“Are you okay?” Hugo’s concerned eyes roam my face.
I nod, before accepting his assistance into the car.
“Thank you,” I whisper graciously.
Because of how low the car sits, I have to slide into the leather seat. The hem of my black pencil skirt glides up high on my thigh, exposing a significant portion of my bare skin. I pull down on the hem, hoping to stretch it to a respectful length, but there is no give in the sturdy material.
The instant Hugo closes the passenger door, Isaac pulls his car away from the curb. His engine roars to life with the heavy compression of the accelerator, his tires squealing as we whiz away from the restaurant.
He weaves his car in and out of the heavy commuter traffic, the veins in his arms flexing when he changes gears. Although his attention never veers from the road, I catch his gaze occasionally peering at me from the corner of his eye.
If he is trying to scare me, he is failing miserably. With his assertiveness and astute business mind, he’d never take an uncalculated risk. He just wants to flaunt his superiority because I embarrassed him.
His next change of the gears is so rough, I’m surprised the gearstick didn’t snap off. His hand is curls around the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles are white.
All this anger over a simple kiss.
“I’m sorry I kissed you,” I apologize. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
His eyes snap to mine. Even in his angry mood, his sultry gaze still wanders over my body, lingering on my bare thighs longer than what could be classed as an acceptable glance.
He glowers into my eyes as he sneers, “I won’t be strong-armed, Isabelle.”
I nod, accepting that a man as dominant as Isaac would never willingly relinquish his power. His jaw muscle slackens when he notices my agreeing gesture.
Returning his gaze to the road, he mutters, “That has only happened once. It won’t happen again.”
I study his profile in silence, striving to work out what he meant by his statement. I don't believe a sane man would strongarm a man with a reputation like Isaac's. They would have to be a certified lunatic if they did. So I'm going to assume his statement isn't about a man. It has to be a woman he is referring too.
Ignoring the pang of jealousy hitting my chest, my gaze shifts to the blackened sky to ponder in silence. I've been over Isaac's entire FBI file with a fine-toothed comb. There is nothing in there indicating any romantic interests, past or present, so it must be something that happened before he attracted the attention of the law enforcement office—something that can only be discovered by unearthing the real Isaac Holt. Something that will remain buried, as I don't believe anyone will ever fully unravel the mystery of Mr. Holt.
When Isaac pulls into the driveway of Regina’s house, I return my gaze to his, which is focused straight ahead.
“Thanks for everything,” I whisper. “It was the mostinterestingbirthday I’ve had in years.”
I unbuckle my seatbelt before leaning over to press a peck on his cheek. When he abruptly turns his head, my kiss lands on his stern mouth instead. I freeze, panicked at what his reaction will be from me kissing him a second time without permission.
He growls a low and menacing snarl that forces me to exhale a shaky breath. Before any apologies can spill from my lips, he seals his mouth over mine.
My insecurities vanish the instant his tongue plunges into my shocked mouth. A throaty groan erupts from my lips when he fists my hair and yanks it back to deepen our kiss. My excited moan urges him on. Our kiss is intense, desperate and needy. He kisses me as I've never been kissed before, a stimulating blur of nibbles, sucks, and licks. It's a kiss so potent my thighs shudder. A kiss every girl fantasizes about.
I respond with the same amount of intensity, like it might be the last time I’ll experience his awe-inspiring kisses—because it most likely will be.
I’m aroused and emotionally moved by his kiss at the same time. I don’t know whether to burst into tears or combust into ecstasy.
By the time he pulls back from our embrace, my mind is a blurred mess of confusion. “Happy birthd—”
He stops talking midsentence, his eyes darting between mine. His thumb dabs my right eye, gathering the dampness I didn't realize had pooled there. When he observes the moisture on his thumb, he expels a ragged breath. Although he doesn’t utter a sound, his eyes relay the words he wants to say.I’m sorry.
“Thank you,” I reply, acknowledging both his silent apology and his birthday wishes.
I stammer a quick goodbye before yanking open the passenger door and rushing into Regina’s house, not once risking a glance back. When I close the front door, I glide down to sit on the floor and cradle my knees in my arms.
When did my life become so complicated?
When I’m immersed in Isaac's world, I completely forget he is under investigation. When I'm with him, I only see him, a man who makes my hairs bristle to attention with a single touch. Then I turn up to work, and my head clutters with confusion. It is like he is two different people, because that incredibly appealing man I can’t force myself to forget can’t be the same Isaac Holt his FBI file leads me to believe he is.
He can’t be.
