Page 21 of Cinderella and the Daddy
Good.
“Dikaya,you can’t escape. Do you think you have any chance of getting away? You don’t. You’re mine.”
“What the hell does that mean?Dikaya. What are you calling me? Too afraid to say it in English.”
It’s cute that she thinks I would ever be afraid of her. “Wild one.”
I leave her room.
I don’t trust the woman to do as she’s told. I stop by her room later to make sure she is following orders. My stylist is just finishing her makeup. Cindy sits rigid in the chair, her jaw clenched as the woman applies lipstick to Cindy’s plump lips.
The dress I selected hangs on the closet door. Black silk that will hug every curve, with a neckline that skims her collarbones and leaves her shoulders bare. Heels that will put her at the perfect height for my arm to rest possessively around her waist.
Cindy's reflection catches mine in the mirror. For a moment, something passes between us—a flicker of the heat from that night in the garage. Then her expression hardens, walls slamming back into place.
She doesn't trust me either. Fair enough.
Her hair falls in loose waves past her shoulders. Elegant but touchable. The kind of hair a man runs his fingers through when he's claiming his woman in front of other predators.
"The dress," I say simply.
The stylist steps out, leaving us alone. Cindy stares at the black silk like it might bite her.
"I've never been to anything like this," she admits, vulnerability creeping into her voice.
"Just stay close to me. Smile when I tell you to. Don't speak unless spoken to directly." I step closer, close enough to smell the expensive perfume the stylist applied. It’s an opium scent that fits her so well. She is addictive.
“You’re an overbearing asshole,” she mutters.
"You're mine tonight. Act like it."
Her eyes flash with that familiar defiance. "I'm not your possession."
"Tonight you are." I reach out and trace my thumb along her jawline, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. "These men will eat you alive if they sense weakness. If they think you're not under my protection."
She jerks away from my touch. "And whose fault is it that I'm in this position?"
I shrug. “Ask yourfather.”
Her lips press together angrily.
"Get dressed. We leave in twenty minutes."
When she emerges from the bedroom, my breath catches in my throat.
She's stunning.
Dangerous.
Mine.
I offer her my arm.
She takes it with obvious reluctance, her fingers barely touching my sleeve. She straightens her spine and lifts her chin.
Whatever else she is, Cindy Russo is not a coward.
The drive to the estate is quiet. I can feel her nervousness radiating from the passenger seat, but she doesn't ask questions. Doesn't complain. Just stares out the window at the Miami nightlife blurring past.
