Page 67 of Stolen By the Don

ROMAN

She was standing right here.

I run my fingers across the wall, my chest expanding as I inhale the lingering scent. Isabella was here. At some point during my conversation with Leo, I knew she was close by, but I wasn’t sure how close.

Her scent floated in the air, enveloping the living room…a distraction that flooded my thoughts and made breathing impossible.

When I confessed, “I need her,” those weren’t the words I’d wanted to say. I had some other excuse to give, anything that would keep Leo from knowing how I felt. But all I could see was her pout, the stubborn tilt of her chin, and her frustration when she tried to cut into the steak.

Dinner. Something as simple as dinner was enough to force the truth out of my mouth. I didn’t explain any further, but it was enough for Leo.

“Are you planning on repainting?” he asks as he walks up to me now, peering closely at the wall. “If you are, then I think youshould go for a lighter color. Or, you know…” He shrugs. “Ask your wife what she’d like? It’s her house too.”

My eyes narrow as I turn to him. He raises his hands and steps back. “It was just a suggestion. You don’t have to take it.” But his lips curl in a teasing smile. “I’m starving,” he adds. “I’m going to see if there’s anything to eat. Do you want something?”

Yes. A glass of whiskey.

I’d take anything to drown out my thoughts.

I ignore his question and walk away, reaching the kitchen before he can follow. My hands move automatically as I grab a glass, but something outside catches my eye. A flash of hair swaying lazily in the breeze outside the window. Then I hear it—soft, irritated.

“Shit.”

My brows knit. “Isabella?”

Another mutter follows, full of frustration. “Hot. Hot. Freaking hot.”

Instinct kicks in. I grab a pack of ice from the freezer and cut through the kitchen, down the utility hallway, and out onto the balcony.

There she is—perched like a painting, knees drawn up and mouth puckered as she blows air with furious little huffs. Her face is twisted in discomfort, hands flapping like she’s trying to cool the burn on her tongue.

And even at this moment, half in pain, she steals the breath from my lungs.

“You need something cold,” I say as I drop beside her, grabbing her foot before she can protest. She tries, her lips parting and her brows knitting, but the relief from the ice pack is instant.

She sighs, and her shoulders droop as her eyes close. “That feels good.” My lips curl in a smile. She opens her eyes. “How did you know I needed that?”

Because I heard her.No.I smelled her. Even when I walked into the kitchen, in the seconds before I caught the whisper of her hair, I smelled her still.

“You might end up amputating something one of these days,” I say, scolding her lightly.

Isabella laughs, and it bubbles out, wrapping around me, bright and careless.

Tossing her hair, she shrugs. “I know, right? I couldn’t sleep and I thought maybe some tea would help. But I should’ve known better—I had no clue what valerian tea tasted like. Then I tried it”—she tosses a hand toward the cup in exaggerated offense—“and I could’ve sworn I shoved sweaty socks down my throat.”

I chuckle, low and unguarded. At the same time, my hand reaches for her foot. I graze her Achilles heel lightly, and my thumb drifts to her ankle. Her skin is warm and soft, and when she lets out a quiet moan, her lips parting just slightly, I stop breathing.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

It’s too intimate. Too dangerous.

“You just need to keep the ice pack on it for a couple of minutes,” I say roughly, forcing the words out of my throat as I drop her foot carefully. “The pain should ease up.”

She nods. “Okay.”

I pull myself up, averting my eyes when she sighs again.

“I overheard you and Leo talking,” Isabella whispers. I look over my shoulder; my expression schooled to hide the parts she might not have heard. “I didn’t mean to, but I was going to the kitchen and then…yeah.”

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