Page 20 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

I fingered the tiny strings on the fabric, avoiding his gaze. “I, um, don’t think I have to try it on. It looks like it will fit me just fine.”

“What if I want you to?”

I was pushing my luck, but I wasn’t going to give up. Not yet.

He wasn’t the one that had to deal with the constant tying and untying of strings, and zipping ups and zipping downs. Any other day, with any other person, this would have been fun. But it was Mark, the wolf in the sheep’s disguise.

“What if I don’t want to?”

He took my hands and clasped them over the jumpsuit. Then, a mischievous glint crossed his eyes. “I know Maria likes to sleep with a cross under her pillow. But what good will it do to protect her from me?”

No more words needed to be exchanged. He’d made his point. Daring to disobey him was putting the lives of my loved ones at risk, and he knew I couldn’t stand the thought of that.

My chest burned with anger and tears welled up. But I had no intention of shedding a single one. I would rather try on a hundred more dresses before I let him make me cry.

Again, I trudged into the changing room and got rid of the Qi Pao. My vision blurred as I tossed aside the Asian-inspired clothing and stared at my reflection through the mirrored walls. Almost naked, wearing only my embarrassing beige cotton underwear and matching convertible bra—sorry I didn't know I'd be kidnapped hours after my midnight shower—the cold biting hard on my skin and goosebumps appeared.

I rubbed my arms, looked at the glittering jumpsuit with the Greek neckline, and spotted the white price tag hanging on the side. My stomach turned and I felt my bile rise. It made no sense that he was willing to spend thousands of dollars on me—his pet. I felt uncomfortable, but that's what he wanted, wasn’t it? It was all just a game to him; I was nothing more than a pawn in his hands, a bait for Logan.

I missed Logan. His smile, the sound of his crazy laughter, and the boring stories he told about work. Even the classy and welcoming ambience C’est Magnifique offered wasn’t enough to quench my desire to return home. A tiny part of me wondered if it was possible that he’d forgotten about me, and the ache in my chest burrowed deeper.

Sniveling, I hugged myself tighter, wiped my nose, and exhaled.

I’d heard somewhere before that tears never helped accomplish anything and I agreed. If Mark saw me now, without the jumpsuit on, I was going to get into so much trouble.

I bent over, reaching for the jumpsuit, but never made it. The door swung open without any warning, and I could have sworn my soul left my body when long legs draped in black pants filed past the threshold. My gaze wandered upwards and the more I looked, the more I froze on the spot. Disheveled hair, a crisp black shirt, and lips that wore a mischievous smile.

The small hairs on the back of my neck stood attention and I wanted to die of shame when his sparkling blue eyes were fixated on my cotton underwear. Awesome.

On second thought, why did I care what he thought of my boring underwear?

He shut the door behind him and pitched forward.

“I was beginning to think you’d tried to do something stupid,” he was saying; his heated gaze still pinned on the valley between my legs.

I blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been in here for eighteen minutes and thirty-four seconds now. It takes you twelve minutes to try on a dress.”

I didn’t know which was scarier; him edging closer with every word he spoke or how accurately he timed the minutes I spent in the changing room. I took a step back and my feet hit a glass wall. I was forced to stop moving. My knees were shaking and that feeling between my legs, the one I shouldn’t be having, was getting stronger.

“That’s impressive,” I stammered. “The ... The time-keeping thing.”

Mark stepped toward me again, until he was pressed up against me. I should have stopped him. I should have shoved him back. But I didn’t. My heart hammered against my chest loudly, blood rushed to my ears, and the background silence felt like we’d been trapped in a bubble.

He took a strand of my hair and twirled it around his long, slender finger; and as he spoke, I stared at his mouth.

“Timekeeping is basic, Addison. There’s nothing impressive about that.” His warm breath hit my face, and something twisted below my stomach when he called my name. “You’re not wearing the jumpsuit.”

Honestly, I tried to look at anything else, except his mouth. I tried.

“It’s expensive.”

“Money can never be a problem for me.”

“I—You ... it’s not that.”

“Then? What’s gotten you so excited?” He leaned in, his lips grazed my ear.

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