Page 32 of Forced Bratva Bride

“Not my date.” His voice was patient, as if he were explaining something to a child. “My guest. There's a difference.”

“Not to anyone who'll be there.” I crossed my arms, aware of how the gesture pushed up my cleavage in the dress. Gio's eyes didn't waver from my face, which somehow made me more self-conscious than if he'd looked. It was almost as though he was forcing himself to keep his eyes on mine, as though he couldn’t bear to hold himself back if he swept over my body. “I agreed to cooperate, not to parade around as arm candy.”

“You'll be attending in an observer capacity,” he said. “Apart from your brothers’ presence, several people who might have information about your brother's situation will be there.”

That got my attention. “What kind of information?”

“The kind that might help clear his name, if he's innocent as you claim.”

I bit my lip, considering. If there was even a chance to help Gastone, I had to take it. “Fine. But I'm not wearing this dress.”

“Try the black one,” he suggested, gesturing to a sleek gown with subtle beading. “And the silver.”

For the next hour, I tried on dress after dress, emerging each time to Gio's thoughtful consideration. To my surprise, he never dictated what I should wear, only offered suggestions and asked what I thought. It was... almost fun.

“What about this one?” I asked, holding up a dress with an explosion of ruffles and bright pink sequins.

His expression was so horrified, I laughed out loud. “You can't be serious.”

“What's wrong with a little pizzazz?” I twirled the monstrosity.

“That's not pizzazz, it's a visual assault.”

“Maybe I like making an entrance.”

He took the dress from my hands, his fingers brushing mine, and that simple innocent gesture sent a wave of sparks shooting up my arm. “There are better ways to be memorable.”

The intensity in his eyes made me swallow hard. “Like what?”

“Like this.” He reached behind me and pulled out a dress I hadn't noticed before. It was a deep midnight blue, almost black, with small crystals scattered across it like stars.

I took it hesitantly. “It's beautiful.”

“Try it,” he said, his voice lower than before.

Behind the curtain, I slipped into the dress, immediately aware that it was different from the others. The fabric felt like water against my skin, cool and fluid. It hugged my curves in a way that was both modest and sensual. The neckline dipped just enough to hint at cleavage without revealing too much, and the back was open to my mid-spine.

When I stepped out, Gio was standing with his back to me, looking at his phone. He turned, and the change in his expression was immediate. Something darkened in his eyes, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

“Well?” I finally asked, my voice coming out huskier than I intended.

He set his phone down and walked toward me slowly and deliberately. I resisted the urge to step back.

“Turn around,” he said.

I complied, feeling oddly vulnerable with my back exposed to him. In the mirror, I watched him approach, his expression intent. He stopped just behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body.

“It's too loose here,” he said, his hands coming to rest lightly on my waist. I froze at his touch, not wanting to move away, needing him close. My breath hitched in my throat as his fingers pinched the fabric at my sides. “And here.”

I couldn't speak. His hands were large against my waist, his fingers sure as they showed where the dress needed adjusting. In the mirror, I couldn’t help but think we made a striking pair.

“A simple alteration,” he continued, his voice steady even as his eyes met mine in the mirror. “It should fit you like a second skin.”

I could feel my heart pounding and wondered if he could sense it too through the thin fabric. I gulped with nervous energy and nodded as his gaze met mine in the mirror. The way he looked at me then, as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world, made my heart race so hard I thought my ribs would break.

His fingers tightened fractionally on my waist, and for a moment, I thought he might pull me back against him. I wished hewould.Instead, he adjusted the fabric once more, professionally, before stepping away.

The loss of his heat behind me left me feeling strangely bereft. I turned to face him, searching his face for some sign of the tension I'd felt between us. He stared down at me, and for the briefest moment, his eyes wandered to my lips.

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