Chapter 3 –The Gala Temptation

Iris Pov

Iris tugged at the hem of her deep emerald gown, feeling the silk cling to her curves in a way that was both flattering and terrifying. Her auburn hair fell down her shoulders, and her green eyes were sharp under carefully applied eyeliner,  lips painted a daring shade of red, which contrasted well with her fair skin.

The gown’s plunging neckline and slit up to her thigh screamed attention, which was exactly the opposite of how she wanted to feel tonight.  But it was two weeks after getting married to Dante, and he was determined to drag her to every social event.

She pressed her lips together, glancing at her reflection in the mirror, and she groaned. “Why did I let him talk me into this?”

Dante’s deep chuckle came from behind her. He leaned against the doorway, black tux perfectly tailored, white shirt crisp beneath the jacket, tie loosened just enough to look effortlessly dangerous.  “You look… remarkable,” he said, “And nervous. I like that mix. Makes you unpredictable.”

“I’m not nervous,” she muttered, tugging at her hair.

He smirked, eyes darkening with amusement. “ Right.” He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The heat from his body made her knees tremble. “We’re going to a gala, Iris. People will be watching. Press, business allies… enemies, and I want to show you off.”

She rolled her eyes, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her. “You’ve barely stopped acting like I’m a chess piece, Dante. Now you’re claiming ownership?”

He leaned in, so close that she could feel his warm breath against her ear. “Ownership is temporary. Influence… far more permanent.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and then took her hand. “Come, the driver’s waiting.”

****

The crème de la crème of New York was at this party. Iris gritted her teeth, walking with her head high; she was not shy, but this was new. It was bigger than the paparazzi she got after a successful case.

“Remember, hold my arm lightly and don’t smile too much,” Dante murmured beside her, guiding her through the crowd.

“It feels like I’m at the Met Gala.” Iris quipped, leaning slightly into him. Iris’s stomach fluttered. She hated it. She hated how much she hated it. And then she stopped in her tracks, Dante stopping as well.

“Ms. Rossi,” It was her ex-fiancé, Mark. “Or should I say, Mrs Moretti now?” He stepped forward with a charming smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Iris pressed her lips together, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. “I see New York politics hasn’t taught you how to behave,” she said smoothly. She hated Mark because he’d left her on the altar on their wedding day. Thankfully, it was an intimate wedding, and she could save face since it was just family members.

He chuckled, circling her slightly. “You always had a sharp tongue. A shame you’re married now, isn’t it?”

Dante’s hand curved around her waist, and she stiffened at the contact, her vagina breathing heavily.. “I suggest you leave,” he damn near growled at Mark.

Mark’s smile faltered slightly, but he didn’t back down. “Ah, still fiery. I do miss that.”

Iris pressed herself closer to Dante, though she didn’t look at him, trying to assert independence. “Your opinion isn’t required,” she said, keeping her voice even. “You didn’t miss me when you left me at the altar.”

Dante’s hand on her hip squeezed just enough to remind her he wasn’t letting go. “I think she’s very clear.”

Mark threw his hand in the air and smiled at Iris. “Nice to see you again.”

But Iris wasn’t having it. “Fuck you.”

Some people around them shot her nasty looks, and beside her, she heard Dante chuckle as Mark walked away.

*****

The gala was supposed to be over. Iris had smiled for hours, her cheeks aching from pretending she wasn’t bored.

Dante ambled up to her, handing a flute of champagne to her. She slipped her hand through his arm as she took it and sipped.

“Don’t tell me you’re ready to go home,” Dante murmured, leaning down so only she could hear.

“I’m ready to,” she said, her eyes flashing up at him. “And I’m hungry. Enough Crepes.”

Dante tilted his head to the side. “Luckily for you, I know the best Italian pasta restaurant."

And that was how he convinced her to follow him to an Italian restaurant, which was tucked away in a jazz club. Low saxophones, notes, and tunes and lights followed them as they chose a table.

A waiter attended to them, and Dante placed an order for them. Just then, the music changed, and some people got up dancing. Dante, of course, was perfectly at ease. He leaned back in the booth, jacket open, bowtie undone, and staring at her.

“You’ve been restless all night,” he said as the waiter disappeared with their order.

“I’ve been bored all night,” Iris countered, “There’s a difference.”

His lips twitched. “So you’d rather be back at the office than at a gala full of powerful allies?”

“I’d rather not be paraded like a trophy,” she shot back, sipping. Her voice was cool, but her pulse hadn’t calmed since the run-in with Mark.

 “You’re still thinking about him.”

She looked away. “I’m thinking about how satisfying it would have been to spill wine down his perfect suit.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I almost believe you’d do it. So what’s the story? Why didn’t you two get married?”

Iris ignored the question and fixed her eyes on the dance floor. She was not ready to talk about him yet. The band picked up tempo, a playful tune, and several couples drifted onto the dance floor. Iris watched them, the sway of bodies under dim light, the laughter, the freedom. Then an idea sparked, a reckless one.

Her lips curved. “Do you think I’m predictable? You almost believed I'd do it? I was trying not to make a scene at your fancy party.”

Dante leaned forward. “No. I think you’re testing me.”

“Maybe,” she murmured, sliding from the booth before he could stop her.

She walked straight onto the dance floor and let a stranger, a tall, handsome one, take her hand. His eyes widened as she twirled, pressing close, and letting her hips sway, her thigh brushing against his leg. She leaned in, whispering nothing at all, just letting her lips hover near his ear.

The man smiled down at her and picked her up with one hand, spinning her around. But it wasn’t him she was dancing for. Every glance she stole over her shoulder was aimed at Dante. She wanted to make him jealous.

And he was watching.

When the man sat back, Iris didn’t hesitate. She swung a leg over and settled onto his lap, straddling him on the dance floor. She smiled wickedly, arching her back and running a hand slowly down the stranger’s chest.

That was the breaking point. Dante’s chair scraped hard against the floor. In three long strides, he was there. His hand clamped around her wrist, and the next second, she was lifted clean off the man’s lap.

“Hey!” the stranger protested.

“She’s taken,” Dante growled, throwing the man a look that promised a fist. Then, without ceremony, he tossed Iris over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“Dante!” she yelled, as her fists thumped his back. “You can’t just—”

“I just did,” he snapped, just as he asked the waiter to send an order to his penthouse.

The limo was silent except for the city rushing by outside. Iris sat on Dante’s lap now because he refused to let her move anywhere else.

“You humiliated me.”

“You deserved it,” she shot back. His fingers slid up her thigh, under the slit of her gown.“Dante—”

“You think you can tease me, Ey-ris?” His lips brushed her cheek. “Then walk away untouched?”

Her protest turned into a soft moan as his fingers slipped higher, stroking her through her panties with maddening precision. She clutched his jacket, thighs trembling, her body arching into his touch even as her mind screamed to stop.

Her head tipped back, breathless. “I—Dante…”

“You like it,” he murmured, biting her throat gently. “Say it.”

She whimpered, lost for a moment, until the crackle of the intercom jolted her.

“Mr. Moretti,” the driver’s calm voice cut through, “we’ve arrived.”

Iris’s eyes flew open, and reality slammed back as she shoved Dante’s hand away, her face flushed. “This cannot happen again, Dante.”

Dante only smirked, watching her with hungry eyes. “We’ll finish this later.”