Page 42 of Lethal Vows

“What has he told you?”

“That you are an incredible lawyer and have an attitude that rivals his, and let me tell you, that’s a hard one to beat.” He winks at me, and I look back to Crue, who is smirking.

Well, I’ll be damned.

Maybe he does have a friend.

Just the one.

Because had anyone else said that about Crue, he most likely would’ve shot them.

“I told you to stop with the wife thing,” I tell him quietly so only he and Dawson can hear me. Showcase me? Sure, whatever. Tell them I’m your wife? No. I’m done with that. “I think it’s time I leave.” I stand and make to go, but then Crue’s there, his hands sliding around my waist and holding me to him.

He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Princess, we’ve hardly teased one another enough yet. You want to go straight to fucking instead?”

“You said you’d stop with the wife thing,” I reiterate.

“I have. I haven’t asked you to marry me.”

I hate that he’s right. That he finds loopholes in things just like I would in any case I represent. I turn around, and he lets me but keeps his hands on my waist. I can feel the stares of others around us, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Let’s sit. Drink. Then later…” He backs away and pulls me with him to the seat he occupied. I go to take the seat next to him again, but this time, he tugs me down onto his lap.

Dawson offers me my glass of champagne as if I’m not being restrained against my will. “So you’re a lawyer?” he asks.

“Yes, and you are?”

“I dabble in a few businesses. Escorts, mainly.” My eyes go wide at his casual admission.

“Escorts?”

He nods his head.

“Dawson here is the top male escort in all of America,” Crue says.

“And what do you do for him?” I ask Crue.

“Protection,” he replies before he pulls me even closer to him.

Dawson starts talking to someone else, and Crue pulls out a box.

I freeze when I see it.

Another fucking ring box.

“It’s not what you think. Just open it.” I stare at it, unsure. This could be a trick. I don’t really know, and I am not sure I want to take any chances. “Take it. It’s not a ring,” he tells me.

I do as he says this time and open the box. With shaky hands, I look inside, and sure enough, it is not a ring. And I sigh in relief.

“Don’t look so relieved,” he says near my ear.

“It’s a bracelet?” I say, picking it up. It’s too small to be a necklace. I touch the charm and notice it’s a C.

“No, it’s an anklet. Stand up.” He stands too when I’m off his lap, then motions for me to sit back down. He pulls the anklet out of the box and kneels in front of me. He rests my foot on his thigh, then unclasps the chain before he slips it around my ankle and reclasps it.

“Why an anklet?” I ask as he gets back up and sits next to me.

“So when your legs are around my head, you’ll be reminded who you belong to.”

My mouth opens in shock at his words. “Are you for real?” I ask, outraged.