Remaining quiet, Isaac lifts a crystal glass to his mouth. He downs the generous nip of brown liquid inside in one swift motion. After running the back of his hand across his stern lips, he sets the glass onto the coffee table, then rises from the white leather sofa he is sitting on. Although Hugo's eyes show his apprehension, he is the first man I've met who doesn't cower from Isaac's infuriating glare.
Pretending he can’t feel the tension in the air, Hugo rubs his hands together. “So, where are we off to?” he asks, his inquisitiveness concealing his unease.
“Your services won’t be required again until Monday morning.” Isaac’s words are for Hugo, but his eyes are for me.
An unexpected giggle erupts from my mouth when Hugo vaults off the sofa. His excitement at having the weekend off is displayed all over his ruggedly handsome face. “Hell, you don’t have to tell me twice.” He wiggles his brows. “You’ve got my number if you need me.”
He bolts for the door so fast, air glides over my forearms.
Once the vault-like door slams shut, I drift my eyes to Isaac. “You need to give him more days off,” I jest, my tone lighthearted.
Isaac doesn’t grace me with a reply, but a smirk tugs his full lips higher.
“You ready?” His voice is as skittish as my heart rate.
Smiling, I nod.
* * *
My brows tack when Isaac turns left at Remington Avenue T-intersection, instead of right.
“My apartment is that way?” I say, my voice apprehensive.
Isaac has been to my apartment on three times occasion, so I’m somewhat surprised he has forgotten the directions.I never expected a man with an astute business mind like Isaac to be forgetful.
“We’re not going to your apartment.” His grip on his steering wheel tightens.
I arch a brow. “You said you were taking me home.”
Isaac shakes his head. “No, I said I’ll take you home. I didn’t say whose home we were going to,” he corrects as his gaze drifts from the road to me. Excitement slicks my skin when he clarifies, “I’m taking you to my private residence.”
In a nanosecond, my eagerness dampens, and anger takes its place. “Where did we just leave if that isn’t your home?” I ask, my tone indicating to my growing aggravation.
Isaac’s lips twitch but not a word is spat from his mouth. He returns his eyes to the road, ignoring my question with the skill of a nark. Every second he delays answering me has my anger intensifying. It brews in my gut until I can’t hold it back for a second longer.
“Was that your fuck pad?” I question through clenched teeth, struggling to keep down the contents of my stomach.
Isaac's eyes snap to mine. Although his livid glare could cut through ice, I don't back down from my angry stance.
"Was that your fuck pad?" I ask again, my tone sterner this time around.
He works his jaw side to side. “I don’t call it that, but I guess most people would see it that way.”
An angry gasp snarls my lips. “How many other women have you slept with in that bed?” I ask before I can stop my words. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I already feel sick enough.”
My reply isn’t a lie. My stomach is rolling, threatening to spill at any moment. I also have an overwhelming desire to take a shower. I’ve never felt as dirty as I do right now.
“Take me home,” I request, fighting my hardest to ignore the moisture welling in my eyes.
“I am taking you home.”
“No, take me back to my apartment.” The anger in my voice picks up.
Isaac’s grip on the steering wheel tightens so much, his knuckles go pasty white. His jaw muscle quivers as he inhales a large breath through his nostrils.
“No, Isabelle. You’re mine. Which means my home, my bed, my rules.” His tone is as dangerous as my heart rate.
I glower at him, too stunned to form a response. I fought Alex tooth and nail not to become a commodity, but Isaac is making me precisely that. I’m not a possession. Nobody owns me.
