Page 17 of Taking Jenny
I giggled, my breath catching at how easily he made me smile, even here in our current situation. “Let’s go, then.”
His room mirrored mine in layout, but the details were stronger, richer. His sheets were the darkest shade of green I’d ever seen, a color that practically pulsed under the chandelier’s glow.
I grinned at him, most of my fears allayed. “I don’t think we need the buddy system here,” I said, glancing up at him. “If you want to stay in your room…”
His brows rose, but only slightly. “I would still prefer to stay together, if that’s alright with you.”
The way he said it—low, sure and intimate—sent a flutter straight through my center. I nodded, a little too fast, and smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that. He made it sound like there would be clothes in our rooms for us,” I said, shifting the subject before my face betrayed just how warm I’d gotten.
Tiger checked his wardrobe. “Wow.” He pulled out a blue suit, the material catching the light like it was spun from moonlight. “I’ve never worn such fine clothes in my life.”
Excitement trickled through me. “Let’s check mine, too.”
We returned to my room, and I found dresses and jumpsuits and all sorts of other fashionable things in my wardrobe. Every one of them looked tailored for me—literally. “How did he know our sizes?”
“I’m not sure.” Tiger rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Not much is publicly known about Malice Ripper. Only that he’s Justice’s ward and…vicious.”
“Oh, super,” I said facetiously.
I picked a lacy black cocktail dress, delicate and utterly impractical. A bag with matching shoes hung around the dress’ hanger, also in my size.
“I suppose we should dress properly for supper,” I said, mostly to fill the quiet.
Tiger nodded and began to undress, just like that—shirt lifting, his bare chest catching the chandelier light in a way that made his smooth, taut skin look opalescent, making me want to touch him. I should have looked away immediately, but I didn’t. Heat sparked in my stomach as I took in his muscular form, along with the line of his hip disappearing beneath the waistband of his utility pants.
When I finally lifted my gaze, his eyes met mine and he grinned. “Enjoying the view?”
Mortified at being caught ogling him, I quickly spun around. “Sorry.”
Behind me, he chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Don’t worry,” he said gently. “I turned around, too.”
The rustle of clothing filled the air, but silence stretched between us, thick with awareness. It was strange undressing in a room with a man and knowing it wasn’t leading to sex. I wasn’tsure I’d ever done that before. There was something inherently intimate about the moment anyway. I was nervous and tempted all at once, trying to ignore the underlying gnawing panic of being a prisoner to some wealthy sadist with too much power and too few rules.
I slid the straps of the dress over my arms, tugging it up slowly when I caught a glimpse of movement in the vanity mirror. Tiger—bare chested, muscles flexing—was changing into a white dress shirt. His bare back was a carved landscape of strength and tension, and I had to bite my lip to keep from sighing out loud.
Unaware of where my mind had roamed, he said without turning, “We must be careful here, Jenny.”
“I know.”
“Malice’s reputation…he finds joy in torturing people.” His voice was low but rough around the edges, like it physically pained him to say the words. “There are rumors he is the palace’s executioner.”
I shivered at the thought. “Why are they only rumors? How do people not know who it is?”
“The executioner is always completely covered and masked. No visible skin and no hole in the uniform for a tail, of course. But those who have sat closest to the stage… they claim there’s no bulge of a tail beneath the uniform either.”
I inhaled deeply through my nose, letting it out slowly—just like my yoga teacher had taught me. “So, we’re going to supper with a psychopath who may or may not be the palace executioner, who we’re also living with until his boss decides if we’re worth killing. And in the meantime, said psychopath is allowed to torture or manipulate us to extract information that could doom our families and everyone we care about.” I looked at my reflection. “Does that about sum it up?”
“Yes,” he said, and his solemn expression in the mirror matched the dread pooling in my stomach.
I readjusted the straps of my dress, which fit me like a dream, as did the heels. “Well, at least I look good, going to my death. Are you dressed yet?”
“Yes. How do I look?”
I turned around—and promptly forgot how to breathe. My knees went weak, as well. Tiger looked like a regal prince. The midnight-blue suit hugged his broad shoulders and dipped perfectly at his waist, the fabric clinging to the long lines of his body like it had been commissioned for his exact frame. His hair was tousled in that just-fucked way I wanted to memorize.
“You look incredible,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
He let out a soft, almost shy laugh, color darkening his cheeks. “Nothing compared to you.”
