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“He called me Isabelle—so whether he knew me as Isabelli Martins or Isabella Martin, I really don’t know. But maybe you’re right. He wouldn’t be pursuing me if he knew that I killed my boyfriend in cold blood, would he?”
“Ergh… don’t say that cold-blooded thing. It really gives me the creeps. It was self-defense!”
“Well, that cold blood thing was what Don put in my records.”
“I know. I know. Just don’t say it out loud,” he protests. “So, knowing this new fact, plan A is a brilliant idea then.”
“I told Hartley to piss off, though.”
“What?”
I put my face in my hands, a dull headache forming behind my brow. The vision of that green-tattooed hand clutching a knife behind Clayton flashes at me. “You know what, forget about it. I don’t want to use him.”
“Usehim? You’re in love with him, babe.” He lifts my chin up.
I escape his scrutiny. “No, I’m not!”
“You friggin’ are!” he teases. “So once Clayton has sorted Don out, you two will ride into the sunset—with me, of course. A perfect happily-ever-after! How will you use him exactly?”
“I was besotted. I can’t deny it. But in love? I don’t know…”
“Come on, Iz!”
“What if I’m in love with him only because of his looks and because he was there when I was wrecked? What if when everything goes back to normal, I find that I’m not attracted to him after all?”
“How could you not be attracted to Clayton Hartley?”
“Really, if anything happens to him, I won’t forgive myself.”
“You care about him that much?”
“I do.”
“So, in other words—you’re in love with him?”
“I’m not in love. I’m not in anything other than Don’s control.”
“Babe, the Hartley brothers are rich and powerful because they’re smart and able,” Thomas argues. “If anyone can put Don in his place, it’ll be Clayton Hartley.”
“Everything is happening so fast. I—I’m not sure about this. I don’t want to bring trouble to his family. Or even danger.”
“Isabelli Martins,” Thomas says in his stoic voice. “Robson Hartley was a Navy SEAL, and your Clayton was a US Air Force fighter pilot. They ate danger for breakfast. Probably still do.”
MyClayton?
I release a long, helpless huff. That man is certainly capable of defending himself. My fear of that knife-wielding biker is probably unfounded. But I still don’t feel right about getting close to him just so that he can save me from the Grim Reaper.
“I don’t want him to do everything for me, and then—what happens if I’m really, really not in love with him? And even if I am, love isn’t everything.”
“How? Gah! You’re impossible!”
“What if he ends up being a pain in the ass?” I sip my coffee, mundanely watching people pacing the street so I don’t have to front Thomas, who’s evidently thinking that I’m being absurd.
But there’s nothing absurd about my logic.
Behind his formidable physique, Clayton Hartley is a man, a human being who breathes, thinks, and feels.
I straighten myself and resolve, “No. Forget about it! Forget about plan A—andforget about your Thailand idea. Well, maybe do it for yourself. I’ll support you, but not for me and Raffi.”
