I froze momentarily as she threw her head back and laughed at something the man across from her said. He miraculously danced with her without touching, something I found odd given Ivory's metallic emerald green dress looked painted on. It left her legs bare, the length of them standing out in the stilettos she wore. Delicate straps led to a scoop neck that showed a hint of the beauty I knew was hidden just underneath.
I growled, flinching when Scar touched my shoulder reassuringly.
"He hasn't touched her once," he admitted and the sincerity in his voice took me off guard. Something in me loosed, knowing I wouldn't need to murder a man in front of Ivory.
Even I knew that might be just slightly too much at that point in our relationship.
But that wouldn't save my Angel from the wrath she incurred.
Especially not when Duke appeared in her space.
Twenty
Ivory
It had been far too long since I'd been dancing.
I'd loved it, once upon a time.
And then I'd become a statistic. One of the millions of women who found themselves out of their depth in a dangerous situation with men who didn't give a shit about the word no.
I hadn't gone dancing since.
Hadn't been able to trust men or trust my recklessness.
That all changed the day Matteo came barging back into my life, even though I'd been the one to barge into his home. He was the most reckless thing I could ever do, not the alcohol pouring through my system or the way the music energized me as I moved to the sound of it. My date, Patrick, was nice. He kept his hands to himself, which, for a date in a nightclub, I had to say was surprising, but very much appreciated.
"You're the life of this club with those moves," he yelled, letting me hear him over the din of the music despite his respectable distance.
I threw my head back and laughed, because we both knew it wasn't a compliment. I wasn't a horrible dancer, but I was too enthusiastic in my excitement to give in to the sensations pounding through my body. The adrenaline of feeling like I was part of something, part of a crowd, for even just a little while.
A figure emerged from the way the crowd formed, slipping through any gaps he could find. My eyes landed on Duke, watching as he panted with exertion. Whatever he'd been doing, he'd rushed it. His jeans were stained, his tee-shirt beaten and one I recognized from his collection that he wore only in his studio. Duke wasn't the nightclub type to begin with, but there was no way he'd show up in studio clothes if he decided to go out for a night on the town.
"Duke?" I asked, and he sucked back a deep fortifying breath. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer, suddenly crashing into my space. His hand caught me around the nape, sliding underneath the curtain of my hair. I knew he'd find it slick with sweat, but he didn't seem to care. I stared up at him with wide eyes, and I knew what was coming.
I wished I could stop it, but something in the look in his eyes prevented me.
He needed it. He needed to know.
The least I could do was give him that.
Because the truth was, I already knew I'd never love him the way he loved me.
It wasn't possible when someone else already owned me.
Heart and soul.
One more deep breath, his cornflower eyes staring into mine intently. They drifted closed, his lips touching mine tentatively at first. I didn't move, didn't dare do anything. I had to let him see, had to show him. He'd spent too long waiting, too long wondering what might be.
It was time for Duke to move on with his life.
When I didn't shove him away, his confidence grew, and his lips pressed into mine more firmly. The tip of his tongue traced my lips, and I opened for him just enough for him to kiss me. The art, the passion, with which he worked translated into his kiss. A skilled seduction where he used his mouth as the only conduit.
But there was nothing, no spark.
Because only Matteo could make me feel.