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Not in this apartment.
Not in my bed.
And certainly not in my cold, dead heart.
I storm into the living room, my eyes falling on her sleeping form again, and I stop in my tracks.
When I first came in, she was mostly covered by the throw rug I keep on the back of the lounge. But since then, she’s thrown it off and is wearing nothing but an old T-shirt that has my hackles rising.
Did an old boyfriend give it to her? There weren’t many of them in the report Everett gave me, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t had flings that wouldn’t show up on any of his checks. The idea of her wearing another man’s shirt has my heart thundering in my chest and rage moving through my veins with an ease that is usually reserved for my blood.
Without conscious thought, I prowl toward her and pluck her off the couch without a second thought. The first thought that crosses my mind is how fucking light she is. Is she eating enough? Is this an effect of all the partying she does?
I make a mental note to track her meals over the coming weeks.
The second thought, and the more unwelcome of the two, is how fucking right she feels pressed against my chest. How her weight settles in my arms, how her breath whispers across my bare chest, how she unconsciously curls toward me, as if she knows I’ll keep her safe above all else.
I shake myself off and walk us both to the bedroom, carefully laying her out on her side of the mattress. Her hair forms a halo around her head, and there’s something in my chest that tugs me toward her.
I reach over her, carefully brushing the stray strands from her eyes, reveling in how soft her skin is beneath my fingers.
The hem of the shirt she’s wearing lifts as she shifts in her sleep, and I get the tiniest glimpse of the cotton panties covering what I can only imagine is paradise between her legs.
A growl claws its way up my throat, and before I’ve made a conscious decision to do so, I storm across the room, tearing open one of my drawers and quickly tugging out one of my Henleys. She seems to run cold at night, so perhaps the long sleeves will keep her warm.
By the time I make it back to the edge of the bed, the black fabric is fisted in my hand and I take deep breaths to settle the anger beating through me.
I have to be gentle if I want to do this without waking her, and right now I want to be anything but that. I want to roll her onto her stomach and spank her until she’s begging me to stop. I want to tie her to the goddamn bed so I know where she is at all times. But above all else, despite my better judgment, I want to slide between those toned thighs and slip my cock inside her.
I was never meant to feel anything for her, but somehow she’s already found her way under my skin, and that only makes me despise her more.
I carefully push the shirt she’s wearing up, uncovering more of her pale skin. The contrast of her softness beneath my scarred hands only makes me want to touch her more, to dirty her up, to drag her down to hell right alongside me.
I’m playing a dangerous game right now, one I have no right playing, and yet I can’t stop myself. Not when I reach the underside of her perky tits, or as I carefully thread her arms through the holes of the shirt, and not even when she’s laying bare, nothing but a flimsy piece of cotton protecting her from me.
I stare at her for too long. Way too fucking long. But each second is more conflicted than the last.
I’m not meant to feel anything for Isla. Contempt, maybe, but nothing else. And yet the urge to squeeze my aching cock, to get myself off at the sight of her unconscious body, to stroke myself until I cover her in my cum, is almost overwhelming.
Before I can do something I can’t come back from, I slip my shirt over her head and carefully push her arms into the sleeves.
I manage to get her settled back against the pillows without waking her and spend a few more moments staring down at her before moving to my side of the bed and laying beside her.
As soon as I’m settled, tiredness washes over me, and the last thing I remember before I fall asleep is dragging Isla across the bed and settling her against my chest, ignoring the fact this is the most whole I’ve ever felt.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ISLA
It’s like fucking déjà vu.
Once again I wake up completely overheated, and this time I know the source immediately. I force my eyes open and stare down at the solid band of an arm around my waist.
But that’s not what makes my breath catch in my throat.
It’s not even that I distinctly remember falling asleep on the couch by design.
It’s the fact that when I went to sleep, I was wearing Dad’s old T-shirt. And now I’m wearing a long-sleeved Henley that certainly doesn’t belong to me.
