HIS WIFE'S SISTER

Chapter Six: All Eyes on His Girl

Cassia expected coffee on the terrace. Maybe space to breathe after last night.

What she got instead was a sleek black town car idling near the front steps.

And Dorian—arms folded, sunglasses in hand, dressed like a man who made decisions for a living.

“I hope you don’t have plans,” he said.

She paused at the top of the stairs. “Should I?”

He opened the door. “Get in.”

Her curiosity prickled. She slid inside without asking questions.

The ride was silent, but charged. When she glanced over, he was watching her legs. And not subtly.

They pulled up in front of a boutique salon—clean glass walls, no visible signage, and a woman waiting outside with a tablet.

Cassia turned to him. “You brought me to a salon?”

His lips twitched. “Trust me.”

Inside was like stepping into a cloud. Scented air. Soft jazz. Neutral tones and gold accents. She was greeted like royalty.

“You must be Cassia,” the stylist said warmly, leading her to a chair. “We’ve been briefed.”

Cassia blinked. “Briefed?”

“He was very specific.”

She sat, slightly stunned, as hands moved around her. Her hair was washed and dried into soft, cascading waves. Her makeup was luminous — fresh, sensual, highlighting the lines of her cheekbones and the fullness of her mouth. They dusted shimmer across her collarbone and misted her skin with something floral and expensive.

Then came the dress.

When they unzipped the garment bag, Cassia gasped softly.

Emerald green silk. Bare back. Thin straps. A deep plunge that was both elegant and sinful.

“This is my color,” she whispered, brushing the fabric.

The stylist smiled. “He said it would be.”

When she stepped out of the boutique, Dorian was waiting by the car. His jaw tensed as he saw her.

She descended the steps slowly, the silk whispering against her thighs. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

“You did all this?” she asked softly.

He stepped toward her. “I remember everything you like. Even the things you think no one notices.”

His eyes didn’t leave her body the entire ride to the gala.

The event was held in a white-columned courtyard set high above the vineyard. Sculptures dotted the space, bathed in golden light. Guests in dark suits and gowns floated between the art, sipping champagne.

Dorian’s hand stayed low on her back. Always touching. Always claiming.

But then a waiter passed with a tray of champagne, and Dorian was pulled into conversation with the gallery owner. Cassia took the glass and slipped away for a moment, eager to admire the collection on her own.

She moved through the open-air corridor slowly, savoring the stillness. Her dress clung to her body with every step. She caught her own reflection in a polished frame — soft hair, glowing skin, lips like sin.

For once, she didn’t feel like she had to try.

“Could I interest you in something more intoxicating than champagne?”

She turned, startled.

A man in a gray suit leaned against the stone archway, holding his own glass like an accessory. He was tall, silver at the temples, with the kind of practiced charm that made her instantly wary.

“I’m fine,” she said, polite but firm.

“You don’t look fine,” he replied. “You look divine.”

She turned back to the painting, annoyed.

“That dress...” His voice dropped. “It should be illegal. Do you know what you’re doing to the men in this room?”

She didn’t answer.

“Let me guess,” he said, stepping closer. “Your name’s something soft. Something that tastes like honey. Am I close?”

Before she could reply, a hand slid around her waist.

Dorian’s voice was ice.

“She’s taken.”

The man straightened. “Didn’t realize—”

“You did. You just didn’t care.”

Cassia’s champagne was removed from her hand before she could blink. Dorian didn’t ask. He simply took her by the wrist and led her away, through a velvet-draped corridor, past a half-hidden archway that opened into darkness.

Then he stopped.

Pressed her back against the stone.

“You let him look at you like that?”

“I didn’t let—”

“You didn’t stop him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you actually jealous?”

“I don’t share.”

His mouth crushed hers before she could argue. The kiss was deep, punishing, hot. Her moan slipped between them as his hand slid up her thigh, under the silk, and hooked into her panties.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled.

Her breath hitched. “Then take me.”

"f**k, you're killing me, girl."

His fingers slipped inside her, dragging a moan from deep in her throat. Her head hit the wall as she clung to his shoulders.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” she gasped. “Only you.”

His free hand gripped her hip, rocked her against him as his mouth moved to her neck, kissing, biting—

“Don’t,” she gasped. “No hickeys.”

He froze. Breathed hard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I lost it for a second.”

She trembled, eyes glazed. “You think?”

He kissed her softer this time. Slower. Tender, but still aching.

When her knees buckled, he held her up.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“I’m on fire, Sir.”

He smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. Then bent to pick up her clutch, adjusting her dress with care.

She looked down. Her panties were still pooled around one ankle.

He knelt, slipped them back into place, and stood.

“Later,” he said. “You’re mine for real later.”

They walked back into the gallery together, hand in hand. The heat between them didn’t fade.

And when the whispers started again, Cassia didn’t hear them.

Because Dorian only had eyes for her.