Page 39 of A Taste like Sin
I watch him go, my nerves in knots. When I finally remember how to move, I start in the direction I
assume the closet to be, trying to decide what one wears to regain control. Halfway across the room, I
remember I’m not home.
“If you need something to wear, feel free to check the wardrobe. There is some clothing,” Damien
calls from down the hall as if realizing my dilemma. “You are welcome to wear whatever you like. I
made sure to cater to your specific tastes.”
Only he can make generosity seem like the most unsettling of threats.
Wary, I creep to a set of closed double doors and open them to reveal a luxurious walk-in closet.
Some clothing,he said. More like a complete wardrobe, stocked with everything from shoes to items
of jewelry displayed in a glass case. How thoughtful. How…prepared.
Flattery feeds a swarm of butterflies in my stomach until I recall his past muses.
Oh. No wonder he has a full boutique in house, given his proclivities.
Eyes narrowed, I flick through the items dangling from hangers and realize that they are all in my size.
Every last item. Some are dresses in varying shades of crimson and navy. Some are simple blouses
and slacks.
None are my customary bulletproof black.
I imagine him chuckling over that fact. Gloating. Any other day, I’d march toward him and deliver
some haughty, scathing remark to prove how unaffected I am. Tonight, I bite back my pride and settle
on a rich blue dress with a modest neckline and a knee-length hem. While outside of my usual
wheelhouse of couture black, it’s beautiful. The A-line shape hugs the contours of my body without
feeling too restricting or revealing.
A fitting suit of armor to face an opponent like Damien Villa in.Touché.
He’s in the foyer when I finally leave my room wearing my own pair of heels, clutching my purse to
my chest. “So where are we going?” I muster up the courage to ask. “To your club?”
“I’m afraid not.” He cocks his head in that predatory, hawklike way, and I swallow whatever else I
meant to say. “Learning to take control is a methodical process, sweet girl. The first step is to cede
it.”
“I think I’ve been doing that my whole life. Ceding control,” I add. God, I sound so petulant. “Letting
everyone else manipulate me at every turn. I doubt you follow that step yourself.”
“I do.” He grabs my arm, pulling me closer before I can react. Soft and gentle, his fingers slide down
