Page 17 of The Founder's Power

I find myself rereading her last text when I should be reviewing contracts. Driving past her studio on my way home, even if it’s blocks out of the way. I cancel a lunch with an investor just to meet her for a fifteen-minute coffee, and it ends up stretching to an hour because I can’t seem to leave her side.

This isn’t like me. I’ve spent my entire life training focus into muscle memory. Control was my weapon, routine my religion.

But with Isabelle, I want the chaos.

I want the unscheduled moments. The lingering glances. The curve of her smile after I say something unexpected. I want the uncertainty, even if it terrifies me.

I know precisely what’s happening. She’s becoming the center of my gravity, and the empire is starting to orbit her, not the other way around.

My drive, my business came first before. That’s how I lost her.

What if in gaining her back now, I lose my business in the process? Am I willing to take that risk?

* * *

A week later,she’s laughing when we step inside her apartment—soft, unguarded, the sound catching me off guard in the best way. I don’t even remember what I said to make her laugh like that. All I know is that I want to hear her laugh every day for the rest of my life.

The door clicks shut behind us.

She turns toward me, but if she planned on saying something, words fail her. The second her eyes meet mine, the words fade, for both of us, I wager.

We’re close. Too close.

Or maybe not close enough.

Her lips part slightly, and I step in. I don’t touch her. Not yet. I just let the air between us thin until I can feel her breath on mine.

“You undo me,” I murmur.

She draws in a shaky, unsure breath. “Damian…”

Hearing my name on her lips breaks my control, and I kiss her.

There’s no pretense. No slow build this time. Just heat and hunger andGod,I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her. We’ve been spending more time together, but I’ve been taking things slowly, letting her dictate the pace, but right now, I’m on the verge of breaking.

She gasps into my mouth as I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me, her fingers curling into my shirt like she’s trying to hold on or push me away. Maybe both.

We stumble back toward the couch, lips never parting, hands greedy and uncertain. She tastes like cinnamon and defiance. Her sweater slips off one shoulder, and I kiss the newly exposed skin like a man starved.

My hands slide down her back, her thighs, her hips—familiar territory I forgot I knew so well. She threads her fingers into my hair and pulls me closer.

It would be so easy to fall back into this. To take her to bed and lose myself in her body like I used to—before the silence, before the space, before I ruined us.

But I force myself to stop.

Barely.

I pull away, breathing hard, forehead pressed to hers. “We should slow down.”

She nods, her half-lidded eyes hazy. “Probably.”

Neither of us move. My hands are still on her waist. Her nails are still digging into my shoulder.

“I don’t want this to be impulsive,” I say. “I want you to want this as much as I do, and I don’t mean a one-time thing. I don’t want to lose you again.”

She looks up at me, eyes wide and glassy. “Then don’t let go.”

Just like that, she nearly undoes me again.

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