Page 10 of Ivory Obsession

“God, I’m so sorry,” I stuttered, grabbing at the napkins from the nearby table and dabbing frantically at the spreading splotch. Each press only smeared the wine deeper into the fibers, my futile attempts making the disaster worse.

“Doctor.” Dante’s hand enveloped mine, stilling my panicked movements. His grip was firm, his touch sending an involuntary shiver through me despite the mess. “Stop, you’re just—“

“Making it worse, I know.” I could feel my face burning hotter than the embarrassment coursing through me. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Moretti. Is there anything I can do?”

He released my hand, and for a moment, we both looked down at the ruin of his shirt—a stark reminder that the evening had taken an unexpected turn. It was more than just the spilt wine; it was as if reality had splashed us both with cold water, washing away any pretense of normalcy between us.

“Let’s step outside for a moment,” Dante suggested, his annoyance cloaked in politeness, but I could tell he was rattled.

“Outside?” I echoed, unsure what good it would do but desperate to make amends.

“Trust me,” he said, a phrase that under any other circumstance might have sounded comforting. But coming from Dante Moretti, it felt like stepping into the unknown.

We moved through the throng of oblivious party-goers, our exit barely noticed. Once outside, the cool evening air hit me, a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of my embarrassment.

“Really, Mr. Moretti, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, or I can—“

“Jade,” he interrupted, his tone softer now, almost amused. “It’s just a shirt.”

But as I looked up into his eyes, I knew it was never just anything with Dante Moretti.

“Look, I have a spare in my car,” he said, his voice cutting through the chill of the evening as we stood there, two silhouettes against the backdrop of city lights. “I always carry spare clothes in my car, just in case.”

“Good,” I stammered, relief washing over me. “That’s good.”

We walked in silence to where his car was parked, an unassuming black sedan that seemed almost too modest for a man with his magnetism. He clicked the remote, and the car gave a soft chirp before the doors unlocked.

“Here,” he said, popping the trunk. Inside was a duffel bag, and from it, he extracted a neatly folded shirt.

“Thank you.” The words barely managed to escape my lips. “If you give me the shirt, I might be able to... well, I work with enzymes, and I could probably get the stain out—“

Dante raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re going to science the stain away?”

“Something like that,” I replied, realizing how absurd it sounded outside the context of my lab.

“Or I could just launder it,” he suggested, his fingers working on the buttons so he could take it off. I watched, my throat dry, my wine long forgotten as he slowly pulled it off his body.

“You’re just going to change here?”

“What do you suggest I do?” he asked. “Don’t worry about it. This shirt is uncomfortable anyway.”

I blinked in surprise as he did just that, removing the shirt with a casual grace that belatedly reminded me we were alone in a dimly lit corner of the parking garage. he movement was deliberate, unhurried, and sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with the cool night air. The crisp white fabric skimmed his chest before landing discarded on the passenger seat.

My gaze, traitorous and unbidden, swept over the landscape of his practically exposed torso—the cut of his abs, the curve of his muscles under taut skin. I swallowed hard, trying to anchor myself in the reality that this was not a man to get lost in.

“Please, let me at least pay for the cleaning,” I insisted, not ready to admit defeat. “I feel terrible about this.”

His smile widened, and he shook his head, a silent chuckle escaping him. “Jade, stop. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine; nothing about this felt fine.

“See? No harm done.” His voice was light, but there was a steel edge beneath it, a reminder of who he was.

“Right,” I managed to say, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. “But I can’t... I mean, I don’t have anything to clean it with right now.”

“Jade,” he drawled, stepping closer, the heat from his body contradicting the cool air around us. “I don’t give a damn about the shirt. Seriously.”

“It’s probably more expensive than my entire wardrobe,” I replied. “I mean…I probably shouldn’t be spilling wine on the lab’s mysterious benefactor.”

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