Page 21 of His Fury

“Where’s Julian?”

I froze and then stepped back. “I don’t care.” My gaze raked over her. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’s far away from me. From you.”

Isla’s hands were shaking, but her voice was firm. “You don’t mean that.”

I gave her a small, mirthless smile. “Want to bet on it?”

Her eyes flared with anger, indicating she was as angry with him as I was. “Does he know… Does he know I’m okay?”

I snorted as I walked over to my kitchen, pouring us two tumblers of Scotch. I handed her one, and she downed it in one gulp. “Rye will have told him we retrieved you.” I followed Isla’s example and downed my drink, pouring us both another.

Isla hesitated, then drank her Scotch in one smooth motion. “I’m not good with spirits,” she confessed.

“I remember.” I sipped my drink. “You need to shower?” She didn’t look at me but nodded. “You want company?”

She met my gaze, wetting her lips. “No. I think that’s a bad idea, don’t you?”

“No.”

Isla looked down at the empty glass, pushing it back to me. When she looked up, her expression was closed off, the steel in her spine back in place. The walls were back up. “Idon’t think that’s a good idea. That”—she waved to the wall—“was a mistake.”

I dragged a hand over my jaw, exhaling hard. I’d never been this close to losing control before.

Fuck, I was a mess.

She did this to me.

Only her.

I laughed, low and dark. “You sure?”

She didn’t answer right away. Because she knew. She fucking knew. This wasn’t a mistake.

This was inevitable.

CHAPTER 6

ISLA

The door closedbehind me with a click. I pressed my back against it, and a low, shallow breath shuddered out of me.

I needed a minute.

I needed more than a minute. I needed a lifetime.

My hands were shaking. My heart still hammered against my ribs like it had been all night. I could still feel Zayn’s hands on me, his lips at my throat, and the way he looked at me like I was something he owned.

Like I wanted to be.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I swallowed hard, fighting down the panic that had choked me since they forced me into that car. No, no, no, no. I was not going to let myself spiral. I was not going to stand in his loft, his space, and let the weight of this night crash over me.

I would fall apart when I got home. Not here.

I pushed off the door, removed my socks and boots, and crossed the floor to the shower. My bare feet were silent on the cool, welcoming, and familiar floor.

He was right. I needed a shower. But not for the reason he thought. I needed to wash off the feel of his hands, the scentof him that still clung to my skin, and the lingering heat in my veins that wouldn’t fade no matter how much I willed it to.

The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife. The anger, the desperation, and the pull neither of us could fight.

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