. It's raining--again--and the enormous windows of my new bedroom mean that I hear the pitter-patter of every drop that strikes the side of the building.

Wait, new bedroom?

It takes a moment for reality to catch up to me. I'm not at home in my cozy little apartment; I'm in the guest bedroom of Dante Vale's home, which will apparently be my home for the next few months.

I lie still with that knowledge for some time, letting it all soak in.

I have to admit, it isn't all that bad yet. The penthouse is huge and spacious, with all of the modern amenities. The view from the window is amazing, and Dante left me to my own devices after he showed me my room.

I'm still filled with anxiety about what my signature on that contract of his really means.

I'm not so much of a fool that I didn't pick up on how flirty he was.

Well, actually, flirty doesn't seem like the right word for Dante Vale.

Intensely seductive seems to fit better, which makes me shiver.

I have the feeling he doesn't actually want me as an assistant at all. Dante seems to want something more.

I get out of bed and use the bathroom, taking a quick shower before slipping into the black silk nightgown I found in the top drawer of the dresser last night.

It's just a bit too short, but it's comfortable, and it'll do for the time being.

I pad barefoot out into the hall, trying to find the kitchen.

Instead, I find a note taped to the outside of my bedroom door. Just like the note that came with the roses, it's written in Dante's elegant, yet arrogant handwriting, and it contains a demand, not a request.

Meet me in the dining room for breakfast once you're up.

-Dante

The fact that he doesn't bother with any sort of pleasantries doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Dante seems to be a man who knows what he wants and is used to getting it, and I suppose that should make me happy that he wants me.

But what exactly does he want?

The penthouse is just as luxurious in the daylight, and I take my time looking around as I make my way to the dining room.

I push the door open and see Dante already sitting at the head of the table.

He's wearing a white button-up shirt and black slacks, but his feet are bare, and his dark hair is rumpled.

There's a carafe of coffee and two cups in front of him, and he's working on his laptop, looking up when I enter.

The heat in his eyes immediately makes me regret wearing the nightgown to breakfast, but my only other option was the equally short dress from dinner.

At least this covers a tiny bit more skin.

"Good morning," he says, gesturing to the empty chair to his right. "Sit down."

I obey, pulling out the chair, watching him as he pours a cup of coffee and hands it to me. "How did you sleep?"

"Alright." I sip the coffee, sighing happily as the hot liquid hits my tongue. "Did any of my things arrive? I'd like to have actual clothes..."

"Everything is on the ground floor. I didn't want to wake you. I'll have it all brought up now that you're awake."

I nod, not knowing what to say. Dante closes the laptop, sliding it to the side so that there's nothing between us. "There are a few ground rules we need to go over before you start your work as my assistant. First, no lying."

I blink at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"No lying. If I ask you something, you answer me honestly. That goes for everything—questions, opinions, whatever. I don't care if it embarrasses you or offends me. If I want to know something, I expect a truthful answer."

"And if I don't give you one?"

"Then the contract is broken and your father's debt will still be due," he says flatly. As he speaks, a man in a chef's coat comes in and deposits a few platters of steaming food on the table. I notice he is very careful not to look in my direction.

"Fine. No lying."

"Good." Dante nods, smiling. "Next, no secrets. If anything happens, good or bad, I want to know about it. If you have a question, ask. I'm an open book."

That doesn't sound as terrible as the lying rule, so I nod again, taking another sip of coffee.

"Lastly, you obey me in all things. Everything I ask, you do it. If you have concerns, I'll hear them out, but you follow my orders. You're here for a reason, and the sooner you accept that, the better. It'll be easier on you."

My stomach turns over as I stare at him, wondering what, exactly, I've gotten myself into.

All I'd wanted was to save my father, and now I've given myself over to this man for the next three months.

The idea of giving myself over completely, letting go of any control I might have over the situation, makes me feel dizzy.

"You said there were some ground rules we needed to discuss," I say carefully. "Does that mean there will be more rules later?”

"Yes. But we'll get to that later as our relationship evolves. Eat, Isla. We've got a busy day ahead."

I want to protest, to demand answers, but my stomach growls as if on cue, and Dante pushes a plate of bacon in my direction before filling my coffee cup. "Go ahead. Dig in."

"You don't have to?—"

"I take care of what is mine," he interrupts, his voice smooth. My pulse jumps, and for a second, I think about arguing my autonomy, but then I remember the contract.

Plus, something tells me there is no reason to even try and argue with Dante.

We both eat plates full of bacon, eggs, and toast. When he moves, his shirt stretches across his muscled chest. His arms are just as toned, the sleeves of the shirt pulled tight around his biceps as he picks up his glass of orange juice.

His tongue darts out to lick a drop of juice off his lip.

I can't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss them, and the thought makes me blush.

It’s going to be a long ninety days.

By the time breakfast is over, some of Dante's staff have moved my clothes from home into my new room, and I'm able to change.

Dante tells me we have an appointment, and I should wear tight clothing.

I'm careful with my next question, knowing that he doesn't want me to push back, but I'm still too curious to go along with whatever mysterious plans he's made.

When I ask, Dante informs me we're going to a high-end boutique clothing store where I will be measured for my new wardrobe.

He gives me a grin when I look skeptical, but doesn't elaborate.

Instead, he leads me out of the penthouse where a blacked-out SUV is waiting, but this time the valet simply hands Dante the keys and walks away.

"Just you and me today," he says, opening the passenger door.

"And since I know you're dying to ask, we're getting you a wardrobe fit because I only want the best for you.

Like I said earlier," His hand grazes my leg as he moves to shut the door, and it makes goosebumps rise on my skin.

The thin layer of leggings does very little to keep the heat of his touch away. "I take care of what is mine."

I fasten my belt as he walks around, settling behind the wheel and taking us out onto the busy street.

I don't know what to say, but I can't help sneaking glances when I think I can get away with it.

He's just … so handsome. Outrageously so.

I'm so distracted that I don't even pull away when his hand moves over to rest on my knee.

Or maybe I just like how it feels.

The boutique is understated in its appearance from the outside, but once we're inside, I start to see the bigger picture.

This isn't someplace a normal person would go.

It isn't obvious from the street because it doesn't need to be, not with the clientele it serves.

This is for the ultra-rich, for people who need something custom-made and special. Something expensive.

The shopkeeper immediately greets us with a wide smile, shaking Dante's hand enthusiastically. "Mr. Vale! It's so wonderful to see you again!"

"I'll need her measured today," Dante says, ignoring the woman's enthusiasm completely. "Everything will be a rush, but I know you can handle it. Have everything delivered to my home by the end of the week. Money is no object."

The woman's eyes widen before she looks to me. "Of course. And is this Ms. Cross?"

"It is. I'll sit in on the measurements."

Again, not a request. Just a statement. Apparently, it isn't just me who gets this unmovable version of Dante. It's just really how he is.

I'm secretly pleased that he called ahead about me, but it also lets me know that he had no doubt I would sign his contract.

As we're led across the plush carpet to a private room with a raised dais, I try to look around and get an idea of just what Dante is going to want me to wear while I'm staying with him.

I don't hate the idea that he only wants to give me the best, but I also don't want to be treated like a doll. When the shopkeeper leaves us alone, Dante sits down on one of the plush leather chairs, gesturing for me to stand on the dais.

"You said I’m your assistant, but you haven't told me what you need an assistant for," I say. "I promise I'm not arguing. I just want, um, to do the best job for you possible."

Dante smirks at me as the tailor and stylist file in. "I'm sure I'll find something for you to do."

It's the first time I've ever really been measured; even when I had to attend events with my father, I wore off-the-rack dresses. But I follow the tailor's prompts, lifting my arms and turning this and that way, all while Dante watches me.

It's unsettling. It's also hot.

He isn't bored. I have his full attention. And when the tailor takes my waist measurements, Dante's eyes darken. He looks at me like he wants to devour me, and even with the distance between us, I feel a warmth growing beneath my skin. I'm on display, for Dante and Dante alone.