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His lips twisted in a smile but this time, it was devoid of humour. It was speculative and thoughtful, and a little hesitant.
“You say that like it’s a threat,” she continued, taking a step towards him. “But I see it rather as a promise.”
His eyes darkened so they were almost granite in colour. “I would never threaten you.”
Something popped in the region of her chest; she knew that was true. She felt safe with him. On the first night they’d met, he’d told her he wasn’t kind, but Isabella didn’t think that was true at all.
“And what about promises?” She asked, as she drew close to him, her breath fanning his chest a little.
Something shifted in his face, as though a rope were being tightened around his chest. For a moment, his features drew gaunt and his skin paled, but then he was himself again.
“I don’t make promises.”
Her heart stammered.
She’d been referring to sex, and to this specific moment, when desire was lashing the base of her spine, but his emphatic assertion turned her mind to more. It made her remember his determination to push people away, his insistence on being alone. It made her think of the way he’d kept himself isolated – emotionally and geographically – so as to avoid entanglements. It made her remember that he was yet another person determined to keep her at arm’s length even when they were becoming more intimate with each day that passed.
Sadness curled through her, so she reached past him for her coffee and turned away a little clunkily, needing some breathing space. She focussed on the tree, her back to him, concentrating on regulating her breathing and hoping he wouldn’t notice the abrupt change in her demeanour.
“Okay,” her voice was raspy. “Let’s get started.”
“Isabella.”
His voice cut through her. She bit hard on her lower lip, gripping the coffee cup firmly.
“We should do lights first,” she continued as though she hadn’t heard. Then his hand was curving around her hip, turning her slowly to face him. Oh, God help her. Up close, he was electrifying. Something sparked inside of her at the closeness of him. She tried to look away but couldn’t.
“I hate hurting you.”
Her stomach swooped to her toes. “You’re not,” she insisted, even as her chest felt oddly as though it were being cleaved in two.
He frowned, scanning her eyes far too intently for Isabella’s liking. She blinked up at him then laughed. It sounded hollow to her own ears but she hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Honestly, Gabe, stop worrying about me, would you? Let’s just get this tree decorated.”
She suspected he wasn’t convinced, but that barely mattered to Isabella. He was wrong, anyway. He had made her a promise – a promise that this meant nothing to him. A promise he’d forget about her afterwards. And those were promises she held close to her heart. Not because they brought her pleasure but because it was vital to remember them if she wanted to be sure she didn’t do something stupid and lose her own heart to him.
“You’re in charge,” he said, sounding normal and relaxed. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
“Stop making me laugh,” she warned, an hour later when, atop the ladder, she reached out to hang a ceramic bird from a branch of the tree. It was gleaming white with gold trim, each wing embossed so she’d run her fingers over them and exclaimed at the detail.
“I should be the one up the ladder,” he muttered.
“No way. You got to cut the tree down, now it’s my turn for some fun. But seriously, if you make me laugh I’m going to fall down and then you’ll be sorry.”
“Okay, no more stories about Luca.” When she looked down, he was grinning, a look of such boyish charm on his face that her heart stammered in her throat for a moment.
“Agreed,” she said a second too late, turning back to the job at hand, hooking the ribbon over a branch and leaning back a little to observe her handiwork.
“Be careful,” he said firmly, lifting his hands to her hips and holding her steady.
It was unnecessary but no way would Isabella say that. She liked the feel of his hands on her body, anytime, anywhere.
“You all sound so close.” Her voice was wistful, heavy with the envy of
an only child.
“Would you have liked siblings?”
She began to climb down the ladder, but Gabe didn’t move backwards, so his arms formed, for a moment, an embrace. She looked up at him, her heart in her throat, something clicking into place deep in her soul.
