12. Veils of Vulnerability
Veils of Vulnerability
Ezekiel
M y jaw aches from clenching it so hard as I watch Nicolo from across the room. He’s made himself comfortable at a corner table, sipping champagne like he belongs here. Like he didn’t just crash my fucking wedding to send a message.
I’ll have to have a talk with my security detail. Whoever let him in will pay for this.
The bastard meets my stare and raises his glass in a mock toast. That familiar cold smile plays at his lips—the same one I’ve seen right before he orders someone’s death. A muscle ticks in my cheek as I resist the urge to cross the room and wipe that smirk off his face.
Instead, I force myself to stay rooted in place, maintaining a safe distance from Eve.
She’s across the room with Lydia and Olivia, still unsteady from the gin but laughing at something Sebastian just said.
The sound of her laughter hits me in the gut.
So free, so untouched by the darkness that’s followed me here.
I catch Eli’s eye where he stands guard by the door and give him a subtle nod. He shifts position, angling himself for a better view of both Eve and Nicolo.
The crystal tumbler in my hand is empty. I’ve been drinking scotch like water, trying to dull the edge of rage and fear. But I need to stay sharp. Nicolo didn’t come alone—I spotted his entourage of men outside.
“Beautiful bride.” Nicolo’s voice carries across the space between us. “Though perhaps a bit … unexpected. A detective, Ezekiel? I thought I taught you better than that.”
I growl, and it only makes him chuckle.
“This is going to be fun,” he says with a hint of danger under his veiled humor.
Ignoring him, I shift my attention back to my new wife. I’m going to have to increase her security, something she’s undoubtedly going to hate me even more for.
Eve meets my hard stare, says something to her friends, and then makes her way toward me.
Her eyes narrow, mouth set in a determined line.
Despite the slight sway in her steps from the gin, there’s a fierce intensity in her gaze.
She’s beautiful when she’s angry—which seems to be most of the time lately.
“What’s he doing here?” She jerks her chin toward Nicolo, who’s leaning against the wall on the other side of the room like he owns this place. “And don’t you dare brush me off, Zeke. I’m not stupid. I saw how the room changed when he walked in. This is bad, right?”
The scent of gin mingles with her perfume as she moves closer. I resist the urge to reach for her, to pull her against me and shield her from Nicolo’s lion gaze. Instead, I take another slow sip of scotch, letting the burn ground me.
“You’re drunk,” I say flatly. Her cheeks flush with indignation. “This isn’t the time or place for this conversation.”
“Bullshit.” She steps closer, lowering her voice. “I may have had a few drinks, but I can see perfectly well how everyone in this room is walking on eggshells. Your brother looks ready to shoot someone, and Eli hasn’t moved from that door since Nicolo Moretti walked in.”
I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to glance at Nicolo. “Eve—”
“No.” She cuts me off, pressing a finger into my chest. “I just married you. The least you can do is tell me what kind of danger I’ve walked into. Marrying you was supposed to protect me, not put me in more danger.”
The raw vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard. For a moment, I see past the anger to the fear underneath—the same fear that’s been churning in my gut since Nicolo walked in. But I can’t give her what she wants. Not here. Not now. Not with him watching our every move.
“Go back to your friends,” I say, my voice harder than I intend. “You’re too drunk to handle this conversation right now.”
Her eyes flash with hurt before hardening into emerald steel. To her credit, she ignores my command and stands her ground.
“That’s enough.” I growl, wrapping my fingers around Eve’s wrist and pulling her away from the reception. She stumbles, the gin still making her unsteady on her feet. I guide her down the dimly lit hallway, away from prying eyes—especially Nicolo’s.
Finding an empty study, I usher her inside, close the door behind us, and click the lock securely in place. The room is dark except for a small desk lamp casting shadows across antique furniture. Eve yanks her arm free and stumbles backward until she hits the edge of the mahogany desk.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand, keeping my voice low despite the anger coursing through me. “Getting drunk at our wedding? Really?”
She laughs but it’s like venom. “Wrong with me? I just married a criminal to save my life. Excuse me if I needed a little liquid courage.”
I run a hand over my face, trying to rein in my temper. “You think I wanted this? To watch my bride stumble through our vows because she couldn’t face marrying me sober?”
Eve’s eyes flash in the dim light. “Don’t act hurt. This isn’t real, remember? Just a marriage on paper to keep me alive.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to embarrass us both by getting drunk,” I snap, then immediately regret my harsh tone when she flinches.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words. I watch as she wraps her arms around herself, looking small and vulnerable in her wedding dress. The sight tugs at something in my chest.
“I’m scared, okay,” she whispers finally, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into. That man out there—Nicolo—he terrifies me. And you … I don’t even know who you really are.”
The raw honesty in her voice strips away my anger, leaving only concern. She’s right to be scared. Right to doubt. And the gin was her way of coping with a situation spiraling far beyond her control.
“You’re afraid of me.” I take a step closer, watching how she tenses but doesn’t back away. The scent of gin and her perfume fills my senses. “But you don’t need to be.”
Her eyes search mine in the dim light, a mix of defiance and vulnerability that makes my chest ache. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and brush my thumb across her lower lip. Her breath catches.
“I may be a lot of things, Eve. But I will never hurt you.” My voice drops lower as I lean in, drawn by the rapid pulse at her throat. “You’re mine now. My wife. And I protect what’s mine. I don’t hurt it.”
She shivers but doesn’t pull away when I cup her face in my hands. “Zeke.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
The sound of my name on her lips breaks the last thread of my control. I capture her mouth with mine, tasting gin and desire as I kiss her deeply. She makes a small sound of surprise that quickly turns into a moan when I press her back against the desk.
My hands slide down her sides, feeling the delicate lace of her wedding dress beneath my fingers. She responds with unexpected hunger, her fingers gripping my suit jacket as she pulls me closer.
Breaking the kiss, I trail my lips along her jaw to her ear. “You’re my wife,” I growl softly, feeling her shudder against me. “And I’m going to treat you as such. No more pushing me away. No more hiding behind that badge or the bottom of a glass.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders through the fabric of my jacket, but she doesn’t deny it. Instead, she tilts her head back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, a silent invitation.
I growl against her throat as I lift her onto the mahogany desk, my hands gripping her thighs. Eve gasps, her head falling back as I push the fabric of her dress up her legs. The scent of her desire mingles with gin and vanilla, driving me wild with need.
“Please,” she whimpers, spreading her thighs wider as I step between them. Her fingers fumble with my belt, desperate and needy. “I need you.”
The sound of her begging sends a surge of possessive hunger through me. I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her moans.
“Look at me.” I command, waiting until those emerald eyes meet mine. Even glazed with gin and desire, they burn with an intensity that makes my chest tight. “Tell me you want this.”
“Yes,” she breathes, arching into my touch. “God, yes.”
I push her dress higher, exposing more creamy skin to my hungry gaze. Her thighs quiver under my rough hands as I stroke higher, claiming every inch of her. She’s mine now—my wife—and I intend to make her forget every man who came before me.
“Zeke.” She moans my name like a prayer. “Please don’t stop.”
I trail hot kisses down her throat, savoring the rapid flutter of her pulse against my lips. Her skin tastes like salt and sweetness, addictive as any drug. When I bite down gently, she cries out, her hips bucking against me.
The desk creaks beneath us as I press her back, following her down until she’s sprawled across the polished wood. Wedding dress bunched around her waist, she looks like a fallen angel—and I’m the demon about to corrupt her completely.
With a low growl, I grip the delicate lace of her panties and tear them away, exposing her completely to my hungry gaze. She gasps at the sudden exposure, but I don’t give her time to be self-conscious. I drop to my knees, hook her legs over my shoulders, and dive in with fierce determination.
Her taste explodes on my tongue—sweet and tangy and purely Eve.
I lap at her greedily, like a man dying of thirst. When I circle her clit with my tongue, her thighs tremble against my shoulders.
The little sounds she makes drive me wild—soft whimpers and breathless moans that echo through the dim study.
“Zeke,” she pants, her fingers threading through my hair. The slight pain of her grip only spurs me on. “Oh god.”
I slide two fingers inside her, groaning at how tight and wet she is. Her back arches off the desk as I curl them just right, hitting that spot that makes her cry out. The sound of my name on her lips is sweeter than any music.
“That’s it, love,” I growl against her sensitive flesh. “Let me hear you.”