Chapter TenKatI lie on the silk sheets with Scrappy next to me, a treat placed a few feet in front of him on the end of the bed as I move my eyes between him, the treat, and the three outfits I’ve laid over the vanity unit across from me.
Waking up this morning in this plush room felt like a warped dream, as though any moment I’d wake back up in my crummy apartment with a twisted smile on my face.
Well, that was a stupid and self-indulgent fantasy.
But it’s real.
It’s happening.
Colton has claimed me.
And it feels so freaking good.
Even if there’s the issue of the arsonist – who may or may not be the pervert who ruined my childhood – looming over us, but this morning a fresh sense of hope drifts through me.
The sun shafts through the French windows and casts glowing rays across the room.
“Calm, Scrappy,” I whisper.
When Scrappy arrived – with boxes of my stuff from my apartment – he was all over me, a crazy bundle of licks and bouncing frenzy. Now, I’m trying to instill in him a sense of delayed gratification and calm, by placing the treat where he can see it but not letting him go until I say go. It’s basic stuff, but most dog training is made up of the basics, the solid foundation of discipline … and then, if the owner wishes, they can build more advanced tricks on top of that.
I glance again at the outfits.
One is a glittery thrift shop top and blue jeans.
The other is a pair of black jeans with a long-sleeved frilly top.
And the third is an emerald-inlaid green dress I bought for fifty dollars on a splurge a year ago and have never had the occasion, or the courage, to wear since. It’s the outfit that always fills me with anxiety every time I look at it, thoughts flood my mind with how unsuited for it I am, how not stick-thin I am.
“What do you think, boy?” I murmur.
Scrappy tilts his head at me.
Can I get the treat now?
His legs are trembling in his desire, but he’s got more self-control than he gives himself credit for.
“Okay, boy, go,” I say.
He leaps on the treat and devours it, and then jumps off the bed and begins sniffing around the room. His tail is wagging like crazy and when he passes the vanity unit, it snags onto the hem of the sparkly dress and it slides to the floor in a crumpled ball of fabric.
I take a deep breath.
I tell myself I’m as beautiful as Colton tells me I am, even if believing that is going to take a long, long time.
And I decide to take Scrappy’s choice as a sign.
I’ll wear the green dress for our date tonight.I feel a sense of glittering unreality washing over me as I stand on the roof with Colton’s hand pressing into the small of my back. The warmth of his palm sinks through the fabric of the dress and impresses an imprint against my skin, shivering, smoothing me, and ironing out my nervousness.
I bite my lip and hug his suit jacket tighter around me to protect against the wind, the skyline tinged orange with the setting sun.
No news yet.
He called me earlier today to tell me that his PI’s were looking into Omar and that he’d put out Wanted posters for Rusty, but so far nothing had been solved.
“But tonight is about us,” he growled over the phone, his voice turning savage and protective. “Let’s just be together, Kat. You deserve that.”
“And you,” I’d said, sitting on the bed with one hand buried in Scrappy’s fur and the other holding the phone to my ear.
“Tell me I deserve you,” he’d growled. “And that’s enough for me.”
“You deserve me—”
“I own you. You belong to me,” he interjected, a bantering note in his voice.
“No fair,” I laughed. “You tricked me.”
Now, he turns to me and the corner of his lips twitch with his trademark smirk. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt tucked into his suit pants, showing off the V-taper of his upper body, his torso a carved-piece-of-iron of manly majesty. I can’t take my eyes off his thick arms, the fabric of his shirt hugging them tightly.
His eyes penetrate me.
“Are you going to tell me why we’re up here yet?” I ask, gazing into those eyes.
They tell me everything I need to know about my choice of dress.
When he first saw me, his mouth fell open, and then a visible tremor moved through him.
If he’s faking this attraction, then he’s the best actor in the world, because it feels so freaking real.
“We can’t exactly take a car, can we?” he says, smoothing his hands down to my ass cheeks, squeezing.
Not with the nameless attacker out there, is the unspoken message.