Chapter Twenty-Three
Walker
The moment my eyes open, the pre-dawn darkness greets me. Isla's soft breaths are rhythmic and calming and I watch her for a moment, as her chest rises and falls in peaceful slumber beside me. The sight of her, tangled in my sheets, hair fanned across my pillow, sends a jolt through my heart—one that's alarmingly possessive and tender.
I ease myself out of bed, careful not to wake her. The clock on the bedside table reads 5:30 a.m., and as much as I want to stay in bed with her, time is a luxury I can't afford this morning. With a meeting set for 6 a.m., I need to abandon the warmth of her body and the comfort of my bed. Usually this is an easy task, but with her, it's agony. Leaving her there looking so peaceful, so at home in my world, all I want to do is wake her again, to feel her flutter around me once more.
By the edge of the bed, I scrawl a quick note for her on the pad of paper I keep on the table. My neat, tight, dark handwriting stares up at me with an accusation, as if calling me out for doing what I said I wouldn’t – corrupt this innocent young woman. Turns out, she was more innocent than I even guessed.
Make yourself at home , I write. Clean clothes are on the armchair. Charles will have breakfast and coffee ready when you're up. - W
The note feels insufficient, almost impersonal, but what else can I say? Stay forever ? You've changed everything ? It's too soon for the words I want to say, so they can stay locked in the chaos of my thoughts.
I fold the note and leave it by her side of the bed, along with a gentle kiss on her forehead. The kiss is my silent promise that I'll return. I dress in the dim light, pulling on the tailored suit that's stifling after all the freedom I’d shared with her the night before.
Before Isla, women were fleeting, a way to scratch an itch that was never truly satisfied. But Isla... she's a craving deep in my bones, a hunger that one night has only intensified. The memory of her touch, her taste, lingers on my lips and skin—she’s an addictive substance that courses through my veins.
When I leave the bedroom, I want nothing more than to stay, an alien feeling I’m not familiar with. Usually, I’m glad to escape the women I’d shared the night with, but I just want to stay with her. There's no denying it now; I want her more than I've wanted anything or anyone. It terrifies me, this need to claim her as mine in a way I've never considered before.
As I stride down the hallway, the echo of my footsteps match the quick beat of my heart, and I tell myself I won’t run from these feelings. Denial is not an option. Isla has awakened something within me—a fierce protectiveness, an ache that refuses to be ignored. She isn't just another conquest; she's the woman who's come to mean more to me than my net worth, my control, my fa?ade, and my past.
The glass tower of my empire reflects the rising sun as I take the elevator down, steeling myself for the day ahead. But today, the hustle of people working hard, the raised voices, the sharp bite of AC cooled air, nothing can stop me from thinking about Isla for more than a moment at a time.
I settle behind my desk, but the contracts and reports blur together, meaningless, and I wonder if I can coast through this meeting. My fingers drum an impatient rhythm on the polished wood, a metronome keeping time with the restless beat of my thoughts. What is she doing now? Is she wrapped in my sheets, her naked body begging for my touch?
My phone vibrates, demanding my attention, and it's her name I long to see on the screen. But there's only the endless parade of emails and messages from associates and partners—a sharp reminder of my responsibilities. Responsibilities that seem much less intense than the urgency that pulls me back to her.
In the meeting, I listen, but retain nothing. I force my eyes to the numbers and clauses that shape my world. But it's no use. Every figure morphs into curves, every word whispers her name. I didn't have nightmares last night. For once, my mind was silent, and I slept deeper and better than I can ever remember. It’s probably a coincidence, but what if it’s not?
“What do you think, Mr. Blackthorne?”
My thoughts scatter and I glance at Sugar, noticing the young man’s face is terrified. “I think you should keep going.” I wave a hand at him and he looks relieved, continuing to talk to the circle of people who help run the company with me.
As the clock ticks toward evening, I realize I've almost signed off on a merger without truly registering the details. A deal worth millions that I somehow negotiated on autopilot. This isn't me. I'm the man with an iron grip on his empire, not some lovestruck fool fumbling through his day.
Home can't come soon enough. But when I arrive, only silence greets me. No soft talking or the sound of her breathing, just the empty space where she should be. The note I'd left her remains untouched on the bedside table, the words make yourself at home glaring at me.
Two excruciating hours crawl by, and I can’t even say for certain what I spent the time doing. Unable to stand the quiet any longer, I grab my keys and head for the bar. Once inside, I’m met with the usual smells of beer, the laughter of friends, and an endless stream of chatter. None of that matters to me, though, and I scan for the reason I came.
There, behind the bar, is Isla—my Isla—pouring drinks with the same effortless grace that she slipped into my life with. She doesn't see me at first; her focus is on the patrons demanding her attention. But when our eyes finally meet, I see it—the flicker of surprise, the flush of heat that creeps up her neck. Isla, beautiful Isla, is blushing.
I make my way over to her and sit down.
“Walker,” she says, her voice steady, almost playful, and I want to take her right here, right now.
“Keep up the good work,” I say, my voice rough before I retreat to my office. The need for her a physical ache that won't be ignored. Not here, not now. I close the door behind me and lean against it, the cool wood doing nothing to ease the hunger blazing through me.
Just thinking about the heat of her gaze across the crowded room wakes something primal within me. The way her cheeks colored, I knew she was remembering last night, just like I was. But is it stuck on repeat for her, too?
My breath is ragged, my heart slamming against my chest with the force of a hammer. How the hell am I going to manage work and all my responsibilities when my body acts like a horny teenager every second of every day thanks to her?
I hear the door open and she slips in, her wide eyes on mine as she locks the door behind her. That simple gesture has me groaning internally. Does she know what she does to me? Her eyes are wild with excitement, and when she closes the gap between us and presses her lips to mine, I know we’re both in trouble.
“Dammit, Isla,” I growl against her mouth, hoisting her onto the desk with rough hands. I pull her pants down her thighs, leaving the cute lacy underwear in place. My hands roam under her shirt, then drop to free myself.
I’m pushing into her without pretense, without gentleness, and her arms wind around me as a sound of pure pleasure escapes her lips. I don’t want to think about the fact that I’m taking her right here, at work, on the desk in this tight office, but here we are.
Her head tilts back, her lips pressing together in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. But I wouldn’t mind if someone heard – I want the world to know she’s mine.
“Walker,” she whispers, excitement filling the sound.
I grab the hair at the back of her head and pull, pressing my lips down on hers with a force and hunger I’ve never experienced before her. The kiss is a clash of power and surrender, and she clings to me, her movements as frantic and desperate as my own as she races toward orgasm.
I feel her tighten around me, that fluttering feeling so intense I can’t hold back my own.
“Thank you, Walker,” she says afterwards, her voice delicate and amused. As she bends down to pick up her pants, the curve of her ass has me hard again, ready to go.
“Christ, Isla.” The words escape in a rough growl. She looks over her shoulder at me, as if unaware, then picks up her pants and turns to me, a slight curve at the corners of her lips. As she pulls them on, rocking her hips and making me want her all the more, I can’t take my eyes off her or force my thoughts away from all the things I want to do to her.
This need for her—it claws at my insides like a beast with insatiable appetite. And as I watch her unlock the door and slip out, I have to wonder if this is all some dream. Or maybe I’m dead and didn’t wind up in the burning place by some miracle.
I scan the boxes with my phone, counting inventory because it’s such a mindless task, but one that needs done and keeps me away from Isla.
Deep in an almost mediative state, I continue, until I see movement and Isla steps into view like a dream come to life.
“I didn’t know you were back here,” she says, her tone playful and light.
Our gazes lock—a moment of charged electricity—and she smiles. My hands freeze mid-count, my focus splintering as she weaves among the crates and boxes, trailing her fingertips along them with a casual intimacy that gets my pulse racing as I remember what those fingers felt like around me.
“These all got rearranged,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. The complaint carries no weight; it’s just an observation and a convenient excuse to take her time.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing within.
“Belvedere,” she replies without looking up, her hand already resting on the box right beside her—the one she needed. But she doesn't move to take a bottle. She lingers, turning to face me instead, her gaze filled with a silent dare. Does she realize the game she's playing?
“Found it,” she says, but there's a challenge in her eyes that pulls me closer.
In three strides, I'm next to her, and our bodies are a breath apart. Tension tightens the muscles of my body and without hesitation, my lips find hers, an act as natural as breathing now. She responds immediately, her body arching toward me as if shoved closer by some outside force.
My fingers slip beneath the waistband of her pants, parting her delicate flesh and sliding along the slick evidence of our previous encounter. As I trace circles over that sensitive spot, she shivers, a soft moan muffled by our deepening kiss. I’m not about to stop – I want nothing more than to bring her to the edge and watch her experience pleasure once more.
Isla melts into me, surrendering to my touch. With every movement, I'm staking a claim, intensifying her need just as she brings out the insatiable hunger for more in me.
But reality claws at the edges of our bubble—a reminder that we're at risk of discovery. The risk heightens the thrill, but I think the consequences are too steep a price for either of us. We don't need to get caught. Not now, not ever.
My fingers move, tracing patterns that draw gasps from her lips. The intensity in her eyes leaves me wondering if I’m as obvious in my need and desire for her. I kiss her again and as my tongue explores the sweetness of her mouth, I feel her pulse quicken.
“Please,” she breathes against my mouth, the single word filled with a hunger that matches my own.
I move faster, with more pressure, drawing out her pleasure as if I can capture this moment and lock it away. Her whole body tenses and I know she’s close.
I feel her shudder, the pulsing of her body telling me she’s done for as her arms cling to me and her knees weaken. I hold her close, slipping my hand out of her pants even though I want to strip her down and have my way with her again.
When she’s steady, I pull away, our foreheads resting together, our breaths mingling in the space between us. “We can’t,” I whisper, the words feeling like a curse.
“Can't or shouldn't?” I’d swear there’s still a teasing edge to her voice.
“Both,” I say. I step back, putting space between us, trying to regain control. Isla watches me, her expression a blend of frustration and understanding.
“You better get back out there,” I say into the curve of her neck, my voice barely a growl. “They're going to wonder where you've gone and come looking.”
She pulls back, her gaze locked onto mine. The shift of her delicate throat is all I need to know she’s taking my warning to heart. With a nod, she pushes away from me, her movements shaky but determined.
“Thank you,” she says over her shoulder, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips.
I lean against the cold metal shelving, watching her go. The urge to follow, to claim her again right there, is nearly overpowering. But instead, I force a smirk onto my face and remain where I am. My control might be slipping, but at least I’m not the one who forgot to take what I came down here for.
And I wait.
A moment later, she comes back in, her face red. “I, uh, told them I forgot what I was coming down here for.”
I nod as if that’s a plausible excuse. She snatches up the forgotten bottle of Belvedere. The smooth curve of the glass in her hand draws my attention to the curves of her body, which have engraved themselves into my mind.
This time, when she leaves, the smile I've been holding back breaks free. She’s mine. There’s no doubt about that now.