Page 69 of My Ghost

I step out of the bathroom and instantly see the dress Matteo laid out on the bed for me.It is midnight-black and shiny.I carefully pick it up and let the fabric flow through my fingers like liquid.At first glance it looks rather tame, ankle-length and with a spaghetti-strapped bodice.But then I see the slit and inhale sharply.The opening rides up so high that I instantly know I can’t wear anything underneath.

I slip the dress on and turn to the mirror.And blink.I look…decadent.The fabric hugs me snugly before it flows down to my feet in a whisper of black silk.I tie on a pair of black strappy high heels, then move to the dresser to put on a little makeup.Nothing dramatic, just enough to feel confident.

And I let my hair down.

‘I like your hair down.It looks like liquid gold.’

I let out a shuddering breath and walk to the door, heart hammering in my chest.

Here goes nothing.

When I step out and into the living room, I immediately spot Matteo.He is dressed in black too—black slacks, a dark open-collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his tattoos coiling underneath.His hair is swept back, and he looks devastating.

His fingers are flying over the screen of his smartphone.He pockets it the moment he hears me step into the room and looks up.And freezes.

He takes a step toward me, then stops.

“Dios.”He breathes out roughly, raking his fingers through his hair.“Amore…you’re…” His voice falters.Then he takes another step, and another, until he is standing before me, breathing hard.He lifts his hand to my face and trails his knuckles along my cheek.“You take my breath away.”

I look up at him, suddenly feeling shy.

He takes my hand and raises it to his lips for a kiss.“Come,” he says in a hoarse voice.He tugs me along to the low coffee table where I see a black velvet box.He releases my hand and steps toward it.Then he turns back to me to show me the collar in his hand and my breath hitches in my throat.

It’s a slim metal band enameled in obsidian black.There is a teardrop-shaped black diamond dangling from the center, clearly meant to settle in the hollow of my throat.

My heart skips.“You had this already?”

“The day after I found you down there.”His eyes are burning.“I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I needed more of you in that space.”

My fingers shake when I reach out to touch the smooth metal.“And the color…it means something, doesn’t it?”

He nods curtly, gaze intense.“Black is mine.No one wears it unless they belong to me.And a collar means taken, off-limits.”

Heat pools low in my belly, and my heart stutters.

Then understanding crashes through me.“Wait, are there other colors?Like codes?”

His mouth pulls into something between a smirk and a warning.“Yes.Color signals are everything down there.White is for no touching or interaction unless invited.Blue indicates open to conversation, dancing and light touches.Purple states openness for sensual vanilla encounters.And red”—his face gets serious—“signals full availability for whatever.”

My blood runs cold and my breath hitches.“I wore a red bracelet the other night.”I feel lightheaded.

“I know.”His jaw is clenched.

“I-I didn’t know.”Mortification submerges me like a wave.

He steps closer and winds his arm around my waist in a possessive gesture.“You didn’t know.But that bastard did.”The muscle in his jaw ticks, but his kiss is achingly tender as he brushes his lips over mine.“I won’t let anything happen to you.”He breathes against my lips.“Not in there, not out here.Not ever.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Erin

The ride down with the private elevator is silent and tense.Matteo is softly brushing his fingers down my back, and this gesture grounds me more than any words could have.

When the doors open to the club level, he gently guides me out and leads me through a side corridor to a door I instantly recognize.He swipes his black ring over the scanner and the lock disengages.

It’s the same room, but instead of being all black, the space is now somehow warmer, with more touches of red than black, interwoven with golden elements.On the low table next to the couch sits a bucket of ice with a bottle chilling inside.The sheets are red today, reflecting the dim light and I swallow when the memory ofthatnight comes crashing back.

“This is your room,” I say quietly.It’s not really a question.