Page 108 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
He can’t tell me what it is, but of course I’m still curious. Whatever killed Tony’s lust yesterday evening must be something serious.
What personal news could douse a fire like that in a man so fast? Or put such an oddly haunted look in his eyes?
* * *
Anthony
Iris has her eyes closed, but the gears in her head are turning. It takes a while before she finally falls asleep. Her beautiful face relaxes, and she lets out deep, even breaths, her hands on her thighs.
I arrange her to be more comfortable, her head resting on my lap. I run a finger lightly over her gently arched eyebrows.
Iris Smith does exist. Used to live in a small town in Northern California called Almond Valley. Distantly related to Sam Peacher.
Edgar’s words still ringing in my head, I glance at the music on the piano. “Mazeppa.” Nobody attempts that unless they have technical chops of the highest caliber. Decent amateur pianists who can manage a serviceable Mozart or Beethoven usually give up after about three or four seconds of it. I wouldn’t try it, and I’m better than decent.
I study the scar on her right palm, the mole right below her mouth and the slightly marred skin where Ivy said she got a tattoo. I run my fingers along hers, the same long, dexterous digits that used to delight me in and out of bed. I recall the taste of her lips—cherry and caramel—the same as Ivy.
All night and morning, I argued with myself. Plastic surgery might be able to change a person’s face to match someone else’s, but can it change the length of one’s fingers? Or the way a person tastes? Or the way she speaks, plays and lives?
I know Edgar’s a second away from catching a flight back to L.A. If I were the smart, self-preserving type, I’d do as he suggests and stay the hell away from Iris. The clubs I own in Paris, Tokyo and Seoul could use some personal attention. The local management teams would love some face time with the boss.
So I fiddled with my phone all last night, picking it up and dropping it, turning it in my hand, studying my contact list—all the people overseas who’d like to talk to me about business opportunities or improvement.
But ultimately, I couldn’t make myself text Wei and tell him to ready my plane.
