CHAPTER 3: Don't Look At Another Man

  The red silk dress fit like it was painted on me.

  

  It clung to my waist, my hips, and had a slit that went dangerously high up my thigh every time I walked. The neckline dipped low enough that I kept tugging it up.

  

  When I stepped out of the closet, Caelum was waiting in the living room. He had changed into a black shirt, top two buttons open, black pants. No tie. He looked like sin.

  

  He turned. And stopped breathing.

  

  His eyes dragged over me slowly, from my heels, up my legs, over the curve of my waist, to my chest, to my lips. His jaw tightened so hard I saw the muscle jump.

  

  "Elira." His voice was rough.

  

  "Is it too much?" I whispered, embarrassed. "I can change -"

  

  "Don't you dare." He was in front of me in three strides. He grabbed my waist, fingers digging into silk. "You look..."

  

  He didn't finish. He just stared at my mouth, at my chest, at the way the dress hugged me.

  

  "You did this on purpose," he said, almost angry. "You want every man in that restaurant to look at you?"

  

  "I don't want anyone to look at me!"

  

  "Liar. Every man will look." His hand slid up, possessively covering the exposed skin on my chest, as if he could hide me from the world. His touch burned through silk. "But you are mine. Remember that."

  

  He leaned down and kissed my neck, hard, right over my pulse. I gasped, my hands clutching his arms.

  

  "Caelum, you'll leave a mark -"

  

  "That's the point, wife." He sucked harder, then soothed it with his tongue. I shivered, my knees weak. "Now everyone will know who owns you."

  

  When he pulled back, there was a faint red mark on my neck. He looked satisfied. Savage.

  

  "Let's go. And stay close to me. If any man looks at you too long, I will make him regret it."

  

  The restaurant was on the top floor of his own building. Private. Dark. Only five men at a round table, all in suits, all dangerous-looking. They all stood when we entered.

  

  Their eyes went straight to me.

  

  Caelum's hand on my lower back became steel. He pulled me flush against his side.

  

  "Gentlemen," he said, his voice cold, lethal. "My wife. Elira Vane."

  

  Vane. My new name sounded strange and permanent.

  

  One man, younger, handsome in a cocky way, smiled at me. "Mr. Vane, you kept her hidden. Mrs. Vane, you are stunning. I am Marco."

  

  He held out his hand to me.

  

  I hesitated, then reached to shake it.

  

  Before I could touch him, Caelum grabbed Marco's wrist mid-air and twisted. Not enough to break, but enough to make Marco wince.

  

  "Don't touch her," Caelum said quietly. Too quietly. The whole table went silent. "You don't get to touch what is mine."

  

  My eyes widened. "Caelum -"

  

  "Sit." He ordered me, pulling out a chair. He didn't let go of my hand. Even when we sat, his hand stayed on my thigh under the table, high, possessive, burning through silk.

  

  Marco sat down, rubbing his wrist, laughing nervously. "Possessive, huh? Didn't know you had it in you, Vane."

  

  "I didn't have anything worth possessing before." Caelum's thumb began rubbing circles on my inner thigh, slowly moving higher. I bit my lip to stop a sound. He looked at me, daring me to react. "Did I, principessa?"

  

  I shook my head, face on fire. His hand was inching higher under the table while he talked business like nothing was happening.

  

  Numbers, shipments, money. I didn't understand. All I could feel was his hand, his heat, his eyes on me.

  

  Another man across the table was staring at my chest. I noticed. Caelum noticed faster.

  

  His hand stopped. His whole body went rigid.

  

  "Antonio," Caelum said, voice like ice. "Are you looking at my wife?"

  

  The man choked on his drink. "No! I - I was just -"

  

  "Then look at ME." Caelum stood up slightly, his chair scraping. His hand squeezed my thigh hard, marking me. "Because if you look at her again, I will gouge your eyes out and feed them to you. In front of her. Do you understand?"

  

  Silence. Pure terror at the table.

  

  I had never seen this side of him. The mafia king. Ruthless. Untouchable. And he was doing it for me. Because of me.

  

  "Caelum, please," I whispered, touching his arm. "Sit."

  

  He looked down at me, his ice-blue eyes blazing with jealousy, obsession, something darker. But when I touched him, he sat. Like my touch calmed the monster.

  

  "She is too kind for you animals," he muttered, sitting back, but his arm went around my chair, around ME. "We are done. Meeting over."

  

  "You can't -" Marco started.

  

  "We are DONE." Caelum threw cash on the table. "My wife is tired. And I don't like how you all look at her."

  

  He pulled me up, his arm locked around my waist, my body pressed to his.

  

  He walked us out, his grip so tight I could barely breathe. In the elevator, the doors closed, and he slammed me against the mirrored wall.

  

  "You let them look," he growled, caging me with both arms. His eyes were wild.

  

  "I didn't! I didn't do anything!"

  

  "You wore that dress. You bit your lip when I touched you. You let Antonio stare at your chest." His mouth was inches from mine, breathing hard. Jealous, furious, obsessed.

  

  "I didn't mean -"

  

  He cut me off with a kiss. Not gentle. Punishing. Possessive. He kissed me like he was erasing every other man's look from my skin. One hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my thigh, pulling my leg up around his waist, silk tearing slightly.

  

  I moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it.

  

  "This mouth," he whispered against my lips, biting my lower lip, "is mine. This body," his hand slid up my side, over my breast over the dress, squeezing possessively, "is mine. Say it."

  

  "It's yours," I gasped, dizzy from his kissing, from his dominance. "I'm yours, Caelum."

  

  "Damn right you are." He kissed me again, deeper, tongue tangling with mine until I was shaking. "Tonight, when we get home, I will show you exactly what that means, Mrs. Vane."

  

  The elevator dinged. Penthouse.

  

  He picked me up like I weighed nothing, my legs around his waist, my dress riding up, and carried me inside, kicking the door shut.

  

  He didn't put me down.

  

  He carried me straight to that big black bed.