Chapter 5
Isla
"To discuss some details of the wedding, of course." He turns and heads in the direction of the wet bar tucked away in the corner of the living room.
"Champagne?"
I blink. Champagne? He’s being hospitable?
"I’d rather not," I say, sounding churlish, even to myself.
He lifts a bottle from where it’s been cooling in an ice bucket on the bar counter. "It’s the end of a busy work week. Live a little, Isla."
It’s the first time he’s called me by my name, and it feels so intimate.
I tremble. My pussy clenches. Ridiculous.
This…attraction to him is messing with my head.
Is it because it’s forbidden? Because he’s out of bounds?
Or is it simply that something in me is attracted to hot, full-of-themselves toffs? He’s so different from me.
I came up the hard way. I’ve had to fight for everything.
Had to fight when my own body turned against me.
This man, on the other hand, gives off the air of being invincible.
No doubt, with his background and money, everything was designed to cater to him.
And he’s made a success of it, too. I’ve read enough of the business columns to know the man is a workaholic.
He gives the impression of always being in control.
Of not letting anything stand in his way.
And that’s both attractive and annoying.
In fact, each time I’ve met him, I’ve always felt this…
animosity toward him. I couldn’t understand it, but now…
I realize, it’s because I’m hopelessly attracted to him, and I hate myself for feeling that way.
I’m angry for allowing myself to feel anything for him.
I need to do my job and get out of here, before I do something I regret.
He pours two flutes and stalks over to me.
I reluctantly accept one from him. Our fingertips brush. An electric current zips out from the point of contact. Shit. I take a step back so quickly, some of the champagne spills from my flute onto my suit jacket.
"Damn." I look around for something to dab at it with.
"Allow me." The jerkface pulls out a handkerchief and presses it to the wet stain on my collar. It’s over my right breast, and I can feel his touch all the way through the layers of clothing. I feel like he’s branding me with it.
My toes curl. My breath comes in pants. I’m unable to move as he continues to rub at the stain.
I’m so aware of his big body towering over me, of that masculine scent and testosterone spiking the air.
Of how much heat he gives off, of how solid he feels, how overpowering. My head spins. My body hums.
I find myself swaying toward him and, with a noise of protest, I take a step back. "I think I should leave."
This entire situation is getting out of hand. I can’t seriously be so attracted to this man that I’m unable to keep away from him? This is so wrong. I head over to the coffee table and place my glass on it. I straighten and turn, to find him standing behind me. I gasp.
"Do I make you nervous?" he rumbles.
I almost whimper at how his rough voice feels when it scrapes over my already raw nerve-endings.
"Of course, not." I attempt to brush past him, only I stumble. He catches me with an arm around my waist, without spilling a drop from the flute he holds in his other hand. Oh god. The feel of that muscular forearm against my back liquifies my insides. My brain cells melt. And my heart beats so fast, I’m sure it’s going to break through my ribcage.
I stare up into those silvery-grey eyes and realize, there are flecks of blue and green in them.
Mesmerizing. Enthralling. He has me transfixed with the power of his charisma, which thrums around him like a shield.
Or like a spider’s web in which he’s caught me.
I should go. I pull away, and he makes no attempt to stop me.
On shaky legs, not daring to look back at him, I stumble toward the door.
I try to open it, but my fingers are so sweaty, they slip on the handle.
I swear aloud. And when a trembling grips me, I know…
He’s, once again, standing right behind me.
"Don’t go," he murmurs.
"What?" I gasp.
"You know you don’t want to."
"But… I… " I shake my head. I can’t be seriously contemplating staying here, can I? This is the man my friend’s going to marry.
And this is the most important event I will plan in my entire career.
So, why am I ready to throw it all away for a few more moments with this man? "I should go," I whisper.
"I won’t stop you." I sense him step back. "I’m sorry if I offended you in any way, but I’m not going to apologize for my actions."
His words surprise me enough that I look at him over my shoulder.
Then I wish I hadn’t. Seeing the flush on his high cheekbones, I realize, I affect him, too.
And his eyes… Those gorgeous eyes are darker, appearing almost steely in color.
And the flecks of blue and green are more pronounced.
It’s like there are storm clouds captured in them.
Another shiver grips me. I swallow. "This can’t happen, you realize that. I… I can’t do that to my friend."
"I’ll break it off."
"What?" I turn to him. "What do you mean? Break it off?" A part of me realizes he’s also placed his flute down on the coffee table behind him.
"I can’t marry someone else, knowing there’s this—" He pauses, seems to gather his thoughts. "There's something potent between us." He searches my features, his gaze a caress. "You feel it, too, don’t you?"
I should deny it and get out of here. Instead, I nod.
A look of satisfaction glints in his eyes. He pulls out his phone and dials a number. I can hear the phone on the other side ringing. Then a voice comes on. It’s Lila. "I’m not here right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Promise." She disconnects.
"What are you doin—" I begin to ask, but he’s already speaking into the phone.
"We need to speak, Lila. I can’t go through with the wedding.
I know it seems callous of my leaving you a message like this, but it’s best for the both of us if I break it off.
You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who loves you the way I can’t.
Please call me." He disconnects the phone and slips it back into his pocket.
"Oh, my god! What have you done?" I look at him in horror. "You can’t do that to Lila, and by a phone message? How cruel can you be?"
"It would have been more unkind of me to pretend to have feelings for her, when all I can think about is you."
I shake my head. "This is crazy. We barely know each other."
I’m shocked he called her. But a small part of me is pleased. Which begs the question: is my subconscious trying to tell me I was secretly hoping this wedding would get cancelled?
Do I want this marriage to not take place because of this powerful pull I have toward him?
Even if it means losing this assignment which was supposed to cement my place as a premier wedding planner in London?
Would I really give that up to be with him?
And after working so hard to build my business to this stage?
"I know enough." He takes a step forward. "I know you’re strong, ambitious, intelligent, and so bloody beautiful, my heart aches every time I look at you."
He moves toward me, and I plaster my back against the door.
"Stop." I mean for the word to sound strident, but it come out in a whisper.
He instantly comes to a halt. And I’m disappointed. And that’s strange. He’s doing what I asked him to, after all.
"I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention. But over the times we’ve met… The chemistry between us—" He runs his fingers through his hair. "It’s taken me by surprise. It’s not what I planned for, at all."
"That makes two of us," I say with a self-deprecating laugh.
"It’s why I had to see you tonight. I admit, I asked you to come under the guise of discussing the upcoming marriage. But it was also so I could see you and confirm for myself whether it was my imagination or if, indeed, the connection between us was so...enthralling."
"Oh—" I swallow. I’m not sure what to make of the fact he’s being so upfront about this electricity that seems to crackle between us. It’s an awareness. A focus. This need to be in his presence. This need to look into his eyes as his grow dark with longing.
"Tell me again to stop, and I will."
As if to illustrate his point, he takes a few steps back. The heat from his body recedes, and I’m already lost without it.
I should leave. Even if he did call Lila to tell her the marriage is off, I still feel horrible. I’m the cause of her fiancé breaking up with her. And even if it's what I might secretly want, all of this makes me feel like a heel.
What’s worse? All of this is happening because I can’t control the reactions of my body around him.
"I really should go." I turn and place my fingers on the handle again. And I want to turn it. I do. But I can’t. My arm feels too heavy for my body. My stomach feels like I’ve swallowed an anchor.
But my pussy and my clit—oh god… They’re wet with anticipation, with need.
Tears drum the backs of my eyes. I push my forehead into the door, which feels cool against my skin.
I’m a hussy. A coward. A slut… Oh god. Why am I still here?
Why am I not tearing open the door and rushing out?
"Shh." He rubs slow circles against my back, and only then, do I realize I’m crying. Silent tears squeeze out from the corners of my eyes. "It’s okay baby, I know this is difficult. I know this is not how either of us intended it to be. But I promise, it’s going to be okay."
For the kind of alphahole I had him pegged to be, his words are a shock. I never expected him to be this understanding, this empathetic… That he’d realize how difficult this is for me. It’s that which makes me turn and look up at him through tear-filled eyes.
"Thank you," I swallow around the ball of emotion in my throat. "This… Weeping is very unlike me."
"You can let go when you’re with me. I won’t judge." He cups my cheek. "You can be yourself around me. You can give yourself up to me, and I won’t betray your trust."
Whoa, that’s huge. And once again, he’s surprised me. Enough for my tears to stop. "I don’t understand you." I shake my head. "How can you be so dominating one moment and the next, so tender, so caring. It’s not fair. You’re making this so very difficult."
"If you mean, it’s what’s preventing you from walking away from me, then I’m glad." He smiles and, this time, it reaches his eyes and—OMG!—it melts the ice I’ve held so closely around my heart.
"This is moving too quickly for me," I manage to stutter. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been crying for hours, instead of just a few seconds. My chest feels sore, like I’ve been kicked there.
And my pussy—? It’s clenching in anticipation.
It’s as if my body knows what’s going to happen before the rest of me does.
A shadow moves across his features. "I don’t mean to come across as coercing you, at all." He begins to lower his hand, and I catch it.
"That’s not what I meant." I glance down at my fingers clenched around his, slim and pale against his thicker, stronger ones.
My painted nails against his unvarnished ones.
The difference is stark. And erotic. He looks down at our joined hands.
Then, as if unable to stop himself, he brings my knuckles to his mouth and kisses them.
A tremor spirals out from the point of contact and arrows straight to my core.
"This is wrong," I whisper.
"I’m not saying it’s not in the grey area, but I called her and told her I can’t go through with the wedding.
You know in your heart, I would not have made a good husband for her.
You know—" He notches the forefinger of his free hand under my chin, so I have to raise my gaze to his. "You know, this, between us, is right. That it has been inevitable since the day we met. And I can’t wait any longer, Isla. I can’t. "