Page 60 of Stripped

Chapter 29

"Bloody hell," Wraith said, setting Pim down in the back corner of her dressing room. "Are you okay?" He locked the door, shoving a chair under the handle.

Pim stood up, wiping the blood from her neck as she looked around for a cloth. He would have killed her. Thomas would have killed her if Wraith hadn't intervened. He had said as much to her on stage.

"Stay in the corner," he barked, coming over to her and handing her his handkerchief.

"I have to check on Paul."

"Primrose, Paul will be fine. It's going to be pandemonium out there. It's safer if we stay in here. Trust me." He tried to dab at her neck, but she pushed his hand away, holding the cloth to her wound.

"Trust you?" She sat down in the corner, suddenly lightheaded. "You want me to fucking trust you. Maybe I should trust Robert McInnes or Robert McLeish?"

He frowned. "They're aliases. In my business, I need them."

"In your business?" She laughed. "And what exactly do you do?"

He ignored the question. Instead, he pulled the discarded rose and note from the bin, and reading the card, he put it in his pocket and found a towel, running it under warm water from a small sink. He came over and knelt down, gently cleaning her cut. "It's not deep."

He was too close, his presence overwhelming. "What about Robert McFadden? Should I trust him?"

"Robert McFadden is dead," he said, drawing back.

"Really? I don't think he's dead to the duchess, nor she to him." There it was, she said it, what hurt her heart the most. More than Sokolov or Peter or the agony and torment of the deadly dances, Wraith's betrayal. She knew she told him it was just sex, but somewhere in the moment, she had surrendered a piece of herself to him. Stupid girl.

"Robert McFadden is dead and any feelings or thoughts he once had are dead too." There was a bitterness in his tone that turned her blood to ice. "I meant what I said to you before you left. I am falling in love with you."

"She still holds a flame for you."

"And at one point, I thought I still had feelings for her. The first night I kissed you backstage, I thought I was so happy because I got to see her. It was the first time in a long time I felt alive, but I know now it had nothing to do with her. What I was feeling was about you. It was the possibility of experiencing desire again."

"Don't tell that to Gabriel or that crazy, fucked up place you work."

"I don't give a damn about Gabriel." He stood her up, anchored her against the wall and kissed her hard, claiming her as his. "You're mine, Primrose. There's nobody else."

"You can't just take me and say I'm yours."

"I beg to differ," he said. "Does Peter normally help you change costumes during scenes?"

"What in bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Peter changing you in the wings? Touching your body."

"I have dressers who help me change. There's no time to go to the dressing room. If Peter helped, I wasn't aware."

"Did you see me?" he asked.

"No, I was too caught up in the dance. I didn't notice anything." She was too caught up wondering if Sokolov was watching.

Panicked voices could be heard coming down the hallway. "Change. We need to get out of here."

"I need help with the bodice," she said, her heart beating madly in her chest. She turned her back to him as he undid the hooks down her back. His hand brushed over her shoulder. Coming around, he cupped her breast. "You're mine."

She stepped forward and cleared her throat. He was as dangerous as he was seductive, nothing more than a silent executioner. "I know what you do." She removed the costume and slipped on a pair of black nylon dance pants and a pale pink sweater, tying it at her waist.

"Do you?" He listened at the door.

"Who did my grandfather hire you to kill?"

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