My bleary eyes pop open and float over the eerily black shadows dancing on the moldy, water-stained ceiling. My body is covered with a fine layer of sweat, and blood is surging through my veins at a rapid pace. I’ve just awoken from another sexually graphic and unsatisfying dream. My imagination has always been wondrous, but knowing how impressive Isaac’s sexual prowess is, my dreams are the most vivid and realistic they’ve ever been.
My body is punishing me for the betrayal of the man who sparks my senses with the simple touch of his fingertip because every time my dream reaches its climax, I wake up. Although they're only dreams, I'm beyond sexually frustrated. Before I met Isaac, I could go months without sexual stimulation, but now, I can’t even last a few measly days.
My dreams are so convincing, I swear I can smell Isaac’s seductive scent filtering through my nostrils right now. It is so strong, it’s overtaking the horrid smell of wet carpet and dust plaguing the severely outdated and dirty motel room I’m sleeping in.
After Brandon’s revelations about Alex, I went to lie down in an attempt to unjumble some of the confusion clustered in my head. Hugo would only leave me alone on the agreement that the interconnecting door between our rooms was to remain wide open, and I had to place my loaded gun on the bedside table. I didn’t expect to fall asleep, but due to the lack of sleep I’ve had the past month, my absolute exhaustion must have overtaken me.
I pant, hoping to calm down the erratic beat of my heart. The pulse in my neck intensifies; and every fine hair on my body bristles to attention as a mild dampness pools between my legs. My body is craving Isaac’s touch so much it thinks it can sense his closeness and smell his manly scent infused in the crisp night air.
Turning my dour gaze to the bedside table to see what ungodly time it is, my heart leaps into my chest. Shooting my hand up to muffle my terrified scream, I scamper backward. My movements are so fast, the sheets bunch under my bare legs.
While flattening my back on the headboard, my hand creeps to the rickety bedside table, trying in vain to locate my handgun I’d placed there earlier.
My pulse skyrockets when my search comes up empty-handed.
“Are you looking for this?”
My eyes snap shut as an inappropriate swear word. “You scared the shit out of me,” I mumble, sinking deeper into the lumpy mattress. Every nerve on my body is prickled with attention, but now, it is more associated with excitement than fear.
After taking a moment to discharge the panic scorching my body, I flick on the bedside table lamp. Isaac is standing next to the motel window. His impressive body is encased in a pair of midnight black running pants, a black sweater, and a pair of dark sneakers.
A black baseball cap is pulled down low, concealing his enthralling eyes. Even though this is the first time I’ve seen him casually dressed, the excitement running through my body was all the indication I needed to know it was his shadow I caught a glimpse of in the moonlight.
My eyes track Isaac’s when he heads my way. Even dressed down, his stature demands my attention. He peers at me from beneath his baseball cap as he places my unclipped gun and removed magazine onto the bedside table.
“Hugo made me put it there.”
“I know,” Isaac interrupts as his lips curve into a mouthwatering smirk. “He is trying to protect you, Isabelle. You need to let him do the job he is paid to do.”
My eyes narrow. “He drew his gun on my friend, Isaac. That is going a little bit above and beyond his job description.”
“And yourfrienddrew his gun on him,” Isaac snaps back. “Doesn’t that now make them even?”
Before I have time to verbalize a response, my heart leaps into my chest for the second time in under a minute from Hugo barreling into the room with his gun drawn in front of his chest. He only lowers his pistol when he meets Isaac’s stern gaze halfway across the room.
“I guess it is lucky it was me sneaking around Isabelle’s room and not Col,” Isaac says, his voice a menacing snarl.
Hugo swallows harshly before fleetingly nodding. “Sorry, Boss.”
Hugo’s fatigued eyes dart between Isaac and me. “I’ll get Hunter,” he advises. When my eyes narrow into thin slits, he adds on, “and Blondie.”
Because of the low angle of Isaac’s cap, I can’t see his entrancing eyes, but I do feel the heat of his gaze running over my barely-covered body. Wanting to get comfortable, I stripped off my jeans and was resting in only my long-sleeve shirt and a pair of panties.
My inner vixen cheers loudly when Isaac’s gaze loiters on my exposed thighs longer than what could be categorized as an acceptable glance. No longer able to reel in my overwhelming desire to touch him, I crawl across the bed on my hands and knees. A rustle of air puffs from Isaac’s lips when I raise onto my knees in front of him.
Peering into his shadowed eyes, I say, “I’m sorry for everything that happened, but I swear to you, I never divulged anything about your personal life to the FBI. Even if you never want to see me again, I need to know you believe me.”
Several heart-clenching seconds of silence passes between us. Even with the uncomfortableness of our confrontation plaguing the air around us, intimacy is also paramount.
“I know you lied to me, Isabelle,” Isaac says, his voice raspy and firm.
My heart plummets into my stomach and tears well in my eyes.
“Let me finish,” he requests when he notices my sullen expression, his baritone voice vibrating right through to my core.
“I know you lied to me on Friday night when you said you were the one who led the FBI to my private residence.” Because of our closeness, my warm breath flutters Isaac’s mouth. “I just don’t understand why you did it.”
One of my hands dart out to fist Isaac’s jacket, a natural instinct to tether him closer to me, a soundless signal to display I’m not letting him go without a fight. “That night, you fired Hugo, but he didn’t do anything wrong,” I explain, my tone reserved.
