Page 43 of Devil's Iris
The kiss is electrifying. Madness.
I tear my mouth from hers with a ragged breath that sounds more like a growl, and suddenly the restaurant snaps back into focus.Fuck.A few whoops and cheers drift from nearby tables, but they sound distant, muffled by the hypnotic pull of those slate eyes staring up at me with just as much pent-up desire burning through me.
Patience. I force the reminder through my skull.
With herculean effort, I drag my gaze from hers and help her back into her seat before resuming mine across from hers. She turns her hand to study the ring, and possessiveness rears its ugly head. The sight ofmymark on her finger—the tangible proof that she belongs to me—makes something primal and savage roar in satisfaction deep in my chest.
“It’s so beautiful,” she breathes, her voice soft with wonder.
“Not as beautiful as you,uccellino.”
She gives me a shy little smile, then glances back down at her hand, which makes me smile too. I’m glad she likes it. It took me a while to choose the perfect ring.
“You should eat your dessert.”
“Right.” She clears her throat, dropping her left hand in her lap and picking up the dessert spoon with her right. When she scoops up some of the chocolate soufflé, her eyes slide shut as the spoon disappears between her lips.
She doesn’t make any of her usual noises—those soft, breathy moans that drive me crazy—but I can still tell she’s enjoying the dessert. Her face is always so expressive. God, I love watching her eat. Love watching her experience pleasure, even something as simple as dessert. Her eyes flutter open, and when she catches me staring, her cheeks flush that delicious shade of pink. But she doesn’t call me out on it.
This woman. I swear, she burns through a gallon of blood blushing every day. Any little thing sets her off—a look, a touch, a compliment… Her innocence is refreshing, and I love it so much it almost makes me hesitate about ruining it, ruiningher.
I hope she comes out of this unscathed.
She demolishes the soufflé in record time, and the waitress appears almost instantly to clear the table, leaving just her wine and my scotch. “How did you like it?” I nod towards the glass of white wine.
“It’s great, but I think having that… thatchatu dkeemas my first experience has spoiled me for all other wines.”
My lips curl up, my chest warming as amusement threads through me. “You meanChâteau d’Yquem?”
She snaps her fingers at me. “Yes, that.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s one of the best sweet wines in the world.”And having me as your first will equally ruin you for allothers.The thought wipes the smile from my face. Just the idea of her with someone else makes me want to break something, preferably the hypothetical bastard who would dare put his hands on her. It’s irrational, this possessiveness. She’s only mine for a year, after all.
My good mood soured, I turn to the briefcase on the floor next to my chair and lift it onto my lap, pulling out the admission packet I received this morning. I place it on the table between us and push it towards her. “I got a hold of your brother’s high school documents and applied to some schools on his behalf. He’s been offered admission into NYU.”
Her lips part, those beautiful gray eyes lighting up like stars as she glances between me and the packet. “Is that even possible? You can’t apply to schools on someone’s behalf.” But she’s already tearing through the packet, her knees bouncing as she takes out the official acceptance letter.
“Iassistedmy brother-in-law with his application,” I amend, immensely pleased with her reaction. When I looked up Ethan’s academic profile, I wasn’t expecting much. But I’ll give the kid this—he impressed me.
A weighted 4.5 GPA, AP classes in core subjects, SAT score of 1400. Him getting an admission was a no-brainer; all I had to do was apply.
Of course, the fact that I’ve helped a few NYU staff members out of legal trouble a few times over the years helped me get around that pesky ‘no third-party applications’ rule. And my generous ‘donation’ towards university research didn’t hurt Ethan’s chances either.
“I’m honestly surprised someone with grades that good somehow got mixed up with the crowd that got him arrested.”
“Ethan has such big brains, and I’m so proud of him. But after high school, I just couldn’t afford to send him to any school, no matter how much I wanted to. He saw me struggle and got it into his head that he needed to make money—quickly. It was unfortunate that he started hanging around Keith, a member of the Mudrats, when he came to that decision.”
I nod, understanding all too well how circumstances and the people you surround yourself with can change the trajectory of your life. “Your grades weren’t terrible either.”
Her eyes snap up from the welcome brochure she’s reading. “You checked out my profile too? Wait—how is that even possible?”
I give her a pointed look. “Nothing is impossible for me.”
I expect her to argue, but she just drops her gaze back to the brochure. She doesn’t want to talk about it, huh. While not as impressive as Ethan’s, considering she was juggling work with high school, her grades were actually decent. But she seems embarrassed, so I let it go. For now.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask, signaling to a passing waiter.
“Sure.” She tucks the brochure back into the packet and gathers it up with her purse.
