Page 33 of Silence and Surrender

The elevator ride to the penthouse suite gave me too much time to think. Too much time to question what the hell I was doing here. The woman waiting upstairs—Jane something—was exactly my usual type. Successful corporate lawyer, smart, ambitious. We’d met at a symposium last month, and the chemistry had been easy. Any other time, this would have been simple. Straightforward. I would have even looked forward to it.

But nothing was simple anymore.

I swiped the keycard and pushed open the door. Jane was waiting, exactly as I’d expected—champagne chilled, Chopin playing softly in the background. She wore a red silk dress that clung to every curve, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders. Her smile was knowing, confident. She’d played this game before. She knew what to expect and was ready.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” she purred, crossing the room to hand me a glass of champagne. Her perfume was expensive, sophisticated. Once, it would have been intoxicating. Now it just felt...wrong.

It wasn’t sweet and floral, like the one Isabella wore.

“Traffic.” The lie came easily. Too easily. I took a long sip of champagne, trying to quiet the voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Cooper.

Jane’s hands slid up my chest, and it took everything in my power not to flinch. Her skilled fingers worked on loosening my tie. “Let’s not waste time with small talk.” Her lips found my neck, and I closed my eyes, trying to lose myself in the sensation. Tried to turn off my mind. This was familiar. Safe. Simple.

My body responded automatically as she pressed against me, her curves soft and inviting. I let her push my suit jacket off my shoulders, let her lead me towards the bedroom. I turned her away from me, my hands sliding down her sides to her hips as she leaned back against my chest.

The red dress pooled at her feet, revealing black lace that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. She was gorgeous, everything I would have wanted just weeks ago. I followed her onto the bed, losing my shirt to her eager hands.

But even as my body went through the motions, my thoughts rebelled.

Isabella’s face flashed through my mind. Not just her smile or her eyes, but everything about her. The way she’d looked up at me in the gallery, defiant and brilliant. The slight flush that colored her cheeks when she was excited about a breakthrough. The grace in her movements that she seemed completely unaware of possessing.

Jane’s hands were at my belt now, but all I could think about was Isabella’s coy smile. The way her eyes lit up when she solved a puzzle. How she saw through every defense I’d carefully constructed.

“Stop.” I caught Jane’s wrists, gentle but firm. “I can’t do this.”

“Seriously?” She sat back on her heels, confusion quickly turning to anger. “Is there someone else? What’s her name?”

“It’s not—” But it was. Of course it was. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Get out.” Jane’s voice was ice. “And don’t call me again.”

I didn’t bother responding, quickly tugging my shirt back on. In the hallway, I fumbled for breath, my shirt collar open and my tie clutched in my fist. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I haven’t heard from you this evening. I’m worried about you. Let me know you’re okay?

Isabella’s texts hit like a physical blow. When was the last time anyone had truly worried about me? Not about what I could do for them, or what I represented, but about me?

I didn’t even remember the drive home. In my penthouse bathroom, I stood under the shower’s scalding spray, trying to wash away the evening’s mistake. The water could erase the memory of Jane’s touch, but it couldn’t erase the truth I’d been running from.

I wanted Isabella. God, how I wanted her. Needed her with a desperation that bordered on madness. She’d infiltrated my blood, hijacked the electrical impulses of my brain until every synapse fired in the shape of her name. And no matter how ruthlessly I tried to cauterize the wound, to leach her from my system like a virus, I knew the truth. I closed my eyes and let myself finally acknowledge every detail I’d been trying to ignore. The gentle curves her conservative outfits couldn’t quite hide. The way her ebony hair caught the light when she moved. The graceful line of her neck when she tilted her head, considering a problem. The fullness of her lips when she pressed them together in concentration or bit them in uncertainty.

But it was more than physical attraction. I wanted her exceptional mind, her unflinching honesty, her fiery tenacity. The way she made me want to be better, be real, be worthy of the faith she seemed to have in me.

I loved the softness in her eyes when she looked at me like I was some mystery worth solving. The delicate strength in her hands when she’d touched my arm, trying to make me understand something important. The way her whole face lit up when she smiled—really smiled, not the polite mask she showed the world.

Steam filled the bathroom as I braced my hands against the tile wall, letting the water pound against my shoulders. Without thinking, or perhaps thinking too hard, I grabbed myself in hand, my mind shuffling through scene after scene with Isabella as the star. I thought of the way her hair hung in her face, the way her hand felt in mine. The way she bit her bottom lip, sometimes rolling it around in her mouth when she was thinking. Her legs…fuck, those beautiful legs. I pictured them wrapped around my waist, her face scrunched up and her body writhing in pleasure as I coaxed an orgasm from her.

Seconds later I was coming, hot and sticky in my own hand. It had been years since I’d jerked off in the shower, but now my life was once again changing…and Isabella was the reason.

But no matter how far I roamed, how savagely I tried to excise her from my flesh, she remained. A golden thread stitched through the fabric of my existence, as vital and inexorable as the throb of my pulse.

What the hell was I doing? The investigation was heating up. Isabella and I were closing in on something big, I could feel it. And here I was, trying to distract myself with old habits instead of facing the truth.

I shut off the water and grabbed a towel, catching my reflection in the fogged mirror. I wiped away the condensation, staring at the man looking back at me. Less certain than usual. More human.

My phone sat on the counter, screen lit up with Isabella’s messages. I picked it up, fingers hovering over the screen before typing.

I’m okay. Not used to someone checking up on me.

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