Page 81 of Prelude To You

A woman handed me a couple of simple brown paper bags with string handles. All told, a few million dollars were dispensed here tonight. People weren’t about to flash their purchases to the outside world.

“Thank you, Mr. Belmont. Have a great rest of your evening.”

I nodded and smiled, in a rush to get to the penthouse. It had been close to twenty minutes now without Isabel by my side. I missed her. That was not a feeling I was acquainted with.

By now she was imprinted on my mind. That sensual delicate face where her every emotion was openly displayed. And her intoxicating fragrance, the musky floral sweetness on her skin that begged to be tasted like a first sip of champagne.

And then there was the hallway, her small breathless moans and soft pleas as my fingers explored her ravenous need, her slick pussy finally clenching around my fingers, every muscle in her drawing tight and her body trembling in my arms as she climaxed.

My fascination with Isabel would be my undoing, and it was actually a kind of solace to finally admit that to myself. Perhaps Steven was right; it was temporary insanity. None of it made sense, and all it did was emphasize that even if I thought of myself as strong enough to withstand any temptation, I wasn’t.

Not in this case. Not with Isabel.

I came to the penthouse elevator and found myself pondering about the night that lay ahead. Wondering why I wasn’t feeling more aligned with the original plan of simply fucking her and being done with it.

The answer was hidden somewhere in the past few hours. None of this was expected. And in the very predictable life I led, this discovery that I might have dormant feelings suddenly trying to fight their way to the surface, threw my carefully laid plans completely off the tracks.

The penthouse elevator doors whooshed open. I was about to get in when I glimpsed Isabel standing inside, against the back wall, her face pale, and tension tugging at the corners of her mouth. Vulnerable and exhausted. No doubt reversing her decision to stay.

I realized this was not a woman who was waiting anxiously to be ravished. This was a woman reconsidering her life choices, and I was the cause of her distress.

Her eyes begged into mine and I stood aside, giving her room to flee. To walk out of my life. Which should have been the easy solution for both of us, and a final relief. But it wasn’t. She strode out of the elevator and halted in front of me, looking up with her big eyes drowning in blustering defeat.

Her voice broke. “I’m sorry, Roman. I can’t. I really want to, but I can’t. It would have been wonderful and magical, but it would make tomorrow and every day after that agonizing.”

The thought of never seeing her again prompted a dull ache somewhere inside me. But for some reason, all I cared aboutright now was for her to be okay. And if that meant she had to get as far away from me as possible, so be it.

I put my hand on her cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Isabel. Absolutely nothing. The car service is on standby, I’ll call them now.”

She touched my cheek, her eyes never leaving mine. “Thank you.”

“Please take this,” I said, and I handed her one of the brown bags. “This is for you.”

But she wouldn’t take the bag. “Please don’t. You already bought me the book.”

“I can’t do anything with this, Isabel. It’s yours.”

She refused and I didn’t push, the situation too delicate to tread on her resolve. The tenderness of her kiss lingered, and I wanted to drag the goodbye out for as long as I could. Just the thought of her leaving made my throat ache. And it seemed she was as reluctant to leave as I was to see her go.

Behind her, a bellboy with a luggage cart tried to pass, forcing her to step closer to me. My hand instinctively landed on the small of her back, securing her. I felt the familiar little shudder tremble through her.

She didn’t move away. And I grabbed the moment. “You know what, I’m starving. We could order dinner, have wine and you could read me Daphne and Pierre’s letters. And then we could call it a night. This needs to end better.”

A light sparked in her eyes. “You have the letters?”

I tapped the bag she didn’t want to take. “Yes, I got them foryou, my sweet. I can’t read a word of French. You’ll have to translate them for me so we both know what happened to Daphne and Pierre.”

She looked away, biting her lip, considering her options. I watched her, the exquisiteness of Isabel, close enough to brush my lips across her forehead and trail my thumb to its favoriteresting place in the hollow of her throat. All I wanted was to hear her sayyes.

She glanced up at me, the uneasiness slowly waning from her eyes as a new sentiment emerged. Her taking responsibility for this situation blindsided me. “I should never have come here pretending to thank you for the book. It’s really made it difficult for both of us.”

I removed a stray lock from her face. “And I should probably not have kissed you in that bookshop last night.”

She gave me a devastating smile. “But you were the knight in shining armor, coming to the rescue of the damsel in distress. Which you did several more times tonight.”

I brushed her cheek with my fingers as I pleaded. “And suddenly the knight is in distress, and at the mercy of the damsel to grant him a little more of her time.”

My confession caught us both by surprise. And I simply didn’t have the inclination to downplay it. It couldn’t be more obvious that Isabel wasn’t the only one feeling miserable here. She played with the buttons on my jacket, her fingers dancing elegantly from one button to the next.

---