by elda lore
Table of Contents
Iris
Riordan
Turn the page
The Fall of War
About the Author
A Message for Iris
elda lore
Contents
1. Iris
2. Riordan
3. Iris
4. Riordan
5. Iris
6. Riordan
7. Iris
8. Riordan
9. Iris
10. Riordan
11. Iris
12. Riordan
13. Iris
14. Riordan
15. Iris
16. Riordan
17. Iris
Turn the page
The Fall of War
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by elda lore
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
1
Iris
“The name is Riordan.” The man next to me extended a hand to shake, and I took it, noting the firm warmth as it surrounded my much smaller fingers. Instantly forgetting his name, I was momentarily speechless at his floppy dark hair attempting to stay in place and moss green eyes meeting mine. He’d introduced himself at the direction of the choir leader hosting this community concert.
“Rearend? That’s your name?” I chuckled as we shook, and he released my hand before I was ready.
“Funny.” He smirked, but his eyebrows danced.
“Iris,” I answered, offering my name in return. The air sizzled around us, electric and sharp like the coming of a summer storm. Unfortunately, the sound of instruments broke our gaze. I sat back in my seat, preparing for the start of the choir concert. My best friend Violet was a member, and although I didn’t want to be here, I wanted to support her. The music rang, the musicians sang, and I zoned out from the classical sound. Yawning next to me, I wondered if my seatmate felt the same way, and I took a moment to note his attire. Mr. Rogers would have been a more appropriate name.
“You know it’s Hawaii, right? Maui, actually,” I whispered, leaning over, as my eyes roamed his collared sweater and dress shirt buttoned at the neck.
“It gets chilly at night,” he scoffed, swiping a dot of perspiration on his brow. The night air was a balmy sixty-five degrees, and it felt like the air conditioning wasn’t working in the community center.
“Enjoying the show?” I teased softly, noting a second stifled yawn.
“I’m here for my brother.” He nodded his head in the direction of a brown-haired guy playing a horn. I nodded once, as if we shared a commonality. He didn’t want to be here any more than me.
“Great music,” I muttered, biting back the sarcasm in my throat.
“If you like ancient things,” he mumbled, letting his eyes close dramatically and allowing his head to snap, as if he dozed off in boredom. I giggled until someone shushed me, and we remained silent while the choir sang.
When the concert ended, I exited the community center to wait outside for Violet, but my gaze followed the stranger. His dark form stood out among the others milling about the front entry. The sweater spoke nerd, the hair shaggy chic, but something about those eyes said playful and mysterious. The buttoned-up shirt hinted at more than tight clothing—this man hid a secret.
“Did you hear me?” Violet bubbled, as if her voice carried over the rest of the singers, interrupting my hungry ogling of a stranger. It had been over a year since I’d been with a man, and my desire was raging. I broke away from Riordan to focus on Violet.
Many people mistook us for sisters, with our similar raven-colored hair, but her tresses were accentuated with streaks of lavender, distinguishing us, as mine was a blue-black mixture. Different from the blonde head of my early years, I liked the change. Change had been good for me. Our eyes, however, were a different story. Most assumed they were the same unusual violet color, but they weren’t quite identical. Closer inspection of Violet’s tinted hers toward black, while mine had flecks of silver. If I didn’t know better myself, I’d think we were sisters from the same mister, but that wasn’t possible.
“You were great.” I chuckled, reaching out to hug her as she jiggled in my arms with excitement.
“Come celebrate with us,” she encouraged, holding onto my arms.
“I can’t,” I offered with a pout. Rain threatened the warm evening air, and that meant I’d be called to duty in the early morning hours. A chill rippled over my skin, reminding me of my concert mate, wishing I had a light sweater after all. “I have work to do.”
“You’re always working,” she smiled with a teasing scowl in response, but Violet understood. She was one of the few who ever would. My work was important to me, a responsibility I treasured, and one I did not take lightly. She agreed my purpose had value, even if she couldn’t always understand the full scope of how I conducted it.
“Don’t go to Bottle Beach alone. It looks like a storm is brewing.”
Cognizant that the beach would not be the best place for me if a storm threatened, I assured her I wasn’t going.
“How will you get home?” she asked, concerned, as I’d ridden my surf bike to the concert and the night was quickly growing dark. It was perfectly safe, I assured her a million times, but we both had more sense. A female alone on dark streets late at night was never the smartest idea.
“I’ll give her a ride.” A deep, soothing voice spoke over my shoulder, and Violet’s eyes opened wide. I recognized the rich tone without turning. Smooth as caramel drizzled over apple pie, the sound warmed my skin.
“And who might you be?” Violet’s velvety voice spoke, as her eyes assessed the man behind me.
“Just call me Riordan.” He reached out a hand to politely shake with Violet.
“Oh, I’d like to call you all kinds of things,” she muttered, letting her tone drip with delicious intent. I laughed, but a twinge of jealousy poked me. Violet’s friendly nature flustered most men, but it was one of the things that drew us together as friends. She had a positive outlook on life in general, and I needed to be surrounded by people like her. However, I didn’t want Violet flirting with this man. She enjoyed the luxury too freely, and for some gnawing reason, I didn’t want her to have it with him.
“There you are,” called another deep male voice, and Violet’s cheeks pinked. Spinning to face the addition, I found myself looking up at someone nearly Riordan’s twin, only slightly younger. His eyes weren’t as vibrant green as Riordan’s, more a forest color, nor was his hair as skillfully messy. He appeared even more uptight than his Mr. Rogers-counterpart-brother. While Violet stared at him, he didn’t acknowledge her but addressed Riordan.
“I thought you’d left without saying goodbye.” The tone of his voice hinted at actions more meaningful than a simple exit. Violet’s face deepened in color, as this brother wasn’t speaking to her.
“I’d never leave without saying goodbye, Cash.” The responding tone was equally stern. He reached for his brother and jostled his shoulder.
“We’
re all headed for a drink. Want to come?” Cash asked, and a private conversation ensued between their green eyes.
“I’ll pass,” Riordan answered, a tight smile crossing his full lips while his eyes flicked over to me. Cash nodded in understanding.
“I’ll see you later, then.” Cash stepped away with another man, and Violet’s eyes followed the pair.
“I guess I’ll see you later, too,” she addressed me while speaking in the direction of Cash.
“Violet,” I laughed, waving a hand in front of her face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her head spun to face me before she looked up at the clouds rolling in the dark night.
“You’ll be at work?” she questioned, and I nodded to assure her.
“I’ll be in.”
We parted ways, but my new friend remained.
“Thanks for the offer to get me home, but I’ll be fine. It’s only a few blocks away.”
Examining the sky, as Violet had done, Riordan paused.
“I think I’d feel better if I escorted you.” Assessing him again, taking in his schoolteacher attire, I decided Riordan seemed harmless enough and accepted his escort. I walked my surf bike for a few feet, while he paced beside me. Reaching for the handlebars, he led the bike instead, and I followed his directions to a large pickup truck. Picking up my bike with ease, he set it in the bed of his truck and opened the passenger door for me.
“I promise no funny business, Iris, if you’re suddenly rethinking this decision. You’ve already met my brother, so you’d know who to beat up if I did anything.”
I giggled softly. “Why would I beat him?”
“It’s all his fault. He asked me to the concert and told me where to sit. It’s his fault if you’re attracted to me.” He winked, and I snorted softly, taking in his appearance one more time.
“I think we’re safe,” I protested, knowing that the man before me was not my type, but seriously tempted by those leaf-colored eyes and those lips that made my mouth water. He was too put-together looking, despite the searing steam in his eyes and the soft curve of his smile. Too clean-cut, I decided. And I was positive there was nothing about me that would attract him. I’d already been down the road of a preppy boy rejecting me. My colorful skin was thick, but my heart tender, and I couldn’t handle another player playing me.
2
Riordan
Her laughter rippled like summer rain on a tin roof and stilled my rapidly beating heart, a heart that didn’t deserve to beat inside me. Yet despite the racing strokes, I hadn’t felt this peaceful in a long time. Her unusual eyes rested on mine as she teased me. Not quite blue, there was a strange, silvery twinkle to them. They nearly crackled in the evening heat. I was overdressed, thanks to Cash, who told me what to wear. It’s a formal affair, he prompted, skipping the small detail that formal in Maui meant khaki shorts and sandals. Anything other than flip-flops and board shorts, and I was overdressed.
“I see how things are,” I laughed, knowing she wasn’t attracted to me in the borrowed sweater and buttoned-up dress shirt. This wasn’t my regular attire, but I wanted to appear normal for Cash. He deserved some normalcy after the last year we’d had. The year I’d had, and the hell he claims I put him through. While I was the older brother, he was the responsible one, and I looked up to him. I’d disappointed him once again, and I wanted to deserve the second chance he offered me.
Helping Iris into the truck, I wondered how I could earn her smile, wanting it to mean something to me, and then reminding myself I didn’t merit smiles, or laughter, or kind treatment. But her top lip dipped in a perfect bow, while the bottom curved like the string primed to shoot an arrow. One sting of those lips and I’d be struck for life. Shaking my head, I reminded myself I was here for penance. Kissing was not on the reconciliation list. Rounding my truck, I hopped up in the driver seat. Pressing the ignition switch, heavy metal blared from the radio, and I lowered the volume.
“That’s certainly not what I expected,” she laughed genuinely, and I smiled at the thought that many things were not what I’d expected them to be. Hensley Conrad had been case in point from my history.
“What did you expect?”
“Considering we just sat through a concert of classical music, I guess…” Her voice drifted as her eyes roamed over me. I could see she had it all wrong, and in a way, I was glad. If she knew the right things about me, she’d want nothing to do with me. On second thought, maybe that was smart.
“Well, Miss Iris, I think I’ve misrepresented myself.”
“Oh, yeah.” The tease in her tone did things to me that shouldn’t be done, like spark some hope in her interest. My hand shook as I turned the wheel and pulled into the street. Distracting myself, I swiped back the hair flopping over my eyes.
“I’m actually a country-music-loving cowboy, who decided to leave my chaps at home tonight.”
She burst out laughing, not fooled by my weak attempt at a Southern drawl, and the sound washed down on me like a refreshing rain while the sun shined.
“Let me guess, Riordan. Midwest. Chicago, maybe. Definitely a city kid.” My head shot sideways for a brief second before returning to the road. She pointed for me to turn left.
“How did you know that?” I asked, my voice sharp with concern that she recognized me after all, that she’d heard my story.
“I’ve been to Chicago, and you have a distinct Midwestern accent. You’re no cowboy,” she paused. “At least, not one wrangling horses.” The lilt in her voice flirted with me, and parts of my body enjoyed the implication that I’d take a ride and it wouldn’t involve horses. A sideways glance renewed the memory I wanted to form of her—midnight-colored hair, unusual bluish eyes, and a body shaped like an hourglass. A brief thought crossed my mind—I’d love to be the sand that filled her up.
“So, what did you do in Chicago, Riordan?” The crisp use of my name on the tip of her tongue smacked like sticky, sweet ice cream, and I wanted to lick her up. She would be my new favorite flavor if I were allowed to be tempted by treats. As I pulled alongside a two-story home with a white picket fence, I ignored the question she asked me. The narrow yard was filled with flowers, almost hiding the sliver of a front porch. A rainbow windsock hung from the eaves and danced in the nighttime breeze.
“This is nice,” I offered, setting the truck in park. I exited and rounded the front to open her door, but she beat me to it. Instead, I went for her bike in the box, lifting it with ease before setting it against the fence.
“That’s a real picket fence,” I chuckled, admiring the solid wood structure.
“Yep. Home sweet home, for now,” she replied, her voice softening, sorrow falling on the final words. The sadness forced me to look up and find her focused on me.
“Want to come inside for a drink?” Ready to respond that I no longer indulged, she continued. “I make a mean lemonade mixed with iced tea,” she teased. My shoulders fell in relief, and I took another deep drink of her instead. Her thin, long-sleeved dress hugged her body in a silvery-gray material, highlighting her charcoal-black hair and accentuating the hills and valleys of her body. Flip-flops threw off the ensemble, sitting at the base of toned legs. The cut of the dress exposed her collarbone, and I wanted to nibble on her there, wondering if she tasted as delicious as she appeared.
“I’ll have to take a raincheck,” I decided, knowing that passing through this gate would only lead to one thing, and while Iris looked built for sin, I didn’t want to enter her tempting garden.
She nodded slowly, her smile fading.
“Well, thanks for the ride,” she said, sticking out her hand, offering me a formal shake, like I’d done when I introduced myself to her at the concert. It didn’t feel right, though. This girl wasn’t made for handshakes on the sidewalk. She deserved to dance in the rain under moonlight, but I wasn’t the guy for such romance. I was the type more likely to melt the pavement.
“Let me walk you to the front door.” I gripped her bike as my excuse
to walk up the narrow lane. Uncertain where the offer came from, I wasn’t ready to separate from her yet, telling myself only another minute or two wouldn’t hurt. Then I’d walk away. She opened the gate. Flowers danced in the tropical air, and a heady fragrance wafted around me. I propped the bike against the house as Iris stepped up the single step to her porch.
“Thanks again for the ride,” she said, keeping her hands hidden behind her back, forcing her breasts forward without intention. She quickly leaned forward and pressed a too-brief kiss to my cheek.
“You’re welcome,” I said, leaning toward her and slipping my lips over hers, telling myself it would be equally fast. But when I pulled back, her mouth followed mine. The attraction couldn’t be denied. I gripped her hips and tugged her toward me. Her slender arms circled my neck. Our mouths dissolved together, the intensity searing me to the core. I hadn’t been this instantly hard in over a year, and my body craved the flavor of hers. She’d be sweet, tender and ripe, despite the outer layer dressed in silver. Her breasts, crushed against my chest, confirmed it. Her mouth, devouring mine, completed the checklist. Soft as a flower, but pliant like a leaf, her lips followed my lead. What I wanted was to lead her straight to bed. The thought stopped me. I pulled back abruptly.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed mere inches from her swollen lips, tasting of honey and dripping with desire. “I don’t know what came over me.” I pressed back, but still clutched her hips, loving the feel of bone under my thumbs and the firm form of her sides. Images of riding her filled my head again, and I wanted those hipbones for handlebars.
“It’s okay,” she answered breathlessly, her eyes twinkling with silver in the pale light from the streetlamp.
“You’re too beautiful to resist, Iris.” I wanted to assure her my hesitation had nothing to do with her. This was all me. “Your mouth…mmm…it’s heavenly.” I stepped in for one final brush of her lips, feeling the soft petals skim mine, and then pulled back before we struck again like lightning. She smiled at me, reassuring me that she’d enjoyed the connection, but took a step back, severing our link.
