Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Isla
My clothes still drip as I step into my loft, each step leaving small puddles that match the storm outside. I should change. Dry off.
Instead, I stand there, Eli’s cologne still clinging to my skin, heat pooling in my stomach as I remember the way he pressed me against that wall, his breath rough, his hands desperate. One moment of weakness after years of careful distance, and now my body hums with a need I can’t afford.
“Damn it.” My hands shake as I move deeper into my loft, the city lights spilling through the windows, illuminating the emptiness I’ve cultivated for so long.
My phone buzzes. Drake.
“Tell me you’ve got something,” I say, skipping the hello.
“Yeah, and you’re not going to like it.” His voice is tight. Too tight.
“Wolfe isn’t just after the Artisan Hotel. He’s after Alderidge blood.”
My stomach twists. Of course Wolfe wouldn’t just steal my work—he’d use it to destroy the very man I can’t seem to keep my hands off of.
“Speaking of blood,” Drake continues, too casually. “You okay? I heard something about you and Eli at the site...”
Heat creeps up my neck.
“We’re fine. Professional. Just... handling the situation.”
“Right.” His tone says he doesn’t buy it. “Because nothing says professional like making out during a rainstorm.”
“Drake—”
“Hey, your life. But listen, we need to talk. In person. I found something about Wolfe’s connection to the Alderidges. Something big.”
I press my fingers to my temples, my mind still caught on Eli—on the way his hands framed my face like he needed me as much as air, on the way I let him in before I shoved him away.
“Come over,” I say finally. “Bring food. And Drake? No one can know about what happened at the site. Not yet.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. But Isla?” His voice softens. “Be careful. Wolfe’s not just after the project anymore. He’s after everything—and everyone—you care about.”
I end the call and press my forehead against the cool glass.
Outside, the Artisan Hotel site glows in the distance, its steel skeleton rising through the rain like a promise I refuse to let break.
Somewhere out there, Wolfe is making his next move.
And I just made mine—straight into Eli’s arms.
I press my fingers against my temples, willing myself to focus. Focus on the threat. Not Eli.
Not on the way his hands framed my face like he was trying to memorize me. Not on the way his mouth crashed against mine, raw and reckless, only to have me shove him away like it meant nothing.
It wasn’t nothing. And that’s the problem.
The rain batters my windows, filling the silence as I change into dry clothes. I should be thinking about Wolfe’s next move. About the ways he could use our history against us. But all I feel is Eli. The weight of him, the way his grip tightened like he wasn’t ready to let me go.
My phone buzzes. Eli.
We need to talk about what happened.
My fingers hover over the screen. Another message comes through before I can respond.
Not just about the kiss. Wolfe knows about us, Isla. About our history.
I exhale hard. Of course he does. I sink into my chair, ignoring the way my pulse jumps.
Can I come over?
My fingers hesitate.
Not a good idea.
I type back, even as my body betrays me—warming at the thought of seeing him again.
Professional discussion only. I promise.
Give me an hour
I respond.
Drake’s bringing intel about Wolfe’s vendetta.
I’ll bring coffee. And Isla?
My stomach flips. Three dots appear.
Whatever’s happening between us... it doesn’t change what we have to do. The project comes first.
“Always does,” I whisper to my empty loft, but I don’t send it.
A chill runs down my spine. Every instinct tells me Wolfe is watching, waiting, learning our weaknesses. Learning about us.
The past isn’t just coming back to haunt us. It’s being weaponized.
I push away from my desk, pacing between scattered blueprints. But all I can see is the way Eli’s hands fisted in my hair, the rough groan when I kissed him back.
I can’t think about that now.
I don’t get the chance. A sharp knock yanks me back to the present.
Drake. Early as usual when he’s worried.
I open the door to find him soaked but grinning, pizza box in hand.
“Hawaiian, as requested. Though your taste in both pizza and men remains questionable.”
“Shut up.” But I’m smiling as I let him in. “What did you find?”
His grin fades as he sets down the pizza.
“You might want to sit down for this.”
“Look at this.” Drake spreads documents across my coffee table, pizza forgotten. “Wolfe didn’t just lose a business deal to Edward Alderidge. He lost everything.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“The Artisan Hotel site? Used to be the Wolfe family estate. Until Edward Alderidge took it over.”
My stomach drops.
“Took over?” I repeat carefully, noting Drake’s choice of words. Something in his expression makes me uneasy.
“What exactly happened with that property?”
Drake doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.
Of course Wolfe isn’t just after the project. He’s after revenge.
Thunder rumbles outside as I stare at the glowing records. My phone buzzes again.
Eli. But this time, I don’t check the message.
Drake sighs.
“There’s more. Wolfe doesn’t just want to steal your designs or ruin the hotel. He wants to destroy Eli. Make him feel the same humiliation, the same loss that Edward inflicted on his family.”
“And I’m?—“
“The perfect weapon.” Drake meets my eyes. “You’re the only thing Eli Alderidge has ever risked his empire for. The only person who’s ever made him vulnerable.”
A sharp knock interrupts him. We both freeze.
“Expecting someone?” Drake asks, though his tone says he already knows.
I check my watch. “Not for another twenty minutes.”
“Isla.” Eli’s voice carries through the door, tight with urgency. “I need to see you. Now.”
Drake raises an eyebrow. “Professional discussion only?”
“Shut up.” I move to the door, trying to ignore how my pulse quickens. When I open it, Eli stands there in a fresh suit, his hair still damp from the rain. The sight of him sends electricity racing through my veins.
“You’re early,” I manage.
“Wolfe called me. He knows about us. About what happened before.”
His eyes lock with mine, intense enough to steal my breath.
“He said he’d make sure history repeats itself—only this time, everyone would know why you left.”
My stomach twists, remembering Edward’s ultimatum. The way he forced me to choose between Eli’s empire and my own heart.
“What exactly did he say?” I step back, letting Eli in, aware of Drake watching us with narrowed eyes.
“That I should ask why a promising architect would suddenly abandon the biggest project of her career.” Eli’s jaw tightens. “Why she’d disappear without saying goodbye to the man she claimed to love.”
Heat creeps up my neck.
“Eli—”
“Don’t.” His voice softens. “I’m not here for explanations. Not yet. I’m here because Wolfe is using our past to distract us from what he’s planning.”
“He wants us divided,” Drake says, finally speaking. “Suspicious of each other.”
Eli nods, eyes never leaving mine. “But there’s one thing he didn’t count on.”
“What’s that?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“That I’m not my father.” Eli steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. “And I’ve learned that protecting people doesn’t mean controlling them. It means standing beside them.”
Drake clears his throat.
“I’ll give you two a minute.” He gathers his laptop, pausing at the door.
“Remember, you can’t fight Wolfe if you’re fighting each other. That’s exactly what he wants.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with Eli and all our complicated history. Rain pounds against my windows, but I barely hear it over my heartbeat.
“Isla.” Eli steps closer, and I catch the faint scent of his cologne, the one that still haunts my dreams.
“What happened at the site?—”
“We should focus on the project,” I interrupt, but my voice shakes. “Wolfe’s threat?—“
“Is serious. But so is this.” His hand finds mine, and the contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
“I meant what I said before. You don’t have to face him alone.”
I look up at him, seeing past the controlled COO to the man I’ve never quite managed to forget.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as the memory of our kiss lingers between us. His hand finds mine, his thumb brushing my knuckles gently. That simple touch sends sparks through my body, igniting a wildfire of sensation.
“Eli,” I whisper as he draws me closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried. “We shouldn’t?—“
I should stop this. I should remind him that our careers, our futures—our sanity—are on the line. That we are in the middle of a war Wolfe started, and I can’t afford to be distracted by the man who still owns every inch of me.
But then his mouth is on mine again, and I can’t think of anything except how much I missed this. Missed him. The way he makes me feel—like I’m not just an architect fighting for this project’s survival, but a woman. A woman who wants him just as badly as he wants me.
His lips silence my protests, his touch erasing years of carefully maintained distance in a single moment. This kiss is different from before, deeper, hungrier. A promise of passion, of reconnection, of unspoken emotions too powerful to deny.
I know I should stop. I know this isn’t safe, that we’re teetering on the edge of something we won’t be able to take back. But his hands slide lower, gripping my waist, his fingers pressing into my skin in a way that makes my breath stutter. The need between us is undeniable, raw, scorching.
“Eli,” I manage, my hands pressing against his chest—not to push him away, but to ground myself. His heartbeat hammers against my palm, as erratic as my own.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against mine. “Tell me, Isla.”
I can’t. Because I do. I always have.
Instead of answering, I fist my hands in his shirt, dragging him back to me. His growl of approval vibrates through my bones, and then he’s kissing me again, deeper, rougher, his body pressing mine against the desk like he’s trying to brand himself into my skin.
I tug at his tie, pulling him back to me. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine. His breath hitches as I expose his chest, my palms gliding over the hard planes of his torso, committing each dip and curve to memory.
He groans my name, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. His hands roam over my body, igniting a trail of sensation that erases any remaining doubts. When his mouth finds the curve of my neck, I arch into him, offering myself to his exploration.
Lightning flashes outside, highlighting his fierce determination and the way he cherishes my body with his touch. Thunder rolls across the sky, matching the pounding of our hearts, the rush of blood in our veins. I lose track of time, lost in the exploration of mouths, hands, and skin.
His phone shatters the moment, Bash’s ringtone cutting through our heavy breaths. Eli curses softly against my neck, his hands stilling on my skin.
“Ignore it,” I whisper, but we both know he can’t. Not with everything at stake.
“Bash?” His voice is rough as he answers, one hand still curved possessively around my hip. His expression shifts from frustration to sharp focus.
“Seriously? Again? ... The ambassador’s daughter? ... For God’s sake, Bash... Fine. Twenty minutes. Don’t make it worse.”
He ends the call, pressing his forehead to mine with a sigh that carries years of interrupted moments.
“My brother needs an extraction from what he calls a diplomatic situation at Le Bernardin,” he explains, his thumbs tracing circles on my hips. “Apparently even playboys have emergencies.”
Rain patters against the windows, a gentle counterpoint to our racing hearts.
“Whatever Wolfe’s planning,” he says softly, his thumb tracing my swollen lips, “we face it together. No more secrets. No more running.”
The words should feel like a promise. A reassurance. But instead, they feel like a warning. Like the beginning of something I won’t be able to stop.
Because Eli doesn’t just break through my defenses—he shatters them. And if I let him all the way in again, I don’t know if I’ll survive it when he leaves.
His kiss is gentle now, a promise rather than the desperate passion of moments before. When he pulls away, his eyes hold mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“This isn’t over,” he whispers against my lips.
He pulls back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he straightens his tie and picks up his jacket from the floor.
I watch him leave, my body still humming with unfinished desire, knowing everything has changed. And nothing will ever be the same.
The door clicks shut, and the silence that follows is suffocating. My skin still burns where he touched me, my lips swollen from his kiss, my breath uneven as I lean against the desk for support.
I tell myself this was a mistake. That we should have stopped before it got this far. But the truth is, I wanted it. Wanted him. And now, after pretending I don’t, I don’t know how to shove this need back into the shadows where it belongs.
Damn him for making me remember how good it felt to want something other than this fight. Other than this war against Wolfe.
But damn myself more for letting him in again.