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Despite the nerves twisting her belly, despite the flush she could feel crawling up her cheeks, she managed a calm smile. “Why, thank you.”
“Did you dress up for us?” His smile was all innocence.
“I’m not dressed up.” She huffed out a breath and went back to slicing tomatoes. “It’s just a dress.”
And it was just a dress. Granted, it was aprettydress, a pale, sage green that made her eyes look even greener. And so maybe she’d brushed on some makeup, something she rarely messed with these days.
But she wasn’t even wearingshoes. That lingering, leftover act of rebellion stemming from the years when she’d been forced to fit the picture of perfection in her father’s household, never a hair out of place, groomed within an inch of her life, save for the approved exercise times, was one she welcomed. She loved feeling the warmth of a bare hardwood floor in the summer, the sensation of sand between her toes when she was out on the beach.
The front door banged open and Brooklyn shouted, “He’s here!”
The clattering of the girl’s hard, plastic ‘princess’ shoes heralded her arrival as she ran into the kitchen, stopping just inside to bounce on her toes and grin at Isabel.
“Mr. Travis is here!” Then she looked at Isabel and her eyes rounded. “Wow, you look so pretty!”
“I couldn’t have you be the only one looking fancy tonight, could I?” Isabel grinned at her.
Brooklyn whirled around and rushed back out, reappearing a minute later with Travis’s hand in hers. She dragged him into the kitchen, all but quivering with her excitement as she pointed at Isabel. “Doesn’t Ms. Bella look pretty?”
Travis met her eyes.
Her mouth went dry as that intense, surreal gaze darkened a fraction.
In a husky murmur, he said, “She looks very pretty, Brooklyn.”
His voice stroked over her senses as if he’d slid his hand down her spine, touched her in places intimate and wet.
Isabel swallowed, throat tight and her skin feeling too small for all the emotions raging inside her. She fisted her hands in the loose, flowing skirt of her dress even as she drummed up a smile. Camouflaging her emotions had been a skill she’d learned early in life. It had been a skill necessary to survive in Wilson Ward’s home. The subsequent trips back to court, the numerous trips to make victim’s impact statements when he or some of the others had tried to make parole, it had only made her better at controlling the deep, inner rage that had kept her going for so long.
But she wouldn’t have guessed thatneedwould be so much harder to hide.
And damn but she needed him.
It was akin to her need for oxygen, water, food and light.
“Glad you can join us, Travis,” she said and her voice was only alittleshaky.
“Thanks for having me.” He stroked Brooklyn’s hair before cutting around her, coming to a stop in front of Isabel, hand outstretched.
Isabel looked down and spied the bottle of wine he offered. Her eyes widened.
“When did you have time to go find that?”
“It didn’t take long.” A ghost of a smile flirted with the sensually seductive curve of his mouth and he hitched up a shoulder. “I just ducked into Max’s wine cellar. He told me to help myself, so I did. He’s got more wine in there than we could drink if we had a bottle every night for the next ten years.”
She arched her brows, then accepted the offering. “Well. I guess this will go with fried chicken just fine then.” Their fingers brushed.
Judging by the skip in his breathing, she knew she wasn’t the only one who felt the charge pass between them.
The front door banged open, shattering that gathering tension.
Isabel sucked in a nervous breath.
Travis’s lids drooped, the ridiculously thick lashes shielding his eyes from hers and then he looked back at her, crooked a smile. It was a sexy, secretive smile that made her belly tighten and her thighs clenched.
Oh, man ... I’m in trouble,she thought.
And she decided she didn’t mind.
