Page 86 of Devil's Iris

The problem is, I might be the one who does the hurting.

I scrub my hands over my face and force myself to slip out of bed, each step towards the ensuite feeling like I’m walking to my own execution. The shower I take is arctic-cold, yet not enough to freeze out the white-hot pain in my chest from what I’m about to do.

But I have no choice. I have to protect myself. Protecther—by hurting her.

I’ve played this the wrong way all along. I never should have made her go along with the ruse—pretending to be in love with me, the public proposal, the wedding performance. Anyone who is anyone in my world believes Romero Lombardi is head-over-heels for his wife. That means they’ll see her as my weakness.

And they’d be right.

What happens when my enemies realize that getting to me is as simple as putting a gun to this beautiful, innocent woman? What if they hurt her? What if they?—

Fuck.

After my shower, I get dressed, my plan cementing with every layer of clothing I put on. My chest hardens, my heart sealing off. I have to do this. For her sake. For her safety.

For my sanity.

By the time I step out of the walk-in closet, she’s awake, stretching on the bed like a cat in a sunbeam. Arms raised above her head, velvet blue sheets wrapped around her waist, and those creamy breasts exposed and inviting in the morning light.

My mouth waters as I drink in her tight nipples. How many times have I had them between my teeth this past week? How many times have I made her arch and scream my name? And still it isn’t enough. Not nearly.

I’ve had her every way imaginable, yet the sight of her now makes my cock thrum like it’s the first time. She makes me insatiable.

“Hey, baby.” She smiles warmly, eying my clothes. “What’s with the suit? Are we going somewhere?”

I don’t return her smile. My throat hurts, my heart throbbing fiercely as I watch her. I haven’t said anything yet, haven’t done anything. I could just say something casual, crawl back into bed, and she’d be none the wiser.

But I can’t.

I swallow. “Yes. We’re going back home.”

She giggles like I’ve just told her the most ridiculous joke. “Very funny. Are you really going to wear that suit to go explore the hot water cave?”

Shit, I forgot about that.

Last night over dinner on the mainland, our server had mentioned the hidden springs where hot and cold water meet in natural pools. Leni’s eyes had lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning, and I’d sworn we’d go there today.

Another promise I’m about to break.

She rises from the bed in all her naked glory, moving towards me with that unconscious grace that makes my hands itch to touch her as my head battles my heart. I can still take it back.It’s not too late.

Instead, I make a show of checking my watch, letting the cold mask I’ve perfected over the years slide into place. “You have thirty minutes to get ready before the seaplane arrives.”

Her smile dies by degrees, like watching flowers wilt in fast-forward. She stops moving towards me, those gray eyes searching my face desperately. “What’s going on? Did something happen back in New York? Is it Elira?”

Of course sweet, selfless Leni’s first thought is that someone else needs us. That there’s some emergency back home that would explain why her husband suddenly wants to abandontheir honeymoon. Why else would I want to leave paradise when we’ve both been drowning in pleasure?

If only it were that simple.

“No. Important work came up last night, and I realized I can’t keep lounging here, wasting time.”

She goes perfectly still. The light in her eyes dims, and something inside me withers at the raw hurt. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat roughly, hating myself more with each passing second. “So… get ready.”

Unable to look at her anymore, I take the cowardly way out and flee the bedroom.Fuck, fuck, fuck.My tie chokes me, and I tug at it angrily as I descend the stairs. It’s better I nip this in the bud now. We were getting too close, too comfortable.

Downstairs, I pace restlessly, feeling like a caged animal as I wait for her, the scene upstairs looping in my head on repeat. Every step is a battle against the urge to run back up, pull her into my arms, and apologize for what I just did.