The rectangle, it turned out, was a velvet box with a stiff metal hinge. A jewelry box.
I looked at Cole curiously, but he was giving nothing away. I opened it, then gasped at the stunning choker that gleamed against the black velvet. It was made up of dozens of squares of gold, each of which had been pounded flat and were hinged together so that the ornament conjured thoughts of Egyptian princesses.
“Cole, it’s stunning.”
“I made it with the idea that it would be worn by you. I promise, it will be even more spectacular once it’s around your neck.”
“You made this?” I stroked my finger over the intricate necklace, a bit awed by the detail and time that had gone into it.
“I did. And now,” he said, taking it gently from my hand, “I want to see it on you.”
At his direction, I lifted my hair and turned so that he could fasten it around my neck. There was no mirror in the house yet, so I used the tiny compact I keep in my purse to take a look. Even from that awkward perspective, I could see that the necklace was more than a piece of fine jewelry. It was art. It was a statement.
It was a collar—and it was mine.
More than that, it meant that I was his.
I brushed my fingers over it, trembling a bit as I did because the gift had moved me. “Thank you,” I said softly. “It’s perfect.”
“Wear it tonight,” he said.
“To the party?” I asked, referring to the cocktail party on Evan’s yacht.
“Yes, and then I want you to wear it after.”
“After?”
“The Firehouse,” he said, the words simple but underscored with heat. “If you still want to go, then I’ll take you tonight.”
Except for the water that surrounded us, the yacht that Evan kept docked at Burnham Harbor—His Girl Friday—might as well have been a luxury condo.
Granted, that was a slight exaggeration, but the truth was that the boat was huge and comfortable and more than capable of hosting this party of thirty to fifty guests, the number being in flux because it was an open-house style function, with friends flitting in and out to get drinks and offer wedding congratulations before heading out for their own exciting night on the town.
Then again, maybe I was projecting. Just because I expected my night with Cole to be exciting—what with the promise of the Firehouse—I could hardly be certain that my fellow partygoers had equally engaging plans.
We’d only been at the party for half an hour, and already I was getting antsy. Unfair, I suppose, considering this cocktail party was in celebration of my best friend’s upcoming wedding, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I wanted out of there. I wanted to explore this dungeon. I wanted to know its secrets.
I wanted to understand what Cole wanted and needed.
Most of all, I was just too damn curious.
And the two Cosmopolitans I’d already downed hadn’t chilled me out at all. Instead I had a nice little buzz going. The kind that made me feel just bold enough that—if I wasn’t careful—I’d sidle up to Cole and whisper inappropriate comments in his ear just to see if that got him moving faster.
It was a tempting plan—and one I was seriously considering—
when Flynn caught up to me on deck. “Hey,” I said, throwing my arms around him. “I’ve missed you.” Not that it had been that long, but I was in the house now, and he was still in the apartment. And the truth was that most of my time was spent with Cole, which meant that roommate time got pushed to the wayside.
Unfair, maybe, but thus was the bloom of new love.
“Are you almost all packed up?” I asked. “The lease runs out pretty soon.”
“Yeah, I was going to talk to you about that.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I decided to go ahead and keep the apartment. It’s not that I don’t love rooming with you, but I’d forgotten how much I enjoy having my own place.”