Page 47 of Burning Ivy (The KORT)

She swallows, and her face droops. “I want you.”

Fuck.

She’s only saying that because her inhibitions are so low, but it’s piercing me all the same. Fucking with my goddamn mind. I love her smart mouth, but those words from her—I want you—were once a pipe dream.

My fingers dive into my hair while I soak in her downcast face. I cup her chin, pecking her forehead. “I want you too. But not tonight.”

The finality in my delivery leaves no room to argue, and a knock sounds a beat later.

Opening the door, I find Ty and Dr. Landry, the discreet physician the Noire brothers use for delicate situations.

I don’t waste time on pleasantries. “She’s been talking, slurring, but capable of carrying on a conversation. She says she only drank half a glass of champagne. It was actually slightly below the halfway mark, closer to three-quarters, but she probably didn’t consume all that was intended.”

“How long ago was this?” Landry asks.

Fuck if I know. She’s had me in a time warp.

Ty speaks up. “Around an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll examine her. She shouldn’t experience any worsening symptoms at this point. Fifteen to twenty minutes is generally the time at which these types of drugs take effect. Although, tomorrow, she’ll experience a hangover of sorts—spotty memory, headache, possible stomachache, or even anxiety. Feel free to reach out if you have any concerns.”

“Will do,” I say, masking my distress. “Thank you.”

Leaving her like this feels wrong, but I also need answers.

Ty notices my struggle and nudges me to the side of the room while Landry speaks to Ivy. “Go,” he says. “She looks okay. I’m sure she’ll just go to sleep, but I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Don’t leave her side,” I order.

“I won’t,” he confirms. “I’ve got her.”

I sigh, reluctant, but leave her with Ty, so I can focus on the bigger picture of keeping her safe. It looks like that task might not be as straightforward as we’d hoped. Married to me or not, even in our care, Ivanna Kingston is the most wanted woman in the world.

WELLS

All I’ve been thinking about since we arrived in New Orleans is her—her tears, her father’s illness, Celeste’s and her mother’s absence, her love of books, and her hope for more.

Her infectious laugh and sassy tongue.

The way her eyes change from cerulean, to sapphire, to a tropical ocean blue, depending on the sun and her clothes and her mood.

The swell of her perky tits and the slight curve of her narrow hips.

That kiss and the invitation to have all of her.

Ivy.

And,fuck, the way she tastes and moves and whimpers.

Christ, I’m a fucking mess.

The need to shield her and prepare her for what’s to come should be my primary focus—my only goddamn focus. Instead, I was consumed with giving her everything I could for this one day.

That isn’t something we do for those under our protection. We don’t concern ourselves with their emotions or losses. Feelings are a luxury we don’t invest in—a sacrifice that keeps our clients alive. That’s what makes us the best. Because we don’t make mistakes. Tears don’t compel us to take unnecessary risks.

But hearing that she broke down broke something in me.

And I nearly lost her because of it.

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