“That’s really none of your business. You just take care with my daughter.”
“You don’t have to tell me to take care with her. I would anyway. With any child.” She walks to the door.
“Use this one,” I tell her, opening the other door. It’s the one that connects our rooms.
She peers into her room then turns back to me, eyebrows raised.
“Easy access when I require use of you.”
“Jerk,” she mutters under her breath as she walks toward her room.
“What was that?”
She looks back at me. “Nothing.”
“Good girl. You’re learning.”
She sucks in a deep breath, nostrils flaring, hands fisting at her sides.
I smile. “We have a party tonight at the compound. You’ll be ready to go by seven o’clock. I’ll have a dress sent up.”
“A party? What kind of party?”
“Dinner. Drinks.”
“You don’t strike me as the mingling type, and I definitely am not. Is this to rub my brother’s nose in your acquisition of me?”
“Would that bother you then? If that were my intention, which it’s not.”
“Carlton isn’t losing sleep over me not being in his house. He took me in because he had to. That’s all. What you’re doing to me, you hurting me, he won’t care about that.”
“You think I don’t know that? He doesn’t care about you, Isabelle.” Her expression changes infinitesimally although I know I’m not telling her anything she doesn’t already know. Still, it’s kind of a jerk move. I check my watch. “Maybe my brother’s right.”
“Right about what?”
I glance back at her. “You really aren’t a match for me, are you?”
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.”
She turns to face me holding my forearm between us. I let go of the dress and it drops down to her shins. I expect her to back away so when she doesn’t, I lean deeper into her space and glance down at her hand around my arm.
She follows my gaze and as if just realizing she’s still holding on to me, she drops my arm.
I grin. “Don’t test me, Isabelle.”
Her eyes search mine and there’s a moment I see her falter, but she steels herself. Stands up taller.
“Are you threatening me?”
I tilt my head to the side. “A challenge. I like it. Is this because of my comment earlier? That you’re no match for me?”
“No. I don’t care what you think.” It’s a lie. I see it in the way her jaw tenses and her posture shifts.
“Have you been stewing all day over something I said?”
She searches my eyes. “Like I said, I don’t care what you think of me.”
“No, of course not.”
I look down at those nipples again, straining against the fabric of the dress. I bring the back of my hand to one, brush it lightly and instantly, she steps back. A flush of red creeps up her neck, the blue of her eyes darken as the pulse at her neck throbs.
I smell adrenaline, fear and rebellion. And underneath it all, arousal. I breathe it in. “Now slip off your panties and hand them to me.”
“What will you do if I don’t? Put me back in that cellar room? And then I miss the party? I may prefer the ghost downstairs to—”
“No.” I walk toward her, and she backs right into one of the posts of her bed, trapping herself. Her hands move to my chest, and she tests, pushing a little. I don’t budge. But she doesn’t pull her hands away. “I’m talking about a different sort of reminder. You’re going to the party. Make your choice.”
She clears her throat, tilts her head back to look up at me. “I won’t be complicit in your weird game.”