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A small part of me wanted to. The rest wondered if I wouldn’t hate him forever for every word, dropping like acid on my skin. My head finally stills, and my body goes quiet.
“Fuck you, Ricardo,” I finally say, letting him feel the chill rolling off of me.
“Never again,” he replies. He lets me see the way he fortifies himself before he pulls away, returning his hands to his side. Breathing in through his nose until his nostrils flare. “You can sleep in here tonight. I’m going to shower, then I’ll take the couch so you have a little space.”
He rolls his shoulders, the picture of detachment. Like he’s done with me.
Like he, along with everyone else, has finally seen me for who I am and decided I wasn’t worth the trouble he’d gotten into. All this maneuvering only to be brought to his knees alongside me, and I wonder if he wishes he’d never met me.
“Isabella?”
He says my name, and I blink at him. When seeing his face is too heartbreaking, I take a sip of tea, closing my eyes and letting the heat seep deeper yet. Maybe it will stop the roaring inferno beneath my ribs.
More likely, it won’t do shit.
He stands and watches me for a long moment before I set the tea on the bedside table, curling on my side without bothering to get clean. And only once he leaves, once the first tender touches of sleep start to stroke against my skin, do I wonder if he said it all on purpose. Because I’m not falling apart if I’m furious. Or heartbroken.
17
RICARDO
Letting her sleep will be a kindness. Letting her sleep, letting her process things.
I give Isabella enough time to drain the tea before I’m back in the bedroom, once again taking away her choice. I scoop her up in my arms in one motion. She’s too drowsy to fight, angry enough at me to curl her hands into small fists like she’s going to use them to bash my brains in. Yet she does nothing, says nothing, sinking deeper into her anger as I set her on her feet in front of the shower.
A tiny bit of thoughtfulness, I tell myself.
It’s the bare minimum I’d do for any woman I fucked who holds at least a little measure of my respect, and Isabella holds more of it than most.
She might play at being the big guy, at being in control, but she’s not. There has always been a hidden fragility to Isabella despite her blustering and her stubborn pride. Which is probably part of the reason why her father has tried his hardest to keep her out of this life.
I flip the handle and let the water in the shower warm.
It’s part of the reason why I’ve tried hard to stay away from her.
Why would I want to sully her with the darkness swirling inside of me? It’s a storm, one that threatens everyone who gets close to me. She’s nothing but goodness, light, a sweet smile, and a spine of pure steel.
Now, she’s right in the middle of a never-ending hellscape.
So it’s a minor thing to strip her dress away even as she watches me, not nearly as detached as I would have wished. She follows each twist of my wrist, follows my motion as I toss the ruined red silk to the side. Memorizes the heated stares I try to keep to myself, but I’m powerless to hide.
She takes it all in with bubbling irritation to make me proud of her spine and enough hurt to make me feel like an asshole, and it’s that I latch onto. Her pain is the reason I step into the shower with her, fully clothed, and lather her hair with my rosemary and mint shampoo.
I trail my hand through those strands of silk, rinsing away every bit of soap before I turn her to face me. Exhaustion left her before we stepped under the spray, and now she stares at me, wide awake. Keeping eye contact, I grab the bar of soap, lathering it over her breasts where the purple bruises from Drago’s grip form imprints on her skin. I draw the soap down to her navel and the flat of her stomach and then lower, between her legs. To wipe away the last bits of evidence of me.
Coming inside of her hadn’t been necessary. Stopping myself? Impossible.
She’d felt too good clenched around me. And the way she catches her breath now, I know she’s remembering, too.
It’s a stupid, reckless move to kiss her. But I let the soap fall and bend to catch her lips with mine, cupping her jaw with the opposite hand. I’m trembling, restraining myself against the moan vibrating through her chest and into me. Ready to devour and holding back when her fingers clench the edge of my shirt and pause.
The kiss isn’t for heat, though.
This is for me because I’m unable to stop myself from tasting her and capturing her moan in my mouth. Because I’m a piece of shit who isn’t able to deny myself this any longer. So sure it’s a mistake and ready to pay the bill whenever it comes. I’ll suffer for it. Gladly.
She presses her tongue tentatively to the seam of my lips, her kiss probing and sweet at the same time. Rather than touch her where I want to, rather than sliding my hand along the velvety skin of her bare thighs, I reach for the back of her head and hook my fingers through her hair to keep her close.
It’s a kiss of lazy exploration. The desire is there, as always, waiting to be unleashed. I keep it tethered while I feel her.
