Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
JACKSON
Irequested the DJ to play “Enchanted” when Isabelle went to the restroom. It’s a nearly six-minute song, and I plan on cherishing every second of it while I dance with her.
As the opening chords play, I grip Isabelle’s waist, my other hand clasping hers. Tentatively, she places her free hand on my shoulder, glancing up at me through her eyelashes.
The warm lighting illuminating the room shines a dewy, almost-fairy-tale-like glow on her face, and I think I could dance with the woman of my dreams all night.
Our bodies move in perfect sync as we slow dance to her favorite song, the soft material of her dress feeling tantalizing to the touch.
“You’re doing so well, Bella,” I murmur.
A light blush paints her cheeks. “Thanks.”
I chuckle. It seems like sassy Isabelle has taken a back seat tonight, and I’m seeing more of shy Isabelle. I love each and every one of these different sides to her.
“What’s funny?” she prods.
“You’re cute when you get flustered.”
We reach the first chorus of the song, and I give Isabelle a twirl. The skirt of her dress is a fluttering blur of lilac as she spins around, and I’m mesmerized, wonderstruck by her every movement.
Isabelle bites her lip. “Have you done this a lot?”
“Dancing?”
“Yeah.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I can’t remember the last time I danced with a woman like this before.
“You’re good at it,” she mutters.
I stare into her eyes. “It’s easy when it’s with the right person.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it when her gaze darts somewhere to her left. I follow her direction, noticing she’s staring at Hilary, who’s watching us with a forlorn smile on her face.
Isabelle’s brows are pressed tight, and she looks like she’s conflicted by something.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I say.
Hesitation settles on her face before she speaks. “Did you call me your girlfriend in front of Hilary because you wanted to throw her off? Is that why you needed a fake date for tonight?”
My brows furrow. “I did tell her I was bringing a date when she asked me, but tonight isn’t about her. I asked you because I thought maybe if it were a two-way deal, you’d be willing to accept my fake-boyfriend offer. And because …” Fuck it. “I wanted to spend more time with you.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen at my last sentence. “Really?”
I pull her closer toward me, inhaling her floral and fruity scent—that damn intoxicating mix of oranges and jasmine. “Is that so hard to believe?”
She shakes her head. “I mean, no, but I …”
My gaze searches hers desperately. “I wish you could see how incredible you are, Bella.”
Her breath hitches, but before she can respond, I give her another twirl, dipping her slightly and pulling her back up, my hands gripping tighter around her waist. A tiny gasp bubbles from her mouth as our eyes lock.
Our faces are now only inches apart, and the temptation to kiss that pink lipstick away and do a lot more than that grips at me like nothing before.
Isabelle glances at my lips, as if she can read my thoughts.
If I kiss her now, though, I won’t be able to stop, which isn’t ideal in a room full of people.
“That dress has been killing me all night,” I say instead, my voice strained.
She slides her hand lower so that it’s brushing against my chest, my nerve endings stirring and tingling beneath her touch.
“So has that suit,” she mutters.
“I can take it off if it’s bothering you.”
Her cheeks flush again. “Smooth.”
We dance in silence until the song ends, and when the music stops, my hand’s still around Isabelle’s waist, and she hasn’t let go of her hand on my chest either.
Finally, I take her hand and kiss the back of it. “Thank you for dancing with me.”
Isabelle’s face softens. “Of course.”
My phone rings inside my pocket, and I reluctantly check it to see it’s a FaceTime call from Aaron.
“Go take it,” Isabelle says.
“I’ll be quick.”
As Isabelle walks back to our table, I head outside the room to take Aaron’s call.
“Hey,” I say, picking up.
Aaron’s cheery face appears on the screen. He’s in his kitchen, his phone propped up as he places a few blueberries inside a bowl of yogurt. “Did we win?”
“We did.”
“Woo-hoo!” He takes a scoop of his yogurt, placing it inside his mouth. “Okay. Now that that’s out of the way, how’s my favorite couple doing?”
I run a hand through my hair. “You were right.”
A huge shit-eating grin forms on his face. “Right about what specifically? I’m right about many things.”
“I have feelings for Isabelle,” I admit. “And I had feelings for her all along.”
It feels good to say it out loud, even though Aaron’s no doubt going to roast me for not realizing my feelings earlier.
“I knew it!” Glee spreads across his face. “I can’t believe you finally came to your senses. Oh, I feel like such a proud dad right now. This deserves a celebration.”
“You’re so dramatic,” I groan, but I’m biting back a smile. His support means a lot.
“Well, I guess I was dramatically right then.” A frown touches Aaron’s face. “Wait, does that make sense?”
I chuckle. “Yep. Anyway, I’d better get going.”
“Remember, you still owe me a hundred bucks,” Aaron says before we hang up.
Heading back inside the ballroom, I spot Isabelle chatting with another woman among the sea of people and rejoin her.
In any crowded room, her face is the first one I search for.
“I have to head to my room to grab something,” Isabelle says.
We’ve spent the last forty minutes networking with others, which means I haven’t had proper alone time with Isabelle since our dance. But I can tell something’s occupying her mind.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
She nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” I say, still not entirely convinced. “We can call it a night if that’s easier. There’s no pressure to stay any longer.”
The event’s starting to wrap up, and the room is already less full than earlier tonight. We have a morning flight tomorrow, and as much as I wish the night wouldn’t end, I want Isabelle to get enough rest.
“Okay,” she agrees. “That sounds good.”
My chest tightens as we leave the ballroom and head for the elevator, riding it in silence to the eighteenth floor.
Is this her way of saying she just wants to go back to her room?
The elevator opens with a ding, and I gesture for Isabelle to step out first.
“Thank you for tonight,” I say.
“You too.”
I pull her into a hug, savoring one last moment of physical contact before we part ways. When we pull apart, I watch Isabelle’s retreating figure as she heads down the hallway, a lump forming in my throat.
Once I’m inside my room, I take off my tie and suit jacket, heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth, but my mind’s restless, and I’m still replaying everything that happened tonight—seeing Isabelle wearing that dress and realizing my feelings for her, my awards speech, our dance …
I’m grabbing a towel when there’s a sudden knock at the door.
“Hey, Jackson?” It’s Isabelle’s voice. She sounds nervous. “Are you free?”
My heart skips a beat and then another. “Of course.”
When I open the door, Isabelle’s still in her dress from tonight, and I think she’s taken off her heels because we’re at our usual height difference again. She’s also holding a white cotton tote bag.
“Hi,” she says, fiddling with the straps of the bag.
“Hey,” I breathe. “What’s up?”
Isabelle lifts the bag toward me. “I just wanted to give you this.”
My gaze darts to the bag, then back to her, an expanding feeling in my chest, like a flower blossoming in spring. “You got me a present?”
She draws her bottom lip between her teeth. “Have a look inside.”
I take out the item from inside, revealing a navy-blue sweatshirt with the letters JC embroidered in tiny white print at the top-right corner.
It’s gorgeous. My Bella—my thoughtful Bella—must’ve had this custom-made when she purchased it.
Isabelle takes a deep breath. “It’s been a very long time since I made men’s clothing, so—”
“Hang on,” I interject, my voice breathless and my heart racing. “You made this?”
Isabelle nods, her cheeks tinting pink. “Originally, I was going to make you a suit since you love your suits so much. But that didn’t work out, and I wanted to have it done in time for tonight.
Then I thought you already had a ton of suits, so maybe I’d make you something more casual instead, like a sweatshirt. ”
I stare at her as I take in her words, my pulse still accelerating like crazy.
Isabelle made a sweatshirt for me.
She thought of me. She spent time designing it, picking out the color and material, and bringing the design to life with her talent and craft. She put in time and effort to make a piece of clothing for me when she could’ve been doing something else.
“If it’s not your style, that’s all good,” she adds with a small laugh when I don’t speak. “I won’t get offended.”
Pain rises in my chest at her brushing off her hard work. “Don’t say that. It’s so beautiful. Thank you. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received, and it’s perfect.”
You’re perfect.
I pull the sweatshirt over my head to demonstrate.
It feels warm and cozy, and it even smells like her. This is my new favorite piece of clothing, and I don’t ever want to take it off.
Isabelle eyes me up and down, biting her lip. “How is it?”
My voice is unwavering when I speak. “A perfect fit.”
A relieved smile curls on her lips. “That’s good. I was worried that maybe it’d be too small or too big. Oh, by the way, there’s one part near the collar where the stitching might look a little out of place, so feel free to ignore that …”
“Bella,” I say, but she continues talking.
She definitely has a habit of rambling when she’s nervous.
“I swear, my sewing machine went a little crazy at one point, but that’s a story for another day. Again, if I had more time …”
I reach out my hand to cup her face, brushing my thumb along her jaw.
So fucking beautiful.
So goddamn irresistible.
So mine.
I don’t want to fight the temptation anymore.
I want to have her lips against mine. I want to taste her again because that brief kiss at the reunion was nowhere near enough, and yet it’s all I can think about.
I want her so badly, desperately, hopelessly.
All of her.
“Isabelle?” My voice comes out raw, almost hoarse. I wonder if she can sense that my heart’s beating like crazy with what I’m about to say and do next.
“Yes?”
The breathlessness in her voice makes me think I’m not the only person who’s affected right now.
“Just shut up and let me kiss you.”
Her lips part, but no words come out, her gaze falling to my lips instead.
Without another word, my face gravitates toward Isabelle’s, and my lips lock with hers.