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There isn’t even a smidgen of hesitation in my answer. I lean in close and whisper, “That was an invitation, Mr. Wells.”
His eyes light, voracious excitement swirling inside them.
Here in the candlelight with my unlikely groom, I realize, this path may beoff, but I’ve always loved twisted fairy tales.
Gavin Wells might not be the hero of my story, but he may be my dark knight.
WELLS
That kiss was unexpected. Unexpected in the way she melted against my lips, opening her mouth to accept everything I offered, which was, admittedly, more than I’d planned on giving. But she gripped me as though I were feeding her an antidote to a poison and she needed to swallow every drop.
And her flavor.
She tasted like lemon Starbursts, which mingled with her always-enticing vanilla-raspberry aroma in the most delicious way. A deadly combination, considering my candy addiction. I have a feeling the woman standing before me—dazzling with her curls of fire adorning her slight shoulders—is my most dangerous assignment to date. Her bare pinkish-gold skin sparkles above her gown—shimmery black-and-white, smoky in parts, reminiscent of a thundercloud.
My Little Storm.
She’s a vision, which I knew. Upon my first glimpse of her out here, so breathtakingly beautiful and facing this whole situation with such fierce bravery, I felt myself unraveling. Beethoven’s “Für Elise” piped into the courtyard, amplifying the vanquishing swell in my chest. But until that kiss, I had confidence that I could fight this savage infatuation, which has infected me since the first day Ilaid eyes on her.
My cock is adamant that won’t be happening.
She may have kissed me as though I had an antidote, but every encounter with her feels like being rolled in poison. True to her preferred name.
Poison Ivy.An itch that never lets up.
Exhaling, I drag my thumb across her lower lip, the one that so desperately sucked on mine moments ago, the one she herself brushed before extending herinvitation. Her sapphire eyes search my face, questioning, maybe wondering if I felt it too—the earth faltering on its axis with our connection. That thought rings so close to hope that I curse myself.
I don’t hope. I make things happen. And I’ve got a fucking job to do. But, goddammit, she makes it hard to breathe.
“So beautiful, Little Storm.”
Her chin lifts, drawn to my touch like she can’t resist it, and my stomach clenches for all the events leading to this one and all the ones that will guide us from here. So much she doesn’t understand. I’ve never had a moment I wanted to freeze, to hold with my very life.
Until this.
And yet I can’t.
“Thank you,” she whispers with the rise and fall of her chest, cleavage beseeching, imploring me to lick and nip and bite, marking and claiming what’s mine.
I’ll never be able to deny her tonight, but I don’t tell her that now. Instead, I take her by the hand and lead us into the restaurant and bar Axel set up for us.
Ty informed me about her tears yesterday. She’d been so strong up to this point that it was bound to happen. But I wanted this night to be somewhat special, for her not to feel so alone. If we had dinner on the private terrace, like I had originally planned, with only my crew and the Noire family, Ivy may have felt like an outsider. The light crowd here offers her the illusion that she isn’t locked away. And Ryker assured me the patrons are all vetted members, so I’m allowing it for this one evening.
For her.
Rena sits beside Ivy, talking her ear off at dinner, which I’m grateful for. It enables me to immerse myself in conversation with Axel, focusing on La Lune Noire business instead of mine. Unfortunately, it’s more apparent by the minute that my thoughts are torn between my desire for my bride and my own work. Deciding it’s best to take care of some business so I can focus clearly on us tonight, I shift toward Ivy. If I’m going to give in to my cravings, I want to do it with a clear head.
My fingers rake into her silky hair while I tether our gazes. “A glass of champagne to celebrate, but then I need to tend to an important phone call.”
“Oh, tonight?” Her disappointment chimes, sending a pang of guilt through me.
This isn’t me. It can’t be.“Yes. Tonight. It can’t wait.”
She accepts my flat answer without another word, but I see our magical moment fade into the night, and already, I want it back.
After a glass of champagne, my head isn’t any clearer. Pulling her into my side by her thin waist, I lower my lips to her ear. “Time for me to go, Little Storm. Only one more glass of champagne, then switch to water.” I straighten to study her pretty face, seeing whether she’s going to fight me on this. Her eyebrows pinch in confusion, so I explain, “Your invitation. I don’t want you drunk tonight.”
Those gorgeous blues widen with eagerness, and I nearly haul her up to our suite at the sight.
