Page 90 of The Betrothal

The sight of her gave me pause for longer than it should have, undermining the point I was here to make. Which was… I grasped for the thread I had lost.

“I don’t need you gone. But it doesn’t change that this is the whole goddamned problem, Isabelle!” The cold swirled in from behind me and I slammed the door closed a little harder than I should have as well.

I watched her to be sure I hadn’t startled her. I could never stand and argue with a woman I was scaring. I wasn’t a fucking monster. I never wanted to scare her.

“You hate me because I’m temporary?” she repeated.

“Yes, you’re fucking temporary. And that’s the problem,” I sighed.

“The new problem is that I’m temporary? First it’s I’m in your space, then it’s that I’m hiding things. Now it’s temporary?” She barked a hollow laugh. “Well, sorry that my on-the-run status is such a serious inconvenience for you. Now kindly piss back off so I can get dressed.”

“I’m not leaving until you concede that I don’t hate you!” I snapped.

“Nope. Your behaviour tells a different story, and I don’t care how you logic it.” She stared at me waiting for me to leave and when I didn’t she launched the towel onto the bed and snatched her jumper.

I closed the distance and yanked it away from her.

“Alex,” she warned, grabbing at it.

“Don’t,” I muttered. Oh, shit. What was I doing?

“Why?” she whispered, her bluster weakening.

“Because I know this is the most I’ll ever get of you.” My confession surprised me as much as it did her.

My hand rose to toy with her silver hair. “I don’t hate you, Izzy. Hatred is not what I feel for you.”

“Liar.” She watched me through her lashes. “You said it yourself. I’m a complication, I’m here, I’m leaving, you mean that I’m destabilising. And you do hate it, Alex. You hate that my misfortune brought me to your doorstep.”

I felt my lip curl at her summary. She just stood tall and glared at me.

“Okay.” I dropped her hair and she didn’t hide her surprise, thinking I’d conceded. “I’ll show you then.”

She gasped when I grabbed her, spinning until she came up against the bathroom door. I pressed her against it, her breath leaving her in a huff.

She dragged in a breath and no sooner had she than I dipped my head and sealed my lips over hers.

The first contact had my blood surging, my pulse thudded, loud in my ears.

I kissed her.

She didn’t respond, didn’t open to me, didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

I put a sliver of space between our mouths, so close still that when I spoke my lips brushed over hers. “Izzy,” I whispered.

Her hands tentatively found my waist. She watched me, confused.

“This.” I rolled my hips over her body, the pronounced bulge of my erection pressed into her and she gasped. “This is how I feel about you.”

“Oh,” she breathed. Her cheeks warmed with a blush, her body arching, almost involuntarily into mine.

It was just a fraction, but it was enough.

A tiny tug of my body towards hers was all the permission I needed. I kissed her again, my tongue forcing its way past her lips into her mouth, I consumed her.

She dropped her head back giving me better access and I deepened the kiss.

Small, needy moans left her and I swallowed them down, my erection pushing into her stomach with every shift of my hips.