Chapter 76
Emily Windsor's POV
I stared at the gown, momentarily disoriented.
It was too beautiful. Too deliberate. Like a declaration of ownership wrapped in velvet and starlight.
And Luke—he was watching me with those scorching eyes, inviting me to put it on and stand beside him as his equal.
It was tempting. But I still wanted to keep some shred of control for myself.
"I love it," I said, stepping forward to run my fingertips over the cool, liquid silk. I looked up at him. "But I'd rather pick out my own gown for the gala."
This wasn't a rejection—just habit. As a lawyer, every piece of armor I wore into battle had to be chosen by my own hand. I needed to know it was flawless, that it wouldn't become a liability.
The smile faded from Luke's face.
He closed the distance in one stride, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and caging me between his body and the dress rack.
His chin pressed into the curve of my shoulder. His breath was hot against my neck, and when he spoke, his voice was low and edged with something dangerous.
"No."
"Why not?" I asked, genuinely confused.
"Too revealing." He practically ground the words out, his arms tightening around me like he was afraid I'd bolt. "I know what you'd pick, Emily. And I won't have it."
I hadn't even told him what I was thinking, and he was already spiraling into jealousy.
I didn't know whether to laugh or roll my eyes. "Mr. Victor, this is a business gala, not a beauty pageant. I'll be appropriate."
"Your version of appropriate is my version of losing my mind." He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice muffled and tinged with something almost plaintive. "Just wear this one. I don't want other men looking at you. I don't want to see the way they look at you. I'll go insane."
His warm breath made my skin prickle with awareness.
I'd never imagined that this man—so ruthless and unyielding in business—could be this possessive. He was like a territorial beast, carefully exposing his soft underbelly and begging me not to stray beyond his claimed ground.
And in that moment, I couldn't refuse him.
Heat bloomed wherever his lips grazed my skin, sending tiny electric currents racing through me. My cheeks burned.
I turned my face away from the searing trail of his mouth, my voice unsteady. "Fine. I'll wear it."
Satisfied, he nuzzled against my neck like a large, contented dog that had just gotten its way.
Then, without warning, he spun me around to face him.
Before I could react, his lips crashed down on mine—demanding, urgent, leaving no room for protest. The scent of cedarwood surrounded me, drowning out everything else. His kiss was possessive and desperate, as if he needed to purge all the fear and restraint he'd bottled up over the past few days.
My back pressed against the cold velvet gown. My chest met the burning heat of his body. Caught between fire and ice, my knees buckled. I had to clutch his shoulders just to stay upright.
Rationality sent up one last warning flare.
"Luke… stop…" I gasped when he finally gave me a sliver of space to breathe. I pushed weakly at his chest. "Andy's still outside. Someone might see…"
"He wouldn't dare." Luke's voice was hoarse. Far from stopping, he deepened the kiss, one hand cupping the back of my head while the other locked around my waist, giving me no escape.
Of course he didn't care. This was his territory. Every staff member in this mansion had been trained to see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing.
But I wasn't wired that way.
When he leaned in again, I'd had enough. I grabbed his face with both hands and forced him to look at me.
"Focus," I said breathlessly, trying to sound authoritative. "The Lowe family won't just roll over. They'll make a move at this gala. I know it. Something big."
That finally cut through the haze of lust in his eyes.
He stared down at me, the feral hunger giving way to cold calculation.
But his arm didn't leave my waist. If anything, he pulled me closer.
"The Lowe family," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, "is already caught in my web. They won't be strutting around much longer." His fingers traced lazy, maddening circles at the small of my back. "Those clowns aren't worth your worry. Right now, we should be discussing us."
I knew exactly what he meant by "us." The air in this study felt combustible, charged with the heat radiating off him.
I wasn't immune to him—far from it.
This man was powerful, obsessive, and yet capable of breathtaking vulnerability. That contradiction was intoxicating.
But my rational mind screamed at me not to surrender so easily.
Our entire relationship was built on calculation and danger. If I let myself fall now, there might be no coming back.
"I need to use the restroom," I blurted out, seizing on the lamest excuse imaginable. I slipped out of his arms before he could stop me and all but fled.
I splashed cold water on my face, staring at my flushed reflection—cheeks pink, eyes too bright.
'Emily, you're losing control, I told myself firmly. Luke is still under evaluation. You can't just fall into bed with him.'
I lingered in the bathroom until my face had cooled completely, then took a steadying breath and stepped back out.
Luke was leaning against the wall just outside, waiting with unsettling patience.
He didn't pounce. He just stood there in the dim hallway light, his shadow stretching long behind him, looking almost… lonely.
When he saw me, his face lit up. He straightened and walked toward me.
I immediately took a step back, crossing my arms defensively.
"Luke," I warned. "Behave."
The hopeful expression on his face crumbled. He looked at me like a puppy that had just been denied affection, muttering under his breath, "Stingy."
I almost laughed despite myself, but I kept my expression stern.
"The gala is in three days," he said, reaching for my hand with quiet insistence. "Stay with me tonight."
"No," I said, pulling my hand back immediately.