Page 37 of Candy Cane Chains

The Christmas lights blur around us, casting us in shifting colors - red, green, gold. But her warmth is the only thing that matters. Her touch is the only anchor I need.

And it really solidifies that this is my favorite time of year.

19

JULIAN

Ilay the dress across my bed - emerald silk that catches the light like liquid jewels. Next to it, the diamond collar gleams, each stone hand-selected. The juxtaposition of delicate fabric against that possessive band of diamonds makes my blood run hot. Especially knowing the tracker that lies among the stones.

"Put it on." I hand Ivy the dress, watching as she takes it with reverent fingers.

The silk whispers against her skin as she slips it on. The cut is deliberate - high neck in the front, plunging to her lower back, the fabric clinging to every curve before falling to the floor. I step behind her, reaching for the zipper.

"Hold still." My knuckles brush up her spine as I fasten the dress. She shivers, and I fight the urge to trace that reaction further.

I lift the collar, the diamonds cold against my palms. "This stays on all night." The words come out rough as I fasten it around her throat. The stones nest perfectly in the hollow between her collarbones, marking her as mine.

Her fingers drift up to touch it. "It's beautiful."

"It's a warning." I turn her to face the mirror, standing behind her. My hands span her waist. "Everyone at this party will know exactly what it means. Who you belong to." And I won't have to worry about losing her.

The men we will be around here tonight are dangerous. I'm not taking any fucking chances.

The green silk makes her skin glow, amber eyes bright against the dark sweep of her lashes. That collar, though - that's what transforms her. Not just jewelry, but a claim. A brand. Every man will see it and know she's untouchable.

"The party starts in an hour." I press my lips to her neck, just above the diamonds. "And you look perfect."

Her reflection meets my eyes in the mirror, that familiar spark of defiance mixing with something darker. Something that matches the hunger I feel whenever I look at her.

"Ready to show me off?" Her voice carries a hint of challenge.

My grip tightens on her waist. "Ready to show everyone that you're mine."

An hour later, I guide Ivy through the rooftop entrance of Château Carbide, my hand firm against her lower back. The Chicago skyline stretches before us, city lights twinkling against the velvet darkness. Glass walls rise from marble floors, creating an illusion of floating above the city.

"Julian." Marcus Chen approaches, drink in hand. His eyes catch on the diamond collar. "Quite the statement piece."

"Isn't it?" I slide my hand to Ivy's waist, pulling her closer. "She planned everything tonight."

"The caviar selection is exquisite." Marcus raises his champagne flute. "Osetra gold, if I'm not mistaken?"

"With mother of pearl spoons." Ivy's voice carries that professional pride I've come to appreciate. "The champagne is Krug."

I lead her past the seafood tower where ice-fresh oysters glisten on beds of crushed ice. The lobster bites catch the light, their gold leaf garnish matching the opulent surroundings. Every detail screams luxury - exactly what I demanded.

"Mr. Kane." Rodriguez, one of my more lucrative clients, intercepts us. "That situation in Milwaukee..."

"We'll discuss business later." I cut him off. He looks confused, clearly used to men dismissing their women in his presence, to being put first. But I only put one woman first, the one that I steer towards the carving station where the prime rib bleeds perfectly pink.

The room pulses with power. Every man here either works for me or owes me. They watch us circle the room, their eyes tracking the diamonds at Ivy's throat while she makes sure that everything is perfectly in place. Some gazes linger too long. I tighten my grip.

"The chocolate soufflés will be ready in twenty." Ivy checks her watch, ever the consummate planner.

"Let them wait." I brush my lips against her ear. "I want everyone to see exactly what I've acquired."

She shivers against me as we pass the dessert display, individual crème brûlées waiting to be torched, berries glistening like jewels. But it's not the food drawing attention - it's her. My perfect possession, marked and claimed, orchestrating this display of wealth and influence with flawless precision.

But then I notice Thompson's gaze lingering on Ivy's bare back, his eyes traveling down the emerald silk like oil. His champagne glass tilts, forgotten, as she bends to adjust a place setting.

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