31. Chapter 31

Chapter thirty-one

Iris nestled into Rowland’s chest, exhausted and sweaty, but utterly satisfied. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She closed her eyes to the warmth of his embrace. Skin to skin against him, she was wrapped up in the contentment that came to her. Not only from their love making, but the knowledge that she had a future with him.

In the days since her rescue, he had been more possessive in bed, gripping her hard, holding her close, and nipping her skin. The marks on her wrists and ankles from the ropes were fading, but Rowland’s were fresh. His teeth and fingers left evidence everywhere.

“Someone’s feeling territorial,” she joked, running a finger over a red spot on her thigh where he’d squeezed her.

“Fuck, sorry,” he replied, interlocking his fingers with hers. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. It may surprise you, but I rather enjoy you being a bit rough.”

“Funnily enough, I gathered that after what happened in your office.”

She smirked at the memory.

“I just…” he trailed off. “After everything, I need to be closer to you. I’m never going to let anything take you from me again.”

His arm tightened around her shoulders and she pressed her lips to his chest.

“No one’s taking me away, my love,” she promised. “Not even me.”

He chuckled at that. “Good. You belong here.”

“I certainly feel like I do,” she agreed. “Though it poses a problem.”

He hoisted an eyebrow. “What problem is that?”

“If I’m living here in Liverpool, who will run The Rose Garden?” she said. “Someone ought to make proper use out of that office.”

“I thought we made quite good use of it,” he teased.

“Seriously, Rowland.” She nudged him playfully. “I don’t want to have to abandon the project, it’s too close to my heart.”

He sat up, taking her with him, and then reached for the side table for his cigarettes. While he lit it, she took a moment to admire his face, the strong shape of his jaw and his plump lips. This close, she could see his long lashes as well. And the faint freckles on his cheeks.

“You’ve met Lizzie, right?” he said, a plume of smoke slithering past her. “At Jo’s shop?”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve met her, but I’ve seen her,” Iris said. “Why?”

“She came to Jo looking for a job, but Jo runs the shop fine on her own. Then she asked me about working at the Sinclair Syndicate, but I thought there might be too many people there that know her. Either way, she wants to get out of what she’s doing now.”

“Even though under the protection of the Devils?”

“Yeah. She says she’s too old and too tired.”

“I suppose I can’t blame her for that.” Iris propped her chin on her hand. “What are her credentials?”

“Besides fucking?” he joked.

“Be serious. ”

He cleared his throat. “For starters, she’s excellent with numbers and schedules, so all the basic stuff for the shelter she’ll be great at. And I don’t mean this to be crass, but she is quite good with people.”

Iris smiled as she considered it. Part of her was sad to be giving up the image she had of herself in that office, running the show and being hands on with the women she so desperately wanted to help. But it was easy to let go of when the alternative seemed so obvious. Lizzie was a woman who needed a fresh start. And Iris could give it to her.

“I think we should offer it to her,” she said.

Rowland’s surprised smile was reward enough. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “There’s no reason why she can’t do it. And she’s more likely to be taken seriously if she’s somewhere the people aren’t familiar with her history.”

“I didn’t think I could love you more than I do, but you keep proving me wrong,” he said, running a finger along her jawline. “You’re beautiful, Iris. Inside and out.”

“If I had known it would get me this sort of praise, I’d have agreed much sooner.” She pecked his cheek. “I love you too.”

His gaze found hers, and they held on for a long moment. Iris could hardly believe how easily the words came from her. She would be getting the kind of love she never dared to hope for, and her freedom too. Perhaps one day, her brother would forgive her, but for the moment, she was happy.

Rowland linked his fingers between hers again. “Iris, I want to ask you something.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Yes?”

“Before you get excited, this is not a marriage proposal,” he said, and her shoulders relaxed. “We agreed marriage isn’t for us, and I’m happy with that. But I do want something to show our commitment to each other. ”

He reached for the night stand again, this time opening the drawer and pulling out a ring box. It wasn’t nearly as fine as the ring box she’d found the engagement ring in. This one was plain black, and the velvet was crushed with time. He opened it, and the ring inside was a slim, understated gold band. It shone in the low light of the bedroom, but she could still see it had some wear and tear of age on it.

“This was my grandmother’s,” he explained. “She was a fiery old woman, and she left me this ring when she passed, with the promise that I’d give it to the love of my life.”

Iris’s eyes flicked between the ring and his face, touched beyond words. Carefully, she took the ring out of the box and examined it closer. The piece was well made, designed to endure everyday tasks, never to be removed.

“Rowland, it’s beautiful,” she said.

“Will you wear it?” he asked again, and she locked eyes with him.

If it weren’t so sweet, she might have laughed. This man, who only days before had shot and killed a man right before her eyes, appeared sheepish. Like a schoolboy offering flowers to his first love. Pink in his cheeks, hope in his eyes.

“Yes,” she said, and slipped it onto her left ring finger. Remarkably, it fit as if it was made for her.

Relief washed over him and a grin claimed his lips before he pulled her in for another long kiss. He flicked his cigarette into the ashtray so he could roll on top of her, pinning her hips with his own and kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. When he finally let up, she cupped his face in her hands.

“I have a condition,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“You wear a ring too. ”

He cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed. “Well, it’s unusual, but I’m not opposed.”

She toyed with the hair at the back of his head. “You don’t mind?”

“Can I counter offer?”

She tilted her chin up. “I suppose. Our relationship was founded on negotiation, after all.”

He kissed the tip of her nose, and her face relaxed as she laughed.

“How about I get a new tattoo?” he suggested. “Irises, all the way up my left arm and finishing on my ring finger?”

She traced his bicep with her finger as she pictured it, the elegant floral design in black ink, trailing over his pale skin in lines like calligraphy. Her hand stopped when she reached his existing tattoo, the devil horns and rosary.

“It won’t interfere with this, will it?” she asked.

“Nope. Your space will be all yours.”

She smiled. “Very well. I accept your terms, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Lady Iris.” A giggle tumbled out of her when he kissed her neck with a mutter of, “And by the way, I much prefer this to a handshake.”

Then, he engulfed her in his embrace, and Iris lost herself in him. Because she could get lost in him. She was safe to do so. She could be her true self, with any prickliness that came with that, because he would always make her soft again. He didn’t knock down the walls around her heart, he sat patiently outside until she invited him in. And she was awfully glad she did. A whole future stretched out before them, unique and fulfilling and whatever they wanted. Society’s version of forever held no weight, not when Lady Iris and Rowland Sinclair could create their own.