Page 16 of Her Captor's Secret Heir

I just hope I don’t pee on the floor like an overexcited puppy. Imagine the French designer’s dismay if I did!

Brigitte proudly passes the dress to Eva. She carefully helps me in. “Stand up straight.”

I do and she zips. Holding my hand, she helps me spin toward the gigantic, gilded mirror that’s beside the equally gigantic, gilded bed.

Brigitte arranges the train just perfectly so that it wraps around the pedestal, and I can see every single perfect inch of the dress.

There’s a collective gasp. The room crackles with awe. The designer’s eyes are misty. Mine are popping from my head.

The bodice skims my body perfectly; the skirt hugs my hips. The single shoulder strap arches elegantly, dancing with light and color, and just as the designer said, my boobs look freaking phenomenal.

“I’ll take it,” I say roughly. Because they’re never getting me out of this thing.

“I feel so…” I realize my voice is thick. My throat is full of stinging tears. “I feel so beautiful.” I follow quickly in what is probably butchered French, but I don’t care, “Cette robe est magnifique. Merveilleux. Je suis trop belle.”

Eva’s grinning triumphantly. The designer is probably counting money behind her glassy eyes. And I feel like a queen.

Even if it’s only for this moment.

But I’ll take that.

I haven’t had a single moment like this in my life before.

Now I get why kids play dress-up. You can be anyone you want to be for a few moments. No matter how jacked up your real life is.

CHAPTERTEN

Shoulders hunched, Patrick Coghlan’s standing by the window in his office when I walk in. Outside, the rain is falling, but the sun is shining. There’s probably a rainbow, but if it has anything to do with Coghlan it’s composed of shades of black and blacker.

“Devil’s beating his wife,” he says without turning.

“Didn’t think you were married.”

He stiffens and turns toward me. The cigar in his hand trails smoke around his shoulders as he faces me. “I was, twice. My first wife died when the twins were born. And the second died in—” He clears his throat. “Unfortunate circumstances.”

The second wife is Carra’s mother. Around the estate no one speaks of her death. Which means it was nefarious. I’m not sure Carra would even know the truth. Or anyone beyond the killer.

Locking eyes with him, I ask, “Did you beat her to death?”

I should be careful. This all needs to fall into place. But the question comes out of me and hangs between us.

“No. I did not beat her to death,” he replies slowly, careful of his words.

He turns back to the window. “I’m not here for small talk, McGregor. We have a deal to finish. The wedding needs to happen. Important things are going to happen at the reception. It’s hard to get these bastards together except when they get to preen and show off. And eat on someone else’s dime.”

“As you wanted, it’s on schedule for next Saturday. The details are being finalized.”

He makes a low sound. “Good. Now, let’s talk about you taking over Niall’s job. I have plans.”

“So do I.”

His brows draw closer, deepening the wrinkle between them. “You’ve met with him?”

“You’ve changed your tune. Before, you said I was inept.”

“Things change.”

His shift makes red flags rise. Coghlan loves the game of manipulation, so his about-face has some kind of purpose. “I’m going to meet him later this week.”

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