Devil's Pawn (Devil's Pawn Duet 1)

She sighs. “In your games, no, probably not,” she says and walks stiffly toward her room.

“Seven o’clock, Isabelle. You’ll be ready to go.”

She doesn’t bother to reply, just slams the door shut loudly behind her.

At seven o’clock on the dot I enter Isabelle’s room via the connecting door between ours. She’s sitting at the vanity, back to me, with the hairdresser applying the final touches to her hair. I’m glad to see her wearing the floor length deep lilac sheath dress. When the hairdresser pushes the final pin into place, she moves and I meet Isabelle’s eyes in the reflection in the mirror.

For a moment, we stay just like that. Her seated, back to me, eyes locked on me, the expression in them at first cautious then fixed in irritation.

I adjust a cuff and dismiss the woman who just did her hair and makeup. I don’t take my eyes off Isabelle as she stands, turns to face me. I let my gaze sweep over her, and she folds her arms across her chest.

She looks good, makeup heavier than I like during the day but for this event, it fits. The dark liner around her eyes seems to make her eyes appear even bluer, like the brightest of sapphires. Her hair is swept across her forehead and to the side in soft waves. It hides the scar on her collarbone perfectly.

“What you wanted?” she asks. “To put me on display?”

“You’re very attractive. I’m sure you’re used to men looking at you,” I say. “Put your arms at your sides.”

She sets her jaw, drops her arms. Her hands in fists.

I look her over, see the rounds of her nipples outlined against the fine material of the dress, see the tips poke against it. I have an urge to flick one, but I don’t. I let my gaze move lower then walk closer, inhaling the soft scent of perfume same as the first night in that church. Brushing my knuckles over the scar beneath her hair, I study her.

“You hide it.”

Her mouth moves into what I think she hopes is a casual, careless smile but it doesn’t work. “Just turned out that way.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” I say, dropping it.

I turn a slow circle around her but when I get behind her, she pivots, keeping her eyes locked on mine. She doesn’t want me at her back. I get it.

“You do look very nice,” I tell her, leaning my face close to hers and bringing my mouth to her ear. “There’s only one problem.”

She stiffens. I’m not touching her, but we’re close enough that when I speak the hair on the back of her neck stands on end.

I set the tips of my fingers on her thigh and begin to gather the dress up.

Her breath catches as I brush the skin of her bare leg before cupping an ass cheek. I’m not gentle.

“I sent up what you were to wear. You added to it.”

“Panties. I added panties.”

“But that wasn’t up to you. Slide them off and hand them to me,” I say, brushing my fingers along the crease under her cheek, moving toward her center.

She sucks in a breath and closes her hand over my forearm then turns her head to glance at me from the corner of her eye. “The dress may as well be see-through.”

“Take them off, Isabelle.”

“Or what, Jericho?”

“Do it.”

“No.”

“Are you testing me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Because I have to warn you that if you force my hand, I’ll have no choice but to leave you with something to remind you how important obedience is.”