Page 85 of Devious Secrets

“It’s not going back to the store, so if you don’t wear it, it will just go to waste.” She grew up without excess and without the luxury she deserves. That stops now. I’m going to drape this woman in diamonds, silks, and at night—leather.

She glances back at the mirror. “This is all too much, Alexander. The dress, and now the nightgowns.”

“It’s not enough, but we can argue about it later. I’m not in the mood for it now.” Her nipples pebble beneath the satin fabric and all I can think about now is peeling the damn thing off her to get to them.

“Rurik wasn’t here tonight, at least I don’t remember his name when you were introducing me to people.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, while her toes curl into the lush carpeting.

Is she nervous to be alone with me? After everything we’ve gone through up until today, it’s standing in a nightgown on our wedding night that frightens her?

“No. I spoke with him this afternoon, before you came downstairs. So far, he’s not been able to locate Mira, but he will,” I reassure her. I have a few questions for Mira when he does.

Like how the hell she thought it was okay to leave town and let a man like Marco DeAngelo unleash himself on Megan in her stead.

“She still hasn’t gotten a hold of you?” I don’t need to ask the question, but she’s my wife now. Too many years I watched lies fly back and forth between my parents in their marriage. I won’t have it in mine.

She lets out a little sigh and turns back to the mirror, tugging on the hem. A soft pink blush touches the spot on her neck that gives her away whenever she’s trying to be dishonest.

I relax my features, waiting for whatever lie she seems to be cooking up.

“I have to tell you something.” She faces me, her fingers flexing at her sides. “But before I do, can you promise me that you won’t get all Russian Mafia about it?”

I arch a brow. “How can I promise that when I don’t know what it is you want to tell me?”

“Because I don’t want to lie to you or hide things from you. You’ve made a big sacrifice today, marrying me in order to keep me safe. I want to trust you. Please just promise you won’t order me to be locked away with an armed guard outside my door just because you think it will make me safer.”

Marrying her isn’t the sacrifice she seems to believe it is. This woman was mine the moment I took the cat mask off her at Obsidian.

“I will promise to react with the appropriate amount of Russian Mafia. Does that work for you?” I slide my hands into my front pockets. The benefit of having her phone mirrored to mine is I already know what she wants to show me.

I’d hoped she would tell me on her own, but I expected her to take longer. This show of trust won’t go unrewarded. Throwing her in a locked tower, while appealing in some senses, would serve more to push her away.

After another moment of thought, she heaves a sigh. “I guess I’ll take it.”

I move to the side as she brushes past me and into the bedroom, where she pulls her phone out of the nightstand drawer. Swiping it to life, she brings it back to me and shows me the screen.

I glance at the text message she received hours ago. When it came through on my phone, my immediate reaction was to find her and tie her to my side. But when there was no response from her to the message, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

My bet was right.

“I don’t know if it’s from Marco or not. It didn’t come through from his phone.” She frowns. “Maybe he has a new one.”

I take the phone from her hands and press the side button, powering it down.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Tossing the device onto the dresser beside me, I focus all my attention on her.

“You’re not worried?” She glances where it landed. “About Marco?”

“Not tonight, I’m not.” Stepping up to her, I lift the thin satin straps of the nightgown and drag them slowly down her arms.

“Oh.” Her cheeks flush and she smiles up at me. Even Marco can’t ruin what I have planned for her tonight.

“You didn’t hide the message from me.” Leaning down, I brush my lips across the soft skin of her shoulder, licking my way to her throat. “Such a good girl.”

A shiver runs through her as I scrape my teeth across the sensitive little spot just under her ear.

“Such a good girl for daddy,” I whisper against her ear.

She moans; it’s a guttural sound, and one I’m sure she would rather be able to hold inside, but I feel her, I see her. My girl is a dirty little slut, and she’s all mine.

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