Page 17 of His Relentless Angel

“Isaiah was here last night? Why?” Dad asks loudly to my right.

Mom inhales sharply, and I drop my fork with a clang against the ceramic plate. “Sweetheart?” Mom lays her hand on my arm.

“Nothing happened,” I whisper. “He drove me here and made sure I got safely inside my room, then he left. Nothing happened,” I reiterate, bubbling with mounting frustration. “Excuse me.” I push away from the table, leaving my plate of eggs and bacon half-eaten. “I’m going to shower and get dressed. Text me when it’s time to go.”

“Sweetheart, come back and finish your breakfast,” Mom says to my retreating form, but I pretend not to hear her.

* * *

I step out of the elevator into the hotel lobby with my hair blow-dried to perfection and piled high on my head in a messy bun that, in reality, took forever to style just right. With short pieces curled in front to frame my face, my neck is exposed—including the spot on my jaw that I hope Isaiah will one day kiss again.

Not that I’m holding my breath.

Liar.

The sundress I made and chose to wear today is a saturated neon orange—Isaiah’s favorite color. The small triangle cups tie in a skinny halter around my neck, with the deep V ending at my sternum. Most of my back is left open, the waist cinched tight, and I’ve made the short skirt section in my signature, swishy style so that the fabric sways and bounces with every step I take in my thrifted white braided wedges. They’ll be hell on my feet, but they make my legs look longer and my dress seem shorter.

“I’m getting you a sweatshirt from the gift shop,” Dad grumps when he sees my outfit. He pinches the bridge of his nose when Shayla, James, and Autumn step out of the next elevator. “All four of you.”

Since this is a family vacation, I thought it would be fun to make dresses for all of us, kind of like a cohesive mini-collection to test my design skills. Shayla’s dress is baby pink and more modest, with room for her growing belly, though her tits are so big that they threaten to spill out of the much larger triangles I made. I’m pretty sure James will be tripping over his feet the whole day with how his eyes are stuck to her.

Autumn’s sunshiny yellow dress is just as short and swishy as mine, but she requested her top be made with a sweetheart neckline with only an inch of cleavage showing. I made Mom’s in a light sandy color that falls to her ankles above her Birkenstocks. It’s loose and flowy but has a scoop neckline that ties into a halter, same as the rest, and I can tell Dad appreciates it by the way his eyes keep returning to her.

Mom laughs and grabs his hand to stop him when he turns away toward the hotel’s gift shop. “It’s ninety-five degrees out, honey. Let them be.”

I’m the first to see Isaiah over Mom and Dad’s shoulders when he walks through the sliding glass doors.

“Goddamn,” he exclaims, stopping short when we make eye contact. He’s wearing a breezy linen short-sleeve button-up with the top two buttons undone, partially exposing his smooth, dark chest, paired with pure white fitted shorts, and goddamn is precisely what I’m thinking too.

Really, what happened to the man who always wore jeans and T-shirts? As sexy as I’ve always thought he is, this man looks like he belongs on a billboard for some clothing designer. I wonder if he’d model for me if I ever started a collection for men. Let me dress—and undress—him over and over and over…

Dad sets his hands on his hips above his jean Dad shorts, and his brows dip in the middle while Mom’s shoot up to her hairline. Of course, Isaiah doesn’t see all this like we do because his eyes are traveling up and down my body just like I hoped they would.

Shayla clears her throat, and Isaiah’s gaze finally lifts to the group as a whole. He readjusts his glasses as he approaches, and Dad stomps away toward the gift shop with Mom trailing after him.

Chapter 9

Isaiah

She’s trying to kill me. Of all the schemes Bailey has come up with over the years, this is the one that’s going to end with me six feet under with the looks Sherman keeps firing at me. And I don’t blame him for one second. If I had a daughter, I would be just as pissed if a man fifteen years older than her was staring at her the way I can’t help but stare at Bailey, draped in a color she knew I would appreciate.

Shit, as soon as I have that thought, my mind conjures up a vision of what my daughter would look like with Bailey as her mother. And damn, if she isn’t just about the sweetest little girl in the world with her hair styled in twists with colorful beads on the ends like my sister, Brianna, styles my niece’s hair.

I think I even shed a tear as I try to force the vision of Bailey swinging our little girl on a playground set in the big backyard behind the house I would buy for her near her parents. Bailey would be as big and round as Shayla with our next baby, her hair done up just as it is now, the pale strands brushing the bottom of her jaw that I want to nip and kiss my way across. I lick my lips, longing for the taste of her.

Jesus, get ahold of yourself, Isaiah.

I’m not paying attention to where I’m going, and I end up colliding with James, nearly knocking the both of us over on the hot cement as we watch the sisters and Miranda stop and turn to take a photo together with the Texas Capitol building in the background. Bailey is the tallest, so she holds the phone, sticking it out high and wide to take a selfie, making her already short dress ride up her thighs.

“My god, she’s so beautiful,” I blurt, wholly captivated by her.

“I know. She looks like an angel,” James says.

I nearly round on him before I remember that angel is what he calls his wife, and he is certainly not referring to my angel.

“Wait, who are you talking about? Because it better not be Shayla.” He shoves his hand through his long black strands that Shayla still hasn’t been able to convince him to cut, then crosses his arms over his black T-shirt.

“Seriously?” He raises his brows in an I’m waiting gesture. “Man, you are clueless.” I have to laugh with disbelief and relief that he doesn’t know I was talking about Bailey and another one of her man-killing dresses.

---