For the second time, I explode with relief in the shower, swallowing the groan as I come hard and fast. That girl is going to be the death of me.

Afterwards, I stand under the water and try to clear my head. I don’t know how much longer I can last being in the same room with her and not being able to do anything about it. I thought chopping wood could relieve some of the tension. But just being close enough to her to tie her to the chair brought all the lust roaring back.

I almost didn’t tie her up this time. I actually believed her when she said she wouldn’t run. Clearly, I’m going soft in the head.

But fuck, it’d be a hell of a lot easier to keep my mind off that girl if I didn’t have to touch her.

I’m in a foul mood when I get out of the shower, because I know jerking off will only be a temporary fix. As I towel off, I stare at the stupid mug in the mirror and ask him why he’s such a bleedin’ idiot. Christ, I can’t stand the sight of myself. I’m being completely undone by this girl.

I know I’m glowering like a sour fuck when I come out of the bathroom to untie her. Isabel is sitting quiet and docile in her chair. She doesn’t say a word when I bend down and let her loose. She actually fuckin’ thanks me when she’s free. I look at her a little sharply, and she blushes and bows her head.

“I need a fuckin’ whisky,” I mutter as I turn toward the kitchen.

I’m pouring myself a shot when Isabel comes into the kitchen behind me. “I could start dinner pretty soon,” she offers. “If you want.”

“Sure,” I reply, and leave the room with the glass and the bottle. I can’t get drunk, because my job is to keep her safe, but I need something to take the edge off. I sit down on the couch and set the bottle on the coffee table. I tip the shot back into my mouth, and savor the heat of it as it goes down my throat. Exhaling deeply, I sink back and close my eyes.

“Do you want to play a game of cards or something after dinner?” Isabel calls. “I found a deck in that little table over there.”

“Nah. Not in the mood.” I reach up and massage my forehead tiredly. I don’t want to sit across from this girl and look at her all night. But she does have a good idea about trying to pass the time. “We could watch a movie, though, if you want.”

“There’s movies here?” she asks, surprised.

“Sure. You see the DVD player there, don’t ya?” I say, nodding toward it. “There’s a bunch of them in that cabinet under the TV.”

“Oh my gosh!” Isabel practically dances into the living room. “This is so exciting!”

Her face is lit up like a kid on Christmas. I can’t help but laugh. She’s as bored as I am here. Of course she is. This hasn’t exactly been a party for her either.

Isabel plops down cross-legged in front of the cabinet and opens it up, then starts pulling out DVDSs and examining them one by one. “There’s a lot of testosterone movies in here,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

I snort and grin in spite of myself. “Testosterone movies?”

“Yeah,” she says, giving me a wide, open smile that almost rips a hole right through me. “You know. Guys destroying things, loudly and expensively.”

“Huh. Yeah. Good description of it.” I raise an eyebrow, conceding the point. She nods and smiles even wider.

For a moment, we’re just looking at each other. Two people sharing a laugh. It feels good.

It feels fucking awful.

I lean forward and grab the bottle. “Well, this is an MC safehouse,” I say with a sour look, filling the shot glass a second time. “You’re not likely to find any Jennifer Aniston movies here. So fucking deal with it.”

Isabel’s grin fades. I feel terrible about it, but too fucking bad. She turns back to the movies and keeps looking through them in silence. The second shot goes down my throat. I start to feel a little better. I close my eyes again and lean my head back. A few seconds later, she lets out an excited squeal.

“How about this one?”

I open my eyes and look at the case. Die Hard.

“Yeah, all right,” I approve grudgingly.

“It’s perfect! I always watch this every year at Christmas.”

“At Christmas? Why?”

“Because it’s a Christmas movie.”

I cock my head and frown at her. “No it fucking isn’t!”

“Yes it is!” she insists.

“Just because it takes place during the Christmas season doesn’t make it a Christmas movie, Isabel,” I say impatiently.

“It’s not just that!” she crosses her arms. “It’s about family, and love. John McClane and his wife are estranged at the beginning of the movie. At the end, they realize they’re still in love and that’s what really matters. Plus, there’s Christmas stuff all over the place. It just feels like Christmas.”

“Yeah. Guns and violence being so festive.” I roll my eyes.

“John’s wife is named Holly,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Duh.”

“Duh?” I smirk.

“Yes. Duh.” Isabel gets up. “This is the movie we’re watching. By the end of it, you won’t be able to deny that I’m right.” She sets the movie on the coffee table. “I’m going to make dinner. You just keep living in your world of delusions.”

I steal a look at her ass as she goes. My dick stirs. It’s a warning signal that I need to police myself, but I’m actually feeling okay right now, thanks to the whisky. I just need to keep my distance, eat dinner and watch the fuckin’ movie. It’ll be fine.

* * *

“All right, so it is sort of a Christmas movie,” I admit.

We’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn is between us, because Isabel found some in one of the cupboards and insisted on popping it. We’ve had dinner, I’ve had a third shot of whisky, and I’m now nursing a beer and congratulating myself on being mostly able to control myself in Isabel’s presence for two and a half hours.

I get up and throw another log on the fire. Isabel pumps her fist in victory and says I told you so about a million times until I mock-growl at her to back off. She has the grace to look chastened.

As the flames start to lick around the log, Isabel stretches her arms wide and sighs. “That feels so good. I love fires.”

“Yeah. They are nice. That’s one silver lining to being out here in the middle of nowhere, I guess.”

Isabel reaches down and pulls her hoodie over her head, revealing a black tank top underneath. It hugs her body and frames her soft breasts. I notice she’s not wearing a bra. I quickly look away and take a swig of my beer.

“Thorn,” she says, her eyes growing serious. “Look. I know you don’t exactly like me. And I’m sorry you have to be here.”

“I don’t hate you,” I mutter. Warning bells start to go off in my head.

“It’s okay. I don’t blame you. I probably would too, if I was you.”

“I don’t hate you, Isabel,” I say again. I should stop right there. But like a plank, I don’t. “In fact, you’re not entirely the spoiled little brat I thought you were.”

“Little?” She’s amused. “I’m five foot eight!”

“You’re young,” I correct.

“I’m twenty-one!”

How fucked up is it that I’m relieved she’s not a teenager anymore?

“That’s young,” I point out.

“It’s old enough.”

Isabel stares at me for a long moment.

Slowly, without breaking her gaze, she bites her lip.

“It’s old enough,” she says again, more quietly this time.

Jesus H. Christ.

My cock is instantly hard as a bat.

“Old enough to be a pain in the ass,” I half-croak, pretending I don’t catch her meaning.

This is the first time in my entire life I’ve turned down sex.

And suddenly my head is swimming with so many thoughts of what I want to do to Isabel, I’m having trouble remembering why.

Isabel chuckles softly. “My mom used to say that to me when she was mad.”

“What?” I say, trying to concentrate through the fog of fucking lust.

“When I’d try to argue with her about doing stuff she thought I was too young for and I’d tell her I was old enough. She’d say, “Ees-a-bel, you are old enough to be a pain in my ass.”

“Ees-a-bel,” I repeat, feeling out the syllables on my tongue. “Is that how your name is pronounced in Spanish?”

She nods.

“Sibéal,” I murmur.

“What?” she asks, frowning at the strange word.

“Sibéal,” I say again. “It’s Irish for Isabel. Sort of like Sybil.”

“Shi-BAIL,” she repeats, concentrating. Her eyes lock on mine and I nod.

Something in the air shifts between us.

“What about your name? Thorn?” she asks softly.

“Thorn’s just what the club calls me. My given name’s Sean. O’Malley.”

She smiles. “Good Irish name.”

“That it is,” I agree.

“Well, Sean O’Malley.”

My name sounds different on her lips. No one calls me that anymore. No one in the States, anyway.

Only her.

“Well, Sibéal Mandias.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” she breathes. “When you say it.”

Her eyes are still on mine. Her lips part. I can see her breasts rise and fall as her breathing speeds up.

“Fuck,” I swear softly. “Isabel.”

My cock is throbbing, begging to be inside her. I can’t think anymore. All my fucking willpower is gone.

“You are driving me crazy,” I breathe against her ear.

“Thorn,” she whispers, shivering.

Gripping her hips, I pull her against me, letting her feel my stiff, needy shaft. She gasps and writhes against me as my mouth comes down on hers.

It’s over. This is happening. Fuck the rest.