The Most Special Chosen Page 3

  ***

  I wake up at ten thirty the next morning and get ready carefully. Far more than any date I’ve ever been on before, I want to look perfect. I pull out a pair of black jeans that accentuates the booty I’d inherited from my mom’s Latina genes, and my royal blue, silk and lace corset remembering what Damien had said the night before. It looks great on me, giving me an almost perfect hourglass figure. I also pull out a black t-shirt. I get dressed, pulling the shirt over the corset, to avoid being dressed inappropriately. I put on a black lace choker with beads hanging down and straighten my hair. Some neutral eyeshadow, bright red lips, and kitten heel boots with buckles down the sides complete the look. Confident I look great; I go downstairs to eat some breakfast. Shawn’s sitting at the kitchen table, still in his pajamas, eating some cereal. I get my own bowl of cereal and sit next to him.

  “So, where are you and Damien going today?”

  I choose to ignore his antagonistic tone. “Huh,” I pause, stumped. “I don’t know.”

  His eyebrows rise. “He didn’t tell you where you’re going? Lys, this doesn’t seem right.”

  “He didn’t tell because I didn’t ask, Mother. I can send him a text and ask now if you want me to. Should I be home by ten?” My voice is dripping with sarcasm. I’m getting tired of Shawn’s attitude.

  “Lys, I’m just . . . ”

  “I know, you’re worried. And I’ve already told you, I’m fine. Damien has been nothing but a gentleman. When you have a reason for disliking him other than ‘there’s something wrong with him’ let me know. Until then, this is childish.”

  Shawn bristles. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re the one who says ‘there’s just something about him.’”

  “Sure, but I’m not disparaging him. You have no foundation for your dislike.”

  “How can you say that?” he asks, incredulous. “Have you looked at him?”

  “Yes, of course I have. But what difference does it make what he wears? He’s a nice guy.”

  “I just—” Shawn cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, telling me I won’t like what he’s about to say. “I worry that you’re so interested in him because of the way he looks. I mean, he shouldn’t be a replacement for your obsession. And he certainly shouldn’t be a target because of it.”

  I feel my face flush with embarrassment. My temper flares in response. “Shawn, you swore never to talk about this. I can’t believe I ever even told you.”

  “Lys . . . I know he looks just like—”

  “Don’t . . . say . . . it.” I force the words out through clenched teeth as I try to keep myself from saying something really bad. I refuse to discuss this with him. Shawn is the only person I’d ever told about my secret obsession, and there are definitely times when I regret having done so. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but, until there is a valid reason for me to not go out with Damien, I will make my own choices.”

  Shawn stares at me for a minute, and I know he’s trying to find some way to gain the upper hand. I wonder why he’s so desperate for me to not go out with Damien.

  I know that he had feelings for me back in high school, but I’d thought we were well past that. Finally, his gaze drops to his feet and I know I’ve won this round. “All right Lys, that’s fair. I won’t say anything else. I promise.”

  “Thanks, Shawn. But I need to ask you something.” He looks at me curiously. “Your desperation for me to not go out with Damien isn’t based on your own feelings, is it?”

  “What?” He looks at me like I’m nuts. “No, Lys. I thought you knew I haven’t felt that way in ages.”

  I nod. “I know, but I’m having trouble coming up with any other explanation for your behavior.”

  “Put your mind at ease, Lys. I learned long ago that we aren’t meant to be. I don’t want to risk the incredible relationship we have by pushing it further, and I figure that means it doesn’t need to go any further.” He throws me a little grin, and, as ever, we’re okay.

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’m going to go read until it’s time for me to go.”

  It’s the quickest way to pass the time, and there won’t be an awkward silence between us. We’ll be fine by morning, but we need some time to relax and digest the conversation. I go back to my room and pull out a book from my secret collection. Mere seconds later, or so it seems, tires crunch up the drive. I hurriedly grab my purse and a jacket. It’s hardly freezing outside, I don’t think it ever drops lower than fifty, but it’s too cold for a t-shirt. I reach the door as someone, I’m assuming Damien, knocks. I’m smiling as I pull it open.

  Damien’s standing there in normal, though well-tailored, clothes. He’s wearing a black zip-up sweater and black cargo pants. He looks stunning, but I’m disappointed. I miss the edgier apparel, and I consider that I probably shouldn’t have worn my corset. Well, too late now.

  “Bye, Shawn!” I call out as we walk out the door. I smile to see his Veyron in the driveway. “Have I mentioned how much I like your car?”

  Damien laughs, hopefully delighted by my enthusiasm. “Yes, Chérie. Now, shall we go?” He opens my door for me and waits for me to get in before closing it and walking over to his side to get in as well.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There is a small marketplace my family likes to visit. It also has a theater of sorts. When there are no performances, music is played for dancing.”

  “Sounds great. Tell me a little about yourself, Damien, I’d like to get to know you better.” We chat during the drive. He tells me about growing up in Europe. He spent time in France, Italy, and Germany, along with occasional visits to other countries. I mean to ask him about his family, but before I can, we arrive. I’m surprised by how close the market is. I can’t recall ever seeing it before. Damien gets out and comes over to my side to open the door. Once I’m out, he walks back over to his own side.

  “I doubt you will want your jacket, Elysabeth. It is always rather warm inside.” He pulls off his sweater, and I gaze at him, transfixed. He has another net shirt on. It sticks to him like a second skin. He’s gorgeous. If only—No, Lys, they don’t exist. I can see all of his rippling muscles clearly defined. His eyes meet mine as his sweater clears his head. “Is everything okay, Elysabeth?”

  I nod and slip off my jacket. I catch sight of the leather wristbands he’s wearing and decide my corset will be acceptable, so I pull off my shirt.

  “Elysabeth! What are you . . . ” I toss my shirt into the car and glance at him.

  “I wasn’t sure if this would be appropriate wherever we were going, so I covered up in case.” I laugh at the look on his face. His mouth is hanging open and his eyes are double their usual size. I walk around the car to him and wave a hand in front of his face. “You okay there?”

  He closes his mouth slowly and shakes his head. “You should come with a warning, Chérie.” He pulls me up against him and I blush, feeling his desire for me. I feel like that should bother me since it’s only our first date. So why doesn’t it? Instead, I feel flattered. After a moment, he releases me and takes my hand to lead me inside the building.

  When he opens the door, I understand why he likes it so much. It’s like a gothic indoor swap meet. The coloring is dark, the walls are stone, and the ‘curtains’ separating stalls are blood red. Every stall that I can see has something different, with the products ranging from clothes, to decorations, to music and books. We walk up and down the aisles, stopping to examine things here and there. I stop him when I spot an adorable layered lace mini skirt.

  “Hang on, Damien, I want to try something on.” The lady at the booth gets my size, and I slip into the little curtained stall to try it on. It seems to fit perfectly, but I smooth it down in the front and back making sure it’s not too short. With my corset, the outfit is more revealing than I typically wear, but if I can find tights, it should be okay.

  Satisfied, I drape my pants over my arm and step out of the stall. I scurry over to the mirror and twirl around, ma
king sure I like how I look. The skirt reaches a bit below mid-thigh. It gives my outfit a gothic feel that makes me wish Damien was wearing his coat. Then we’d look like—nope! Not going there.

  I spot his look in the mirror and turn to grin at him. “What do you think, Damien? You like?” His look morphs from surprised to satisfied and he nods slowly.

  The skirt is fairly inexpensive, so I pull the tags off and buy it, having the lady put my pants in a bag instead, which Damien kindly takes for me. I cozy up to him and snake my arm around his waist, holding him close as we walk. He puts his arm around my shoulder in response and pulls me even closer.

  “I need to find some tights or something to go with this skirt. It will be too cold outside.”

  “I think there are a few stalls that carry that sort of thing at the far left.”

  “Okay, great.”

  We walk up and down the aisles, chatting about anything that comes up and stopping when either of us spots something interesting. Damien finds a CD he’s been looking for and goes to pull out his wallet. Frowning, he checks his pockets before sighing.

  “Elysabeth, I seem to have left my wallet in the car. Why don’t you wait here? I will return in a moment.” I nod, and he asks the cashier to hold the CD. I look around at the nearby booths and spot a beautiful rose link bracelet in a jewelry case the next booth over. Sure that Damien will be able to find me when he returns, I walk over to take a closer look.

  As I draw closer, the man at the counter turns, and I’m pleasantly surprised by how good looking he is. A girl needs eye candy, after all. He walks over to me and I do my best to ignore his rather predatory smile. He can’t do anything; this place is packed.

  “Excuse me, sir; can I see the rose bracelet?”

  “Of course, just a moment.” He unlocks the case and pulls it out. As he hands it to me, he catches my eye and smiles. Kiss me. The thought pops into my head. Not in the way my intuition usually does. This is stronger, as though spoken directly in my mind, and far more compelling, like an order.

  It’s an odd thought, though. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he placed the thought in my mind. But, of course that’s impossible. And I don’t want to kiss him at all. I take the bracelet and look down at it, breaking our eye contact. I catch his frown in the corner of my eye. How odd. Satisfied with the bracelet, I look back up at him, wanting to know more.

  “What metal is it?” I say, not quite meeting his gaze.

  “It’s enameled white gold.” He smiles again, that evil, predatory smirk, and I find myself trapped. KISS ME! Lean forward and kiss me. It’s stronger this time, and nearly irresistible. Without conscious thought, I find myself leaning forward, eyes closing. I catch his triumphant smile as I close my eyes. I shake my head, pulling back. Thought returns.

  Why did I do that? It can’t be normal, can it? I don’t want to kiss this man; I want to kiss Damien. Thinking of him, my worry vanishes, and a silly grin replaces my frown. What was I thinking of? When I look back up, the man is frowning again. Does he think I’m considering stealing the bracelet? Perhaps I can put him at ease. “How much is it?”

  “$334. There is a matching necklace as well. I keep it in the back, would you like to see it?”

  “Um, sure, that would be great.” He walks around the counter toward a curtained off area. I turn to look at him with the bracelet still in my hands. I hardly want to be accused of shoplifting. He glances back over his shoulder and his eyes meet mine. Come with me, follow me. You want to follow me. I do, I really want to follow him. He faces forward again and pulls aside a curtain I hadn’t noticed before. I walk in before him as he obviously wants.

  Boxes are stacked high along one curtain, leaving only a tiny space bare to walk. Past the boxes is a dusty display case. Assuming the necklace is in the case, I walk forward to look. Sure enough, it’s there. I smile, pleased by the beauty of it.

  “Would you like a closer look?” The man’s voice is a whisper at my ear.

  “Sure.” My whisper is so faint, I doubt he hears it, but he walks around the case and pulls out the necklace with care.

  “I have a mirror here. Let me help you put this on so you can see how it looks.” Come closer.

  “That’s great, thanks.” I walk around the edge of the display case and step in front of him, holding my hair out of the way.

  He reaches around me and puts it on, fastening it at the back. “It looks lovely on you.” He catches my eye in the mirror and smiles. For a moment, wariness prickles my conscious thoughts. Lean against me. I will hold you.

  I lean against him, feeling the hardness of his muscles. He obviously works out.

  “This fits you perfectly. See, how it brushes the neckline?” His fingers trace along the necklace, and I feel feather light touches along my skin. “This is where a necklace should fall.” He holds my gaze in the mirror as his hands slide down to my hips. Turn around. Without thinking, I turn in his arms, looking up at him and smiling.

  No! Stop!

  But why? I can’t think of any reason.

  His arms circle my waist, pulling me close. Entranced, I tilt my head back a bit and let my eyes flutter closed as he leans closer. I feel his breath on my lips, and I desperately want him to kiss me.

  “Elysabeth? Elysabeth!” My eyes fly open and I whirl around, the spell broken, my head clear. I can’t believe what I was about to do. Damien is standing at the curtain, holding it open, staring at us with wild, worried eyes.

  “Damien! I . . . I . . . ” My gaze darts between the man in front of me and Damien. The man wears a sneer as I pull myself away from him. How can I possibly explain this? I don’t entirely understand it myself. I fumble with the necklace, only just managing to get it off, and set it on the cabinet with the bracelet. I feel dirty, suddenly, unclean. I try to remember what I’ve been doing and why, but I feel like the memories are leaking out of a sieve. I wanted a necklace, and that man showed it to me. Damien’s worried. He must have been worried that he couldn’t find me.

  Damien walks over and looks down at me. “Do not worry, Chérie, I will take care of you.” With an arm around my shoulder, he ushers me out of the curtained room and out of the booth. As we pass the dividing curtain, Damien stops walking and goes rigid. “Stay here, Elysabeth.” I nod, but peek through a break in the curtain to see what he’s up to. Damien stalks back over to the cashier and grabs him by the collar, lifting him up so they are nearly nose-to-nose. I can only just make out what they’re saying.

  “She is with me, and under my protection,” Damien’s voice is a growl, “You know the law.”

  “She wanted it!” The man hisses. I’m confused. Yes, I wanted the necklace, but I doubt this is about a simple piece of jewelry.

  “You had best stay away from her if you know what’s good for you. If you are here next time I come, my father will hear of this. Be lucky I am feeling merciful!” Damien throws the man away from him, and I step away from the curtain. Questions are swirling through my mind; questions I don’t think I should ask. Who is his father that he’s using him as a threat? And what is the law Damien spoke of? What did he mean that I am under his protection?

  “Are you all right, Chérie?” Damien’s voice shakes me from my thoughts.

  “I’m fine.” I feel as though something should be wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it. I suddenly remember why Damien had been gone in the first place. “Let’s get that CD you wanted.”

  With a nod, he returns to the booth to purchase it, and we continue our circuit of the marketplace.

  CHAPTER 3

  I’m happy to find that Damien’s right, there are some stalls with tights and stockings. The tights are all either far too thin or incredibly ugly, but I do find a pair of black, woolen, thigh-high stockings. I’m fairly certain that they’ll just barely be covered by my skirt.

  Seeming flustered, the cashier finds my size and suggests I try them on to be sure. Surprised by the offer, I do so. Turns out I’m right, my skirt does just cov
er the tops, but the stockings don’t stay up well. When I point out the problem to the cashier, she leaves for a moment and returns with a garter belt.

  After a quick explanation—I’ve never used one before—she leaves me to put it on as well. It works like a charm. I pay the lady and continue walking with Damien, pleased with my purchase.

  When we reach the farthest corner from the entrance, I wonder where the theater is. I’m about to ask him when he steps up to a door marked VIP and knocks three times.

  “Are we going to that theater you mentioned?” He smiles down at me.

  “Yes, Chérie.” A large man opens the door a crack. Damien stands tall and nods at him. The guy, a bouncer, I suppose, stares at me for a moment, then looks back at Damien, who nods again, and lets us through. Behind the man is a curtain, then another set of doors. Damien ushers me through them, and I gaze around me in amazement.

  The room we enter is a whole other world. The music is pounding, and I wonder how I possibly missed it out in the plaza. Everything is luxurious with cream and gold ruling the color palette. It’s very Renaissance.

  Damien lets me get a good look, before leading me to the right. He stops at a door to the right of a wide mirror and punches in some numbers on a keypad. An electronic beep sounds before he opens the door. We step into a smallish room that’s a little darker than the area we just left. Mixed among the cream and gold décor are accents of red and black. It’s a nice effect, rather grounding.

  “My family owns this room. We often come together to watch the dancing or any concerts being held.” I follow his gaze and realize that I’m looking through the mirror I saw outside. Cool, two-way mirror.