Page 9 of Until You (Forgive Me)

A dawning realisation hit Isabella as she bit down on a sob—someone had set her up. Whatever they thought they knew... it was all lies.

Isabella sank into the grip of the two men who held her arms as they led her away. Edward had played her and won.

Chapter Six

Christian

Christian turned over once more before rolling onto his back and switching on the bedside light. Grabbing his phone, the time flashed up.

05:00.

Ouch, three hours sleep. The air in the room was thick and stifling, a sheen of sweat having formed on his bare chest. Maybe turning off the air conditioning before going to bed had not been the best of ideas. But he’d needed silence, and the hum had annoyed him. He loved Asia, but it always took him time to acclimatise to the temperature and humidity.

His plane had landed early evening. He spent most of the flight engrossed in work, pouring over documents and finalising his presentation. Upon arrival at the hotel, he ordered room service and spent several hours emailing documents and answering questions. Before he knew it, it had been two AM.

He was a control freak. Sebastian was right, not that Christian would ever admit it. The day he’d taken over the company, he swore never to make the same mistakes his father had. If that meant firing off emails in the early hours or taking a few phone calls, that was fine. Better than the alternative. Plus, the time difference already meant his internal clock was out of whack.

Christian got out of bed and padded across the cool tiles towards the en-suite. His computer was set up in the living area of the villa. There was a seating area with two cosy sofas covered in scatter pillows on one side and a big dining table and sideboard made of hardwood on the other. The villa had a small office, but Christian preferred the table, where he could look out onto the private courtyard and pool. He always stayed in this hotel. Its private villas offered the peace and space he liked when travelling. Each villa, in its own space, and far enough away from the main building that there were no interruptions from other guests.

After grabbing a shower and some water, Christian logged onto his computer before logging off again. His mind raced. Dropping his head back, he stared at the vaulted ceiling, the overhead fan circling the fast-cooling air. At home, he would hit the gym. Maybe that’s what he needed. A hard workout to help clear his head. He wasn’t due to meet Henri and Patrice, the American CEO and his wife, until seven thirty, so he had a few hours to kill.

The spa and gym were in the main building. Christian breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the air-conditioning. The cold air meant the gym lacked the usual scent of sweaty bodies and overused trainers, commonplace in most public gyms. It was one reason he’d installed his own state-of-the-art gym in his penthouse, the other being, he didn’t like to wait.

Christian had to admit, the hotel gym was pleasant, the air holding a fresh lemon scent that refreshed rather than repelled him. The gym was full of modern and well-maintained equipment. Polite notices asked gym guests to clean down the equipment after use, but the staff seemed to take it upon themselves. Christian walked towards a set of six running machines and six rowers. Each positioned in front of a large window that provided a panoramic view of the hotel gardens.

He stepped onto one of the running machines, setting his usual pace. He needed to rid his body of the jet lag he knew would kick in shortly. The sun was rising, a mix of reds, oranges and yellows lighting up the horizon, offsetting the bushes and plants in the beautifully manicured garden. Christian spotted a group walking to a wooden pergola across from the window. Someone had laid out mats on the pergola. Each took their place as they listened to whoever was giving them their instructions.

Christian’s eyes wandered over the group. Although yoga was not something he’d tried, he found himself drawn to them as they began their practice. Christian’s eyes locked on one participant. His heart stuttered. He could not look away. She was breathtaking. Her movements were powerful as her body rippled and flowed from one position to the next. She was tall and toned, her long red hair plaited down her back. Christian was too far away to see her face, but he felt an instant pull towards her. He continued to run, ignoring the burn in his chest and legs, his fascination with the class complete. He only slowed when he saw them lie down. From where he was, it looked as if they’d all gone to sleep, so Christian began his own warm down, realising he’d been running solidly for forty minutes. He needed to get changed and showered. The workout had achieved its goal, jet lag now a thing of the past. His mind instead focused on a certain red-headed yoga instructor. Maybe he would take her class tomorrow.

Christian showered and changed in record time, ditching his sportswear for jeans and a polo shirt, glad he’d thrown them into a bag before leaving his room. His jeans would be hot and uncomfortable in the heat, but the hotel was air-conditioned, so he was fine. Christian moved towards the spa reception, ready to return his locker key. Would he ask about the yoga instructor? Maybe he could find out if she was holding any more classes? It had been a long time since anyone had actually piqued his interest. Hissexlife was simple. The relationships he engaged in were of the casual, mutually beneficial kind. All the women he dated knew that he was not the marrying type. He’d been there, done that, and had no intention of ever repeating the exercise. Some women had tried, and they parted company. Those happy to accept his offer of dinner followed by uncomplicated sex were fine.

Yet Christian wanted to meet this yoga instructor. Not that he was looking for sex while he was here—he was very clear about keeping business and pleasure separate. Henri was bringing Patrice, and he did not think Henri’s wife would appreciate himtom-cattingaround with a local. But, for the first time, he found himself with an overwhelming desire to seek someone out...

Christian drew up short as the reception desk came into view. She was there. Her back to him while she spoke to the girls behind the desk. One of them said something, and she laughed, throwing her head back, the sound sending a warm flush to his groin.

Who was this woman?

He still could not see her face, but her body was even more impressive up close. She had a zipped-up sports top over her yoga pants and sports bra, but there was no mistaking the strength her body held. He could appreciate the amount of effort and dedication it must have taken to sculpt her muscles that way. Before he could think, Christian stepped up to the desk.

“Hello, Mr Dupree,” one girl on the desk said as he approached. “Is there anything I can help you with, Sir?”

The woman turned, and Christian felt the breath leave his lungs.

“Isabella?” he heard himself say.

“Christian? Christian Dupree?”

The sound of joy that came from hearing her say his name floored him. Next thing, Christian caught her as she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. His own arms snaked around her body, enjoying the feel of her pressed against him, her floral scent enveloping him.

Isabella stepped back, holding onto his upper arms. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it’s you... What are you doing here? When did you arrive?”

It had been six or seven years since Christian had last seen this woman. His little sister, Scarlett’s best friend.

Isabella was tall, although she only reached his shoulder. She was makeup-free. Her large green eyes and dark lashes stood out against her porcelain complexion. Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she looked up at him. She’d been a permanent fixture in his house growing up. Their mothers, best friends. Two women with husbands working long hours, supporting each other. They’d all been inseparable until Isabella’s mother had died suddenly.

Scarlett and Isabella had remained firm friends, at least they had until Scarlett moved to America. After that… were they still in touch? He’d never thought to ask. Little Isabella King had only ever been his little sister’s best friend… Until today.

“Little Isabella King. What are you doing teaching yoga in Thailand? I thought you were living it up in London, enjoying London’s social scene.”

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