Seventy-Seven
Isobel
“Uh-oh. I think someone’s in big trouble,” Elena whispered into my ear, teasing.
The music was so loud I couldn’t grasp what she was saying, but when she pointed behind me and I turned around to check what she was mumbling about, I was surprised to find Hugo looking like he was Death’s messenger.
Frowning, I stared at him, hoping he hadn’t come here to break up our party. Because if he had, well, I wouldn’t like that very much.
Touching Elena’s shoulder to get her attention, I mouthed and pointed my thumb towards her cousin’s direction, expecting she’d get the hint that I was going over to say hi. She shooed me away, grinning teasingly before she focused her attention to her other friends—all of whom consisted of men, by the way; a tidbit she had forgotten to mention.
Weaving my way towards Hugo, past the white curtains and a few private parties, I exhaled an exasperated sigh when the man didn’t even move a muscle to meet me halfway. He simply waited, brooding sexily while those hypnotizing eyes of his didn’t miss a beat in following me. Then, once I reached him, he kept on his mask of cool indifference without saying a word.
Hell, is everything okay?
“Is there an emergency?” I asked, almost yelling at him.
When he kept ignoring me, my patience immediately deteriorated. “All right. Well it was odd seeing you here… but I have to get back to my party. Hope you have a blast playing mannequin.” I was being sarcastic, however I couldn’t help it. He was being insufferable.
“Outside,” he bit out. “We need to talk.”
“Good to know your tongue is still intact.” I folded my arms underneath my breasts, readying to fight back. As far as I was concerned, I hadn’t done anything wrong. Thus, for him to come here acting like a complete arse was completely unjustified.
Strutting away, he didn’t look back to see if I was trailing behind him. He merely kept on striding ahead. The more he acted like a pompous dick, the more colorful my anger became—from warm to dark, to all shades of red.
Passing the entrance, I wasn’t really surprised the people who worked here knew him, and they all chimed respectively as he passed them by, bidding him well for the night. He probably was a patron, notorious for his lavish lifestyle and bountiful supply of temporary girlfriends.
The fresh air hitting my warm skin did nothing to soothe my mood. Apparently, he had parked his car a few doors down, and when his Bugatti Veyron came into view, he immediately unlocked it, showing no mercy.
“Get in the car,” he commanded in a tone I shouldn’t question. Well, he was out of luck tonight because I wasn’t in the mood to be bossed around like a brainless bimbo.
“No.”
Oooh, the “no” truly got to him.
“Merde! Get in the bloody car, Isobel!” He looked murderous yet sexy with his five o’clock shadow and dark, mysterious eyes.
Although, as gorgeous as I found him, it wasn’t enough incentive for him to order me about.
“Which part of no, don’t you understand?” I was tipsy—buzzed—not an idiot. I wanted to infuriate him more, for some odd reason. Maybe it was the way he was reacting—or overreacting—which was just so unusual. Call it curiosity or whatever, but I yearned to see more fire in him. I wanted to stoke his temper until he cracked and burst into flames. “What’s the problem, Hugo Xavier?” I mocked him further. “Are you the man or the mannequin?”
“My problem is you, Isobel,” he finally said after a full minute.
Of all the things I had expected to hear him say, that was something I hadn’t seen coming.
He rounded the car, bearing the same expression on his face, before he stood before me, looking far and beyond disappointed.
“I expected more from you. And seeing how you loved the attention of the men ogling what was underneath your skirt…” he paused, nose flaring as he gave me a cutting look, “I didn’t see you as a flirty devil may care kind of slut.”
My rose tinted lips hung ajar, shocked from his verbal accusations. “I beg your pardon?” I shook my head in disbelief, uncertain if I should strangle him or kick him to the curb. “How dare you! How. Bloody. Dare. You!”
“I fucking dare because you’re mine!” he growled loudly, uncaring if there was an audience about, willing to eavesdrop. “For the next twenty three weeks, you are solely mine and mine alone! And I don’t appreciate you flaunting and flirting what is rightfully mine.” He punctuated each word as if it was the law.
Hold on, I thought as I blinked rapidly, hoping I was hallucinating his word vomit.
“Tell me that you’re drunk and needed a good laugh. Because the rubbish that’s coming out of your twisted mouth is rather nauseating.”
A dry laugh came out of him, looking less amused. “How about you tell me that you’re drunk, which is why you danced on the table like you worked for a strip club.”
If I could produce steam, it would’ve come out of my ears already. The bastard had just crossed the proverbial line. So I slapped him. Hard. The stinging hot impact of my palm smacking against his cheek wasn’t satisfying enough, though.
“First off, this is temporary. I signed to be your plaything, but under no circumstances did it state that I’m to be your property,” I grated out with my finger pressing against his chest. “I have my own mind; it’s my right to do whatever I want to do. I don’t care about what you think. In fact, go ahead and think of me as a slut. I don’t bloody care! To hell with your barbaric mentally—”
I was in the middle of my overture when the bastard kissed me like I was his possession.
I was royally mad yet wickedly aroused. Dear God, the bastard could kiss. He kissed me in a way that felt like all my thoughts and all the mechanics of my brain had melted away, and all I could fathom was his lips and how he made me feel.
Then, out of nowhere, I felt something vibrate.
It was his phone.
Snapping out of my entranced funk, I yanked my lips away from him before I gasped for air, finding it hard to believe what had just occurred between us. “What the—you fucking kissed me!” I hissed at him accusingly, beyond mortified.
“What? It’s not in the contract, too?”
My heart was galloping madly against my chest, and as much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn’t deny the fact I had responded to his kiss. However, I couldn’t let it happen again.
Breathing raggedly, I felt the shame and horror of what had happened. The situation between us was getting out of hand. We were supposed to be indifferent to each other. This odd, zinging connection shouldn’t be toyed with; it was too dangerous. Besides, too much was at risk, and I couldn’t lose the only person that had kept me going all this time. Fancying Hugo wasn’t part of the equation.
“You—you shouldn’t do that.”
He seemed unperturbed as he cupped my face and stared into me. “I don’t care,” he fiercely murmured. “So sue me.”
I nervously panted, feeling out of my depth. Words of protest formed into mind, but he managed to hijack my thoughts for the second time the moment he connected his lips with mine once more. This time, he devoured me like a meal, consuming me whole.
His kiss was rough, yet it held sweetness. It was as hard as it was passionate. It was as much fire as it was ice. It drowned me as it floated me into thin air. The world spun, and in that instant, I felt everything. He made me feel everything, vibrating it through my veins, all over my body.
He paused with our lips pressing against each other. “Isobel…” he groaned out, sounding pained.
With my eyes closed, I felt at the tip of surrender, but there was still a little fight in me. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve tried to stop, but I’m done fighting it,” he confessed with ferocity, with passion. “I want you,” he vehemently promised. “All of you.”
Dammit. I was at a loss for words because it felt like he was making a declaration to a lover, not to a woman he barely knew.
“Hugo—” I tried to argue, but he immediately placed a finger on my lips to stop me.
“Two weeks.” He was reminding me of what I had promised him earlier this afternoon. “You have two weeks to think about it.”
I was at a war with myself. Mind and body fighting at both ends. I was beyond conflicted, staggering between the one I lusted after and the one I loved.
“Do you trust me?”
I didn’t require thinking about my answer. “Yes.” I nodded, whispering, “I trust you.”
“Then spend the night with me.”
Okay, I needed to slow down—to think for a second. Besides, I hadn’t come here alone.
“What about Elena? She’s probably wondering where I am.”
My excuses went unnoticed. “She’s with her friends. She’ll be fine,” he persisted, unwilling to allow anything to stop him from accomplishing his goal.
“Okay.” I nodded, hating myself for allowing this route to progress, though I somehow felt compelled to.
He was breaking the rules, but how far would he go to get what he wanted?