Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 25: The Hammer

EMERY

The woman in the mirror looks powerful. An elegant and seductive energy radiates off her skin, like an aura, an ethereal halo of strength and confidence. I slide my hand against the black and white dress wrapping the woman's body. It's a work of art, crafted of the finest silk and lace. The black, strapless bodice exposes a plunging neckline, revealing enough skin and hiding just enough scar. It's provocative and sexy and I can't seem to believe it's me. My gaze flits down to the stark white skirt that flows down onto the floor. Black lace appliques connect the two shades, melting the gown seamlessly into a hauntingly beautiful dichotomy of good and evil, pure and toxic, dangerous and safe.

"Do you like it?" Josephine asks, holding three other garment bags in her hands. "Or do you want to try more?"

This is the seventh dress I've tried on this evening. The others all didn't... make sense. One was a beautiful ball gown, something out of a fairytale. It didn't suit me. I'm not a princess. The other was pitch black, so tight it felt like it was painted on my body. It was gorgeous but felt too dramatic, too drastic, too flashy despite the darkness.

"This one is perfect," I say, flashing Josephine a warm smile through the mirror. "Thanks for all your help."

"My pleasure," she says, checking her watch. "Should I tell Damon that you are almost ready?"

My gaze shifts to the puzzle box on the bedside table. I couldn't solve it in time. My spine tingles as Quin's voice infiltrates my mind. Do you know how sexy you look when you're coming, darling? The skin around my breasts flush with bashful pride. Something about that man is teasingly exciting. But it's a slow kind of excitement, one that lingers deep inside my stomach. Perhaps it's because he's off-limits. Perhaps it's because he infuriates Damon. Or maybe, it's simply because I've always been a sucker for an English accent. Everything he says sounds like velvet, a smooth and delicious melody of syllables that's easy to digest. And crave.

Apparently, I'm hungry often these days.

"Tell Damon that I'll meet him at The Met," I say, needing more time to fiddle with the puzzle. "And no, I won't drive myself. I'll take a car service." I make eye contact with Josephine, whose lips are twisted up. "What?"

"Senor Damon was looking forward to seeing you," she says. "Maybe you should—"

"And he will see," I say, inwardly rolling my eyes. "At The Met. When I arrive... alone."

"But—"

"He's a big boy, Josephine," I say. "I'm sure he's more than capable of navigating the city without a passenger." Josephine doesn't budge. I tilt my head. "Thank you again."

"Of course, senorita," Josephine says, her tone sour as she waddles out of my bedroom.

I don't think she likes me very much right now. She'd prefer if I were tripping over my feet to please him, to make him happy. That's not my job. Not only am I unqualified for such a demanding position, but I don't want it. Especially not after the vibrator stunt he pulled earlier this week. I know I deserved it, and I suppose I eventually got what I wanted, but the path to pleasure is often littered with resentment. I'm trying. I'm trying to accept his rules, to grow accustomed to the way he operates both inside and outside the bedroom. Unfortunately, trying doesn't always result in success.

Not two minutes after Josephine leaves my apartment, the phone rings. "Yes?"

"You'll meet me there?" Damon asks, tone baffled and cold.

Sitting down on the bed, I pull the puzzle box on my lap. "Is that a problem?"

"I got us a limo," he grumbles. "It's out front."