CHAPTER 18
That evening, as they sat down for dinner in the warm glow of the dining room, Isla couldn’t help but notice a shift in Graham’s demeanor. Since their arrival from Magnolia Ridge to Willow Creek, he had been distant, cold, and as unapproachable as a stormy sea. But tonight, something was different. There was a lighter air about him, an ease she hadn’t seen in weeks.
She didn’t trust it.
Maggie set a steaming platter of corned beef on the table, the savory aroma wafting through the room and making Isla’s stomach rumble in anticipation. She eagerly helped herself, taking a generous forkful and letting out an involuntary moan of appreciation as the flavors hit her tongue.
“Maggie, this is absolutely divine,” Isla said, her voice warm with genuine pleasure.
Maggie’s face flushed a soft pink, the compliment lighting her up like a candle. “Thank you, love. I remember it’s your favorite.”
With a pleased smile, Maggie disappeared back into the kitchen to fetch dessert, leaving Isla and Graham alone at the table. The silence that followed was thick and strange, like the calm before an unspoken storm.
Isla focused on her plate, determined not to let the tension get to her. But Graham’s low, velvety voice broke the quiet.
“You know, New York has some of the best corned beef in the world,” he said, his tone casual yet carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of intent. “I could take you to my favorite place sometime.”
Isla froze mid-bite, her fork hovering in the air as she stared at him. Her brows knitted in suspicion. There was no way that was an innocent invitation. With Graham, there was always a motive, always a plan, and this was no exception.
Her first thought was sharp and immediate: When hell freezes over.
But she didn’t say it. Instead, she carefully set her fork down on the edge of her plate and resumed eating as if he hadn’t spoken at all. She didn’t trust herself to respond—not without opening the door for him to slide in one of his persistent marriage proposals.
She had learned to navigate these moments like a soldier crossing a minefield. Engaging with him, even over something as trivial as corned beef, felt like stepping into dangerous territory. His words, his actions—everything about him felt like a prelude to that inevitable conversation. And she wasn’t in the mood to play that game tonight.
So she kept her head down and her silence firm, hoping that if she ignored him long enough, he might drop the subject entirely. It wasn’t much of a strategy, but for now, it was all she had.
“How does Friday sound?” Graham’s voice was smooth, casual—too casual. He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table as though the matter had already been decided. “There’s an Irish pub on Water Street called the Dead Rabbit. They serve the best corned beef in New York. I could take you there Friday.”
The confidence in his tone, the way he spoke as if she had already agreed, made Isla bristle. She knew him well enough by now to recognize one of his traps when she saw it. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she set her fork down with deliberate care.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her tone clipped and firm, like the snap of a closing door. Then, with a sly smile, she added, “And if you’re really that starved for attention, I’m sure Vanessa hasn’t gone far. She’d probably be thrilled to accompany you.”
The satisfaction she felt when Graham’s relaxed expression hardened into a scowl was worth it, though. His jaw tightened, and a flicker of irritation crossed his features.
For a moment, he said nothing, just stared at her with those sharp, assessing eyes, as if trying to decide how best to respond. Then his lips moved, forming what was unmistakably a curse. It was subtle, but the way he twisted his mouth ensured that whatever he’d said, she couldn’t quite make it out.
She knew he’d done it deliberately, just to needle her further. And it worked. She scowled back at him, her cheeks flushing with a mix of annoyance.
“Did you just swear at me?” she demanded, her voice low but charged with outrage.
Graham leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“You’re impossible,” she muttered beyond frustrated at this point.
"On the weekend, I have one meeting scheduled,” Graham began, his tone as smooth as the silk tie he wasn’t wearing. “After that, we could go sightseeing around the city. Maybe visit some museums or galleries—I’m sure you’d enjoy that—and, of course, explore the food scene. New York has some amazing places to eat.”
Isla’s fork paused mid-air as she glared at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Graham barely looked up, taking another measured bite of the corned beef, savoring it like a man with all the time in the world. “Yes, you are. You’re coming with me to New York this Wednesday. I have work to do, and you’ll be accompanying me.”
Her jaw tightened. “Why can’t I just stay here?”
“Because,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin before fixing her with a steady, unyielding gaze, “you’ve already proven how unreliable you are when left alone. What’s to stop you from bolting like a spooked horse the moment I turn my back?”
Her temper flared. “And what if I did? I’m an adult. I can do as I please.”
The second the words left her mouth, Isla regretted them. She watched as Graham’s expression shifted, his dark eyes sweeping over her with a deliberate slowness that felt like a physical touch. It wasn’t just a glance—it was an assessment, a knowing, lingering look that started at her flushed face and trailed down her body as if he could see through every layer of fabric.
“An adult, hmm?” he murmured, setting his glass down with an audible clink. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes now, a spark of heat that made her skin prickle. “I wonder if you could really please...”
Her face went crimson, the double meaning in his words striking her like a lightning bolt. She opened her mouth to retort but found herself speechless, trapped in the smoldering intensity of his gaze.
Graham leaned back in his chair, his long fingers tracing idle circles around the rim of his glass. He was toying with her, letting the tension build between them, watching as she squirmed under the weight of his unspoken challenge. A part of him was sorely tempted to reach across the table, grab that delicate wrist of hers, and pull her into his lap. The image was vivid in his mind: her soft curves pressed against him, her breath hitching as his hands explored every inch of her.
But no. Patience. He needed patience. She was as skittish as a doe, ready to bolt at the first sign of a wrong move. He couldn’t afford to spook her—not yet.
Isla was far from pleased. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“No,” Graham replied, his tone calm yet sharp. “I know exactly what you meant. Doing whatever you like, even if it ends with you dead in a ditch?” He took another bite of the potatoes on his plate, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the tension simmering in the air.
“I didn’t end up in a ditch,” she argued, but her voice lacked conviction, and they both knew it.
“You were living in a rundown, creepy guesthouse and were saved by sheer luck from being raped or worse. Do you not understand how close you came to disaster?” His gaze pinned her in place, sharp and unforgiving, and for reasons she couldn’t fully understand, it made her feel a flicker of shame.
Isla looked away, her fingers curling around the edge of her plate. She couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment—or worse, the truth—in them. But Graham wasn’t about to let her retreat.
He rapped his knuckles on the table, hard enough to make the dishes rattle. The vibration startled her, and her head snapped up. His dark eyes bore into hers, unwavering and resolute. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You are my responsibility now, and I’m going to make damn sure you’re safe and protected.”
She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “What if I promise not to leave Thornfield Manor while you’re gone?” Her voice wavered with unshed tears, a vulnerability she tried but failed to hide. “Can I stay here then?”
For a moment, something flickered in Graham’s expression—regret, maybe, or guilt. He heard the tremble in her voice, saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, and it struck a chord in him that he couldn’t quite explain. He hated seeing her like this, feeling like this, and knowing that he was the cause of it.
“I give you my word,” Isla added quickly, as if afraid he hadn’t heard her. Her desperation was clear, and it twisted something inside him.
A part of him felt like a complete jackass for doing this to her, dragging her through another emotional ordeal when she’d already endured so much. But this wasn’t just about him—it was about her future. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that leaving her here in Thornfield Manor while he returned to his life in New York was out of the question.
This house was no place for her. It was an empty, crumbling relic of a bygone era, a place that would only trap her in the shadows of her past. Out in the world, alongside him, she could have so much more. If she wanted to go to college, he’d get her into the best schools. If she wanted to explore her passions, he’d make it happen. Once they were married, everything he had would be hers. The world would be hers.
He clenched his jaw, resolute. “That’s not good enough, little dove,” he said, his voice steady, though its finality carried an edge. “You’re coming with me, and that’s the end of it.”
Isla stared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He braced himself, expecting her to break down. Instead, she stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as her resolve flared to life.
“I’m not! I’m not coming with you!” she snapped, her voice shaking with fury and frustration. “You can’t make me!”
Without waiting for his response, she turned and stormed off, her movements hurried and unsteady.
Graham sighed, exasperated but unsurprised. Typical. Walking away from a fight the moment they started losing. His lips twitched into a wry smirk. She thought she could escape so easily.
Not on his watch.
In one swift motion, he was on his feet, closing the distance between them. Before she could take another step, his hand encircled her wrist, firm but not harsh. With a calculated tug, he pulled her back toward him, her momentum toppling her into his lap.
She let out a startled gasp, her eyes wide and disbelieving as she found herself pinned against him. For a fleeting second, she froze, her shock silencing her protests. Graham seized the moment, securing her hands behind her back with one strong arm.
By the time her senses returned, he had her locked firmly in place, her struggles futile against his unyielding grip. “Let go of me!” she cried, her voice rising in frustration as she twisted in his hold. “You’ve completely lost your mind if you think you can drag me to New York by force!”
Her movements—desperate, frantic, and utterly futile—only spurred him on. She squirmed in his lap, her warm body pressing against his in ways that tested the limits of his patience. His eyes darkened, his grip tightening just enough to make her still.
Graham knew it was time. Time to use the best card he got in this game. The only cards that could actually work.
He leaned back in his chair, his arm still firmly keeping Isla in place. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her squirm, though she refused to meet his gaze directly. He let the silence stretch for a moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken challenges. Then, in a voice as smooth as velvet and as sharp as a blade, he murmured, “Oh, darling… you’ve only seen a fraction of how crazy I can get.”
His words sent a jolt through her, the low timbre of his voice wrapping around her like a physical force. She froze, her wide eyes finally snapping up to meet his. There was no teasing in his expression, no games or calculated baiting—only raw, unfiltered truth.
“I haven’t used force on you yet,” he continued, his tone dropping to a near whisper, every word deliberate and weighted. “And you should pray it never comes to that. Because if it does…” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking with hers, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk. “You won’t like it. Not one bit. You have no idea what I’m capable of, little dove.”
The chill in his voice cut through her, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Isla’s breath hitched as she stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to look away, to escape the trap of his gaze, but she couldn’t. His eyes held her captive, their depths a swirling storm of power, warning, and something darker—something that sent a shiver down her spine.
But Isla wasn’t ready to surrender, not yet. She swallowed hard, gathering what little resolve she had left. “I’m not going to New York,” she said, her voice trembling but still defiant.
Graham’s jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. For a moment, the air around them seemed to crackle with tension. Then, with a measured breath, he leaned in closer, his lips so near hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.
“Is that your final answer?” he asked softly, his voice deceptively calm, though his eyes burned with barely restrained fire.
“Yes,” she whispered, her resolve wavering under the intensity of his gaze.
“Then let me tell you exactly what will happen,” he said, his tone shifting, every word laced with quiet menace.
He leaned back slightly, his grip on her waist firm and possessive. “The next time Maggie steps through that door, I’ll fire her. On the spot. Then Edwin will follow, and every last member of the staff will be gone by morning. Thornfield Manor?” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “It’ll be on the market for sale by tomorrow afternoon. And you…” His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer until she was flush against him. “You’ll still be here, Isla. On my lap. In my arms. Crying out my name in my bed every night in New York.”
Her breath caught, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I’ll teach you everything there is to know about pleasure,” he murmured, his voice a sultry promise that made her shiver despite herself. “I’ll make you mine in every way that matters. There is no other way, little dove. You were made for me.”