Read Iris Page 7


  Not only did she not look shaken, she looked downright cheerful about the whole thing.

  Confusing woman.

  Turner escorted Tammy out personally, and I had to stifle a laugh when I heard him break out his best lecturing voice, telling her that she should be ashamed of herself. Somehow, he pulled it off, and she left without much of a fight.

  “I’m sorry,” said Iris quietly, her eyes on her feet.

  My eyes tried to bug out of my head.

  She’d been physically attacked, and she was sorry? I wouldn’t have blamed her if she ran at a sprint away from my mess of a life, but instead she was apologizing?

  “Why would you be sorry? She attacked you. I’m sorry, so sorry you had to deal with that.”

  Her mouth turned up slightly at one corner, her eyes twinkling, and even so, it took me a minute to realize she was nothing so much as highly amused, trying actively not to laugh aloud. “I provoked her on purpose. It’s terrible, especially after my little speech about investing in the negative. Don’t be mad at me, but I thoroughly enjoy getting a rise out of her. It’s not that I’m prone to jealousy; I just . . . really don’t like her. And it felt really good to kick her.”

  I started laughing. Started and just couldn’t stop, not for a long time. Finally, I got out, “What did you say to her to get her so angry?”

  “She walked up angry. You know, because she watched us having sex. She came up and told me about it. I guess she did watch the entire thing, and felt the need to tell me I was nasty, trashy, and tacky for going down on you after we fucked, in someone else’s house, no less.” She shrugged. “I told her I wouldn’t even know how to tell you no, that you and I have done everything together that you wanted, that I’d take your dick every way I could have it, because it belongs to me now.”

  I couldn’t hold back a strangled choke of a laugh, and also, a glow of pleasure that seemed to touch on every part of my body, inside and out.

  “Oh, yeah, and I told her that anything we did, anywhere we did it, was less nasty, trashy, and tacky than getting deep throated in your husband’s house by another man.”

  “Holy shit,” I mouthed.

  “Oh, and then I called her a washed-up slut. I think that last bit was what set her off.”

  “No kidding,” I said wryly. That would do it.

  It wasn’t until I tried to walk that I realized my feet had been sliced up by the broken glass.

  The cuts were superficial, but you wouldn’t know it by the way Iris freaked out at the sight of my blood.

  She sat me down on the concrete at the side of the pool and insisted on tending to each cut herself. She fretted over my wounds like they were her own, only, I didn’t think she’d be this concerned for herself.

  Her doting attention was flattering, and that tender little spot in my chest just kept getting bigger.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Can I see your ID again?” I asked her abruptly on the drive home, Turner’s observations getting to me.

  She seemed unfazed. “I don’t have my license on me. Is that a problem?”

  “You brought a purse,” I pointed out.

  “It’s not in there. Next time I visit, I’ll show it to you, if it’s that important.”

  That sort of defeated my purpose and did nothing to allay my fears.

  “You are really twenty-four, right?” I asked, shooting her a long probing glance as I stopped at a red light.

  She gave me a bland smile. “I said so, didn’t I?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Yes, of course. You saw my ID. It looked legit, right?”

  I sighed. Even her wording was incriminating, and I didn’t think that was an accident. “It did. But it needs to do more than look legit.”

  “Quit stressing yourself out, baby. Some things you just need to trust me on.”

  That right there riled me faster than just about anything else could.

  “Trust you? How about you start telling me the truth about things, start giving me the whole story, and then we can talk about trust.”

  “I trust you,” she said quietly. “Always have. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.”

  “I know you’ve lied to me. My gut tells me that you lie to me more than you tell me the truth. What am I supposed to do with that? How does that add up to any kind of trust? Go ahead, try to tell me you haven’t lied to me.”

  “Yes, I’ve lied. I’m a liar.” Her tone was so calm and matter of fact that it had my fists clenching on the steering wheel. “I grew up surrounded by lies, they were something I had to, have to navigate to survive. That doesn’t mean you and I aren’t real. It doesn’t make my I love you any less true.”

  I’d been trying hard not to bring that up, but since she had . . . “Bullshit. I can’t believe you said that. You barely know me, certainly not enough to be sure you love me.”

  “I do know you, Dair. I know you’re kind. I know you’re good. I know you’re stubborn and more loving, more nurturing than even you realize. I know you, Dair, in every way that counts. And I am sure of you, and how I feel. I think you’re confusing things. It’s you that’s not sure.”

  I swallowed hard, flushing at the things that wanted to come out of my mouth. I’d never been good with these kinds of words. “I know you’re giving. I know you’re kind. I know you’re smart, and beautiful, and too good to be true.”

  And, of course, that last bit was the whole problem.

  “I know nothing about your past,” I added.

  “We aren’t defined by our pasts,” she shot back. “We are who we are. You don’t have to know where I grew up, what year I was born, to know the woman in front of you.”

  We were at the house, and I pulled into the garage, turning off the car.

  We said not a word to each other as we went inside, then up to my room.

  We got ready for bed in silence.

  We were lying down on our sides, me wrapped around her from behind, before she broke it.

  “I love you,” she said, voice quiet and firm.

  “You can’t possibly know that yet,” I chastised, though every time she said those words it felt like balm on my bruised heart.

  “Fine. I won’t say it again, if it bothers you that much.”

  My gut clenched at the finality in her voice, but I knew it was for the best.

  “I don’t have good judgement when it comes to you,” I said into the darkness, breaking another long silence that had overtaken us.

  She shifted, turning until her face was buried in my chest.

  I burrowed my face into her hair, breathing in her scent.

  She pulled my head down until she could speak into my ear. “Maybe good judgement is overrated. Maybe it’s time for you to be bad.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  She stayed for three days. It was heaven.

  The only hell was knowing that she’d leave again.

  It was on the second morning, as I was taking her from behind, bright sunlight streaming over her lovely back, that I noticed an unusual scar on the soft spot just inside of her shoulder blade, a few inches from her spine. It was a small circle, about the size of the tip of my finger. It was very precise.

  I finished inside of her, on my knees behind her. She was on all fours.

  We were still panting, recovering, when I traced the scar softly.

  “What’s this from?” I asked her.

  She wiggled a bit, to distract me, I thought.

  I pulled out, determined to get answers before I went off the deep end again. “It’s unusual. Tell me how it happened?”

  She sighed, and rolled onto her back, her thighs sprawling wide apart.

  Another blatant distraction that I had to work hard to overlook.

  “You really want to know?” she asked, and just from the light tone of her voice, I didn’t figure she was going to give me the truth.

  “Yes,” I said anyway, because even her lies told me something.

  “I
t’s a bullet wound. I was shot. Curiosity killed the cat and all that, but I still have a few lives left.”

  My whole body tensed up.

  She caught my expression and burst out laughing. “Oh Dair. You should see your face. You’re too much.”

  She did such a good job of mixing lies and half-truths that I couldn’t decide what she was using on me just then. “So if that’s a bullet wound, who shot you?”

  She shrugged, still smiling. “I was kidding. It was an accident at camp one year. Some kid poked me with a burning stick. Don’t even remember his name.”

  I continued to scrutinize her.

  The way she operated, one of those was a lie, one the truth, or at least half a truth.

  The first one, I decided, the way she’d thrown it out so teasingly, purposely throwing me off.

  “It’s a bullet wound,” I said, sure of it now, and sick to my stomach at the thought. “Who shot you?”

  She shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter. The who is irrelevant.”

  “How is that not relevant? What’s more relevant than that?”

  “Believe me, it is beyond mattering now. He won’t be shooting anyone else.”

  “What was his motivation?” I asked, because sometimes she gave me answers when I found just the right question.

  She smiled ruefully. She knew what I was up to. “Money, most likely, though I can’t be sure.”

  “You’re saying someone was paid to shoot you?” It was worse even than I’d thought.

  “Paid, no, I doubt it. He wasn’t alive to collect. But he was hired, and I doubt it was just to shoot me. I’m pretty sure his job was to kill me.”

  I was still reeling when she rose from the bed and headed into the bathroom to shower.

  Eventually I followed, far from done with the subject.

  “Do you have any clue why someone would be hired to kill you?” I asked her, as I joined her in the shower.

  She didn’t speak, just turned and started washing my body, particularly my spent cock.

  That she made pristine with several vigorous strokes from her soapy hands.

  With a curse, I freed myself, warding her off. “Stop. I’m not going to drop this.”

  She turned away, going back to washing her hair.

  “Please, tell me,” I pleaded quietly.

  She turned my way again, this time washing her own body.

  I deliberately didn’t look.

  “I can’t tell you any more,” she finally answered, voice final. “I’ve said too much already.”

  “No. You can’t do that. It’s not fair.”

  She finished cleaning herself, and stepped out of the shower, sending me one rueful smile before she turned away. “Fair? Who said anything about fair? None of this was ever supposed to be fair, baby.”

  On that confounding, infuriating note, she walked out of the room.

  I caught up with her again in the kitchen.

  She was cooking breakfast.

  French toast.

  She was shameless.

  The smell of cinnamon filled the room even as I stared at her, jaw clenched.

  I kept my distance, putting the entire kitchen island between us. “You know I can’t drop this. I get that there are some things you don’t think you can share with me, but I need some sort of an explanation here.”

  She kept cooking in silence.

  Finally, I went into the dining room, sitting down to wait for her.

  She started coming in and out of the room, setting the table, bringing in plates, silverware, syrup, butter, jam.

  I was too agitated to even offer to help. Instead, I just watched her and brooded.

  Her hair was wet, her face clean and flawless.

  She wore a tight tank top (no bra) that read, ‘Are you kitten me right meow?’ and some hot pink cheer shorts that had the waistband rolled so the shorts covered less than most panties.

  Well, not less than her panties. But her panties were typically nothing more than lacy strings.

  It was a distracting outfit. I tried my best not to be distracted.

  She brought in a heaping platter of French toast and bacon, setting them close to my plate, serving me without a word.

  We ate in silence, my eyes on her, her eyes anywhere but on me.

  She cleared the table when we finished, and again, I didn’t lift a finger to help. I was determined to sit here until she gave me something.

  She came back after cleaning up, hovering close to the side of my chair.

  I could smell her, mixed with cinnamon. I could feel the heat of her, even when we weren’t touching.

  We were waging a silent war, and we both knew she was winning.

  “How can I trust you, if you don’t share anything with me?” I asked, voice low and hoarse.

  A last-ditch effort.

  Finally, she gave me something.

  “My life is very messy.” Her voice caught, and that caught me.

  I turned in my chair to stare up at her.

  I had the sudden and gripping realization that she was scared.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble now?”

  Her mouth twisted into a rather bitter smile, which turned into a short unhappy laugh. “Yes, you could say that.”

  Something tight clasped my chest. “Are you in danger?”

  Again that short, bitter laugh. “Yes, Dair, I’m in danger.”

  I was pulling her down onto my lap in a flash, stroking her shoulders, her hair, her face, frantic at the thought.

  I couldn’t stand it, didn’t know what to do with myself if someone hurt her. “Let me help you. I can help. Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll fix it for you.”

  Her face softened, and she leaned into me, nourished with our proximity—a flower basking in the sun. “Oh, Dair. You’re everything I could have hoped for. Just the best.”

  “Tell me what I can do. Please. Anything you need.”

  She kissed me, her lips soft and hot, her little tongue playing at my lips, her expert hand snaking between our bodies, going for my cock.

  I stopped the hand and pulled away from her lips.

  I was too worried to go there just then. I needed to start planning the course of action that would get my beautiful Iris out of trouble.

  “We need to talk about this. Tell me what kind of trouble you’re in. We need to figure out how to get you out of danger. How can I become involved?”

  She tried to kiss me again, and when I held her back, her hands went to the bottom of her shirt, peeling it off, topless for me between one second and the next. “Let’s not talk about this now. I need you.” She moved to straddle me.

  I held her off with a few deep breaths for self-control and firm hands on her shoulders.

  But she was determined, and I was, as always when it came to her, outclassed. My eyes were on her hands, which were overflowing with her own flesh, kneading at it, plucking at her nipples as she tried to seat herself properly. Still, I put up a good fight, for a time.

  She moved off me, peeling down her shorts and panties, ass facing me for the perfect view.

  “Iris, please, tell me how I can help you.”

  She moved to straddle me again.

  My hands went to her hips, my eyes pleading with hers.

  “Dair, you can’t. I can’t even help myself. All you can do is go down with me, and I would never let that happen. Never. Let’s not waste our time together fighting about it.” I knew that tone, her immovable one. I was all too familiar with it.

  She didn’t undress me, just shifted my shorts down, freeing my length. She moved flush against me, working herself onto my cock.

  I cupped the sides of her breasts, pushing them together.

  I bent down, folding my torso to bury my face there, nuzzling and then licking my way to a nipple. I sucked it hard as she impaled herself enthusiastically, again and again, riding me roughly.

  Her cool, damp hair brushed against me with every jarring bounce; her sweet breath puffin
g out to mingle with mine.

  She started chanting my name as she got close.

  I decided that was my favorite thing.

  Ever.

  She squeezed me hard as she came, and I let loose, gripping her hips to slam her harder against me, loud slapping noises filling the huge space.

  I came, balls deep and stayed there.

  We were clutching each other, panting, mouths to the other’s ear, still recovering, when I found the breath to speak again.

  “I want to help you,” I rasped. “Please. I need to save you from whatever it is you’re running from.”

  Her voice was unsteady, but her arms weren’t. They were wrapped around me like she was holding on for dear life. “You’ve already saved me, Dair. More than you’ll ever know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was just two days after she’d left my house when I got another call from an unknown number.

  I answered, this time with a clue who was on the other end, and praying I was right.

  “Dair,” Iris breathed into my ear.

  “Iris,” I said evenly. “Where are you?”

  “I called to tell you that, actually.” There was a smile in her voice. “Are you busy?”

  I shut my laptop. “Not anymore. Where are you?”

  “Can you come meet me somewhere?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Where?”

  “I’ll tell you, but I need you to do something for me when you come. It’s very important.”

  “Anything.”

  Fool that I was, I meant it.

  “Wear a baseball cap and dark shades, and don’t bring your car. Take a taxi. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes.” It was all bizarre, but that was Iris for you. “T-shirt and cargo shorts okay?”

  “Yes, that’s perfect. And, this is important, make sure you keep your head angled down, so no one can ID you on camera. Do you understand?”

  “Sure,” I said slowly, wondering if this was some kind of a prank. “Where?”

  “The Cavendish Resort. Meet me at the casino valet entrance. Like I said, keep your head down.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  I took a deep breath, then another.