His brow arched. “Shopping?”
“Yes.” I crossed my arms, my chin tilting in that stubborn angle I knew he hated and wanted all at once. “I would like to go out, to a real store. I need to see other people, not just deliveries to the mansion.”
His jaw tightened, his thumb stroking absently across my thigh as if weighing the risk against my stubbornness. I pressed on before he could shut it down.
“I don’t want my only outings to be Roman and Layla’s house or formal dinners where I’m dressed up like a porcelain doll. I want to walk into a store and try something on and be able to choose it for myself.” My voice softened, but the plea was real. “If you are there with me Lucien, I will be safe.”
He studied me in the low light, his eyes burning with that dangerous mix of calculation and possession. My heart stuttered under the weight of his silence, until finally he exhaled slow, his forehead pressing briefly against mine.
“You’re testing me,” he muttered, half to himself, half to me. “You want freedom, and I want you safe. And above all I want you happy.”
My chest fluttered, though I tried to keep my smile small, cautious.
“Tomorrow,” he said finally, the single word more vow than concession. “But you don’t leave my side, and if I give you an order you follow it without complaints. You understand me?”
“I understand.”
I curled against him, relief threading through me. His hand spread wide across my back, his lips brushing my hair again, as though even that small victory cost him something.
But I knew then, whether he liked it or not, he wasn’t going to keep me locked away. And part of me wanted to push those boundaries again.
Chapter 14
The city wasn’t safe, not for her, not for any of us. But especially not for her. Which was why I had ten of my best men waiting when the SUV pulled up in front of the high-end shopping district. They were already in position, scattered through the sidewalks and alleys, each one disguised well enough to blend into the crowd but armed to the teeth.
Troy, Jericho, and Ivan flanked Sorcha the moment her feet hit the pavement. They didn’t need instructions as she was theirs as much as mine to protect, but my eyes still cut over each of them, sharp as blades.
“Stay close, I don’t want any distractions,” I said, my voice low but absolute.
Sorcha’s lips parted, the beginnings of a retort flashing in her eyes, but she swallowed it down, turning her gaze toward the glass storefronts and gleaming mannequins instead. She wanted this. Needed it. A taste of normal. And God help me, I wanted to give it to her. But all I could see were the shadows. The risks. The thousand ways the world could sink its claws into her.
Inside the boutique, the lights gleamed soft gold, the air perfumed with something floral and expensive. A woman greeted us first, but soon a man appeared, tall, sharply dressed, his smile too bright, too smooth. His eyes lingered on Sorcha for a fraction too long, and my jaw ticked.
He ushered us toward a row of dresses, speaking in a lilting tone that grated against my nerves. Sorcha drifted through the racks, her fingers brushing silks and velvets, her face softening in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks. She slipped into the changing room with two armfuls, the attendant offering to assist, but I cut him down with a single look.
When she emerged, wearing a black gown that clung to her body like it had been sewn onto her skin, my chest constricted. She was flawless. Mine. Every man in this shop should have been blind to her.
But the attendant wasn’t. “Stunning,” he said, stepping forward, his eyes raking over her body in a way that made my blood heat. “See how it draws the eye here…”
His hand moved. His palm pressed lightly against her waist, gesturing at the cut of the dress.
That was it.
A snarl ripped out of me as I closed the distance, faster than his eyes could follow. My hand clamped around his throat, lifting him clean off the floor. His shoes scraped against the wall as I drove him back, pinning him there.
“You dare,” I hissed, my fangs flashing, “put your hands on her?” My grip tightened, the tendons in my arm flexing. “She’s not for you. She’ll never be for you. She’s mine.”
The man gagged, his hands clawing at my wrist. His pulse thundered under my fingers, weak and frantic.
“Lucien!”
Her voice cut through the haze, sharp and desperate. Small hands tugged at my arm, her body pressed against mine, her eyes blazing. “Stop. Please. You’ll kill him.”
Good, I almost said.
But then her fingers slid against my skin, grounding me. Her scent filled me, drowning out everything else, and I forced myself to release him. He crumpled to the floor, gasping, his eyes wide with terror.
“Get out,” I snarled at him, my voice vibrating with rage. “If I ever see you look at her again, you won’t walk away next time.”
