Page 195 of By His Rule

My back hits the wall at the same time the door clicks closed, cutting us off from the rest of the world.

I don’t look up, but I don’t need to.

Kian is right there, crowding me with his huge body, making mine burn with his proximity.

I want to push him away, slip from between him and the wall, but I can’t. My body is frozen.

His touch is light. Light enough that I could slip free if I wanted to.

I want to. I just…

“Lorelei?” he rasps. It tingles all the way down to my toes. “Look up into my eyes and tell me you don’t feel it.”

I suck in a sharp breath, more than prepared to lie to his face to save my own sanity.

But the second I do as he commands, all the words are gone.

46

LORELEI

“Wear the red dress.” His words ring in my ear just as loudly as the moment he whispered them. My reaction isn’t any less visceral, either.

A shiver runs down my spine, and my heart begins to race. It doesn’t matter that he’s not in the room—I can still feel his presence.

I look around the luxury bathroom I’ve locked myself inside to get ready for our meal.

I should have stood my ground and said no. This “date” is a disaster waiting to happen.

Hell, this whole trip is, and yet…here I am nonetheless.

I’m standing in a black strapless bra and matching panties. My hair has been freshly washed, and my makeup has been reapplied to the best of my ability, but I doubt it’s even close to as good as the women he usually spends time with.

All I need now is the dress.

When he was pulling clothes out of my closet this morning, I had no idea that he was being selective in any way, but it seems that I should have given him a little more credit. I’ve known it all along—Kian Callahan knows exactly what he wants, and he always gets it. I just keep getting blinded by everything else he tries to keep hidden from the rest of the world and forgetting.

Happy with everything, I turn to the dress hanging on the back of the door.

Butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach as I stare at it.

Whatever happens from here on out is the dress’s fault.

The second I step into it, I can no longer be held responsible for my actions.

Blowing out a long, slow breath between my lips, I reach for the dress.

Here goes nothing.

“Shit,” I hiss when I fail to zip it all the way up.

I wiggle this way and that, but no matter what I do, I can’t get it over the waistband.

Quickly, I weigh my options.

Defy him and wear something else.

Or…

---