Page 51 of Bound in Obsession
I ignore the question and push off the doorframe. “Get ready. We’re going out.”
She blinks. “Where?”
“One hours. Be ready.”
She stands up. “I have nothing to wear.”
“A dress will be brought up to you,” I say, already turning to leave.
I close the door behind me before she can argue and call for Maria, the maid who brought her clothes before.
When she appears, I hand her a thick stack of cash. “There’s a boutique nearby. I need an evening dress for Eleonora. Simple, elegant. Nothing too revealing. Get heels too. And a blonde wig.”
Where I'm taking her doesn't require her in a dress, but I guess I'm looking for an excuse to see her in one.
Maria nods quickly. “Yes, sir. I’ll have it ready within the hour.”
As she hurries off, I swear under my breath, dragging a hand down my face. This is reckless. Stupid. Dangerous.
Taking Eleonora out in public, especially tonight, when I’m meeting Nikolai, is asking for trouble. If anyone recognizes her, if word gets back to Massimo or Andrea, this whole delicate situation could explode.
I’m supposed to be keeping her hidden, using her as leverage, not parading her around like she’s mine to show off. But the thought of leaving her here with Daniel, of him making her laugh again while I’m gone… it burns.
I’m already running late when I stop outside her bedroom door. I knock before opening it, and the sight that greets me nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.
Eleonora stands in the middle of the room wearing the dress Maria brought back. It’s a deep midnight blue, elegant, with ahigh neckline, long sleeves, falling just below her knees. But the fabric clings to every curve like it was poured over her body.
It hugs her waist, accentuates the swell of her breasts, and traces the flare of her hips in a way that makes my mouth go dry. The color makes her skin glow and her dark eyes look even more dangerous.
A wavy blonde wig covers her hair, transforming her just enough that she might pass unnoticed at first glance. It should help conceal her identity.
However, it makes me want to yank it off and bury my hands in her real hair.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
She turns, smoothing the dress over her hips, and looks at me with a raised brow. “How do I look?”
Beautiful. The word is right on the tip of my tongue. I bite it back.
“We’re leaving,” I say instead, voice rougher than I intended, and turn toward the door before I do something stupid like push her against the wall.
She follows me, heels clicking softly. “The wig is… a nice touch. Maybe I should dye my hair blonde for real.”
I groan internally. I like her hair the way it is, dark, silky, perfect for wrapping around my fist.
She keeps talking as we head downstairs. “Do you always keep wigs and dresses on standby for the people you kidnap?”
I ignore her.
She continues anyway. “I’m surprised you’re taking me out. You never fail to remind me I’m your prisoner, and now you’re letting me leave the mansion?”
I stop at the bottom of the stairs and pin her with a look. “This isn’t a date. And I can send you straight back to your room if you’d prefer.”
Her mouth snaps shut. “No. I’m good.”
We get into the back of the armored SUV. The moment the door closes and we’re alone in the dim interior, the air grows thick.
She’s sitting too close. Her scent fills the car. Every breath I take pulls more of her into my lungs. My eyes keep drifting to the way the dress molds to her thighs, the elegant line of her neck, the soft curve of her lips painted a deep red.
