She said she wasn’t with him for the money. Or not the way I might think, whatever the hell that means.
And I believe that. I may not know everything about her, but she’s no gold digger.
I know she sees him clearly. She said herself it was a dirty play.
She says she’s not marrying him, but she’s wearing his ring.
What the fuck is going on?
I’m not leaving today without answers. I won’t get them with her avoiding me, so I walk over to the wall the three women are painting.
“Iris, can I talk to you for a minute?” I pitch my voice low so we don’t draw more attention than I already do here.
She jumps like a bullet whizzed past her ear instead of a whisper. A wide, quick glance is all she offers before training her eyes back on the wall.
“I’m really trying to get this wall done,” she says. “I . . . um, maybe later.”
I sneak a look at Torrie and Shelia. They roll their painting pins over the wall, but they’re watching us.
“It’ll only take a few minutes.” I cover her hand to stop the rolling motion, and she looks at me with a frown. “Please.”
Her eyes dart from Shelia and Torrie to Sylvia in the corner before she sighs and places the paint roller in the pan at her feet. Wordlessly, she heads toward the door, not checking to see if I’m behind her. Of course, I am.
In the hall, she leans against the wall and folds her arms, still not looking at me. “What do you need to talk abo—”
Her words disintegrate when I grab her hand and pull her behind me down the hall and around the corner.
“What are you doing?” Her voice climbs an octave, and she tries to wriggle free. “I can’t do this. I need to get back in there.”
We reach a utility closet. Fortunately, the knob turns easily, and the door swings open. I gently shove her inside and follow, turning on the light. I lean my back against the door and fold my arms across my chest. We aren’t leaving until I get some answers. Not the cryptic ones she’s been giving me, but the straight kind that tell me what the hell is actually going on.
“I need to get back, August.” She reaches around me for the knob, but I shift so my back covers it. Her irritated eyes latch onto mine. “This isn’t funny. You have to let me out.”
“No, you have to talk to me. You’ve been avoiding me ever since that goon showed up yesterday.” I take her arm, extended toward the knob, and pull her into me. The whisper of our bodies together, that simple contact, even through our clothes, is a match lit in gasoline-soaked air. It’s a sweet singe—a rapid-burning brush fire spreading across my whole body, consuming everything in its path—my reservations, my good sense, and my patience.
“You feel that, Iris.” I bend to float my words over her ear, rustling the fine strands of hair escaping around her neck. “Please tell me you feel this, too. Tell me I’m not fooling myself that we’ll be good together.”
A sigh mists her pouty lips. Lashes, thick and midnight-dark, hide her eyes from me. Defeat marks the slumped line of her shoulders.
“You’re not fooling yourself,” she admits, her voice shaking.
“I know I’m not.” My hand slides over her arm, and her skin prickles with goosebumps. I stroke her palm with my fingertips, and she inhales sharply. Her lips tremble. Slowly, I twist the ring, working it off her finger and slipping it into the front pocket of her overalls.
“What are you doing?” She breathes the question, her eyelids heavy over the cloudy passion hazing her eyes.
I frame her face, tracing the striking framework of high, sculpted cheekbones.
“I’ll be damned if you’ll be wearing his ring the first time I kiss you.”
I stroke her lips with my thumbs until her mouth falls open on a needy gasp. I dip so our mouths are mere inches apart, our ragged breaths twining in the tight space. My fingers spear into her hair, my palm cupping the base of her skull.
“I should have done this the night we met,” I whisper into her mouth, my head spinning from breathing her air. “It should have been me, Iris.”
Her eyes squeeze shut and a tear slides over her cheek. “I know.” She bites her lip and nods. “It should’ve been you.”
I outline the bow of her lip with my tongue, and we share our first moan. My hand slides under the overalls, caressing her back through the fitted cotton T-shirt. Tracing the curve of her hip and sliding down to touch the small of her back, I press her into me. She must feel my dick, swollen against her. I can’t hide it. I’ve wanted her too long and too badly.
I capture the fullness of her bottom lip between mine and suck hard and greedily. God, she’s so sweet. My dreams, fantasies, everything I imagined is ashes beside the sweetness of this mouth, the taut, rounded curves of this body. She tilts her head and returns the favor, suckling my bottom lip.
