Chapter 12 – Isabella #2
I exhaled, then stared up into the sky. The moon painted everything in silver and shadow. The water lapped gently against the pool’s edge where I hid, creating a peaceful rhythm that helped me calm down.
Almost.
Until footsteps approached the pool area and burst my little bubble of peace. My heart jumped into my throat. Shit.
There wasn’t enough time to do anything but again press myself against the wall and into the shadow.
But this time, I didn’t have as much luck.
Because a tall figure appeared at the pool’s edge right above me. What the fuck?
Of all the possibilities, it had to be Ivan Zotov. Backlit like a Greek god in a white shirt and swimming trunks that housed a sizeable bulge and hugged his muscular thighs like nobody’s business.
Merda.
I looked up and stared at him, and he stared at me, both of us like two prize fighters sizing each other up.
I couldn’t stay in the water forever, and he showed no signs of leaving…or talking.
The longer I waited, the more control I gave him over the situation.
Screw this.
I grabbed the edge of the pool and threw my arms over the edge, not hiding my nakedness. “Enjoying the show, Zotov?”
His sharp intake of breath was satisfying, but his eyes remained firmly locked on my face. “What are you doing out here?”
Interesting. Most men would have at least peeked lower. “Taking a swim?”
“Get out of the pool,” he ordered, his voice rough.
“Or what? You’ll jump in and drag me out?” I swept my hair back, then leaned back and let go of the edge. I started floating while keeping my head above the water to watch him and made no move to cover myself. Let’s see how good his self-control really is.
He clenched his jaw, but his eyes never wavered. “Stop playing. What are you doing out here? This is dangerous.”
“Dangerous how? I thought I was a guest.”
He shook his head. “Stupidity gets you killed faster than anything else.” He growled, “Now get out. Someone could see you.”
“Someone already has,” I said, deliberately lowering my voice until it sounded raspy and sultry. I drifted to the edge, taking my time. “You seem more concerned about others looking than doing any looking yourself. Such a gentleman.”
“Bella—”
I froze. The name hit me like a slap. He knew. Somehow, he’d figured out who was who. My mind raced through our interactions, trying to pinpoint when I’d slipped up.
Stop…again—both our names could be shortened to Bella.
“Hand me my clothes then,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite my thundering heart.
He looked around for them, then grabbed them from beneath the lounge chair but didn’t offer them. Instead, he put them on the lounge chair behind him, right next to a towel.
He faced me again. “If you’re so confident, why don’t you come get them?”
Power play. Classic. But two could play that game.
I planted my hands on the pool’s edge and pushed myself up and out of the pool, water cascading down my body.
Let him look. Let him see exactly what he was dealing with.
I wasn’t some shy virgin intimidated by showing my nakedness.
And this was my chance to prove once and for all that I wasn’t intimidated by him.
I stood at the edge, dripping and defiant, while he blocked my way to my clothes.
“Well?” I said while tapping my foot.
His eyes darkened as they swept over me, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Cover yourself.”
I laughed. “That’s what I’m trying to—”
He moved faster than I expected. One moment, he was glaring at me; the next, his hands gripped my upper arms, and he pulled me against him.
“What the hell were you thinking? Swimming naked in the middle of the night? What if it had been one of the guards instead of me? Or one of my brothers? Or Grey?”
The genuine concern in his voice caught me off guard. His fingers weren’t bruising, just firm. Warm.
“Are you some kind of exhibitionist?” he demanded while his eyes flickered to my lips and back up to my eyes. “Is that what gets you off? The thrill of being watched? Of getting caught?”
I sighed, acutely aware of how close he was, how strong he was, of how he was not a friend, no matter how caring he was. “I’ve got some kinks, but that’s actually not one of them,” I said and didn’t like the breathiness in my voice one bit.
I shouldn’t have started this. As if I could ever outmaneuver someone of the caliber of Ivan Zotov while bare-ass naked.
“So what? You admit this was stupid?”
“Oh, please,” I snapped, pushing against his chest—he didn’t budge. “I checked the camera angles. I knew exactly what I was doing.” Not.
“Did you?” He stepped even closer, our faces inches apart. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re being reckless…again.”
“Am not,” I said. “I’m just getting some air, cooling down a little.”
He stared at me, clearly not believing a word I was saying.
“Let. Go.” I twisted in his grip, my wet skin making it hard for him to hold on.
We struggled, a dangerous dance of push and pull. My foot slipped on the wet tiles. I lost my balance. And instead of letting me go, we went backward together, splashing, right back into the pool.
The shock of him on top of me, pushing me underwater, made me gasp—and immediately aspirate.
Ivan’s arms were still around me as we surfaced. I coughed, and he just stared at me. His white T-shirt clung to his chest, revealing every muscle. Water dripped from his dark hair onto his face.
“Satisfied?” I asked when I finally stopped sputtering, very aware of how his hands had shifted to my waist. But he was still holding me against him. “Now we’re both wet.”
His eyes blazed with fury…and something else. Something that made my pulse race faster than our fall into the pool had.
“Shit, I completely forgot your head wound.” His fingers brushed over my temple, checking the bandage. “You got it wet.”
“Actually,” I said, treading water while he held me, “I kept my head above water the whole time. Until someone decided to tackle me back in. So technically, this is your fault. You got it wet.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. But instead of snapping back, he shifted his grip, one arm wrapping more securely around my waist while his other hand carefully examined the bandage covering the butterfly bandage. “Stay still.”
The gentleness in his touch contrasted sharply with his fierce expression. My skin tingled where his fingers traced the edge of the bandage, before he carefully peeled it off. He was so close, I could see water droplets clinging to his eyelashes.
“It’s definitely wet, but otherwise, it seems fine,” he muttered but didn’t release me. His arm kept me effortlessly afloat, strong and steady against the small of my back.
The air between us shifted, charged with something beyond the usual. His protectiveness and the way he cared about me shouldn’t affect me like this. He was the enemy. A dangerous, complicated man who’d kidnapped me and my sister.
But in that moment, with his arms around me and concern in his eyes, I couldn’t maintain my defensive walls. Before I could overthink it, I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him.
He stiffened, clearly caught off guard.
“What do you think you’re doing?” his voice was a rough whisper against my wet hair.
I tightened my arms around his neck, acutely aware of my nakedness pressed against his soaked clothes. Wasn’t that the question of the day? What the hell was I doing, clinging to my kidnapper like a wet puppy afraid to drown? “Holding on for dear life. You wouldn’t want me to drown, would you?”
His chest rose and fell against mine in a heavy sigh before he tightened his arm around me. For a moment, neither of us moved—just two bodies suspended in cool water under the moonlight, locked in an embrace that made no sense given where we were and who we were to each other.
I should let go. Should push away and get the hell out of this pool and out of this situation. Should remember he was my captor, not my protector, and not hug him.
But I didn’t.
And then he pressed his lips against my forehead, right next to the wound. Soft. Tender. The kind of kiss that wasn’t meant to lead anywhere—just giving pure comfort.
But as his lips lingered there, warm against my cool skin, something inside me unraveled. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I whispered, hating how vulnerable I sounded.
He didn’t answer. Just held his lips against my skin like he was trying to heal the wound through sheer will.
I closed my eyes, conflicted by the storm of emotions raging inside me.
I should hate this man. He’d kidnapped me, separated me from my family, was using me as leverage against my brother.
Yet here I was, melting into his touch, craving more of his protectiveness, more of this gentleness I hadn’t expected from him.
My body betrayed me as I relaxed against his strength, molded myself against him like we were made to hold each other this way. It was madness.
Pure madness.
Or just basic animal attraction to a dangerous, compelling man who again and again showed glimpses of so much more beneath his cold exterior and despite his reputation.
I turned my face up, ready to kiss him, when he stiffened. He pulled away, and he loosened his arms and his hold.
“Enough,” he said, voice hardened back to the man I recognized. “Get out of the pool. Right the fuck now.”
The spell broke. Reality rushed back in, cold and harsh as the night air against my wet skin.
But instead of waiting for me to move, he pulled away and hauled himself out of the pool in one powerful motion, water cascading off his muscular frame like Poseidon breaking through the surface.
His white T-shirt clung to him like a second skin, revealing every ridge and plane of his torso. He grabbed a towel from the nearby chair, then turned his back to me.
“Come on,” he said gruffly, holding the towel out behind him without looking. “Get out.”
The unexpected gesture of respect caught me off guard. I’d assumed he’d watch me climb out, maybe even offer a hand with that smirk of his. Instead, he stood completely regal with his broad back to me, giving me privacy I hadn’t expected.
I pulled myself out of the pool and took the towel, quickly wrapping it around my body. “I’m covered.”
He turned, eyes immediately assessing me before he stepped forward, crowding me again. Water dripped from his hair onto my shoulders as he loomed over me.
“That was beyond stupid,” he said, voice low. “And dangerous. Don’t do it again.”
Was he still talking about my skinny-dipping adventure, or was he talking about our almost-kiss? “Are you going to escort me back to my room like a naughty child?” I challenged, trying to ignore how my body was still humming in awareness of his proximity.
“Yes.” The word was clipped, final. He bent down, scooped up my clothes, and handed them to me. “Put these on.”
I clutched them to my chest, our fingers brushing. “Turn around.”
He did.
I dressed quickly, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to my damp skin.
“Ready,” I said.
We walked in silence through the moonlit grounds, the only sounds our footsteps and the distant crash of waves. The tension between us was palpable—not just anger or antagonism but something more complicated. More dangerous.
At my door, he caught my arm with his hand, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “Have your sister check your wound. And don’t take risks like that again.”
“Why do you care?” I whispered the question before I could stop myself.
He tightened his fingers slightly, then released his grip on my arm.
“I don’t. But if something happens to you, your brother will hold me responsible, and I intend to live a while longer,” he said, but his eyes and his actions earlier told a different story—one of genuine concern hidden beneath the cold facade.
“Goodnight, Shorty,” he said, then stepped back.
I intended to slip inside, but the door didn’t budge. I forgot it was locked from the inside.
“How exactly did you get out of your room?” he asked, his voice laced with a dangerous rasp.
Shit. I wasn’t ready to tell him all of my secrets even though I should definitely come clean about the whole stupid mistaken identity thing.
But telling him now would only lead to more questions and mistrust. He would never believe I was out and about just for a midnight swim.
And telling him Mira locked the door behind me? Not a good idea either. “Balcony?”
He exhaled through his nose and shook his head. “Reckless.”
Then he opened a small nondescript pad next to the door, scanned his iris, and the door popped open.
What the actual fuck?
I stared at the pad, then at him. In reality, there was no privacy or safety on this island. Not if he could get into the room even when it was locked from the inside.
He turned me back around and gave me a tap on my ass before he shoved me inside.
I slipped inside, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t blame it entirely on the awareness of being completely at his mercy.
Why did Ivan Zotov’s presence affect me like this? Why did I care what he thought? Why did I want to kiss him, and why did part of me want to open that door again and see if he was still there?
I was so screwed.