Defenseless by Corinne Michaels Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Corinne Michaels
breasts.
“I’ll play with them, too.” His green eyes deepen. “Your toys, that is.”
“Sure, that’s what you meant.”
He shrugs as if it was only natural to be caught staring. “They’re eye level.”
I shake my head and sit next to him. It’s time to get to work. Each minute we spend doing this is a minute my finish line gets farther away. “So, how much do you know about Al Mazir and the cell that held Aaron?”
“I know this isn’t the first time I’m hearing that name.” Mark’s voice is smooth as glass.
“Well, allow me to enlighten you.”
“First, I need to know something.”
“What?”
“What’s your first name?”
“Not on your life, Dixon.”
“You look gorgeous, darling,” my mother appraises as I enter the ballroom. I’m a little late, so I expect the zings to start very soon. It’s not within her to hold back.
“Not nearly as breathtaking as you.”
She pushes the orange satin between her palms. “It was your father’s favorite color.”
The one trait I share with my mother is her love of clothing—especially designer fashion. Priscilla Erickson doesn’t dress in anything cheap. Her purses are all coveted, and don’t even get me started on the shoes. I’ve requested all of them be left to me in her will. I could sleep in her closet and be happy.
My dress is a deep navy-blue silk ball gown. It has thin spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, which I had to tape to ensure I don’t have a wardrobe malfunction. But the back is where the magic happens. The hemline has a small train—the entire reason I bought the dress—and there’s practically no material all the way down to my butt. It’s luxurious and sexy, yet it still appears classy. To finish it off, I wore my strappy gold heels.
“Your hair would’ve been better up.” Zing number one is out of the way.
“I thought it would be better down, but thanks for the suggestion.”
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to show off your neckline,” she continues. “You’d look so much prettier if we could see your blue eyes. But you keep them covered by your bangs.”
I sigh and close my eyes. I wish we could just stop. She’s all I have other than Dominic. We don’t have a large extended family. Both my parents were only children, and my grandparents passed away before I was old enough to remember them. But my mother insists on keeping me at arm’s length.
“Mother.” My knight in shining armor appears.
“Dominic!” she squeals in delight. “You look positively perfect. Unlike some people.”
Zing number two. I’ve got at least four more to go.
“As do you.” He smirks knowingly. Bastard. “Hello, my gorgeous sister. Kill anyone today?”
“Only you in my dreams,” I snicker playfully.
If looks could kill, Dominic would’ve never lived past his eighth birthday. He chose not to follow into the family business. Instead, he’s in politics, the equivalent to killing people to our father. He wanted to make a difference, a real one, he said. I believe he knew he couldn’t hack it in the CIA, which is unfounded, but it helps me tolerate his choices.
Dominic laughs and leans in to place a kiss on my cheek. “You owe me.”
“Put it on my tab.”
“Come,” Mother calls our attention. “Charisma, I expect you to behave like the antiquities dealer you are. None of your bullstuff tonight.”
“Shit, Mother. The word you’re looking for is shit.”
“Watch your mouth!” she chastises me. “And where is your date? I told you not to show up to this party alone.”
“I left him at the morgue.”
“You’re going to send me to my grave.”
It’s so easy. However, I earned myself some more zings.
Our mother gives us both a look, turns, and heads into the ballroom, which is the indicator that we should follow. Like the good, obedient children we are, we do. Dominic and I smirk at each other while we play the part we’ve been groomed for. Being socialites hasn’t always
“I’ll play with them, too.” His green eyes deepen. “Your toys, that is.”
“Sure, that’s what you meant.”
He shrugs as if it was only natural to be caught staring. “They’re eye level.”
I shake my head and sit next to him. It’s time to get to work. Each minute we spend doing this is a minute my finish line gets farther away. “So, how much do you know about Al Mazir and the cell that held Aaron?”
“I know this isn’t the first time I’m hearing that name.” Mark’s voice is smooth as glass.
“Well, allow me to enlighten you.”
“First, I need to know something.”
“What?”
“What’s your first name?”
“Not on your life, Dixon.”
“You look gorgeous, darling,” my mother appraises as I enter the ballroom. I’m a little late, so I expect the zings to start very soon. It’s not within her to hold back.
“Not nearly as breathtaking as you.”
She pushes the orange satin between her palms. “It was your father’s favorite color.”
The one trait I share with my mother is her love of clothing—especially designer fashion. Priscilla Erickson doesn’t dress in anything cheap. Her purses are all coveted, and don’t even get me started on the shoes. I’ve requested all of them be left to me in her will. I could sleep in her closet and be happy.
My dress is a deep navy-blue silk ball gown. It has thin spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, which I had to tape to ensure I don’t have a wardrobe malfunction. But the back is where the magic happens. The hemline has a small train—the entire reason I bought the dress—and there’s practically no material all the way down to my butt. It’s luxurious and sexy, yet it still appears classy. To finish it off, I wore my strappy gold heels.
“Your hair would’ve been better up.” Zing number one is out of the way.
“I thought it would be better down, but thanks for the suggestion.”
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to show off your neckline,” she continues. “You’d look so much prettier if we could see your blue eyes. But you keep them covered by your bangs.”
I sigh and close my eyes. I wish we could just stop. She’s all I have other than Dominic. We don’t have a large extended family. Both my parents were only children, and my grandparents passed away before I was old enough to remember them. But my mother insists on keeping me at arm’s length.
“Mother.” My knight in shining armor appears.
“Dominic!” she squeals in delight. “You look positively perfect. Unlike some people.”
Zing number two. I’ve got at least four more to go.
“As do you.” He smirks knowingly. Bastard. “Hello, my gorgeous sister. Kill anyone today?”
“Only you in my dreams,” I snicker playfully.
If looks could kill, Dominic would’ve never lived past his eighth birthday. He chose not to follow into the family business. Instead, he’s in politics, the equivalent to killing people to our father. He wanted to make a difference, a real one, he said. I believe he knew he couldn’t hack it in the CIA, which is unfounded, but it helps me tolerate his choices.
Dominic laughs and leans in to place a kiss on my cheek. “You owe me.”
“Put it on my tab.”
“Come,” Mother calls our attention. “Charisma, I expect you to behave like the antiquities dealer you are. None of your bullstuff tonight.”
“Shit, Mother. The word you’re looking for is shit.”
“Watch your mouth!” she chastises me. “And where is your date? I told you not to show up to this party alone.”
“I left him at the morgue.”
“You’re going to send me to my grave.”
It’s so easy. However, I earned myself some more zings.
Our mother gives us both a look, turns, and heads into the ballroom, which is the indicator that we should follow. Like the good, obedient children we are, we do. Dominic and I smirk at each other while we play the part we’ve been groomed for. Being socialites hasn’t always