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“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, bringing their joined hands down between their bodies and interlinking their fingers.
It was relatively easy to slip away from the wedding. Chance brought the car round the back entrance and Iris’s parents both hugged her before slanting equally menacing warning looks at Trystan, and ushering them out.
By mutual, unspoken agreement, Iris and Trystan didn’t talk much in the car. Saving the weighty conversation they needed to have for when they had more time. Instead, Trystan told her about his visit home, about his family and friends, while Iris talked about her new group of friends, her writing, and her brief stay at Chance and Colby’s.
While they gently and tentatively filled in the blanks of their time apart for each other, they couldn’t seem to stop touching and staring as if they were unable to believe that they were actually here, together, close enough to touch, breathe, feel and caress each other.
It wasn’t at all how Iris had planned this discussion to go. She’d hoped to remain emotionally distant until they figured out what the future held for them, but to be here with him like this with no words, no conflict or confusion, or chaos to muddy the waters between them…
It was sublime.
They were each so entranced by the other’s mere presence that the privacy glass unceremoniously sliding down between them and Chance was jarring and intrusive.
“Sorry, guys, but we’re going to have to battle our way through this tide of shit,” Chance announced cheerfully and they both looked away from each other long enough to understand that there was a veritable sea of people outside the car.
“Fuck, what about the underground parking?” Trystan asked, his voice terse, while his white-knuckled hold on Iris’s hand threatened to bruise her skin.
“Can’t get the car through them. They got here much faster than we’d anticipated and backup’s not here yet, so we either sit here and wait—although it might take a while for them to get here through this throng. The police might get here first—or we strong-arm our way through them.”
He gave them an unholy, slightly unhinged grin, and cracked his knuckles.
Trystan’s gaze dropped to Iris’s face, his eyes dull with fear and concern.
“No. I won’t risk Iris getting hurt in the mayhem. We’ll wait.”
Just then some wanker thumped on the Maybach’s bonnet and yelled: “Are Trystan and Iris in there? Are they getting back together? Is—hey, fuck you, man!” the last when Chance restarted the car and released the clutch enough for the vehicle to lurch, causing the reporter to leap back.
“I don’t want to wait,” Iris decided, tilting her chin up and meeting Trystan’s gaze resolutely. “I refuse to let these fuckers dictate a single moment more of my life.”
“Iris…”
“Trystan you once promised me a safe space within your life, remember?” she reminded. His face contorted and he swallowed thickly.
“I remember.”
“That offer still stand?”
He exhaled, a soul-deep shuddering exhalation of pure relief.
“Always, baby. Fucking always and forever.”
“Well, that starts right now,” she warned, and his eyes widened when she nodded at Chance. “Let’s go, Chance.”
“Wait a second—” Trystan protested, but it was too late. Chance was out of the car, literally shoving people out of the way as he headed toward the curbside of the car. Once there, he used one long, muscular arm to sweep away two invading paps, dragged the door open, and then positioned his massive body so that he was between Iris and the crowd. Trystan hastily followed, ensuring she was protected on the other side as well.
The reporters went rabid at the sight of Iris, then frothed at the mouth when Trystan joined her seconds later and wrapped a protective arm around her slender shoulders.
A lot of jostling and shoving—at least one punch from Trystan, and a well-aimed kick to a crotch from Iris—later they were in the peaceful foyer of the apartment block.
Chance was still grinning maniacally as he ushered them toward the elevator.
“Saw that palm heel strike, mate,” Chance told Trystan as they all stepped into the blissful empty and quiet lift. “Sloppy technique, but that weedy little fucker is going to feel it for days.”
Trystan ignored Chance and turned Iris to face him. He ran his hands over her body, smoothing down her hair, straightening her waistcoat, his eyes grave with concern.
“You okay? Did they hurt you? I’m so sorry, baby. That shouldn’t have happened. We should have stayed in the?—”
“Did you see me kick that gropey bastard right in the testicles?” she asked, brushing aside his hands. “Can you believe that arsehole used to be a friend of my dad’s? I met him when I was a child and actually called him uncle at one stage, for God’s sake. He was going straight for a boob brush, the dick.”
