A grin tugs on my lips. This is another prime example of how she knows me better than anyone. I didn’t even need to speak, yet she offered me comfort.
After running her finger along my arched brow, she locked her eyes with mine. “Merry Christmas, Isaac.”
“Merry Christmas, Isabelle.”
When I grind my now stiff cock against the seam of her panties, her groan matches the grumbling of her hungry tummy. “Time for breakfast?”
She nods. “I'm starving… for you.”
I hit her with a flirty wink. “What did you think I’m going to feed you for breakfast?”
When she shudders in excitement, I increase my pace, eager to once again have her underneath me.
Isabelle’s head pops out of the fridge when a doorbell shrills through the kitchen. “I’ll get it.”
She places a quick kiss to the edge of my mouth before marching toward the foyer. I invited my brother, Nick, his fiancée, Jenni, my nephew, Jasper, and my dad here for Christmas brunch. With Nick’s crazy schedule and all the mammoth tasks I’ve been undertaking the past several months, Isabelle has not yet met my family, so she’s beyond excited that they’re coming today.
Her excitement was even more paramount than when I gifted her a five-carat diamond-drop necklace for Christmas. My motive for her gift was a little cunning on my part as I fully plan on seeing her in nothing but her necklace and a pair of black stilettos later tonight.
I lower the temperature on the oven to ensure Isabelle doesn’t burn the pastries and muffins Harlow made for her yesterday before I join Isabelle in the foyer. I stop frozen partway there when I discover who’s standing in the entryway.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Isaac,” Isabelle interrupts, looking mortified.
My eyes snap to hers, bewildered as to why she’s inviting Theresa into our home. Why in the world would she want any association with the lady who framed her for murder?
When she nudges her head at the lower half of Theresa’s body, I realize why she reprimanded me for cursing. A little boy with dark brown hair has his arms wrapped around his mother’s leg, hiding from my furious scowl.
“His only wish was to see his father for Christmas,” Theresa comments in a snarky tone.
As I battle to hold in my offensive language in front of the small child, Isabelle bobs down in front of him. Her nurturing chocolate eyes easily gain his attention, but if it didn’t, I’m sure her smile will. “Hi, what’s your name?”
“Jeremiah,” he answers, his voice quivering with nerves.
“That’s a lovely name. I’m Isabelle. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jeremiah.” He moves a step closer to her, coming out from the shelter of his mother’s leg when she asks, “Do you like cookies?”
His eyes widen before he eagerly nods.
After running her finger down the crinkle in his nose, Isabelle’s eyes drift between Theresa and me. “I’ll take him into the kitchen so you two can talk.”
The incessant scowl Theresa regularly wears is firmly in place as she nods her head at Isabelle’s suggestion. My jaw ticks, furious she can’t even be polite when Isabelle is striving to save her son from witnessing an argument on Christmas morning.
When I nod, Isabelle guides Jeremiah toward the kitchen, her spare hand squeezing my shoulder on the way by. Her strides stop when I seize her hand from mid-drop to lift it to my mouth. When I kiss the edge of her palm and place it over my heart, her pulse thumps through her veins
“I love you too,” she mouths before she continues into the kitchen with Jeremiah looking up at her in awe.
Chapter 22
Isabelle
Ilift Jeremiah to sit on the sparkling countertop before moving toward the fridge. “Would you like a glass of milk with your cookies?” I keep my tone friendly since he's nervously fiddling with the hem of his Christmas sweater.
“Yes, please.”
I smile before grabbing the carton of milk out of the fridge. After snagging two glasses out of the drying rack, I pace to stand next to him. Jeremiah has big ocean-blue eyes and brown hair that curls around his ears. His rosy cheeks, plump lips, and small dimple in the middle of his chin make him utterly adorable. He’s one of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen.
“How old are you, Jeremiah?”
