Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Do you need help?” Elenora says peeking in.
I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I tell her. I just have to get through this. Pick a dress. I don’t care which. Then I can go back upstairs and think. Try to work through this confusion.
I put on the first dress which is lovely, a deep red silk that feels so soft against my skin it’s like I’m not wearing anything at all. It’s elegantly cut, and I hate that I find myself thinking he’s right. The red does look good against my skin and hair.
“Oh, now, that’s beautiful,” Elenora says, startling me. She draws the curtain fully open and gestures for me to step out in front of the three-way mirror.
“Did you find something black?” I ask her, a little irritated by her pushiness.
She smiles, but I see her annoyance. She points to a simple black sheath. “Great,” I say, taking it into the dressing room and not letting myself try on the choker she tries to show me. Instead, I slip back behind the curtain and strip off the beautiful dress to put on the simpler one. At least she’s quiet, I think, as I reach back to zip it up, but the zipper gets stuck almost right away.
“Elenora?” I call out as I slip out from behind the curtain.
I stop dead the instant I do. Because it’s not Elenora who is looking back at me.
It’s Jet Blackstone.
I gasp, my heart racing.
He smiles, sips his whiskey. He’s seated at the center of the couch, one ankle resting on top of the opposite knee, casual as can be. He’s wearing black on black. Jet black. Jet Blackstone. And he looks like the perfect villain. A lot like Cassian does.
He uncrosses his legs and sits there like that, legs spread, just looking at me. When he finally sets the whiskey down, I draw in a breath. He stands, putting a finger to his lips to signal for me to be quiet.
I remain as I am, dumbfounded, and watch him climb up to where I’m standing. I instinctively take a step backward. He’s big, as big as Cassian. And even if he did rescue me out of that crypt, there is something about him that makes me uneasy. That scares me. Because he is dangerous. I know that. Perhaps not quite foe, he is something other than friend.
“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
He shrugs a shoulder, steps a little closer than is normal or correct. His eyes move from my face down to the exposed skin of my chest before he stretches his arms to either side of me. I take hold of his biceps to stop him, thinking he’s going to hug me or something.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Where’s Elenora?”
He chuckles, as unmovable as Cassian, and a moment later, I feel his fingertips on the skin of my back before I hear the zipper as he slides it up, cinching the dress around me.
“Elenora had to step out.”
A moment later, he steps backward and looks at me, taking my shoulders and turning me to look at the mirror.
“I prefer the red,” he says. He’s right. This is a beautiful dress, but the red was special.
I look up at him over my shoulder. He’s standing right behind me close enough that I feel the heat of his body and when I look in his eyes, I remember how he looked at me. How he put his hands on my knees and looked at me.
I turn away, feeling my face burn. But I can’t do that. I can’t cower. I promised myself that a long time ago.
Taking two steps away, I turn to face him fully. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long.”
Forest green, I realize. His eyes are forest green. Not black. I recall the scars on his body. So many of them.
“Two soldiers are right in there,” I say, pointing.
He grins. “Are they?”
“Cassian will kill you if he finds you here,” I continue.
“Probably, yes. If he finds me. Do you want me to go?”
Do I? Maybe. Why wouldn’t I want him to go? “What are you doing here?”
“Well, this is my family’s casino. The dinner tonight, you and Cassian will be our guests.”
Now I’m confused. But that’s not what I meant. I meant what is he doing here in this dressing room, which is supposed to be guarded, the shop locked.
Anxiety wrings out my insides. I may have Cassian’s protection, but Cassian isn’t here.
“Surprised he’s coming, actually,” Jet continues. “But back to my question. Do you want me to go?”
I think about how he rescued me out of that crypt, putting me to bed. His bed. I’m not sure he did it to save me, though. I think he did it to piss off Cassian. I recall how he and Cassian fought. How he looked at me, his hands on my knees, fingers digging into flesh.