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“Anything you want in particular?” I asked, my voice sounding strained and strange to my ears.
“Chocolate.”
A soft chuckle escaped me, surprising me. I didn’t laugh around strangers.
“Is that a problem?” Iris sassed and I glanced over my shoulder in time to see her strut around me and head for a seat. She sat on it as though she were a queen, crossing her legs, and wiggling a gold-patterned stiletto with straps crisscrossing up her pretty calves. I stared a beat longer than I should have, struggling against blood that wanted to flow south, even as I knew all Iwanted in life was to have this woman wearing nothing but those shoes.
And preferably also bent over the side of my bed, with her ass spanked pink.
She pointed and flexed her foot, and I jerked my gaze away, forcing myself to walk to the fridge and act like a normal human being. My hands were opening and closing as I took even, deep breaths. I couldn’t get in too deep.
Don’t forget why you’re here—she hacked Hyperion.
Fuck me. I almost groaned out loud. That was so hot.
I yanked open the fridge with more force than I meant to, causing the bottles to rattle, and I sensed her eyes on me. Right, she had no idea who I was—and I needed to figure out why she’d come here. Though my guess was that she was interested in getting closer to the Michaelson family by any means necessary.
That cooled my lust a bit and I grabbed a container with leftover chocolate cake that Heavy’s girlfriend had made for us. “My buddy’s girlfriend is a pastry chef who runsBuoni Tortiin the North End.” I turned and held up the box. “How’s her Devil’s Food cake sound?”
Her entire face lit up and I steeled myself against reacting. “Are you serious? Fuck yes.” I brought it over, grabbing a fork, and handing her the box. “Wait, I can have the whole thing?”
“Yeah. I doubt there’s more than a slice left. Eat what you want.”
Iris grinned and popped off the cover, letting out a little moan of happiness when she saw the cake inside. I swallowed hard and leaned against the counter, trying not to watch her take bite after bite, her red lips wrapping around chocolate frosting and fork tines in a way that was borderline obscene. Finally, she finished, and heaved a sigh.
“Thank you. I needed some sugar to center me.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “That was intense. What…” I trailed off as she hopped down and adjusted her dress, tossing back her hair, and I caught a whiff of her expensive perfume, seeming to write itself into my senses. I ran my eyes up her, from her pedicured toes to her muscular calves, to the hem of her dress, up to her amused gaze. “You could bring down empires with those shoes alone, you know.”
Maybe the Michaelson one. Definitely me.
“Maybe,” she said, and her lips took on a wry curve. “Do you ever give normal compliments?”
“You’re too high up in this stratosphere for any kind of regular ‘wow, what a smoke-show’ shit,” I said. “And you also don’t seem like you need or want compliments, especially not ‘normal’ boring ones.”
“Fair, and also very astute of you to notice,” she said, and I laughed, enjoying her brazen self-assurance. “I don’t mind yours, though.”
“You’re just saying that ‘cause I gave you cake,” I said. We were now face-to-face, she had an arm stretched out to the counter, resting gently on it close to where my hand was splayed, and I thought she took a step closer.
“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “And you know, for saving my ass at the bar.” Her eyes searched my face. “Thank you. I’m glad I ran into you again.”
“Mhmm,” I said and took a sip of my whiskey. “Some people might say you owe me.”
“Huh,” she said and swung around so that we were standing side by side, her arms folded over her boobs, her body so close that I could feel the heat from it at my side. “What do you say?”
I looked over at her and said in a low voice, “I say it’s tempting.”
“You’re good at that,” she said. And for a split second, we were leaning in toward each other, then she pushed off the counter, clicking away. Then she spun back. “Fine. What do you want?”
“Your name,” I said, while thinking,and why you’re here.
Her eyes flickered and I knew she was debating giving me a fake, before she either blurted out or went with her gut not to lie about that, “Sara. Sara Tailor.”
“Sara,” I said, savoring it for this moment. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She popped her hip out to the right and placed a hand on it, her manicured nails tapping out a pattern. “I’d say the same, but do I not get your name?”
I’d been weighing the costs and benefits in the back of my head as to whether to give her my real name since I’d lain eyes on her. She was looking for a way to get close to the Michaelsons. Ty would say that it didn’t get much closer than me.
