Pitch black eyes as dark as venom glisten in the expanse of her milky skin. A simple promise energizes her spirit, and she leaps to a stand. “Really? I’ll prove it. Tell me how.”
“Stay the fuck out of my way,” I say with an unforgiving rasp. “Don’t wander around this place like it’s a holiday resort. Your uniform should hide your body, not show it off. The idea is to remain covert, not—” I stop abruptly, curtailing the affect her womanly figure is having on my brain.
She nods once, then twice, all too eager to keep her distance, too relieved that I’ll consider rebuilding her life outside of her confines.
“How long?” she asks, skimming fingertips over a bare navel.
I shrug with a candor attitude. Such an offer of light beyond a suffocating tunnel is more for my sanity than hers. Firstly, I’ll run more checks. I’ll prove to myself she’s a simple girl from a far-off town with an inconsequential life. Then, maybe, just maybe, I’ll set her free.
Even as I think about relenting, I doubt the ability to actually let her go. After all, the world is mourning Iris. Her home is here now.
She’s a ghost who belongs to me.
“A few years, maybe more,” I lie, gathering my sunglasses, preparing to depart the glass cell. Who knows? I’d like to imagine once I’ve completed the last hit, she’ll be less of a threat, but by then she’ll have learned too much.
Narrow shoulders pull back, disguising the obvious tremor of disappointment. “And if I work hard, will you consider reducing the sentence?” she dares to ask.
I keep my arms crossed. “You could beg.”
A crease wrinkles her nose. “This is a game for you, isn’t it? You’re playing with my life because you think I’m unimportant.”
“I’m not playing,” I correct. “I’m deadly serious.”
She no longer looks demure and sad. Her posture reconstructs from weak and broken to ferocious and resplendent. A long, splendid neck lengthens, her chin lifts, and eyes like multifaceted stones of onyx drill into mine. “My name is Iris, and I’m an ecologist from the Isle of Skye. I’ve withstood winters harsher than the tropics, bullies more tormenting than el Fantasma, and survived every fucking disaster life has thrown my way. You will never break me.”
The temperature drops to ice cold. Gray clouds gather over her cabin, preparing for a blustery storm. What she fails to realize is the official introduction has sealed her fate forever.
Before this point, she was an insignificant issue, a woman of no consequence, a possible traitor sent by my enemies. Yet now, she’s become the queen of the jungle, of my fucking oasis.
Out of rage or frustration or pure lust, I swoop in. Her eyes widen when I cover the expanse in rapid strides, swathing scar tissue around her proud throat. She inhales sharply, slapping her small hands over mine and scraping for air.
I reduce the pressure enough to let her know I’m the king around here, then I lower my lips to the side of her face. With a controlled breath, I tell her the truth. “After that bold recital, Iris will never leave. The woman you become will wish Iris never met me.”
The thrill of her whimper knocks off my heartbeat. She quakes in my hold. My pounding cock drains all the blood from my body. I drag my mouth over tight lips. It’s not a kiss, more of a hungry assault. There’s no meaning implied or sentiment attached, just a desire to show her who reigns.
For a divine second, the darkness of death evaporates. A bolt of adrenaline more powerful than lightning stimulates every hair on my scalp, lifting with a domino effect to my nape. Soft flesh melts into me, pliable from her head to her toes. A sexy groan hums in my mouth like a break of sunlight after a hurricane. I’m not immune to her warm skin and fluid persuasion.
And then the thrilling moment ends. Confusing desire wanes when her teeth clamp down to a sharp puncture. A metallic trickle mixes in the mash of furious lips. The strained rope reining in my temper finally splits. She bucks into my hips, sparring my passionate attack with curled fists. For such a tiny creature, she packs a loaded punch. Pitiful against my physique yet her streak of determination chips away at my conscience.
A vein pulses in her delicate neck, penetrating the heavy fog circling my mood. Her hatred for me curdles with my fascination. I tug her hair, yanking her head back so our lips rip apart. “You’ll regret that,” I growl into her temple, relishing blood.
She quivers as the words leave my throat in a husky warning. I let go and stagger back. Our eyes lock. A battle of worlds begins. Silently, Iris Kitson collides with Dante Valez, the man I thought I’d repressed long ago.
Iris gasps in relief, instinctively padding the curve of her neck with shaky fingertips. The bittersweet sting on the tip of my tongue reminds me how trust is earned. Not in a matter of days, or weeks, or even months. An eternity wouldn’t be long enough for this woman to prove her allegiance.
Hiding out in the wilderness deprived me of a God-given right. My flesh blazes with a feral mania. Both hands shake, retracting and expanding with limited control. What I’ve tasted can never be undone.
Too many months of harrowing memories have robbed me of decency, welcoming a vicious monster instead. But I don’t demand death. I’d prefer to bury my dick inside her and forget the demons calling to my psyche.
The fire in her belly lures me into a trap. And now, I’ve sampled my emancipation in the very thing I’ve captured.
11
Iris
A tornado of glorious flesh and strong tendons secures the cap back on his head and covers his hands. Dangerous green eyes fix onto the lips that tingle from his brutal kiss.
I’m a bundle of jitters and misery. Insidious butterflies die an inglorious death in the acid roiling in my stomach. For a harebrained second, my fight ebbed. The fury deep inside of me combusted with scorching heat, not revulsion. His lips conjured a longing within me that whispered immoral desire. My distorted, perverted soul craved him. A slick heat was the telltale sign I was wet—for him. In a beat of insanity, I parted my lips to savor the exotic flavor of sin and hot summers, then my fight-or-flight response kicked in.
My dignity crumbled in the ashes of my soul. His attack was lightning in the dark. A roll of thunder from afar crackling through intense muggy heat. It brought relief and devastation.
Those feelings of mania are wrong. So very abnormal. A tangy tinge of iron mingles with saliva. I was the one who drew the first droplet of blood, yet he didn’t match pain for pain. Not this time. Instead, he reared back with a glare of pure disgust. The cold, hard stare both depletes my hostility and fuels contempt.
With my spine pressed rigid, I coast downward, spiraling in the aftermath. Burnt orange particles from the broken lamp crunch to a chalky powder, staining the cool floor. He returns the dark glasses to his face, hiding lustrous green eyes. Neither of us speak. The only movement are muscles flexing under his T-shirt. Taut fabric covers every solid curve like a thin layer of seduction, leaving tanned, sinewy arms bare.
After what feels like a lifetime of silence, he stalks around the bed. No second glance. No apology. No estimated timescale of imprisonment.
Only bad blood and a hammering heartbeat louder than jungle drums.
The noise of a door clicking shut echoes through the lonely paradise suite. Similar to his employees, the man exits in stealth mode. Except he hadn’t been quite so unobtrusive during his visit. Flawed palms weren’t aimed at choking out my last breath. They carefully secured, angled and owned. He didn’t kill me; he sought satisfaction and found discomfort.