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Her lashes flutter for a couple seconds in utter confusion, then she clicks her tongue. “I see. You’re trying to get me to sleep with you, aren’t you? This is about the heir thing Leo was talking about. No way.” Isabella shakes her head. “No freaking way. I’m not letting you put a baby in me, Roman.”
I wasn’t thinking about a baby. Or sex,either.Okay, maybe I was thinking about getting her naked, on her knees, her back arched, and her whimpers louder than the walls can carry, but not when I offered the bathroom.
Now…it’s the only thing I can think about.
How easy it’d be to get the dress off her. To slip my hands under it and trail my fingers over her thighs until they end up buried somewhere wet.Warm. Tight.
And if I end up putting a baby in her…it wouldn’t be the worst thing. A vivid image of Isabella, round and mouthy, fills my head.
I shove it out. “Bathroom.” I point. “Now. I’m not going to risk you tumbling down those stairs.”
She folds her arms and plants her feet squarely. “I’m not drunk.”
I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That’s exactly what drunk people say.”
“And if I don’t want to?” she challenges.
I step closer, close enough to feel the tremble in her breath. “Then you’ll make me carry you. And I don’t think you want that. It might end up exactly how you’ve described it.”
As she marches to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, I wreck my hair by dragging my fingers through until I can feel my scalp. It’s been a rough couple weeks.
Leaving the house wasn’t because I wanted to get away from Isabella. After the conversation with Leo and the stab of mercy I felt for Marco after finding Isabella outside the kitchen, I knew I had to end things fast.
I couldn’t let myself be weak to the point where I couldn’t avenge my father. One day turned into two. Two to three, and it grew from there. I couldn’t have put her out of my head if I tried, but it was also the reason I didn’t call.
She’s my weakness.A terrible, dangerous weakness that makes me want to keep her safe from everything that might hurt her…including me.
Sighing, I pick up the sheets from the floor and climb into bed, pulling them up to my shoulders and turning to the wall.
Isabella.I get out of bed, rummaging through my closet for a shirt big enough for her to wear, and drape it on the chair.
In bed again, I close my eyes, shutting my thoughts to the sound of water running in the bathroom.
It’s a soothing sound—too soothing. It shouldn’t make me imagine her under the stream, droplets rolling down her back, the scent of my bodywash mixing with steam and sinking into her skin.
I grip the sheets tighter.
She’ll leave,I tell myself. She’ll step out and go to her room when she’s done because the last place she wants to be is in bed with me.
Minutes pass, and I hear the door open. Footsteps pad on the floor, and my ears perk up, waiting to hear them walk to the door. Instead, I hear the rustling of clothes and then feel the bed dip gently.
She didn’t leave.
Why? Time and again, Isabella’s made it clear how much she doesn’t want me. How much she would rather be free of me. Why would she choose to remain here of her own free will?
She’s so close too.
I can feel the part of the bed where her body takes up space. It’s mere inches behind me, and all it would take is a turn. The shirt wouldn’t stand a chance. Knowing that, I shut my eyes even tighter, forcing my body to focus on sleep.
“Roman?”
No.
“Roman?” she whispers. “You’re probably sleeping, but if you’re not, thank you for not shooting me.”
That’s it? That’s what she’s thankful for? Just when I think I have her all figured out, she goes and surprises me.
“I don’t think I’d like a bullet through my head. Not that it’d matter if I died.”