Page 34 of His By Contract

He remained in the elevator, silent and still. No footsteps followed her across the polished floor, but they didn’t need to. The phantom of his caress clung to her skin, echoing through her muscles with each breath. It would shadow her through every meeting, hover beneath each guarded conversation, lurk behind every smile she’d paint on her face today.

Georgia’s fingers traced the smooth wood of her closet door, surprised to find it unlocked after this morning’s power play. Inside, two gowns hung front and center on display: a black column dress with a high neck and precise tailoring, and a champagne silk that floated like spun sugar. Both screamed wealth, status, control. Adrian’s control.

A note pinned to the black dress read ‘Dinner with the Redingtons. Wear this.’ in his sharp handwriting. Her teeth clenched. Even when giving her a choice, he had to dictate the outcome.

Georgia shoved both dresses aside, hangers scraping against the rod. In the back corner hung her secret weapon: a dress she’d designed herself months ago but never dared to wear. Blood-red charmeuse cut on the bias, plunging to her lower back, the fabric catching light like liquid fire. No demure neckline or modest hemline. This dress demanded attention, screamed defiance.

Her pulse quickened as she slipped it on. The fabric settled against her skin, cool at first, then warming to her body. In the mirror, curves she usually downplayed emerged bold and unapologetic. The dress moved like water when she walked, each step a deliberate provocation.

She twisted her hair up, exposing the bare expanse of her back. No jewelry, the dress was statement enough. Her reflection stared back, transformed. Not Adrian’s carefully curated wife, but something wilder. Dangerous.

Georgia’s fingers smoothed invisible wrinkles from the silk. He wanted to control her image? Fine. She’d give him an image he couldn’t ignore or explain away. Let him squirm through dinner, choking on his schemes and practiced smiles.

The red silk brushed against her legs as she turned.

Georgia caught movement in her mirror’s reflection as Adrian materialized in her doorway. He took up the space without a word, looming like a shadow against the light. Her skin prickled with awareness as his gaze traveled over the red dress, lingering on the exposed curve of her spine.

His jaw tightened. One hand flexed at his side, the only crack in his perfect control. A shiver licked down her spine as she watched him through the mirror, studying the way his shoulderstensed beneath his suit jacket, the predatory stillness of his stance.

She turned to face him fully, chin lifted. The charmeuse whispered against her skin, and his eyes darkened, following the sound.

Adrian’s steps were silent as he moved closer, each movement calculated. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that his cologne wrapped around her senses. His fingers lifted, hovering near the strap of her dress without making contact.

Georgia’s pulse thundered in her throat. The space between them crackled with tension, with possibility. Adrian’s eyes had turned stormy, the usual ice-blue darkened to something dangerous. His breath brushed her cheek as he leaned in, and she caught the slight tremor in his hand, the only sign that her defiance had affected him.

She tilted her face up, not backing down. Not this time. His expression shifted, a flicker of heat slipping through the cracks before the mask slid back into place. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there with such intensity that heat bloomed across her skin.

Georgia’s heart hammered against her ribs as the tension stretched between them like a wire about to snap. Every nerve ending screamed for contact, for resolution, for something to break this maddening standoff.

“You’ll wear the black.” His voice came soft, controlled, barely above a whisper. The words brushed against her ear, sending shivers down her spine despite their command.

Then he was gone. No touch. No acknowledgment of the electricity that had crackled between them. Just empty air where he had stood, leaving Georgia alone with her thundering pulse.

She stared at her reflection, at the woman who dared to challenge Adrian Adler. The dress clung to her curves like a lover’s hands, making promises her rational mind warned against. The black dress hung beside her, a symbol of everything he demanded—control, obedience, submission.

Georgia’s fingers traced the red fabric. Every thread was a choice, every seam a declaration. She knew what wearing it meant, knew the consequences that would follow. But something had shifted inside her, something that refused to bend.

When she walked out of that room, the red dress moved like liquid fire behind her.

Georgia stood at the window of her room, the city lights blurring into a dark canvas below. The red dress molded against her skin, each fold and drape echoing her earlier rebellion. She’d worn it like armor, but now it felt too tight, too exposing against her flesh.

Her fingers traced the cool glass, seeking relief from the heat that still lingered where Adrian’s breath had touched her skin hours ago. The penthouse stretched silent around her, no footsteps in the hallway, no voice calling her to account. Just emptiness and the weight of anticipation.

She crossed her arms tight against her chest, trying to contain the tremors that ran through her body. The silence felt wrong. Adrian never let disobedience pass without consequence. Yet here she stood, still wearing the dress that had made his jaw clench and his hands flex with barely contained control.

The city sprawled endlessly before her, a maze of lights and shadows. But Georgia barely saw it. Her mind kept returning to that moment in her room: the dangerous stillness of his body, the storm in his eyes as they traced her body. His command had been soft, yet it echoed in her head like thunder.

The silken fabric traced her skin, igniting fresh echoes of how the air had charged and sparked when he stood near her. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, seeking anchor against the waves of tension rolling through her body.

No footsteps approached. No door opened. Just the quiet hum of the climate control and her own unsteady breathing in the darkness.

Georgia pressed her palm flat against the window, watching her reflection ghost over the city lights below. She’d told herself this choice was about independence, about refusing to bend to Adrian’s will.

But that wasn’t true.

She went still as understanding washed over her. She hadn’t chosen this dress to push him away; she’d chosen it to draw him closer. Every fold of fabric, every inch of exposed skin had been carefully calculated not to defy him, but to capture his attention.

The realization should have horrified her. Instead, heat bloomed across her skin as she remembered the darkness in his eyes, theway his control had fractured for just a moment when he saw her. She’d wanted that crack in his armor. Craved it.

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