Chapter 13 #2
“Uh…yeah.” I give my head a gentle shake and chuckle. “I think I had one too many drinks.”
Maybe three or four too many. Because, for a moment, I thought Adriano Ruffo was occupying that barstool. I snort. Right. As if he’d ever come to a place like this. Besides, the guy I saw wasn’t wearing glasses.
“I’d better call it a night.” I feel my adrenaline crashing. Words are somehow harder to form. “It was nice meeting you.” Rina’s nowhere to be seen, and Evelyn is too busy groping her boyfriend’s chest under his shirt. “Can you tell my friends I’ve taken off?”
“Sure, but…would you like me to take you home?”
“No, thanks. I’ll grab a cab.”
Before he has a chance to change my mind, I slip my purse across my body and head toward the restrooms. I need to splash some cold water on my face to hopefully clear, at least a little bit, this darn haze I’m feeling.
Walking has become a more difficult skill since I arrived at the club earlier, so before I reach my destination, I need to stop.
I’ve made it to the hallway leading to the bathroom at the end.
The music here is still too loud, and the beat is pulsing into me through the floor.
I figure taking a bit of a rest stop will help.
I’ll just stay here for a minute. Close my eyes and lean my head and shoulder against the wall.
“Great,” I grumble, pushing my way through the throng of bodies. “Fucking great.”
What an utterly reckless woman!
I’ll blame her dumb decisions on alcohol, but what the fuck possessed my ass to come here tonight?
As soon as Brahms called to report that one of his men followed Iris to the nightclub, I jumped in my car and sped here.
The faces of my gate security guys said it all.
I’ve gone completely mental. Up until a few months ago, they never saw me drive.
The Adriano Ruffo they know never does such a thing.
To them, to all, I’m a privileged billionaire, accustomed to being chauffeured.
Waited on. I am not a man compelled to chase women around the city.
Not debutants. Not spoiled heiresses. And not kitchen girls.
I also forgot my fucking glasses.
Shoving aside the last idiot barring my way, I come right up to Iris. She’s still leaning on the wall, eyes closed, head gently rolling to the music.
Terrific.
Not only is she wasted, but she’s practically passing out.
“Iris,” I growl.
No reaction.
I grind my teeth.
What do I do now?
Jesus, I can’t leave her like this. It’s not safe, and she’s likely going to get sick soon. Should I take her to the bathroom? I’ve never been drunk in my life; I’m not entirely certain what might happen.
“Iris,” I try again, just as some son of a bitch bumps into me.
Instinctively, I cage her in my arms, bracing my palms against the wall. Shielding her. From this and any other asshole.
She picks this exact moment to open her eyes. Amber pools peer up at me. A small, playful smile breaks across her lips.
“You really do look like him,” she drawls, her eyes sparkling as if tiny stars ignite inside them.
“Who?” I ask, lost in her warm depths.
That smile widens.
She reaches out with her finger, dragging the tip from my temple down my cheek. Scorching my skin with her touch. Setting my blood on fire.
“The Big Bad Wolf. Only, you’re missing the glasses.” Her palm rests on my face, tenderly cupping my jaw. Those eyes of hers narrow to little slits as she tilts closer. “He is a very bad man. Very bad.”
“Oh, yeah?” I lower my head, my eyes fixed on her lips.
“Mm-hmm. I’m glad you’re not him.”
“Why is that?” Jesus Christ, why can’t I tear my eyes from that delectable mouth?
“’Cause then I wouldn’t want you to kiss me.”
Her sultry words send my overheated blood straight to my cock. With my eyes still locked on her lips, I lean even closer, leaving barely an inch between us.
“Then it is a good thing I’m not him,” I rasp before capturing her mouth with mine.
The first contact of her lips, their pillowy softness, strikes me with the force of a bullet to the chest. An instant jolt, an inferno in my veins.
I slide my hand from her jaw to the back of her neck, locking her in place while I claim her every sound. While I devour her lips. Breathe in her scent. Sweet vanilla. Warm and floral. Tempting. Just like her.
My tongue invades her mouth, and I’m lost. She tastes like a decadent dessert, and like something I never should have touched.
But I can’t stop. I bite her bottom lip, then suck the sting away.
And then do it again and again, just to feel her reaction.
Whatever restraint I clung to before is gone.
There’s only her. And my insatiable hunger for this woman.
I’m practically fucking her mouth because I can’t get enough of her. This isn’t a tender kiss. It isn’t timid. Or exploratory. This is possession, bared to its most primal form.
As she exhales, I swallow her breath. It belongs to me. My body tenses with the effort not to go too far. To not strip her of other things. Her heated touch. Her breathy moans. To not tear her apart, piece by piece, until everything of hers belongs to me.
Christ! I can’t get enough of the incredible sounds she makes.
Her delicious taste. The feel of her plush lips on mine.
The way her tongue slides in and out of my mouth.
I never imagined a kiss could feel like this.
Like the sweetest victory and the most brutal defeat at once.
Like I’ve lost a battle but won the war. Or is it the other way around?
My mind is reeling from this kiss. Is that normal? Is it because of her? Her soft lips? Jesus fuck, there’s nothing soft about my reaction to her. There’s nothing soft about me right now.
I pull back, scraping her lip once more with my teeth as I do. Releasing her mouth is like fighting gravity. I feel like my entire world has just been knocked off its axis. By this one fucking kiss.
I watch her while she regains her breath. Take in her slightly parted, swollen lips. Reddened and still wet from our kiss. It’s like I left a mark on her. Others might see it, but they won’t know it’s from me. I wish they would. So no other man would ever try to claim that mouth.
“Um…” Iris sways in my arms a little. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Shit. I hoist her into my arms and double-time toward the bathroom door. Women shriek as I kick it in and stride inside, searching for an empty stall.
“The fuck are you doing here, dude?” one of them shouts while another calls for security.
I ignore all their racket, getting Iris to the toilet just in time for her to empty her guts. Once she stops heaving, I move her to the counter and wash her face, her mouth. By the time I’m done, she’s completely slumped against me. Before we reach my car in the lot, she’s dozing on my shoulder.
My chest fills with warmth while I have her in my arms, and I instantly know I’ve made a terrible error. One I’m not certain I can fix.
I never should have kissed her.
Never should have held her.
I should not feel this—
I should not feel.
Carefully, I lower Little Iris into the passenger seat and secure her seat belt. She’s out. Asleep and completely vulnerable in my car. Defenseless.
Kinda how I felt kissing her.
I kissed her.
I don’t kiss.
Never saw the point.
Kissing belongs to people who embrace the soft things in life. Who value attachment. Who lie to themselves.
Weak people.
I’m not one of them. But kissing Iris shattered my discipline. Made me behave unlike myself.
As I slide behind the wheel, I throw another look at my unexpected passenger. A woman who’s driven me out of my mind.
This insanity needs to stop. Tonight.
I kick the car into gear, already dialing my pilot.
“You’re late,” Rina whispers as I run into the kitchen.
“Sorry.” I dash straight to the stove to get lunch ready. The don’s wall-shaking shouts can be heard all the way here, amplifying my hangover.
When Mom woke me up this morning, it took me a minute to process where I was. I was in my bed, still in the dress I wore to the club. With no memory of how I got home.
The last thing I recall is talking with Saul’s friend.
Larry or Jerry. Maybe Gary? After that…nothing.
My mom looked really worried as she told me about the man who brought me home, carried me to bed, and then rushed away.
I assume it was Larry/Gary/Jerry, since apparently the only thing he said was that he knew Evelyn.
Certain images have been flashing through my mind for the past several hours, but they are a jumbled mess.
Sugary cocktails. Someone complaining about a hockey game.
Bending over a toilet while a man’s hands held my hair back.
The purr of a car, and the smell of the ocean as I floated among the clouds.
I must have dreamed that up because there was also…a kiss.
A panty-soaking kiss.
I shiver as some details punch through my foggy brain. I thought I kissed—
No. Some things from last night must have got mixed up with my dream, because I remember kissing a man who looked a lot like Adriano Ruffo. That wouldn’t happen to me in a million years. The idea is laughable.
More shouts drift into the kitchen from the adjacent conference room. So loud I worry the windows might shatter. And my skull.
“Don Spada is in a mood,” I mumble.
“Mm-hmm,” Rina replies. “Ms. Zara went out to run a few errands, so she’s not around to save us this time.”
“Did something happen?”
“I heard Don Spada called an urgent meeting. Something about a shipment being late. But he hasn’t been able to get a hold of Mr. Ruffo.”
I freeze at the mention of his name.
“Apparently,” Rina continues, oblivious to my state. “Mr. Ruffo took off to New York yesterday, and the don is livid he wasn’t told first.”
The crushing anxiety in my chest dissolves.
Thank God.
It was just a dream after all.