Page 85 of Pitiful Lies

That reminds me. I need to go shopping.

But if I’m being honest, well, I wouldn’t have had anything to wear to something like this, anyway. And since the party was kind of short notice, this is fine.

I’m a little taller than Anna, but other than that our body types are very similar. Now that she’s still breastfeeding, our boobs are even the same size, so the bodice fits me perfectly.

It’s a dream of a dress. An off-the-shoulder confection with capped sleeves and draped pleats on the bodice and waistline. The skirt is long and there is a little train. The side slit makes it easy for me to walk.

I never wear this color. But the navy blue is pretty, and for some reason it brings out the green of my eyes.

I was going to iron my hair, but I veto that. September weather is fickle, and I can’t be sure it won’t rain.

So, I leave it loose and curly instead. Angel likes my hair, and the truth is, I keep it down for him.

Both the cut and color of the gown are flattering, and I should feel quite confident. But I’m so nervous, and I am aware Angel hasn’t looked at me once.

Leo follows the line of cars up a long driveway, stopping outside of an enormous brick mansion. There are several men and women with weapons. Security, I assume.

“Wait for me, Koukla,” Angel murmurs as the car comes to a stop.

I do as he asks, watching him prowl around the front of the black luxury vehicle. He is always handsome. But tonight, seeing Angel, my tall, muscular, tattooed lover, in a midnight black tuxedo is almost too much to bear.

Holy. Christ.

I don’t know who named him, but Angel is the right moniker for this man. Not because he is a saint or anything. More because he is brimming with masculine beauty.

He looks like he was chiseled from marble. Like something that should be in a museum.

I swallow nothing and freeze when he opens the door. The first thing I see is his big, inked up hand outstretched towards me, and I don’t have to think.

I just take it.

I place my hand trustingly in his and I allow him to pull me out of the car. The skirt parts, and Angel’s eyes go right to the flash of thigh that peeks out from the long slit.

Then I grin.

Because he isn’t ignorant of this fantastic gown or how it looks on me. He’s simply avoiding it, and I think it’s because he can’t take it off me yet.

Yes. Please.

Knowing that he wants me like that is like the strongest aphrodisiac ever. My skin warms, and my mouth goes dry all at the same time.

They say knowledge is powerful, but I never knew how right they were until now. Because that knowledge, well, it sends my heart thundering inside my chest.

Angel Fury wants me.

Me.

Giselle Vega.

And I know it. And knowing it is power.

“See something you like, Big Guy?” I whisper as I stand in front of him.

His icy blue stare pins me, and he leans forward, crushing my lips against his.

I feel his tongue pressing against the seam of my lips and I am so fucking glad I chose to not wear lipstick.

He kisses me long and hard, and in front of the dozen or so other guests lining up to get in. It feels like more than a kiss. It feels like a proclamation.

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