Page 59 of The Tallest Tower (Underbelly Enchanted)

Hewantsto rape me, but doesn’t. Because he chooses to be better than his father.

Hewantsto control the world, but happily settles for protecting his brothers.

Hewantsme to like him. Perhaps strangest of all, his self-worth balancing on the idea that I may or may not find him endearing.

Doors slam at the front of the house, the sound carrying through the open balcony doors. As I inch closer, my heart in my throat, I catch black town cars rolling up the driveway, and a suited driver, whose body is nothing like Edward’s, climbs out to open the back door for his passengers.

Micah slides in first, his attire much like Felix’s, and his hair, brushed neat and slicked back—not at all left to its moppy casualness.

I stare at the back of Felix’s head as he places one hand on the doorframe. As he places one foot inside the car. But before he lowers down and slides in, he turns, his head moving too quick for me to escape his sight. When his eyes latch onto mine, my stomach does a cartwheel.

“Eat something,” he calls up, drawing the eyes of not only the driver, but of every man who protects him with large weapons and stony faces. “I’ll know if you don’t. If you put yourself in a coma a second time, I’m gonna take matters into my own hands.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He doesn’t much care if I have a retort at all. Because he lowers into the car and sweeps his second leg in, then his driver shuts the door and jogs around to get behind the wheel.

“Ms. Cannon?”

I spin on my heels at the new voice behind me, a soft scream biting at my throat, and my hands dropping to my hardly-clothed body. But it’s a small woman I find standing in the bedroom doorway. Her skin lined with age, her hair grayed for the same reason. She wears an ensemble that implies she’s here to help: a black dress that goes to her knees, and sensible white sneakers that would make being on her feet all day tolerable.

“Who-who are you?” I loosen my grip on my body, though I don’t let go completely. After all, I’m wearing a mobster’s underwear and shirt, and absolutely nothing else. “I’m not dressed for guests.”

“I’m here to help you with that.” She takes a step back, but remains in clear view from where I stand. “Mr. Malone has prepared a closet for you.” She takes a second step, a silent plea that I follow. “If you would join me? I’ll show you where he has your things set up.”

“A closet?”

Curiosity; I was born with it. I have no doubt I’ll die because of it.

I stride away from the balcony doors and trail the woman into the hall. I don’t walk too close to her. Felix is crazy enough, even his maid might be hiding a gun under her plain dress. But I follow her all the way to the stairs, then down a single flight, and into a bedroom I’ve yet to enter.

“This is a guest bedroom,” she says, as though reading my thoughts. “You have access to an office in here. A bathroom. And clothes.” She pushes through a door and flicks lights on to reveal a closet not unlike the one I have at home. Every wall is covered in fabric. Shelves and drawers and racks of it. Shoes line one side, and dresses, another. “He trusts you’ll be able to find whatever you need.” She moves back to allow me space to enter. “If there is something you wish for that he has not provided, you need only to ask.”

I make a beeline for the gowns. For the silks and satins and beautiful, glittering materials that draw my eye. “Who do these belong to?” I glide my hand through the dangling dresses and hold in the moan that works to escape my throat. “Is this his collection of floozy leftovers?” I glance back and meet the older woman’s eyes. “Does he keep an outfit from each woman he brings into this home?” Then a memory hits me, my lips twisting in disgust. “He took the one I wore here.”

“Your outfit has been laundered,” she murmurs, hiding the smile fighting to curl her lips. “It is hanging also. And no, Ms. Cannon. These clothes have been worn by no one.”

I move to the next wall and look up at the shoes. So many pairs of heels, one in each color of the rainbow. “So…?”

“Mr. Malone instructed me to make you comfortable. He asked that I ensure you have anything you might need, so I took the liberty of guessing your measurements, and procured each item personally. If something does not fit, I’ll have it removed and exchanged immediately.”

“Are there regular clothes?” I continue along the wall and pull out a drawer to find underwear. Panties, folded and stored with their matching bra. “Jeans? T-shirts? I doubt a woman being held captive requires a gown. I’m sorry,” I turn to her, frustration and exhaustion making my head hurt. “What is your name?”

“My name? Mary, Ms. Cannon. And yes.” She crosses the room, coming close enough I smell her scent in the air, but not so close that her body warmth touches mine.

She opens a door and reveals a dozen pairs of jeans in varying shades, hung from hangers, their tags still attached. “I selected varying fits. When you express your preference, I can get more of that style. But shirts…” Finally, her cheeks color and her eyes drop to her feet. “Mr. Malone forbade the purchase of shirts.”

Shock makes my body jolt. Curiosity pings throughout my brain like a pinball inside its machine. “I’m sorry, what? Heforbadeyou from buying shirts?”

“Yes.” She swallows, her throat moving with nerves. “He said if you wanted to wear a shirt, you’re to wear one of his.”

I look down at the one I wear right now.His. “So the options presented to me are gowns and lingerie… orhisshirts. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Ms. Cannon.” She can’t look at me. Can’t lift her eyes to meet mine. “Though I don’t suggest you wear jeans and a bra only. Not where Mr. Malone’s men will see you. He won’t like that.”

“Well, of course.” I choke out an incredulous laugh and shake my head. “And we most certainly should worry aboutMr. Malone’slikes and dislikes, shouldn’t we?Hisfeelings matter,” I drawl, moving to another drawer and opening it to find swimsuits.

Bikinis. One-pieces. Wraps. Thongs. He knows I like to swim, so he made sure I had plenty to choose from.

“Have you known Felix Malone for long, Mary?” I close the drawer and turn my back to the wardrobe. “How have you not gone insane yet?”

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