I finally land on a short, red cocktail dress. It’s long-sleeved and covered in sequins that will turn me into a walking disco ball. It’s also short enough to almost be indecent and backless. It’s extra as hell, but I’m instantly in love.
I style my hair down and vamp up my eyes a bit, finishing the look with red lipstick a shade brighter than the dress. The dress and makeup, combined with my indigo hair, make me look like a girly fantasy. I love it.
I find some nail polish—seriously, did she think of everything?—and paint my toes to match my lips. A silly little detail, but I like to go for the complete look, whether I’m running an errand for Allecto or spending a night working in the Underworld. Even if the details don’t matter to other people, they matter to me. That’s reason enough to do it.
Five minutes before seven, I slip on a pair of strappy silver heels and eye the cat. As much as I don’t want to leave him in this room, I really don’t want to go to dinner with claw marks all over my arms. I glare. “Your time is limited, my friend.”
He starts cleaning his paws, completely ignoring me. Because of course. Not only am I in over my head with Malone, but her fucking cat is more dominant than I am. Great.
I leave the door cracked open and head for the elevator. The foyer is empty, and I’m still considering what I should do when I hear footsteps behind me.
I turn, and the breath whooshes out of my body. She’s wearing suspenders again. Gods, why does that do it for me so hard? Malone is dressed in pinstriped tailored pants, tall black heels, and a slightly loose, light-gray button-down that she’s left half unbuttoned. It’s similar to what she wore the other day, but no less arresting for it.
Malone has a particular style, but when she wears stylized menswear, it’s my favorite. The contrast with her achingly delicate features and the power she exudes hits me in places I have barely registered exist. It’s everything I can do to hold still and not hit my knees as she approaches.
She takes me in and finally nods. “You look good, Aurora.”
I wait for the cut that no doubt will go with the compliment, but it doesn’t come. What’s going on? I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
“Let’s go.” She turns to the elevator and pauses.
It takes me longer than I’d like to admit to realize she wants me to take her arm. I edge closer to her, feeling skittish, and lightly place my fingers in the crook of her arm. We step into the elevator, and I start to drop my hand, but she covers it with her own. “What changed?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She gives me a long look. “You’ve gone from breathing fire to timid in the space of an afternoon. Surely you’re not still sore about my pinning you.”
Yes, but not for the reasons she’d expect. I try for a tight smile. “Why should I be sore about it? I came. You didn’t.”
One of her perfect brows arches, and her lips quirk up a little. She’s wearing a nude-toned lipstick, and her makeup is understated, but somehow that only seems to accent her beauty. Gods, it almost hurts to look at her. She looks away as the elevator doors open, spitting us into the parking garage. I expect to see Sara, but it’s the curvy Black woman from before waiting for us.
Malone motions an elegant hand at her. “This is Luna. She’ll be our security for the night.”
Luna falls into step behind us, and the skin at the back of my neck prickles. I’m not really expecting a knife in the ribs, but my instincts sense a predator, and it’s hard not to turn so I can keep an eye on her.
We take the same vehicle from the other night. I can’t help tensing as Malone settles in next to me. I can’t anticipate what tonight will bring. It makes me nervous, but even I can’t tell if it’s the sickening nerves or the ones that spark right before a truly amazing scene. Fear is a spice like any other emotion, and when directed by a skilled Dominant, it can enhance a scene to go from great to outstanding. It’s such a bladed edge to traverse, though. Push too far and it ruins everything. Don’t push far enough and you don’t drive your submissive to the desired heights.
Malone must know that, because she doesn’t speak the entire fifteen-minute drive. It’s only when we pull up in front of a building with a name I recognize that I realize our destination. Spindle, one of the most talked about restaurants in Carver City. I’ve never been, partly because the waiting list to make a reservation is over a year long, partly because of where it’s located—right in the middle of Malone’s territory.