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Manic

Page 104

by C.J. Blaire

But I didn’t want money. I wanted to be seen. To be heard and cherished. I wanted someone to fucking care.

In whatever twisted way he showed it, Manic cared.

I mentally cursed. Of course he was a gift giver, and the recollection of those gifts from my admirer—Manic’s gifts—made my neck warm.

“I’ll go get it and drop it off.” Manic stood, his eyes falling to me. “You’ll need to wear something other than sweats.”

My brows pinched. “Am I going?”

“Are you saying you don’t want to leave the penthouse? I could leave you here with⁠—”

“No. I’ll go,” I said a little too quickly, then flattened my lips as an embarrassing flush crept into my face. Axell’s laugh echoed all the way down the steps, but when I rose from my chair, Manic closed the gap between us.

My breath caught when he leaned down, hovering mere inches from my mouth. An inferno of heat shimmied down my back, all the way to my toes as he lingered there. His brows dropped as he fixated on my lips. Like he wanted to kiss me. He hadn’t done that or, to my dismay, fucked me in days, and I wondered if that had been one of his punishments.

“What?” I asked, my pulse thumping hard.

“We’ll be walking a little, so wear something comfortable.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but he briskly walked past and down the steps without backward glance. I lingered near the table and watched him go while my heart rate slowed, caught between wanting him to devour me and knowing I shouldn’t.

Not if he would be leaving soon.

27

SUTTON

I stared at the ceiling belonging to an elegant jewelry store, my attention fixed on the chandelier dripping with fine crystals. This was a store I would have never stepped foot in before now.

The light fixtures along the wall showcased the glass shelves behind the display cases. It was warm and inviting, the walls made of a dark plaster and decorated with red curtains throughout the room.

Manic stood beside me, his hands in his pockets while we waited for the jeweler to arrive with whatever he’d requested. Something expensive. He wore a black suit and one of those watches I’d spotted in his nightstand, his heady cologne clinging to every fiber.

Wear something comfortable, he’d told me earlier.

I held back a scoff. What he really meant was that he was picking my outfit. I stood beside him wearing a short black dress, heeled boots that inched up to my knees, and that burgundy trench coat from a couple weeks ago.

“Is this where you go for Naomi’s gifts?” I asked, though a tease settled on my tongue. “Seems a little cliché to buy your sister a piece of jewelry.”

He let out a throaty laugh and stared down his nose. “Each year this jeweler releases a limited edition piece. No year is the same, and Naomi has a fondness for it. He puts one aside for me.”

Heat crawled to my cheeks just as the jeweler reappeared. He was a short, stout man with a balding head, but he was dressed just as fine as Manic in a starched suit.

“Here you go, Mister Mortaine.”

The jeweler eased open a red velvet box and presented a stunning necklace in the shape of a snowflake, each arm branching out with fine-cut diamonds that sparkled beneath the ambient light. It sat cushioned like a perfectly captured flake from Vancouver’s coldest winter—fine angles and mirrored symmetry. It was breathtaking.

“Perfect,” Manic replied with a nod. “I’ll take it.”

“Very well.”

A few thousand dollars later and we walked out with a small gift bag. Maple trees lined the sidewalk in a vibrant ray of oranges and reds as we sauntered through downtown. A cool breeze moved down the street, and I dragged in a long breath, savoring the scent and the feel of early winter against my face.

I missed this—the leisurely walks I’d take myself on out of sheer boredom. Even with the hum of nearby traffic and the onslaught of distant honks, the city felt quieter beneath the clouds, turning daylight pale and hazy.

Manic slowed his steps, pulling out a pack of smokes, and I swept my attention to a beautiful dress displayed in the window beside us. I angled my head, admiring the luxurious fabric pooling on the floor in a silk river of moss green.

“See something you like?” he asked.