Love was suspended, and feelings were nullified the nanosecond flames engulfed my blood-stained hands. The longer I held them to the molten heat, the more my humanity charred to ashes.
I’m maimed, with a fractured divide splitting me whole. Unworthy of the poised Scottish woman shooting darts from her sincere glare. And the irony to this curse—Iris is the solder piecing my forgotten existence back together.
The dark brown shade of her eyes matches the earthy tones I call home. I had no intention of imprisoning a female in my domain. This situation has sidetracked my goals and harassed my boundaries.
Last night was a mistake. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t do it again because I fucking would. Only next time, I would make sure she stayed awake so I could actually fuck her. It would be basic, savage sex. No connection. No meaning. No staring into her eyes and locating the universe. There’s no way I would carefully wipe a healing balm on her wound afterward or ensure she’s comfortably laid out on the mattress and covered with clean bed linen. And I certainly wouldn’t hang around to watch her sleep.
I’m so fucked!
With nothing to substantiate the persistent niggle of distrust, it's clear she isn’t the enemy. And here I am, panic-stricken at how much that fact has switched up my emotions. I’m in awe of her self-assurance and horrified how it flickered with vulnerability when she recommended I end her life without delay.
At this point, I doubt my strength to pull the damn trigger. Although one thing is certain, if she turns out to be the deceptive woman I’ve suspected all along, the revelation will kill both of us.
This funeral wasn’t for the dead soul smothered in the earth—it was for her. Simply, unequivocally, solely for Iris. From the moment I saw images of the destroyed camp to the hours spent by her side while she fought a soaring temperature, I made it happen. I understood the man's soul should have closure, like how Gabriela’s ashes swirled in the wind until she reached the heavens.
Life isn’t a fairytale.
I’m the villain, the jailor, the murderer, the man who’s not interested in finding a partner, never mind love. And the guy who ensured children wouldn't darken his jaded future by going under the knife. I paid Jackson a fitting fee to carry out a vasectomy.
A proud vein thrums in her throat as my unfaltering stern silence nails her in place.
“Is that what you want? To die here. For my men to bury your body in the same grave as your mentor?” An invisible shiver prickles under my shirt. It’s not caused from the desire to take her life. It’s born from a sickly fear that I might have to do it.
Her throat bobs when she swallows. “I’d rather not spend countless years as your depraved sex slave, or worse still, fall pregnant to a man who’s incapable of kindness. I know why you brought me here today.” Her exquisite eyes turn unreadable. “You want to prove Iris is dead. If I bury Bruce, then I’m burying the storm, the research, and my past.”
I cross my arms, trapping a racing heartbeat before it shoots through my chest. “I was robbed of the opportunity to bury someone. As heartless as I may be, I wouldn’t wish that experience on my worst enemy.” A far-off parrot squawks and a tribe of monkeys whoop in the depths of the forest. “As for falling pregnant. Unless you plan to have sex with my staff, you won’t get impregnated by me. It’s medically impossible. That's a promise. And you’re not my sex slave. You’re just an employee. Nothing more. I do not need to drug you again. Our time has ended.” I motion to my men, shifting the last few shovels of dirt. “If you continue to work at the oasis without any trouble, I won’t have a reason to reopen that grave and chisel your old name into the wooden cross.”
Her lashes flutter as she sways. An indecipherable look flashes in her eyes. Sunlight dapples the back of her head, glowing around her body with an aura of purity.
“Do you understand?” I grit out.
“Fully.” A hand slides to her belly. Her brows pinch, and the soles of her shoes scuff the dirt.
The odd reaction tightens my chest with invisible concern. Without thinking, I step into her, securing petite shoulders with a forceful grasp. “I’ll allow you a moment alone with your friend before you board the helicopter.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
I wave my hand to the pilot, beckoning for him to start the engine. “Fine. And for the record, the ingredient I added to your cocktail only loosens tongues and makes people drowsy. Whatever you felt in here”—I skate my fingers down the landscape of her left breast and stop at the button resting over her navel—“that was all you.”
She tuts under her breath. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” Her glower swarms like insects. “As I said earlier, I don’t trust you. And you’re kidding yourself if you think I’m desperate enough to lust after a despicable man like you.”
Her eyes dance over my lips when I growl and say, “I’ll take this opportunity to remind you what happens to liars.” I snap out the warning. There was no questioning our matched sexual hunger or the vibrations rippling from within her when she orgasmed on my hand. It ingested both of us and has clearly left me unhinged. “Tell yourself whatever story you want if it helps you to forget. It won’t happen again. We're done here.”
Tendrils spring with disarray when she spins to face the woodland. “Wonderful.” Her hands noticeably ball as she stomps a few short steps closer to Sal, who covers the clearing to reach us. I subtly lean forward in preparation to seize her hips and drag her back to me.
“Sir, I have to get back. Shall I take her with me?” he asks helpfully.
I lower the peak of my cap, resting a hidden gaze on the swift rise and fall of her chest. This fascination will die. Although a powerful swipe of a machete blade would barely have the force to hack it out at the sprawling roots. Our undeniable, ferocious connection doesn’t belong in my world. Once she’s occupied with employment, I’ll finally be able to reserve all the wasted energy spent in the shadows by her window at nightfall.
Doubt slithers over my skin like I've fallen into a seething pit of vipers. Handing her over to Sal, when her place is with me, tests my limitations. My jaw aches from working too hard behind gritted teeth. “Give her the rest of the day off out of respect for the dead.”
“Yes, sir.” Sal nods.
She licks her lips, squares her shoulders, and carefully pads the wound covering the expanse of her jawline. It’s knitting together nicely. In a week or two, the scar will grow faint, as if nothing ever happened.
But it has.
Her presence has scored a thorny slice through my willpower. The cut runs deep. The damage even deeper.
I step away from them and don’t turn around, bounding over muddy wood chips. The necklace gripping my throat tightens until I gasp for air. An incredible helix of sadness wrings out my gut. There’s no point imagining a queen on her throne beside her king. It’s lunacy to wish for forgiveness. And unwise to assume she’d ever be loyal to me. In my quest for the truth, I’ve raided the woman’s soul and tricked us both into believing she’s insignificant.
A hammering pain advances across my brow. I’m done with this bullshit. With the disturbance of an unusual accent so cock stirring and unique, feminine softness in harsh terrain, and an inner vigor to rival a lioness.