Chapter 7: Twisted Lies: Chapter 7

I stayed at Greenfield for another hour, talking and doing puzzles with Maura. We’d migrated to the community room after I got my emotions under control, and we’d spent the rest of our time together assembling a five-hundred-piece mountain landscape.

I would’ve stayed longer, but I needed to get ready for the fundraiser. I was already cutting it close; when I got home, I had just under two hours before Christian was supposed to pick me up.

A wave of nerves crashed against my insides and drowned out the lingering melancholy from my visit with Maura.

Tonight would be my first time spending an entire evening with Christian. The Delamonte dinner didn’t count since we hadn’t spoken much during the dinner itself.

I turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray of hot water, trying not to panic too much at what lay ahead of me.

Christian Harper was just a man.

Not a king, even if he was richer than one, and not a god, even if he looked like one.

I had nothing to be nervous about.

Since I was on a time crunch, I washed my hair, showered, shaved, and exfoliated with record speed instead of lingering in the shower like I wanted.

But despite my rush, I was still doing my makeup in my bathrobe when the doorbell rang.

Christian wasn’t supposed to show up for another half hour.

…

My heart rate picked up when the unsettling chill I’d experienced on the train drifted through my mind.

not I didn’t know why I was worrying so much when he’d been radio silent for two years, but the last thing I needed was to manifest my stalker back into my life by focusing too much energy on him.

I jumped when the doorbell rang again.

Had it always been so I capped my mascara and hastened to the living room even as my pulse beat triple time.

I slowed to a stop at the front door and peeked through the peephole with my heart in my throat.

A second later, relief cooled my lungs, and I opened the door.

Christian stood in the hall, looking even more devastating than usual in a black tuxedo. With his perfectly wavy hair and clean-shaven face, he could’ve passed for a movie star on his way to the Oscars.

A tingle of awareness spread across my skin, mixed with curiosity at the white box in his hands. Medium-sized and flat, tied with a silky gold bow that obscured the logo.

I pulled my eyes away from the box and crossed my arms.

“You’re early.” Getting ready was my favorite part of an event. Sometimes, I liked it better than the event itself.

I didn’t appreciate being rushed, even if it was my fault for not leaving Greenfield earlier. Still, I thought I had half an hour left to myself.

“You’re not dressed.” Christian’s gaze coasted from my half-done face to my bare, red-painted toes. Something inscrutable passed through his eyes for a split second before it disappeared.

“Because you’re .”

He ignored the pointed reminder. “May I come in?”

I was tempted to say no and tell him to return at our arranged pickup time, but since he technically owned the apartment, I opened the door wider and stepped aside.

The air shifted the minute Christian entered. It grew heavier, more languid, like the first sultry bloom of summer after a season of spring rains.

The heat seeped through the thick terrycloth of my robe and curled low in my stomach as his eyes swept across the room, taking in the bowl of crystals by the front door, the bamboo plant on the windowsill, and the cozy, aesthetic corner I’d set up for lifestyle shoots.

He paused at the fuzzy purple unicorn propped against my couch pillows.

Amusement filled his eyes. “Cute.”

“Cute?” I tried not to sound too insulted. “Mr. Unicorn isn’t cute. He’s ”

At least, he had been during his heyday. Now, one of his eyes was crooked, half his hair had fallen out, and stuffing leaked from a tiny rip in his stomach, but he would always be beautiful to .

I didn’t care if Mr. Unicorn was a shadow of his former glorious self; he’d been my companion since I was seven, and I would hold on to him until he disintegrated into dust.

“My apologies,” Christian said dryly. “I didn’t mean to insult the Mr. Unicorn. Good job on the original name, by the way.”

Heat crawled up my neck. “I was seven. What else was I supposed to name it? Mr. Lisa Frank in the Wild?”

A low laugh caressed my skin like velvet. “Now would be quite a name, but we can discuss alternatives for your pet unicorn later.” He held out the white box. “This is for you.”

I ignored the subtle dig and eyed the box with equal parts anticipation and wariness. “What is it?”

“Your dress for tonight.”

My heart skipped a beat when I unraveled the bow and saw the name scrawled in gold across the top. It was one of the top couture houses in the world.

I didn’t want to accept more from him than I already had, but I couldn’t resist opening the box. A peek never hurt any…

My resistance crumbled the second I saw the dress nestled against a bed of delicate white tissue paper.

I was no stranger to gorgeous clothing. I’d attended dozens of fashion shows and received some truly amazing items from designers, but This dress might be the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.

“Thank you. This is…” I ran a reverent hand over the green silk. “Incredible.”

“Try it on. See if it fits.” Christian leaned against the wall, his eyes glowing with soft satisfaction. “I’ll be here.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

It took all my willpower not to run to my room. The second I shut my door, I slipped out of my robe and into the gown.

I sucked in a sharp breath. The rich green color popped against my skin and gave it an ethereal glow while the tastefully low V-neck transformed my B-cups from modest to something more luscious. The skirt draped to the floor in graceful folds and would’ve been almost demure had it not been for the daring slit up one side.

The dress shimmered with subtle luminescence every time I moved, and when I turned and twisted my head, I could see the delicate straps crisscrossing over my back.

There wasn’t an ounce of excess fabric or a pocket of bad tailoring.

Christian had gotten my measurements exactly right. Every inch of silk clung to my body like it’d been custom made for me.

I wasn’t prone to dramatics, but I didn’t think I was being dramatic when I said I would die for this dress.

It was perfect.

I allowed myself an extra minute of gown appreciation before I finished getting ready.

Makeup? Check.

Heels and jewelry? Check.

Clutch large enough to hold my phone, keys, credit card, a small piece of agate, and lipstick? Check.

I added a shawl in case I got cold, checked my teeth for stray lipstick, and steadied myself with a deep breath before I returned to the living room.

Christian was still leaning against the wall, staring at a small object in his hand. I couldn’t make out what it was before he straightened and slipped it into his pocket.

Our eyes connected, and a fire lit in my stomach.

He wasn’t looking at the object or anything else in the room anymore.

Every ounce of his attention had redirected toward me, and I could the weight of it on my skin, like a lover’s rough caress.

Liquid electricity dripped down my spine and pooled in my stomach.

With a simple look, Christian lit me up from the inside out.

“Perfect.” Reverence weighed his soft assessment.

No matter how hard I tried, I had never been perfect, nor would I ever be.

Still, the single word set the caged butterflies in my chest free before I wrestled them back into their hold.

The butterflies fluttered, uncaring.

“You have a good eye for clothing.” I forced my legs to move until I stood less than three feet from him. His delicious, masculine scent flooded my lungs and edged out the soothing notes of my favorite lavender eucalyptus candle. “I’m impressed.”

“It’s one of my many talents,” Christian drawled.

The suggestiveness was subtle, but it was enough to send a rush of heat over my cheeks.

Laughter danced in his eyes when I lifted my chin and fixed him with what I hoped was an unimpressed stare.

“Good to know.” I didn’t take his bait.

It was one thing for my body to freak out around him. It was another to show it.

I blew out the candle and turned off the lights before following Christian downstairs. A discreet black town car waited for us outside the entrance.

“No McLaren tonight?” I settled into the backseat.

Christian slid in next to me, the driver shut the door, and just like that, we were ensconced in a hushed, private world of Italian leather and sleek wood accents. A closed partition separated the driver’s and passenger seats, keeping our conversation private.

“Parking is a pain, and I don’t trust valets.” Christian flicked his gaze toward the phone in my lap. “I noticed you haven’t told your followers about us yet.”

The word mingled with the scents of my perfume and his cologne before it dissipated with a soft sigh.

I raised an eyebrow at his casual yet strangely weighted observation. “I thought you didn’t have social media.”

“Just because I don’t use social media doesn’t mean I’m not aware of what happens on there.”

“You think you know everything.”

“I do.” The words rang with the confidence of someone who truly believed what they were saying.

No wonder his name was Christian. He had a major God complex.

“Then you would know I’ll announce it. Soon.” My teeth sank into my bottom lip as my nerves made an untimely reappearance.

“You should.” Christian’s languid reply drowned out my flickering anxiety. “You’re attending tonight’s event with me. You should get something out of it.”

“I will. I’m just waiting for the right photo opportunity.” I eased a calming breath through my lungs. “Maybe I’ll post tonight.”

If a fancy gala didn’t make for good social media fodder, I didn’t know what would.

“Good.”

Awareness flushed through me at the hint of possessiveness in his voice.

A stray strand of hair slipped from my updo and wisped around my face. I’d been so thrown off by Christian’s early arrival I’d forgotten to set it with more hairspray.

Luckily, it was one of those styles that looked better the messier it was, but a strange current kept my lips sealed and my body taut when Christian lifted his hand to tuck the stray hair behind my ear.

The movement was languorous, his touch whisper-light, but my nipples peaked at the soft graze of his skin against my cheek. Hard, sensitive, begging for an ounce of the same attention.

I wasn’t wearing a bra.

Christian stilled. His attention honed in on my body’s reaction to his simple touch, and I would’ve been horrified had I not been so distracted by the ache blooming in my core.

Whiskey and flames ignited in those striking eyes.

His hand remained by my cheek, but his attention touched me everywhere—my face, my breasts, my stomach and achingly sensitive clit. It left a trail of fire so scorching I half expected my dress to disintegrate.

“Careful, Stella.” His low warning pulsed between my legs. “I’m not the gentleman you think I am.”

Images of crumpled silk and discarded suits, rough words and rougher touches, flashed through my mind. The products of instinct, not experience.

My reply fought its way past my dry throat. “I don’t think you’re a gentleman at all.”

A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips. “Smart girl.”

He leaned back and lowered his hand at the same time he turned his head to look out the window. The streets of D.C. whizzed by, but all I could focus on was the warm, possessive weight on my leg.

Christian’s hand rested on my thigh almost carelessly, like it was the natural home for his touch and not something he’d planned.

My dress’s slit bared most of my right leg, and the sight of his strong, tanned hand against my exposed skin did nothing to alleviate the liquid pressure coiled in my stomach.

But the longer I stared, the more my lustful haze faded, replaced by aesthetic instinct.

Emerald silk. Black suit. Cufflinks and an expensive watch that glinted in the dying rays of sunlight.

The perfect, effortless photo of a couple’s night out.

Before I could second guess myself, I raised my phone and snapped the picture.

I snuck a peek at Christian. He stared out the window, his profile flawless against the glass. If he knew I’d taken the photo, he didn’t show it.

Then again, I hadn’t captured his face, so it wasn’t against our terms.

I finally summoned the courage to post when the car stopped in front of the Smithsonian.

I hesitated at the part of the caption before I pressed the share button.

If I was doing this, I might as well go all in.

didn’t have the same ring as “You ready?” Christian asked as the driver opened the back door.

I tucked my phone into my purse. Ten seconds and my notifications were already blowing up, but I would deal with them later.

I had a gala to attend.

I took his hand and pasted on a smile.

“Absolutely.”

It was show time.