We stand at loggerheads for several long seconds, but eventually, her frustration about my nonchalant response to her order sees her storming into the bathroom. She slams the door behind her, but its loud bang with the shower faucet switching on barely drowns out Colby’s amused chuckles. He’s standing in the hallway just outside my open bedroom door, eyeballing my exchange with Isabelle like it wasn’t blistering with reciprocated sexual tension.
I could tell him to leave. I could walk him to his room myself. But instead of doing either of those things, I respond as if we’re still playing the game he instigated years ago. I strip down to my boxer shorts with slow, meticulous movements before sliding between the sheets I plan to share with Isabelle for the third night in a row. Our fourth sleepover if you include the night I took her back to my penthouse.
One sleepover is one too many as far as Colby is concerned, so not only does he look disgusted by me calling ‘checkmate,’ but he also looks prepared to commence waving a white flag as well.
The game is over.
It’s time for him to bow out.
And he’s finally at the point of recognizing that.
“Good night, Colby,” I mutter with a smirk when his stomps down hallway almost overtake the thump of the blood surging to my cock when Isabelle exits the bathroom in nothing but the shirt I wore running earlier today and a confused expression. She looks divine in my college fraternity shirt, but my wish to remove the panicked flare darting through her wide-with-fear gaze is far more deviant than my desire to rip my shirt off her alluring body.
Isabelle has impressive eyes, ones that expose her every want long before the incessant mumbling she constantly does under her breath, so although I want to say unbridled hankering is the only thing highlighting her rich chocolate-brown eyes, lying isn’t my strong point. Like all women in a confronting situation, Isabelle’s barriers erect before my very eyes prior to her lashing out at the person responsible for her confusion.
“Get out of my bed,” she snaps out in a husky tone.
I wait for her eyes to lift from my pecs to my face before replying, “This is my bed.” I hook my thumb at the shirt I left dumped on the bathroom floor. “And that’s my shirt.” With the flare in her eyes augmenting during the last half of my statement, I keep my final sentence to myself.
And you are mine.
“What?” As her eyes shoot around the room larger than the loft apartments in my latest build, she takes a stumbling step back. “This is the room Cormack assigned to me.”
I shake my head, alerting to the fact Cormack had no say as to where I had intended for her to sleep. There was no discussion about that. No confrontation. She was always to be roomed with me from the moment I instigated steps to make her mine, and once I’ve assured Col’s trip to the other side of the country doesn’t spark unwanted heat, she will be roomed with me indefinitely.
I’ve never been more assured about anything in my life.
Isabelle is mine, and I’m more than ready for her to be aware of that.
“This ismyroom. I brought you in here the first night when you blacked out on the plane and last night—”
“Oh my god,” she interrupts with a gasp. “You didn’t sleep with me last night because you wanted to. You slept with me because I was sleeping inyourbed.” As she throws a hand up to clamp her mouth, her throat rapidly swallows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
When she commences packing, the dominance I’ve struggled to harness since I first laid eyes on her rears its ugly head. I dive out of bed like my muscles aren’t aching for a grueling seven-mile run this morning, snatch her suitcase out of her hand, then forcefully place it back onto the luggage stand next to the dresser I plan to have filled with her clothes for our next trip.
“Get in bed, Isabelle.” My jaw ticks when she denies my request with a brisk shake of her head. I wasn’t suggesting we share a room. I’m telling her that’s what we are doing. If I have to parade around like a peacock the instant we land in Ravenshoe to take the focus off her, I refuse to give this up for anything, and the anger of that reminder fills me with is heard in my curt tone when I bark out, “Now!”
When she startles from my roar, I curse my inability to keep a rational head around her before moving to my side of the bed to place some much-needed distance between us. I’ve never had a woman make me so unhinged before. I’m truly torn between taking her over my knee until she submits to my every command and fueling the fire brewing inside her with more anarchy. I love that she’s not afraid to go against me, but at the same time, I must remain cautious. It was that spitfire stubbornness that drew me to Ophelia, and we all know how that turned out.
I can’t afford to make the same mistake twice, especially since it’s more than my empire at risk.
Callie needs me to succeed this time around just as much as my heart. With that in mind, I slip back between the sheets, my eyes never once leaving Isabelle. If she wants to walk away, I’ll let her go—for the night. But she should be warned, I’m not a man who backs down when he wants something. I chased Ophelia relentlessly, and I will do the same for Isabelle because despite my worries this could be a retelling of an overtold tragic story, I’m just as certain I am smarter this time around. Every decision I made when I was with Ophelia was made with my empire in mind.
It is the last thing to enter my mind when memories of Isabelle hog the space.
Months ago, I confused my career as success. Tonight, Isabelle’s slow glide toward my bed is by far the most valued decision anyone has made.
“Good choice,” I mutter, confident she too listened to the pleas of her heart instead of the screams of her head.
With the hours in a day seemingly growing shorter the longer Isabelle is a part of my life, I anticipate for sleep to immediately beckon me. I should have known better. Nothing is simple when it comes to Isabelle. Not only is my cock as hard as stone from smelling my body wash on her skin, but she also commences counting out loud within a nanosecond of slipping between the sheets.
I don’t know how much time passes before she gives up on her endeavor to count sheep until she collapses from mental exhaustion, but when her eyes float over my face, intricately absorbing every feature, the tension becomes too much to bear. It isn’t the same palpable energy it’s had the past couple of days. It’s drowned with controversy, and the knowledge brings out a side of me I rarely use.
My playful side.
“Stop staring at me.”
The moon bounces off Isabelle’s teeth when she smiles. “Are you awake?”
