My hand forms a fist. He talks like a man who’s never been clocked before, and I’d gladly be the one to take that on, but not if it will upset Isla.
She asked to make our relationship believable, but my behavior had nothing to do with fulfilling that promise. I want to defend her, to shut down any disrespect thrown her way. I won’t tolerate it.
“Isla, I—”
“Not yet,” she cuts in, as we pass through the foyer to the opposite side of the house.
We pass room after room, filled with pristine decoration, the likes of which I’ve only seen in movies. It’s hard to imagine growing up in a place like this, cold and stiff like a museum.
My nerves ratchet the longer she remains quiet. Did I take it too far? I don’t think she’d object to anything I said, but she could think I overstepped. I spoke up not because Isla can’t handle the situation, but because she shouldn’t have to listen to that garbage.
Isla finally opens a door, holding it open for me to enter. I remain silent, waiting for her to tell me off for what I said and did, but she only stares.
Fuck. She’s so damn beautiful, biting her lip as her eyes devour me.
How that dipshit could reduce her value down to whether or not she bore him children is beyond me. He expected her to set aside her dreams to fulfill his. Whatever love existed between them, I’d bet my entire life savings that it wasn’t the real deal. No person could throw away another so easily if it were. And I wouldneverspeak about my ex-wife like Chip talked about Isla.
I break the silence. “You’re killing me, Covington. Say something. Yell at me if you need to, but for the record, that fucking asshole deserved a lot more than I said a—”
Isla pushes off the door, taking a few steps forward until she’s leaping into my arms. My hands land on her ass, securing her to me. She wraps her legs around my body while she presses her lips against my neck.
“Not mad then,” I rasp, walking forward and spinning us until my back hits the wall.
“Not mad,” she murmurs. She traces her tongue along the length of my neck. “Turned on.”
My pulse hammers faster with every passing second I have her in my arms. Isla shifts, and her dress rides up higher. When I go to smooth it down, my hands connect with lace, rough against her soft skin, and I groan, imagining how incredible she must look in it.
She takes my earlobe into her mouth, sucking lightly and applying a tease of teeth. I’m instantly hard. Isla’s hand brushes against my crotch, and I hiss.
“I like finding out what you’re into,” she murmurs.
I gently guide her head back far enough so our eyes meet. She’s drunk onme, pupils like saucers overtaking the blue shade I love.
“I like everything you do, Red.” I release a slow, uneven breath, barely holding myself together. “Far more than I should.”
I turn us around, pushing Isla’s back against the wall, and slam my mouth against hers. She gasps, but takes no time to respond, lips locking on mine. My other hand skims up her body, beginning at her exposed thigh. She shivers against me.
“Wes,” she moans, her sneakers digging harder into my back, pulling me closer.
I want her to get everything she wants. She deserves to have someone say yes, again and again, for no other reason than she asked.
And yet, the inconvenience of where we are prevents me from fully giving into this moment.
“Isla, wait.” I rip my lips away from hers, delighting in the pink, swollen sight I leave behind. “Where are we?”
“Music room. Brooks went through this drumming phase when he was in middle school.” She flashes me a mischievous grin. “It’s soundproof.”
“Isla.” A tortured warning.
“What?”
I glance to the side, finally taking in our surroundings. A drum kit sits in the center of the room, a couch against one wall, the otherfilled with assorted musical instruments. Any other day, I’d kill to play those and show off my musical talents to impress this woman, but I’ve got other things on my mind.
“I want to take my time with you.” I run a finger along the smooth skin of her jaw.
She loosens the grip of her legs and slides down the wall until her feet reach the floor. “I can solve that problem.”
Isla and I walk back into the silent dining room, hand-in-hand. She didn’t bother to smooth down her hair, so it’s clear we did more than talk. Not that I care what these people think of us.
