Dante and Vivian were heading to St. Barth’s; I was undecided. I usually returned to London for Christmas, but depending on how things went with DigiStream, I might have to stay in New York.
Part of me relished the idea of a quiet season with only work, books, and perhaps the occasional Broadway show to keep me company. Big holiday gatherings were highly overrated, in my opinion.
“What about you, Isa?” Vivian asked. “Are you heading back to California this year?”
“No, I’m not going home until February for my mother’s birthday,” Isabella said. A brief shadow crossed her face before she smiled again. “It’s so close to Christmas and Lunar New Year that we usually wrap all three celebrations together into one giant weekend. My mom makes these amazing turon rolls, and we go to the beach the morning after her party to unwind…”
I brought my glass to my lips as she talked about her family traditions. Part of me hungered for insights into her background the way a beggar hungered for food. What had her childhood been like?
How close was she to her brothers? Were they similar to Isabella, or did their personalities diverge as siblings’ so often did? I wanted to know everything—every memory, every piece and detail that would help solve the puzzle of my fascination with her.
But another, larger part of me couldn’t forget the shadow. The brief glimpse of darkness beneath the bright, bubbly exterior. It called to me like the light at the end of a tunnel, heralding salvation or damnation.
A booming laugh from another table pulled me out of my spiral.
I gave my head a tiny shake and set my glass down, annoyed by how many of my recent waking moments were occupied with thoughts of Isabella.
I reached for the salt in the middle of the table, determined to enjoy my meal like it was a normal dinner. Isabella, who’d ceded the conversation to Vivian’s recounting of her and Dante’s sailing adventures in Greece, reached for the pepper. Our hands brushed again, a facsimile of our elevator graze.
I stilled. Like the first time, an electric shiver ran up my arm, burning away logic, rationality, reason.
The restaurant faded as our eyes locked with a near audible click, two magnets drawn together by force rather than free will.
If it were up to free will, I would continue with dinner like nothing happened because nothing had happened. It was simply a touch, as innocent as an accidental bump on the sidewalk. It shouldn’t have the power to turn my blood into liquid fire or reach inside my chest and twist my lungs into knots.
Fuck.
“Excuse me.” I abruptly stood, ignoring Dante’s and Vivian’s startled looks. Isabella dropped her hand and refocused on her food, her cheeks pink. “I’ll be right back.”
A bead of sweat formed on my brow as I strode through the dining room. I pushed my shirtsleeves to my elbows; I was burning up.
When I reached the bathroom, I removed my glasses and splashed ice-cold water on my face until my pulse slowed to normal.
What the hell was happening to me?
For a year, I’d successfully kept Isabella at an arm’s length. She was the opposite of everything I considered proper, a complication I didn’t need. Her flamboyance, her chattiness, her incessant talk about sex in public venues…
Her laugh, her scent, her smile. Her talent for piano and the way her eyes light up when she’s excited. They were the most dangerous kind of drug, and I feared I was already sliding down the slippery slope of addiction.
I let out a soft groan and wiped my face dry with a paper towel.
I blamed that cursed Monday two weeks ago. If I hadn’t been so caught off guard by the CEO
vote’s announcement and timing, I wouldn’t have sought out Isabella at Valhalla. If I hadn’t sought her out, I wouldn’t have overheard her in the piano room. If I hadn’t overheard her in the piano room, I wouldn’t be taking refuge in a public restroom, trying to hold myself together after a two-second touch.
I allowed myself another minute to cool down before I put on my glasses, opened the door—and ran straight into the devil herself.
We collided with the force of a football tackle—my arm around her waist, her hands braced against my forearms, the air vibrating with a disturbing sense of déjà vu.
My heartrate surged even as I silently cursed the universe for constantly throwing us at each other.
Literally.
Isabella blinked up at me, her eyes like rich pools of chocolate in the dim light. “I was right,” she said. Her playful voice contained a hint of breathiness that wound its way through my chest in smoky tendrils. “You are stalking me.”
Christ, this woman was something else.
“We happened to exit the restroom at the same time. It could hardly be classified as stalking,” I said with infinite patience. “Might I remind you I left the table first? If anything, I should ask if you’re stalking me.”
“Fine,” she acceded. “But what about when you followed me to the piano room? Twice?”
A dull throb sprang up behind my temple. I suddenly wished I’d never agreed to dinner. “How many times are you going to bring that up?”
“As many times as it takes for you to give me a straight answer.” Isabella stood on tiptoes, bringing her face closer to mine. Every muscle in my body tensed. “Kai Young, do you have a crush on me?”
Absolutely not. The mere idea was absurd, and I should’ve told her so immediately. But the words wouldn’t come out, and I hesitated long enough for Isabella’s eyes to widen. Their teasing glint dimmed, giving way to what looked like alarm.
Irritation ignited in my chest. I wasn’t romantically interested in her—my interest was intellectual, nothing else—but was the prospect that terrible?
“We’re not in high school,” I said, voice tight. “I don’t get crushes.”
“That’s still not a straight answer.”
My back teeth clenched. Before I could inform her that my response had, in fact, been a straight answer if she read between the lines, a low buzz filled the air, followed by an ominous flicker of lights. A low, collective murmur swelled in the dining room.
Isabella stiffened, her fingers curling around my biceps. My pulse thudded against my veins. “What is—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before another buzz traveled the hall, high-pitched and angry, like a saw tearing through wood.
Then, with a final, sputtering flicker, the lights died completely.
CHAPTER 9
Isabella
A few screams from the dining room shredded the restaurant’s hushed elegance into tatters. I gasped —not at the cries or the sudden death of light, but at the weight of a solid, muscled male body caging me against the wall.
One minute, I was teasing Kai as payback for his toy question in the car; the next, I was pressed flush against him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, my lungs inundated with the heady scent of wood and citrus.