Chapter fourteen #2
Fear keeps people in line, and I like that.
Eventually, she returns to ground level and turns to face me, a look of sheer terror plastered on her face.
“Is there a reason you have dismantled my kitchen?”
I repeat. Something about the whole situation makes me uneasy.
Since Isabella’s arrival, Kasia has easily slotted into my housekeeping staff.
I have been highly aware of her ability to be in many places at once and the high praise she receives from others.
“My chores were complete, sir, and I woke early,” she replies.
“I was aware a deep clean was on the schedule for next week; it made sense to get started.”
Her focus lowers between her feet, so I’m left looking at the top of her head as she submits to authority.
Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail.
Although my staff are respectful, they look me in the eye. Kasia’s gesture is unexpected.
“Very well,” I say, but her explanation is not a comfort.
“Kasia,” Isabella’s voice calls from behind me, the Spanish accent clear.
My stomach flips, knowing I need to face her again after our altercation the last time I saw her in the hallway.
Each interaction since the night of the police sting has been negative, which is disappointing after enjoying such a wonderful dinner together.
The chain of events hasn’t helped my mood.
“In here, Miss. Isabella,” Kasia says. Isabella appears dressed in her workout gear but stops dead when her eyes fall on me. Her joyful expression is immediately gone.
“Hunter,” Isabella addresses me, my name coated in venom.
“Good morning, Bella. If you have a moment…”
“I don’t,” she tells me, not looking at me. Her eyes focused on Kasia. “Would you be so kind as to iron my outfit for today, Kasia? It’s laid out on my bed.”
“Of course, Miss.”
Kasia excuses herself then scurries out of the kitchen, leaving the mess she’s created behind her. Isabella and I watch her disappear down the hallway toward the stairs to her mistress’s room. She resembles a rabbit just released from a trap, escaping to unexpected freedom.
“Bella.”
“Don’t, Hunter,” she snarls, lifting a hand, palm flat toward me.
“I will not be spoken to as I was earlier. You don’t have any rights to tell me when or where to be. I am here as a favor to you, don’t forget that.”
She purses her lips but looks past me over my shoulder.
I try to meet her gaze, but she continually looks away as if uncomfortable.
“I am sorry, Bella. If I offended, it wasn’t meant.” I want to point out that her being here is as much of a benefit to her future as it is mine. She needs me to sign her divorce agreement, even though I have no intention of doing so. But, at this point, she doesn't need to know that.
“Bullshit!” This time, her focus hits me hard, her neck cranes backward as she looks up. “You were trying to lay claim to me in front of your men, and that won’t be fucking happening. I will not be treated as a possession.”
I breathe deeply, enjoying her close proximity; the sheer passion for freedom that emanates from her is addictive. All I want to do is keep her close, keep her talking to me.
“But will you allow me to claim you privately, Bella?”
She tenses as her mind processes what I’ve just said.
A look of disbelief flits over her face.
She knows what I want, and I will keep telling her.
“I don’t need a public display to quench my thirst, but I need you. You are the sole reason for my existence.”
Her hands ball into fists by her sides. I’m unsure if she wants to kiss me or hit me.
At this point, I would take either outcome from this conversation.
Twenty years of hurt, anger, and loss bubble between us as we try to navigate our current relationship, something we both thought had ended long ago.
“You will never claim me in any situation, public or private.”
I reach for her hand, but she pulls it away angrily.
“I’m not yours,” she half-screams, and it only makes me more determined to make her mine.
To show her that she has always been mine no matter where we were. She and I were meant to be together.
“Are you not?” I continue, loving the heightened tension in the room. Her cheeks have colored as her fury rises, and her dark eyes dilate. “Neither of us can deny how we felt the other night at the restaurant—the memories, the hope, the belief we shared.”
“You’re insane,” she snaps, throwing a hand in the air and turning away.
I step up behind her, placing my hands on her hips.
Our disagreement has gone too far. To give us any chance of reconciliation and making the next eleven months bearable, we need to be at least civil before I can get what I want from her.
I expect her to walk away but she doesn’t, so I drop my lips to her cheek.
They connect with warm flesh, and my cock stirs in my boxers, impatient at being made to wait again.
“Bella, I'm insane about you,” I whisper. “I always have been.”
“You don’t know me.”
We stand in the center of my kitchen, her turned away, and me holding on to what I can. This, what we have, may be messy and complicated, our time together divided by years apart, but it’s real and true. I can feel it. This is our moment to try; we need to take it. She must realize that.
“I do know you, Bella. Let me show you just how much.”