Isabelle #2
My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape my chest. I wanted to do a couple of things. I wanted to hide. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to march over there and kiss him senseless, consequences be damned.
Because call me foolish, but I had missed him terribly.
I hadn’t intended for our relationship to end. It was all his fault if you asked me. Everything was going fine. I was young and happy and in love. He just had to go and ruin everything by wanting something I couldn’t give.
The man started to turn, his body rotating slowly, and I saw his side profile first. That nose, slightly crooked from a rugby accident. Then one brown eye, warm as whiskey, lit up with recognition even from across the room.
Before he could turn his full face in my direction, I looked away, focusing all my attention on Sebastian and Aria like my life depended on it.
My neck was itching, urging me to turn, and look back at him. But I knew what would happen if I did. Our eyes would meet across the crowded room like something out of a terrible romance film. Sparks would fly. The air would crackle. And I would be right back where I was eight years ago.
But was that such a bad thing? I mean, I loved him terribly. Loved him in that all-consuming way you can only love when you’re young and haven’t learned yet how much love can hurt.
It was bad because he had made it clear that we wanted different things.
He wanted forever. I wanted a career. He wanted a wife.
I wanted to be more than someone’s wife.
The memory of our last fight was still sharp enough to cut.
His voice breaking, my own tears, the sound of a door closing that had felt so final.
I wasn’t going to walk down that road again. Now now. Not when I’d finally built something of my own.
I set my champagne down on the table with more force than necessary. If I had any more of that, I might just spill my guts out. Or worse, I might march over there and do something catastrophically stupid.
As if what I was going through wasn’t bad enough, I heard his laugh.
That rich, baritone laugh that used to make my toes curl, that I used to feel vibrating through his chest when I laid my head against it. The laugh I heard in my dreams sometimes, the ones I didn’t tell anyone about.
My entire body reacted like I’d been shocked.
Heat surged through my body, starting low in my belly and spreading outward.
The room was suddenly too hot, the air too thick.
The chair felt too small and I kept shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t make me feel like I was about to crawl out of my own skin.
This was why I didn’t want to be around him. He had this… control over me that made me act so unlike myself. Made sensible, practical Isabelle turn into someone ruled by her body instead of her brain.
“May I borrow you for a moment?"
Goosebumps erupted across my arms and neck. That baritone voice was now whispering directly into my ear, his breath warm against my skin, and I could smell him. Cedar and something darker, that cologne he’d always worn, the one I’d helped him pick out.
I held my body rigidly, refusing to lean back into him the way every cell in my body was screaming at me to do. I knew all his ploys. The voice, the proximity, the way he would say my name. He knew my weaknesses just as well, knew exactly which buttons to press to make me melt.
I didn’t turn to look at him before giving a simple, “No.”
My voice came out steadier than I felt. Good. That was good.
“Issy…”
Damn him. Damn him straight to hell. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew the combination of that nickname, his voice, the accent did to my nervous system… I could feel myself turning to mush. My neck was straining, muscles actually trembling with the effort of not turning to look at him.
“I said no.”
Please, please go. Leave me alone before I lose it. Don’t ask me again. Please, just go.
But of course, he didn’t go. Femi had never been good at taking no for an answer. It was one of the things I’d loved about him and one of the things that had driven me insane.
I felt him lean in closer, felt the heat of him against my back even though we weren’t touching. His voice moved from my ear down to my neck, his breath brushing against my skin. “Come on, love. Just five minutes.”
My brain short-circuited, all rational thought evaporating. I remembered all too well what it felt like when those lips grazed my skin, when that beard scratched against my neck, my jaw, my…
“Fine.” The word escaped before I could catch it. “Five minutes.”
I stood up and walked ahead of him. Spine straight, shoulders back, every inch the successful designer who had her life together. I still hadn’t looked at him. Because I knew if I looked at him, I’d be lost.
We moved through the crowd and onto the terrace.
The night air hit my overheated skin as I walked to the railing and gripped it, staring out at the city lights below, praying for strength and fortitude.
I needed to get through the next five minutes without losing my mind, or worse, falling under his spell again.
“I-sa-belle.”
He said my name like it was three separate words, drawing it out, savoring it. The way he used to say it when we were alone, when he was kissing his way down my body, when he was…
I sighed and turned around. “Hello, Femi.”
His brown eyes smiled at me first, crinkling at the corners in that way that had always made my heart skip. Then I took in the rest of him and realized that the universe was indeed unfair. Cosmically, catastrophically unfair.
Because why else would Femi Davies have become even more devastating with age?
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Eight years should have done something.
It should have made him softer, or balding, or less magnetic.
Instead, he looked like he’d been carved from bronze by an artist with a vendetta against women’s self-control.
“I love the way you say my name.” He took a step forward, I took one back, my hip hitting the railing. “You look gorgeous, love. I missed you terribly.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, going on the offense. Maybe if I was attacking, I’d have less time to be charmed.
But his grin only widened, drawing my attention to his beard that ran from just below his ear to his jaw. It was trimmed to perfection, framing his face perfectly. I used to love the feel of it against my skin. I used to play with the tiny strands of hair before he went to the barbershop.
“Careful, love. You don’t want to damage it,” he’d say. Femi was very particular about his beards. It was his pride and joy.
“Xavier invited me, actually.”
Of course, I should have known. Well, Xavier never mentioned Femi around me. Femi Davies was strictly in the ‘do not discuss’ pile, filed away with other topics we avoided. But I would have appreciated a heads up. A chance to prepare myself instead of being ambushed by the sight of him.
Actually, I would have appreciated it even more if Xavier hadn’t invited him at all. But Xavier was loyal, and Femi had been his friend for longer than I’d been Femi’s girlfriend.
“Okay, good.” My voice came out too bright, too brittle. “So, you shouldn’t be talking to me then. Xavier is inside, you can go catch up with him.” I moved to walk past him, back to the safety of the party. But I soon realized that was a terrible mistake.
He reached out and grabbed my wrist to stop me, his fingers circling the delicate bones there. His hand was warm. So warm.
“Issy… don’t go.”
Electricity shot up my arm. Chemistry. Biology. All the reactions on the planet happening at once where his skin touched mine. I couldn’t pull my hand away. My body had apparently decided to mutiny, to ignore every sensible command my brain was frantically issuing.
My eyes moved of their own volition to meet his.
God… those eyes. I’d loved them so much.
Still did, apparently, judging by the way my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. Brown eyes flecked with gold, framed by lashes that had always seemed unfairly long.
Eyes that had watched me with adoration, with frustration, with desire, and with heartbreak.
And those lips.
Plump, perfect, sinful. Femi had always been a talented kisser. I wondered if he was still good at it. I could find out. For research purposes. For the good of all the women on the planet, of course. Maybe just a little taste. It was experimental. Scientific. Not for me. Definitely not for me.
He was leaning down. I was leaning in, rising on my toes. No words were needed. Our bodies remembered this dance even if our minds had tried to forget.
His lips touched mine and my eyes squeezed shut automatically, the world disappearing into darkness and sensation. He pressed them against mine for a few seconds, waiting, always so careful with me.
Then he moved.
His tongue parted my lips, seeking entry, and I gave it to him without hesitation. His hand moved from my wrist to my waist, pulling me closer, and suddenly we were pressed together, and I could feel every hard plane of him, every muscle, the rapid beating of his heart matching mine.
He was still good. Better than good. I’d confirmed it. So, I should let go of him now. I should stop my hands from clinging to the muscles on his arms, feeling them flex under my grip. I should stop tasting him like he was water and I’d been dying of thirst.
But I couldn’t. Once again, I let myself get caught in his spell, let myself drown in the familiarity of him, in the way he kissed like he had all the time in the world, like nothing else mattered but this. Us.
“Lord, Issy.” His voice was rough against my lips, broken with want. “I missed you, I missed this,” he said against my lips. He kissed me again, deeper, desperate now. “I hated losing you. I wish you hadn’t said no. We would have been so happy, Issy.”
The words hit me like cold water.
No.