Page 87 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

Apparently I was right in thinking that the innocent-looking beverage might be lethal. But I can’t resist temptation.

I taste a hint of tart rosé that’s followed by a refreshing, fruity sweetness. “This is wonderful.” I meet his eyes. “Did you pick it?”

“I asked for a recommendation from the bartender. Thought it would suit you—sweet, but with an unexpected bite.”

I shake my head and laugh quietly. Because it’s potent, mysecond sip is smaller. In this hot, humid place, the drink’s chill is appreciated. “You’re absurd.”

“Maybe.” He stays put, eyes tracing my mouth, my throat, the damp strands clinging to my neck. “But you’re smiling.”

The air thickens, charged with a pulsating energy I can’t shake—raw, unspoken, tugging at me.

They both have a talent for doing this, peeling me open with gestures, glances, until I’m bare and wanting. The shopping, the spa, the Frozé, the way they’ve taken care of Calypso, it’s all part of a velvet trap, and I hate how tempting it is just to give in. “Thank you,” I murmur, softer than I mean to, honest despite myself.

He places his hand on my knee through the robe, and a shiver races up my leg. “Anything for you, Isla.” He sweeps his thumb across my skin, once, then again before rising, all lean strength and coiled grace. “We’re looking forward to tonight.”

My stomach flips a somersault. The evening looms before me, sharp and inevitable.

Before I have a chance to say anything, he leans in, kissing me, swift and deep, his tongue stealing the Frozé’s edge.

Then he pulls back before tracing the shell of my ear and turning away to stride off.

I stare after him, my lips tingling, my heart thundering.

The calm I’d been feeling has been shattered, replaced by a restless spark deep inside.

Trying to settle myself, I take another drink of my Frozé. This time, it’s a big one. But it doesn’t help. Nothing will be able to douse the heat he’s left behind. Once again, I’m sinking, and I don’t know if I have the strength to fight the current.

A few minutes later, the receptionist seeks me out and tells me the stylist is ready for me.

Since that means my time alone is almost over, I’m not sure I’m ready for her.

An hour later, she’s given me an amazing blowout. Even though I don’t have a ponytail, I can pull it back into one, and I feel a little more like myself.

A makeup artist pops over and offers to help me finish my look. How can I refuse?

When she’s done, I study myself in the mirror.

“Amazing.” Even though another professional had ensured I was ready to walk down the aisle, I hadn’t looked this good. “I imagine your products are pricey.”

She grins. “Very.”

Good.Wondering where that stray, wicked thought came from, I ask, “Do you sell them?”

“Most definitely.”

I worry my lower lip. “I don’t have my wallet with me.” Or a credit card inside it that would allow me to pay for this kind of extravagance.

“We’re happy to add it to Mr. Vale’s account.”

“Perfect.” I grin. Since Dorian seems to have no trouble spending his money, I won’t be bothered by it either. I mean, after all, I wouldn’t need any of these things if I hadn’t been forced to marry him. “I’ll take everything you just used. Brushes as well if you have them.”

“Absolutely. And how about a beauty blender?” She holds up the small sponge that’s shaped a little like an egg, but with a flat edge on the bottom.

“If you think I need one.”

“Honey, you need a couple.”

We exchange grins. “In that case, yes.”