Chapter 30: Undeniable Bond
Isabella’s POV
Neither of us moved.
The music pounded through the club, vibrating through the floor and up my legs, but it felt distant now, like it belonged to another world entirely. All I could hear was my own heartbeat and the quiet rhythm of Enzo’s breathing.
His hand was still on my waist.
Still warm. Still steady. Still very much not moving.
I cleared my throat softly. “You realize this is the longest you’ve ignored a direct order.”
One of his eyebrows lifted slightly. “Was that an order?”
“Yes.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you prove my point.”
“And what point is that?”
“That you are impossible.”
The corner of his mouth twitched again. Not quite a smile, but close enough to annoy me.
“You noticed that already,” he said.
My eyes dropped briefly to his hand resting against my waist. The warmth of his touch seemed to spread through the thin fabric of my dress and straight into my skin.
“Enzo,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You’re still touching me.”
“I know.”
“Are you planning to stop?”
He tilted his head slightly as he studied my face, like he was carefully measuring every reaction.
“Do you want me to?”
My mouth opened, then closed again.
That was not a fair question.
“Yes,” I said finally.
“Liar.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “You are extremely annoying.”
“And you are extremely bad at pretending.”
His thumb moved slightly against my waist.
It was the smallest movement, but it sent a sharp wave of heat straight through me. My stomach flipped in the most inconvenient way possible.
“Stop doing that,” I whispered.
“Doing what?”
“You know what.”
His eyes darkened slightly. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I do.”
The crowd shifted around us as people pushed past, laughing and shouting over the music. Someone spilled a drink nearby, and a group of girls burst into loud laughter behind me.
But Enzo and I didn’t move.
It was like the entire room had formed around us.
“You should dance,” he said suddenly.
I blinked at him. “That is literally what I was doing before you appeared like a storm cloud.”
“You were dancing with him.”
“He asked.”
“And you said yes.”
“That is how conversations work.”
His jaw tightened just a little. “He was touching you.”
“He was dancing.”
“He was staring at you.”
“It’s a club, Enzo.”
His gaze sharpened. “Exactly.”
I sighed. “You cannot glare at every man in this room.”
“I can.”
“That does not mean you should.”
“It does if they’re looking at you.”
I stared at him for a moment. “You hear yourself, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you still think this is normal behavior?”
“No.”
“Well, at least we agree on something.”
He leaned slightly closer, close enough that his voice barely had to rise above the music.
“Normal stopped applying the moment you walked into my life.”
My breath caught for half a second.
I hated how easily he did that—dropping sentences like that and expecting my heart not to react.
“You are dramatic,” I muttered.
“You wore that dress.”
I looked down at myself automatically. The black dress clung to my body a little too well, and the slit along my thigh suddenly felt far more revealing than it had when I left my apartment.
“You are blaming my dress now?” I asked.
“I’m blaming your timing.”
“My timing?”
“Yes.”
“For existing?”
“For walking into the same building as me looking like that.”
“That is not a crime.”
“It should be.”
I laughed under my breath. “You are unbelievable.”
His gaze moved slowly across my face again. “You have no idea.”
The music shifted, the beat becoming slower and deeper. Around us, couples began to move closer together, bodies swaying to the rhythm instead of jumping to it.
Enzo noticed.
Of course he did.
His eyes flicked toward the dance floor before returning to me.
“Dance with me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You do not dance.”
“I can.”
“I have never seen it.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”
I crossed my arms. “No.”
His eyebrow lifted slightly. “No?”
“You already chased away my dance partner.”
“That was not a loss.”
“It was to him.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Because if he had stayed another thirty seconds, I would have thrown him out.”
“That is exactly my point.”
His hand finally left my waist, and for a brief moment the absence of it felt strange.
Then he held out his hand toward me.
“Dance with me.”
“You are not giving up, are you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
His answer came calmly. “Because I do not like the idea of anyone else touching you tonight.”
My pulse jumped again.
“That is not a good reason.”
“It is an honest one.”
I hesitated for a moment. That was the problem with Enzo—he didn’t pretend. He said exactly what he meant, and that made it harder to argue with him.
“Fine,” I muttered.
His eyebrow lifted slightly. “Fine?”
“One dance.”
He nodded once. “One.”
I placed my hand in his, and instantly his fingers closed around mine—warm, firm, and steady.
A second later he was guiding me toward the dance floor.
The lights flashed across his face in shifting colors as people moved aside to let us pass.
When we stopped, I realized something immediately.
This had been a terrible idea.
Because now he was even closer.
His hand settled at my waist again, deliberate this time, while his other hand held mine loosely between us.
“You look nervous,” he murmured.
“I am reconsidering my life choices.”
“You agreed.”
“Yes, and I regret it already.”
“You say that,” he said quietly, “but you haven’t stepped away.”
I realized he was right.
My feet had stayed exactly where they were.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
The music pulsed around us as we began to move slowly with the rhythm. Enzo was surprisingly good—controlled and precise, like everything else he did.
“You dance like everything else you do,” I said.
“How is that?”
“Like you’re planning five steps ahead.”
“That’s because I am.”
“Of course you are.”
His thumb brushed lightly against my waist again.
My breath caught.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I said quietly.
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I always do.”
Our eyes locked again, the space between us suddenly feeling smaller, warmer… more dangerous.
“Enzo,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You said you were trying not to do something reckless earlier.”
“I did.”
“Are you still trying?”
His gaze dropped to my lips slowly before lifting back to my eyes.
“Yes.”
I swallowed. “Good.”
“Barely.”
My heart skipped. “Barely?”
His voice lowered, rougher now.
“Because every second you stay this close…”
His hand tightened slightly at my waist.
“…that plan gets worse.”
My pulse was racing now.
“You should probably step back then,” I whispered.
He didn’t move.
Not even a little.
His eyes held mine.
“Say the word.”
“What word?”
“Stop.”
Silence stretched between us.
The music. The lights. The heat of the crowd.
None of it mattered.
Because the real problem was standing right in front of me.
And the worst part?
I still hadn’t said the word.