Page 71 of Tempt Me

I’m feeling a little tired of men questioning my every move.

“Yes,” I say tartly. I finish my wine in two swallows. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say to Caden before I head out the door.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CADEN

I knock on Isla’s door the following afternoon, feeling jittery.

And it’s not because of Carl Fillion.

I tried not to look too excited when she offered to come with me—even though it felt like fireworks going off inside my chest. I’m not about to turn down any moment I get to spend with her.

The door opens and I’m yanked out of my thoughts, my knees going rigid with shock. Isla is standing in the doorway wearing a hunter-green cocktail dress. Its fitted bodice hugs her curves, contrasting beautifully with her sun-kissed skin, strapless to reveal the delicate arches of her collarbone. The color makes her eyes even greener. My heart spasms out a painful beat. She’s beyond gorgeous—she’s incandescent. Her chestnut hair flows down her back and the tempting rounds of her breasts peek up from beneath the strapless bodice. I have a sudden urge to bury my nose at the base of her throat, to inhale her warm scent.

I cannot fucking believe Luke gets to be with her for the rest of her life.

Then I notice the tears in Isla’s eyes.

I’m instantly on alert.

“What happened?” I ask.

“It’s stuck,” Isla moans. “I can’t get the zipper undone.” She’s wringing her hands with the sweetest look of frustration on her face. “Oh, what am I going to do, this dress is for the rehearsal dinner and it cost a fortune and now I’mstuckin it!”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I can help.”

“You can?” she asks.

I nod.

Isla steps aside to let me into her apartment. I love it here. I love the little vase of flowers that sits on her table. I love the chipped paint on the cabinets. I love the old stuffed rabbit that perches on the couch next to a decorative pillow with a sun embroidered on it.

Everything about this place sayshome. I can’t imagine Isla living anywhere else. I bet Luke’s apartment is all minimalist, with expensive art on the walls and fruit no one ever eats in a designer bowl in the kitchen.

Isla turns and I see that the zipper is indeed stuck on the satiny material. I can’t stop my gaze from wandering down the nape of her neck, skimming her shoulder blades, and lighting over the tender depressions of her spine. It’s so hard not to run my fingertips across her skin. I remember the feel of her fingers last night when she touched my tattoos. It felt impossible to hold myself still, to not dissolve beneath that gentle touch.

I study the situation carefully, telling myself that yes, it’s necessary to get as close to Isla as possible to see where the zipper snagged. Isla has the same, faintly sugary scent that I remember so well. It’s like her baking ingredients follow her wherever she goes, a parade of cinnamon and honey. There’s a tiny freckle at the nape of her neck and I want to kiss it. She’s so slender, so small. I want to envelop her in my arms, protect her, defend her, never let her go.

“Can you fix it?” she asks plaintively.

My cock gives a faint throb and I force myself to focus. She’s not mine to protect.

“Hold on,” I say.

“Lucille is going to kill me.”

I remember Lucille Richards as an overbearing mother and a subservient wife.

I imagine Isla is getting a hefty dose of the overbearing part. I wonder how Lucille feels about Isla being from town. It seems an odd move, for someone from such a prominent family to marry a woman with no financial or social advantages.

But then again, I fell for Isla. I didn’t care about any of that. So maybe I should give Luke a little more credit.

“No one is going to kill you,” I say. I gently move the fabric this way and that to loosen it. “I encountered something similar with Esme once—she’s the three-year-old daughter of the winemaker at the place I was working.” Isla seems to calm a bit as I talk, still gently working the material. “She was trying to put a dress on one of her dolls and the zipper stuck. That zipper was smaller than this one. The main thing is not to force it.” I wriggle and bend the fabric until the zipper is finally set free from the snag.

“There,” I say. “All set.”

“Thank you,” Isla says in a rush. “Oh Caden, seriously…thank you.”

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