Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

AURORA

I sat at my vanity table outlining my lips with crimson red.

Roman came into the dressing area, adjusting a black diamond cufflink. When he finished, he shrugged into his tailored tuxedo jacket.

Damn, the man was sinfully handsome. No wonder he had been conditioned to expect obedience at all times and to get whatever he wanted from women. With his height, sharp jaw, and dark eyes and hair, he was a demon god come to life.

He met my appreciative gaze in the mirror. I blushed at being caught staring and returned to finishing my lipstick. He came up behind me. The spicy scent of his cologne had me tightening my stomach muscles against the heat that was pooling there. What the hell was wrong with me? I had taken up most of the hour he had given me to get ready in a hot shower trying to wash away the soreness and the sin from what we had done, twice , earlier today.

Roman frowned at my reflection.

I stilled.

"Why are you not wearing the gown I laid out for you?"

I swallowed as I lowered my eyes. "I felt like wearing this one instead."

He placed his hands on my shoulders. His fingertips dug into my soft flesh as he spoke. "If I wanted your opinion on what you were going to wear, I would have asked for it."

The sheer domineering arrogance of that statement took my breath away. I inhaled and opened my mouth to object.

Roman stopped me. "Before you open those pretty lips and say something you'll regret, let me warn you that I'm still angry at your defiance earlier today. So please, go ahead, Aurora. Piss me off further," he threatened in dark invitation.

I closed my mouth.

He kissed the top of my head. "Good girl. Change and meet me downstairs."

I sighed, "Yes, Roman."

I blinked away tears as I pulled the modest black cocktail dress off my shoulders and let it slide over my hips. I reached for the deep plum dress Roman had chosen. It was a buttery soft silk with a modest front. It was completely backless with a swath of fabric that barely touched above the base of my back, falling to mid-thigh. I paired it with the large princess cut emerald earrings he had gotten me a few days ago.

Was this how it was always going to be with him? Every day a little cut? Every day a new battle lost until the war was over? If I had any doubts that this wasn't how love should be, those questions resolved them. I may be young, but I knew thoughts of battles and wars had no place in a relationship.

Or did they?

Biting my lip, I glanced at the dressing room door. Roman was probably downstairs in the study pouring himself a brandy as he waited for me. Before I second-guessed what I was doing, I ripped the plum dress over my head. It pulled at the pins I had used to secure my hair in a tight, elegant chignon. Running my hands over the countless couture dresses at my disposal, I selected the one I knew would anger Roman the most. I stepped into it and twisted and turned until I was able to get the zipper in back mostly up. I tore the remaining pins out of my hair and gave it a shake. The wild, unruly curls fell over my shoulders and down my back.

With one more fateful glance in the mirror, I took a deep breath and headed out of the bedroom.

I could practically feel Roman's anger as he watched me slowly walk down the front stairs.

He was holding a brandy while standing in the massive marble-tiled portion of the living room at the base of the staircase. Although it technically wasn't tile. If you looked closely, the smooth, dark gray 'tiles' were actually gravestones from long-forgotten ancestors.

Roman's lips thinned. I watched as a small tic vibrated near his right eye and his jaw clenched.

Regretting my rash decision but knowing it was too late to turn back now, I tossed my hair and raised my chin in the air as I descended.

Roman's dark eyes scanned my body. He still had not said one word.

I smoothed my hand over the daring gown, nervously pulling on the scandalously high hem. The gown was little more than a scrap of champagne gauze and black lace. It was meant to look as if I were naked with only the intricate pattern of raven swirls to cover my body.

I licked my lips and tried to speak, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. Ignoring the seething heat radiating from his body, I mustered all the courage I possessed and asked, "Are you ready?"

Roman's eyes narrowed. The silence stretched taut between us.

If I was going to die on the battlefield, I might as well have gone out swinging.

I plucked the brandy glass from his hand and swallowed the last gulp. It burned like fire. I clenched my teeth, forcing a gagging cough down. Tears pricked my eyes as the brandy burned a path to the pit of my stomach, taking all the oxygen from my lungs as it went. I opened my mouth to suck in some air, which only seemed to make the burn worse. Still, after a moment, the fire turned to a pleasing warmth.

Raising an eyebrow, Roman took the glass from my hand and set it on a nearby silver tray. He then offered me his elbow. I tucked my shaking hand into the crook of his arm and followed him outside.

His staff had already pulled his ghost silver 1964 Ferrari 275 GTB up to the front door. Roman waved the staff member aside and opened the passenger door for me. I kept a tight grip on the front hem of my dress as I gingerly tried to get into the car without flashing the world my panties. Why on Earth had I picked such a short dress to make my point? Why couldn't I have picked a long dress with a low V-neck?

Once I was seated, I situated my champagne crystal-encrusted clutch over the junction of my thighs to cover how scandalously high the hem had risen.

As Roman started to close the door, I let out the breath I had been holding. Holy shit, I had gotten away with it! I had stood up to Roman and gotten away with it. Take that, Mr. Bossy-Pants! Two could play at this game. Perhaps now he'd?—

Before closing it, Roman reversed course and opened the door wide. He leaned down. His face was only inches from mine. For the first time since seeing me defiantly walk down the stairs in a dress he hadn't chosen, he spoke. "If I were you, kitten, I'd pray to God not one single man looks your way tonight."

And with that, he closed the car door.

The blood froze in my veins. Oh, God, what had I done? This was a disaster. I wasn't one of those women who didn't know her worth when it came to looks. I had a tiny waist, curvy hips, and a decent rack. Men looked! They always looked. What the hell was I going to do?

There was no freaking way no one was going to stare at us as we entered the restaurant. Roman was one of the most recognizable and sought-after billionaires on the planet. He would be walking in with a woman far younger than him on his arm. A woman who not too long ago had been accused of gunning down her mother and stepfather in cold blood. The gossip, obnoxious stares, and side-eyed looks would begin before we had taken two steps toward our table.

Roman took his seat behind the wheel.

I licked my lips before saying, "Listen, I've changed my mind. I think we should just stay?—"

Roman revved the engine, deliberately drowning out whatever I was going to say. I was forced back into my seat as the car sprang forward.

We drove away into the night. The distant bright lights of London were our destination.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach as it twisted into knots.

Tonight was going to end very, very badly.