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“I think they’re coming out now,” Iris calls out.
“Then make it quick!” he replies back.
I shouldn’t give in to his demand, but I’m interested in seeing if our kiss was a one-off or a testament to our chemistry. The kiss I shared with Iris in the church was electric. The kind that shouldn’t feel as good as it did, given our circumstance.
The kind I am about to recreate with the hope that the buzz I got after was only a product of achieving the first task of my inheritance.
My arms curl around Iris’s back, tugging her against me. Her lips part and her eyes shut as I lean forward. Sparks break out across my skin as our lips touch, and liquid heat spreads through my veins. Kissing her is addictive. Thrilling. So damn wrong I can’t help questioning why it isn’t right.
She’s your assistant.
I nip at her bottom lip to distract myself from the thought. She gasps, and I suck up the sound before it has a chance to be heard by the photographer.
You’re paying her to have your child.
My kiss turns more punishing, and she seems to respond well to my desperation. She groans as her arms wrap around my neck. Her bouquet tickles my skin, and I’m surrounded by the smell of flowers and Iris.
The photographer coughs. “All right. I got the shot.”
Reality hits me like a bucket of ice water, and I break away before I tug Iris back against me and repeat our kiss for more selfish purposes than a photo. Our kiss wasn’t some fluke or a high I got from completing my grandfather’s request. It’s far worse than that.
Iris blinks up at me with dilated eyes.
She is affected by you too.
It should fill me with some relief to know she is equally struggling, but I’m far too concerned about the fall-out of a discovery like this.
Before I have a chance to wrap my mind around what is happening between us, the doors behind me open. Hundreds of guests pour out of the church. They gather in a circle, suffocating us. I hate the way they batter us with compliments almost as much as I despise the way the crowd grows larger by the minute.
Iris latches onto my hand. “Relax. Focus on me.”
That’s my issue. I can’t focus on anythingbuther.
I can’t bear looking at her for longer than a few seconds. The urge to steal her away from the crowd is difficult to ignore, and it wouldn’t take much for me to crack.
Remember what’s important here.
Iris remains silent as we are both shuffled into the Maybach. I spend the entire car ride to the reception location reminding myself of how acting on my attraction is not possible. Regardless of the two kisses we shared, nothing matters more than keeping things professional between us. We have far too much riding on our positions to be getting lost in a fleeting attraction to one another.
My future is more important than satisfying some momentary urge to kiss Iris. I just need to keep telling myself that.
* * *
I hate weddings. They’re a cliché excuse for people to drink alcohol on my tab, all while pretending they actually care about my new marriage. They don’t. Everyone is solely here because no one would be stupid enough to turn down an invitation to what Iris deemedthe wedding of the decade.
Unfortunately for me, I still have three more hours to get through, including cutting a cake right now.
A different photographer from earlier calls out for us to look at the camera. “Can I get a shot of you two with the cake?”
“Why did we agree to so many damn photos?” I frown as I grab the silver cake cutter from a server’s tray.
Iris smiles up at me. “Because we are going to share snapshots with the world to prove just how much we love one another.”
“Why should they care?”
She laughs, and the bulb of the camera goes off. “Because you’re a famous billionaire who is in the business of selling fairy tales.”
I groan. “Fame is temporary.”
