Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,35

my bun; a bunch of fine strands have escaped the confinement and are framing my face in a messy halo. Then I head into my closet to check out the delivery.

Holy shit.

The walk-in closet—ninety-five-percent empty after I unpacked my suitcase—is now packed to the brim. And it’s not just the fancy gowns my employers mandate for dinner. There are jeans and yoga pants, tank tops and T-shirts and sweaters, casual sundresses and sleek pencil skirts, socks and pajamas and hats. And underwear, all kinds, from thongs to comfy cotton panties to sports bras and lacy push-up bras, all improbably in my size. There’s even outerwear—lots and lots of outwear, ranging from light rain jackets and sleek wool coats to puffy parkas that would withstand arctic weather.

It’s a closet for all seasons and all occasions, and judging by the tags, everything’s brand-new.

Stunned, I turn over a tag hanging from a soft-looking white sweater.

$395.

What the fuck?

I grab a tag from the nearest parka, a pretty blue one with a fur-lined hood.

€3.499. Made in Italy.

“You like?”

I give a start and spin around to face Alina, who’s standing at the entrance of the closet.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she says, flicking her glossy black hair over her shoulder. She’s already changed into another stunning gown, a red ankle-length piece with a thigh-high slit that shows a sliver of one long, toned leg. She’s also refreshed her makeup, extending the eyeliner to emphasize the feline quality of her tip-tilted eyes.

“I knocked, but no one answered,” she continues, “so I figured you were exploring your new things.”

“I was—I am.” I glance over my shoulder at the packed hangers and shelves. “Is that… all for me?”

“Of course. Who else would it be for? I don’t need any more, that’s for sure.” Strolling over to stand next to me, she pulls out a long yellow dress and holds it up to my chest, then hangs it up and pulls out a pale pink one.

“But it’s way too much,” I say as she holds the pink dress against me, only to reject it as well. “I don’t need all of this. A few dresses for dinner, sure, but the rest—”

“That’s my brother for you. Nikolai doesn’t do half measures.” She flips through the rest of the gowns with practiced speed and pulls out a shimmery peach number. Versace, the label on it states, and there’s no price tag in sight—probably because the amount would be scary. Holding it up against me, Alina gives a satisfied nod. “Try this on.” She thrusts it into my arms.

“Right now?”

She arches her eyebrows. “I can turn away if you’re shy.” Matching action to words, she gives me her back.

Suppressing an exasperated sigh, I quickly scramble out of my clothes and into the dress—which somehow fits perfectly, the gold-speckled peach chiffon draping over my body with stunning elegance. The A-line skirt falls gracefully to my feet, and the square-cut bodice has a built-in bra that lifts my modest B cups, giving me a hint of cleavage. The wide straps conceal my shoulders, but my arms and the upper portion of my back are left bare, exposing the scabs from where the shards of glass pierced my skin.

Dammit. I was hoping to avoid showing those until they’ve healed.

“Ready?” Alina sounds impatient.

“Just one sec.” I twist my arm behind my back, trying to get the zipper all the way up. “Actually, do you think you could…?”

“Of course.” She zips me up and steps back to give me a once-over. Instantly, her gaze homes in on the scabs. “What happened here?” she asks, a tiny frown creasing her smooth brow.

“It’s nothing.” I grimace, as if embarrassed by my clumsiness. “I tripped and fell on some broken glass.”

The explanation must satisfy her because she lets it go and resumes her perusal. “Very nice,” she finally declares. “But that bun has to go.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay—”

“Come.” Grabbing my hand, she drags me out of the closet and into the bathroom, where she makes me stand in front of the mirror. “See? You need to wear your hair down with this. Also, makeup is a must.”

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, messy bun, dark circles, and all. She’s right. A dress this glamorous deserves the works. Unfortunately, I only have a tube of lip gloss with me, having trashed the majority of the items in my makeup bag when I was clearing out my dorm room after graduation. I figured I’d go shopping with Mom when I