Page 33 of Connor's Claim

I shivered, the image of his tattooed hand buried between my legs one I’d never get over. As if he could sense my spiking need, he raised his gaze, dark emotion in his eyes.

After we’d returned from the brothel, Connor had sent me in for a shower, and when I’d emerged, he pointed out two ready meals he’d microwaved. Both were plated with a salad alongside,and for some reason, that gesture struck an arrow in my heart. A simple meal, but he was feeding me.

Caring about me.

A little note propped alongside them read EAT.

I’d picked the one I thought he’d like least, a vegetable lasagne, then carried it to the table beside the big window. He devoured his at the counter with quick stabs of his fork then disappeared down the hall. I’d gone to find him, but he must’ve locked himself in the room I hadn’t been able to get into yet. So I’d lain on his bed and waited for him, but he hadn’t come.

“I need to talk to Genevieve. I want to go downstairs,” I told him.

He held his gaze on me.

“Will you come with me?” I tried again. He’d locked me in here, but I didn’t think I was a prisoner. Not truly.

Slowly, Connor inclined his head. “I have work to do this evening, which means I can’t watch over ye constantly.”

“That won’t matter if I’m with Genevieve and Cassie, will it?”

His expression dropped into a scowl. “Since when have ye been tight with them?”

A smile twitched my lips. I liked him grumpy because he didn’t know every part of my life. “You’re not going to stop me, then?”

“Pretty sure you’d find a way out regardless.”

“I’ll get ready.”

At his wardrobe, and with the bedroom door firmly closed, I gazed at the very limited amount of clothes I had. The dress Connor brought unexpectedly was my only real option when everybody else would be dressed for clubbing. I’d picked it up a couple of years ago because it reminded me of the clothes I’d loved as a teenager. Midnight blue and milkmaid-style, it was ankle-length, with little capped sleeves and a square, ruched, lowcut neckline, cut tight under the bust. The light,floaty material elevated it from daywear to evening, but it was romantic, feminine,cute, and with a big emphasis on my boobs. Until now, I’d not had the occasion, or confidence, to wear it.

I paired my makeup to the blue of the dress and coiled my hair over one shoulder, adding the spike-heeled shoes Connor had selected, then I stared at myself in his mirror.

At home, I had any number of beautiful dresses, from elegant garden party dresses to ballgowns for very formal occasions, and I wouldn’t have picked this outfit in a hundred years. It was almost like the version of me reflected back was someone else.

A more confident version of Everly Makepeace. A complete fantasy, dressed by Connor Michaels.

I grabbed my phone and made for the door, throwing it open to find him on the other side, hands in his pockets like he’d been waiting there.

Connor’s gaze travelled down me. Blocking my path, he stared at me. Under his slow perusal, I subtly shifted my posture, shoulders back, chest out, skin tingling at the attention.

Finally, he spoke, though it was a low and guttural single word. “Fuck.”

A thrill passed through me, and I slipped by him, going to the apartment’s exit. “Good to go?”

Too much, I enjoyed how he adjusted his crotch and followed. Outside, we descended in the lift to the ground floor, and I followed Connor to a room with rows of monitors showing different parts of the warehouse. A crowd danced on the floor of the nightclub. From memory, they had a student night early in the week. The strip club was equally packed with men around tables and lined up in front of the stage, though it was barely nine-thirty.

“Mick,” Connor hailed my security guard from earlier in the day. “Everly’s meeting up with Genevieve and Cassie. I have shite to get on with, so do your thing.”

I twisted to him. “I won’t leave the building. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Either Mick watches over ye or you’re going back upstairs. Over my shoulder if necessary.”

My jaw dropped, but fire flashed in his eyes, and my protests died on my tongue.

“Fine.”

“Good.” He walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Besides, looking like that, you’ll need all the help ye can get fighting off the rabid dogs that are going to chase ye.”

I frowned at his retreating back then shot a quick message to Genevieve to find out where she was. With help from Mick, I made my way to the VIP section of the nightclub.

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