Page 33 of Devil's Iris
“Give me your hand,” Romero says suddenly.
I glance up—and my breath catches. He’s no longer across the table. He’s moved beside me, so close I can feel his heat. On my next inhale, I breathe him in too. His scent, mixed with the wine buzzing in my veins, makes me dizzy.
And damn, he looks sinfully decadent in his black suit. At some point during dinner, he ditched his tie and undid the top three buttons of his shirt—I counted as he did it while pretending to sip my wine. His hair is still neatly in place though, and those green eyes glisten like rare jewels.
He’s the absolute embodiment of wealth and temptation, and my mouth waters with sudden, intense want. His hand stretches out towards me, palm up.
I frown at it, dazed. “What?”
Instead of answering, he simply takes my hand. I think he asked for it… maybe?Whatever. It’s his now.
My blood roars in my ears as he pulls out a pen from his jacket pocket, clicks it open, and starts writing on my arm. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration, and my own tongue tingles with the memory of how delicious it tasted against mine yesterday. I lean closer, heart pounding.
“There, done.” He looks up with a boyish grin that accelerates my heart even more. But his smile fades when he sees myexpression, his eyes darkening to jade. When I look down at my arm, I nearly come undone.
Scrawled in bold, capital letters is the word:ROMERO’S.
His.He’s claiming me.
Heat bursts low in my belly, and I feel the slick proof of it soaking into my panties.Fuck.I squeeze my thighs together, chasing even the barest hint of relief from the ace pulsing between them.
“You should get it tattooed on your forehead,” he says huskily. “So no man will even think about approaching you.”
Yes. God, yes. I want everyone to know I’m his.
He releases my hand and leans back, putting distance between us just when I want to close it. “Want to see the houses now?”
I blink at him, confused. Houses? I thought we were about to— “What houses?”
“For your mother and brother. The realtor sent options.”
Right.Right. The contract. Damn it. I clear my throat and scoot my chair away from his, needing space to think clearly—though the wine makes it nearly impossible. Romero raises a brow at my retreat but says nothing, just pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times before handing it to me.
The houses blur together in my vision. All very beautiful. All undoubtedly expensive beyond imagination. I swallow as I point at one.
He takes his phone back and types rapidly, then looks at me. “Done. By morning, it will be yours.”
The giddy rush from this afternoon hits me again. My gaze drops to his lips, but I quickly force it away. “Thank you.”
I grab my wine glass and drain it, then pour another. If I’m going to survive this marriage, I might need to stay drunk.
13
ROMERO
Something’s happening in my chest—this strange, crushing sensation that gets worse every time I look at her. Leni lies sprawled across my bed like she owns it, her golden-red hair spilled all over my dark blue pillowcase. Even in sleep, she’s chaos incarnate. Constantly moving, shifting, her arms and legs twitching, eyes darting beneath her closed lids. But her sleep is deep—didn’t even so much as flinch when I carried her out of the club last night, didn’t stir when I brought her into the house, and she hasn’t woken up at all since.
If not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, I might be worried. Though, to be fair, she was a little drunk. Sweet wines are sneaky bastards. You drink them down thinking they’re harmless, enjoying the sweetness—until the alcohol hits your system all at once. I should have stopped her after the third glass, but watching her face light up with each sip was too addictive to interrupt…
What the hell are you doing, Romero?
It’s Thursday morning. I should be getting ready for work. I had several meetings lined up today, all of which I canceled… just so I could sit here and watch her sleep like a fucking creep.
Leni lets out a grunt and rolls onto her stomach, arm sliding up until her head rests in the crook of her elbow, one leg escaping the covers to dangle off the bed. The sight hits me square in the chest, that crushing sensation intensifying until I can barely breathe.
I push to my feet and turn away before I do something stupid. The longer I watch her, the more she makes me feel things. Things I have no damn right feeling for her. This is strictly business. No—purely sexual. Once we’re legally bound next week, I’m going to have her in every way imaginable until she’s nothing but another conquest, another satisfied need. I’m going to fuck her so hard, she won’t be able to walk for days afterwards. It’s no less than she deserves for making me feel… whatever this is.
My cock responds immediately to that thought. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I slip out of my own bedroom like a goddamn intruder. I should hit the gym, work off this tension building in my muscles. But I don’t like the idea of leaving her alone in the house.
