Page 53 of The Billionaire's Secret

"Try it on."

I spin around and watch as the man I’ve come to resent steps through the door. It snicks shut behind him. The hair on my nape rises.

"Go on. It’s all for you."

"For me?" My voice trembles. Hell, I hate that he has this effect on me. And after what he did earlier... Allowing the elevator doors to close in my face... I should simply leave. But what is the point? He’ll simply track me down. No doubt about it. No, best not to show how much he upset me with that gesture, and I’m not sure why. It’s not the worst thing he’s done to me, but maybe I’d expected more from him? Maybe a more gentlemanly approach? Right. Saint may have been brought up in wealth. He may have gone to the best schools. But underneath that cultivated man-of-the-world façade, he is a rake, a man who doesn’t care about worldly pretenses. He takes what he wants. No apologies. Is that what attracted me to him? Not only… It’s the Mafia’s mandate, of course, that I win him over. Although, I’m not sure that’s going to be possible. But I can keep him occupied, take his mind off his work, his business interests, try to keep him close. And this uncomfortable friction between us can only help, right?

He crosses the floor to drop into an armchair positioned at the far end of the room.

"Don’t keep me waiting, Gigi."

A shiver runs down my spine. It’s the first time anyone has had a nickname for me. I’ve always been Victoria before this… Had insisted people call me by my full name. Saint… He’d smoothly transitioned to calling me by a completely different name and somehow it felt…Right? Doesn’t matter.This is all temporary, until I have what I want. For now, I’ll give the devil what he wants…Pretend; that’s all you need to do.

He nods toward the space in front of him. I stiffen my spine. Head toward it.

"With the dress."

I draw in a breath, turn and snatch the beautiful material off the hangar. Soft, smooth, the dress whispers between my fingers. I dig my fingertips into the cloth, then pivot and march to the center.

I face the mirror, meet his gaze in the reflection.

His blue eyes flare. He leans back, folds one leg over the other.

"Strip."

"What?"

He grabs his ankle, holding his leg in place. "You heard me."

"You want me to take off my clothes?"

He glares at me and a frisson of anticipation grips me. He lowers his brows and my fingers tremble. I draw in a breath, hold his gaze.

"Unless you want me to…" He places his feet on the ground.

"No, I… I’ll do it." I glance around for a space to put the dress.

"Drop it."

I let the fabric whisper from between my fingers. It pools in shimmering layers of crimson at my feet. I straighten.He’s seen most of you already, so what does this matter?That was…in front of a crowd. This… Alone with him in a room... It feels...more intimate. Like I am putting on a show for him, which I am. Which is daunting, and damn him, also more arousing… Which is what he intended me to feel, no doubt. Asshole. He probably knows exactly how it will make me feel. Doing one more thing out of my comfort zone. One step closer to the edge… Closer to the deep darkness that laps at my mind, calls to me, pulls at me, tugs on me.

"Don’t keep me waiting." His voice lowers to a hush and my nerve-endings pop. I reach for the button on the back of the dress, undo it. Tug at the zipper, which slithers down, baring the skin between the two halves.

Goosebumps flare on my skin. I sense his gaze following my gestures, as I tug one sleeve down my shoulder, then the other. The dress slithers down to pool around my ankles. I kick it out of the way.

Don’t look up, don’t.I glance up at the mirror and our gazes clash. His eyes are darker, deeper, like pools of desire locked in droplets of ice. His nostrils flare; his chest rises and falls. Ah! So, he isn’t as impervious as I’d thought him to be either.

Holding his gaze, I reach for the straps of my bra, undo them. They whisper down my breasts, catch on my nipples. I draw in a breath and my breasts heave. The nylon slides down my arms, baring my torso completely. His fingers clench around his ankle. His jaw tics.

He jerks his chin toward my panties.

What the—! I don't need to remove them to try on the dress.

He glares at me and I shiver.

He tilts his head, I dip my fingers into the waistband of my panties, watch as his shoulders tense.

I lower the scrap of fabric down my thighs, to my ankles.