Chapter 712 Isadora Is My Only Woman 1
Isadora snapped back to the moment.
She kept washing her hands, her voice light but edged with mockery. "Of course not. But you keep bringing up age… makes me think you care more than you admit. What's wrong? Worried you're getting old and losing your charm?"
Avery stayed where he was, drawing lazily on his cigarette.
That was Isadora—sharp-tongued to the bone. He couldn't fathom how that young man had ever put up with her. Or maybe she wasn't this vicious in front of others. The thought alone made something hot and unpleasant coil in his chest.
In his mind, he and Isadora had shared a bond nothing could break. A man's need to claim a woman as his never faded. To him, Isadora had always been his—the one he was meant to be with.
The lighting was soft, the only sound the steady rush of water.
Avery's gaze caught on her.
A black, body-hugging dress, slit at the front, six gold buttons running down from the neckline, each one framing her figure like a deliberate tease. She had dressed for the occasion—no question. And when he remembered it was Jacob's birthday, a flicker of irritation flared.
He reached out and pushed the bathroom door shut.
Isadora frowned. "Avery, what are you doing?"
His expression was unreadable. "Sexual harassment," he said shamelessly.
He stepped toward her, and in moments she was pinned against the sink. His eyes raked over her, slow and deliberate, lingering too long on every curve before finally settling on the smooth skin of her thigh.
Isadora was slender, but where it mattered, she was all woman.
Her skin was pale from avoiding the sun, her thighs soft and taut under his palm. In the warm light, they were devastating. He had felt the pull back in the private room, but here—alone—it was worse.
He slid a hand around her leg, leaning close to murmur in her ear, "You wore this on purpose. Back in the room, half the men were looking at your legs."
She tilted her head back, meeting his eyes. "And besides you, who else is that disgusting?"
"You really don't understand men, do you?"
He wasn't lying. Isadora had no idea how dangerous her beauty was. The way her sensuality slipped out without her even trying—enough to make a man's pulse stutter—was something she herself seemed blind to. It infuriated him, and it thrilled him all at once.
"Don't wear this again," he told her. "When you go out, cover up."
Of course she wouldn't listen. Avery wasn't her husband, and she wasn't Maggie. She told him as much, and his gaze darkened, his throat working as if he were swallowing something sharp. Then he bent and kissed her.
It was deep, lingering, a kiss that pulled and gave in equal measure.
For Avery, it had never been this good. It was reckless and intoxicating, and he didn't want to stop.
But it was Jacob's birthday, and the bathroom was inside the private room. Anyone could walk in. Reluctantly, after two minutes, he pulled back, taking in the mess he'd made of her.
Her eyes were half-closed, lips parted, her face a portrait of sensual ruin.
He brushed a finger over her mouth, his voice low and taunting. "Still thinking about that twenty-six-year-old? Was his kissing better than mine?"
"Much better," she shot back, cold and sharp.
Avery's voice dropped to ice. "If you ever kiss him, Isadora, you're finished." And then he saw it—a tear at the corner of her eye.
Hot. Silent. Falling.
He wasn't a boy anymore. He knew why she was crying. It was hurt, not fear. He stared at her for a long moment, then gave in, wiping the tear away with a gentleness that surprised even him. "Isadora, don't push me, and I won't push you. Let's start over. Let's learn how to love each other again."
She turned her face away, embarrassed.
She could never forget those stockings—not when Maggie had been around. And if Maggie hadn't been there? She knew exactly what would have happened.
Avery would have taken it further, then brushed it off with, "You're the one I love most. You should be grateful, not upset."
She knew him too well.
She didn't answer. She had just started to push him away when Jacob's voice came from outside. "Avery, are you two done in there? People have been holding it for ages. If you're trying to win back your love, at least spare a thought for the rest of us."
Avery was rarely called out like that, but tonight, he let it slide.
When they stepped out, no one made a joke.
Everyone knew Avery was serious this time. They had a child together, and it was clear they were going to make a go of it.
Besides, Isadora was wearing Avery's jacket over her shoulders.
She didn't dare take it off. If she did, Avery had promised to kiss her in front of everyone. She thought he was insane.
Jacob was Serafina's husband, so Isadora couldn't leave too early. Later, while the men played games, she sat far away—until someone dragged her into a round of truth or dare.
Her luck was bad. After just one turn, it was her turn for a truth.
The man asking was merciless, his eyes flicking between her and Avery before he went in for the kill. "Was Avery your first? Is he the only man you've ever slept with?"
The room went silent.
"Erik!" Jacob's voice cut through the air. He thought the question was out of line, then turned to Avery. "Let's call it a night."
They were cousins. He knew exactly how Avery was wired.
Maybe Erik thought he was standing up for Avery. But Isadora's past—no matter how messy—was between her and Avery. Disrespecting her in front of others was disrespecting him.
Sure enough, Avery's temper snapped.
He slammed his mug down on the table, his voice cold and sharp as glass. "I'll answer for her. I was her first, and she's the only woman I've ever touched. No one else. Does that satisfy you, Erik?"
Erik stammered. "Avery, don't be mad—"
Avery gave a short, humorless laugh. "Let's not see each other again."
He stood, pulling Isadora up with him, and walked straight out of the room.