Take (Deliver 5)

“Tiago?” When he glanced back, she raised her chin. “While we were holed up in the penthouse for a month, I know you were making plans.”

“Go on.” He shifted to face her and clasped his hands behind his back.

“My friends know where I’m at now?”

“Yes.” A muscle bounced in his jaw.

“I assume some of your planning involved keeping them out of Caracas?” She stepped toward him, searching his unreadable expression. “Have they tried to enter the city or make contact?”

“Not yet.”

Because of her phone conversation with Liv? She’d told them not to come. “Can I just call them and see—?”

“No. Stop asking.”

Same answer he’d given her the last hundred times she asked to contact them.

“If Matias Restrepo comes for you…” He grasped her hand and pulled her into his space. “It won’t end well for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I negotiated a deal with the President.”

“What? The President of…?”

“Venezuela. His armed forces will not allow Restrepo to cross the Venezuela-Colombia border.”

Her stomach sank. “What did you have to offer in exchange for that deal?”

“Nothing as valuable as you.”

“You’re evading the question.”

“For now.” He gripped the door handle and paused. “I accepted an invitation to one of his dinner parties. It’s a formal affair this weekend. You’re going with me.”

“You want me to go to the President of Venezuela’s party?” She gulped, seized by panic. “Will I be there as your captive? Your whore? Your fake guard?”

“You’ll be there as mine.”

Her growl came out as a choke. “I need to understand the landscape. Will you have enemies in attendance? Will I be expected to hold conversations? I don’t know the language, and I definitely need a gun or something to—”

“If I asked any other woman to accompany me to a Presidential dinner, her first and only question would be what to wear.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that. I’m more concerned about—”

He captured her mouth in a demanding kiss and smiled against her lips. “I’ll take care of the dress.”The dress encased Kate’s body like liquid gold, as if each shimmering thread had been cut and woven in veneration of the female form. Fashion never meant one iota to her, but holy shit, this gown was empowering.

She paced to the full-length mirror in the master bathroom, nervously fluffing her long hair. She should’ve pinned it up or curled it or something, but the girly stuff was beyond her expertise.

Anchoring a hand on her hip, she extended a leg through the slit of the dress and gave herself a final once-over.

Her makeup was modest. A little mascara. A glide of lip gloss. But the gown and the heels and God, the whole look… She’d never felt so glamorous.

The satiny material clung to her slight curves from her chest to the floor. The cut up one side reached high on her thigh, enabling normal strides when she walked.

The slit fell along the leg that bore his artwork. No doubt, intentional. With each step, the fading pink welts of rope and petals peeked through the opening of the floor-length skirt.

Tiny shoulder straps held the top in place, and the deep scoop between her breasts exposed the length of her breastbone.

The gown and gold stilettos had been waiting for her in the bathroom when she exited the shower. No bra or panties. Not that she could’ve worn anything beneath the unforgiving material.

At first, she thought the gold color had been selected to match her hair. But it was much darker, more bronze-ish. Like the metallic hues in Tiago’s brown eyes.

She hadn’t seen him yet. Hadn’t worked up the courage to step out of the bathroom.

Stop stalling.

Adjusting a shoulder strap, she drew in a calming breath and opened the door.

Across the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a jet-black tuxedo. Head down, he wrestled with a cuff link, his face pinched in concentration.

“I can do that for you.” She strode toward him, stepping carefully in the skyscraper heels, and slowed at the lift of his head.

He straightened. His mouth parted, and his eyes went from wide and stunned to heated and wolfish as he ate her up from head to toe. He made a few more passes, slower each time, lingering on the outline of the nipple piercings beneath the satin.

The heady caress of his gaze touched her everywhere, stroking, tingling, his breaths growing shallow and hungry.

She swallowed back a whimper. Swear to God, if he stared at her much longer, she could have an orgasm. Just from the potency in his eyes.

The tuxedo wasn’t helping. Sweet hell, the man wore the fuck out of tailored threads.

The black trousers and white collared shirt fit his hard body with mouthwatering precision. The dinner jacket cut a crisp outline across his broad shoulders. A gold square, the color of her gown, peeked out of the front pocket, and a black bow tie sat at the base of his tanned neck.