Isaac’s hand shoots out to seize my wrist, then forcefully pulls me back into the wrought iron chair with a thud.
His darkened eyes lift to mine.“Eat.” His stern timbre makes my heart stutter.
His narrowed eyes don’t leave mine until I take a large bite out of a bagel slathered with cream cheese. Clara tumbles to the ground when Isaac stands from his seat. She graciously regains her footing and runs her hand down her black skirt to smooth it back into place before moving in close to Isaac’s side. Her glare is furious and solely focused on me.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Isaac says, staring at me.
When I nod, he grasps Clara's hand and strolls to the French doors. I try to keep my focus on anything but Isaac and Clara, but like you can't tear your eyes away from a train wreck, my eyes continue to shift to them.
Isaac's arms cross in front of his well-defined chest, but his composure remains calm. Clara waves her arms frantically in front of her body, and she motions to me several times. Her face constricts with tautness, and her eyes well with tears.
I don't know how I missed it before, but now it is as evident as the sun shining in the sky. Clara has the same blonde hair, light blue eyes, and flawless beige skin, just like the rest of the McGregors I've met so far this weekend. Mr. and Mrs. McGregor must have a fascination with the letter "C," considering all their children were given names beginning with "C."
Clara’s loud, exasperated huff echoes in the silence of the morning before she disappears through the glass French doors. I turn my attention back to my overflowing plate, pretending I wasn’t spying on their private discussion.
When Isaac returns to our table, his sultry gaze locks with me, but he remains quiet. I try to ignore the massive elephant sitting in the room, but my quintessential need to know everything gnaws at my insides until I blurt out, "Have you slept with Clara?"
Isaac freezes with his coffee mug halfway between the table and his lips, his intense eyes drifting to me. His gaze is unyielding, and it would make most people quake in fear, but my thighs tremor in excitement.
“Are you jealous, Isabelle?” His lips curve into a sly smirk.
“No,” I reply in exasperation.
His smirk turns into a genuine smile as his eyes study the details of my face. “You have absolutely nothing to be jealous about.”
“Stop skirting and answer the question,” I retort, ignoring my inward scream that is delighted by his compliment.
He shakes his head. “No Isabelle, I have not slept with Clara.”
I try to hide my smile, but my inner vixen is hollering too loud to conceal it.
“So what was that about then?” I pop a piece of bagel into my mouth since my hunger has returned full force. “Because she was acting very much like she was your girlfriend.”
“Do I need to call a lawyer?” Isaac asks as his brow arches high. “Because this sounds a bit like an interrogation.”
“Only people who have something to hide need to call a lawyer.”
“I have nothing to hide.” He cockily shrugs. “Because I always ensure my hands are thoroughly cleaned.”
“Just because your hands are clean now doesn’t mean they weren’t stained previously.”
“Just because your hands are clean now doesn’t mean they won’t become stained,” he interrupts. “You don’t know what the future holds, Isabelle. Nobody does. So until the day your body is laid into its final resting place, you can’t guarantee your hands will remain clean.”
“Yes, I can. Morally and ethically—”
“What about for someone you love? You wouldn’t get your hands a little bit dirty for someone you love?” he interrupts, his tone clipped and stern.
My brows stitch as my eyes dart between his. Just being here this weekend abundantly proves what he is saying is true. I’ve only associated with Isaac a handful of times, and I’m already willing to risk my career just to be near him. So imagine what I'd be prepared to do for someone I love.
“Not everything is black and white. There is a whole heap of gray no one pays any attention too,” he utters before standing from his chair and striding back into the house, not once glancing back at me.
20
Isabelle
Isense Isaac’s presence before I see him. An aura like his permeates the air, and you can’t help but be drawn to him. My eyes lift to his when he sits on the smidgen of the daybed that doesn’t have my body sprawled on it. I’ve been lazing in the mid-morning sun reading.
After dropping my Kindle on my face numerous times, I flipped onto my stomach and have been kicking my legs wildly into the air. I’ve been reading the past two hours nonstop. Harlow and Cormack did invite me to go out to lunch with them, but I’ve never enjoyed being the third wheel on dates.
