Page 42 of An Assassin's Death
“Well, I think Jameson will look a little ridiculous in it, but it’ll really bring out his eyes.” I internally high five myself as my features remain as stoic as his.
His head shakes back and forth at me.
It’s only slightly disappointing that my joke goes unappreciated.
“Is it for the event?” I ask, finding it in me to take this a little more seriously.
“Sure.” His bare shoulders shrug as he continues to hold it out for me. “Put it on.”
I simply blink at his demand, still not reaching out for the dress that seems to be growing smaller by the minute.
“Where the hell did you even get that? There’s no way that’s going to fit.”
“Rory found it in the old woman’s closet. She must have been a kinky little thing.” There’s a gleaming sort of amusement in his eyes and I realize once again he’s not being honest.
“That’s disgusting. And a lie.”
“You’re deflecting.”
Only a little.
My fingers grip the red dress and I rip it from his hand. Before he can even say another word, I begin unbuttoning my top. His gaze flares with a heated look before he slowly turns away from me.
Huh, these chivalrous assassins. I’ll never get used to it.
When I’ve successfully fought my way into the little, traitorously tight material, I give a huff of accomplishment. He turns to me at my sound of defeated victory.
The dress isn’t much of a dress at all; bare shoulders, bare thighs. The fabric hugs so tightly to my chest I can barely breathe. The hem stops abruptly at the curve of my ass and my breasts are pushed so high up I can practically rest my head there if I wanted.
I look fucking ridiculous.
“You look fucking hot.” His compliment sends a burst of energy all through me but it’s short lived as he tosses a pair of black heels at my feet.
“Those too.”
My jaw clenches as I shove my feet into them. My ankles wobble against the thin heel that’s attempting to keep me in place.
“What’s the point of this?” I ask with my hands held high on my hips.
“How many times has my little Huntress worn a dress?”
Never.
“A few.” The lie slips over my lips and it seems to make him smile.
“Yeah, it shows.” He nods as my ankle gives out and the side of my foot hits the floor with an ungraceful thud.
“It’s going to be an event of assassins. I’m not going to be the only one there in a fancy dress and dirty boots, I’m sure of it.”
He stalks toward me, his gaze lingering on my breasts that are pushed up high like they’re starved for attention. They have been a little repressed for far too long, if I’m being honest.
“It’s an event held to impress a higher power. The League will ensure their assassins are well trained in formal appearances.”
He holds his arms out in a tense but curt way.
What does he want?
I stare suspiciously at the space between his arms.
