Page 25 of Stolen By the Don

I drag a hand over my face with an exasperated sigh. I shouldn’t have touched her, because hersmell. Jesus. It’s headier now and messing with my senses. I can imagine the feel of her breast in my palm—soft, round, her nipple between my fingers.

Polina shows up, filling the dining area with a different aroma. I sigh as I rub the bridge of my nose, silently grateful for the interruption. I wasn’t happy when it happened hours ago, but I couldn’t be more relieved now.

Dinner goes painfully slow, and the silence does nothing to help. With a mind of its own, my gaze wanders each time Isabella leans forward, and each time her hand brushes against her chest. The subtle movement does everything it’s not supposed to do to me—and I lose count of how many times I look down to see that I have barely gotten through the food.

My self-distaste rises until I can barely sit without gritting my teeth.There’s no reason she should have this much effect on me.

Grunting, I push the chair back and rise to my feet with the napkin crumpling in my fist. I catch the look of surprise that flashes on Isabella’s face, but she doesn’t comment.

“Goodnight,” I mutter, tossing the napkin on the table before storming away.

I stop at my study instead of my bedroom, choosing to throw myself into more work instead. Besides, I still have a lot to sort out after my father’s unexpected demise. Documents, deeds, and certain ownerships with companies that no longer have any functionality. He left so much I wasn’t aware of.

Grabbing a fresh stack of contracts, I slip behind my desk, spreading them out before sitting. The first one dates back ten years, and I flip open yellowed pages, hoping to make sense of the fading letters.

“This might take hours.”

Even better. I’ll have enough to keep my mind and head busy. By morning, things will have returned to normal.

Time passes, and I’m halfway through the yellow pages with scribbled notes on another paper when I hear a sound.

Like a thud.

I pause, glancing at the door.

What was that?

Polina, probably. I dismiss it, turning to the document again. A minute later or more, I hear the same thud but even louder. I look at my phone, contemplating if a call to Polina is necessary.

When the thud comes a third time, I grab my phone as I stand, hurriedly leaving my office.She might be in danger.Not from someone breaking in, but perhaps she fell and got stuck somewhere.

Walking down the hallway, I hear a faint sound, like a cry, but it’s coming from upstairs. Without thinking, I race up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I dash into the hallway, expecting to see a catastrophe, but I see Isabella.

…standing in front of her bedroom door, banging with her fists.

My lips flatten into a thin line. “What are you doing?” I scold.

She doesn’t reply. Or look at me. Then I notice it…her fists aren’t touching the door. The thuds might’ve come from her, but they’re not hitting the door anymore. It’s almost as if she’s pushing against something else.

Something that isn’t there.

And then I hear the faint cry.

“Isabella?”

My chest tightens as I walk toward her, slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. When I take her hand, she jerks, eyes wide and unfocused. And suddenly, she’s pushing at my chest with both palms, whispering frantic, broken things I can’t make out.

She’s looking at me but not seeing me, like I’m a ghost.

She’s having a night terror.

My protective instincts take over, and I wrap my arms around her body tightly, giving her no room to pull away. “I’m here,” I murmur. The words come out easily, and I give them to her without holding back. “You’re safe, Bella. I’ve got you.”

She resists for another few seconds, and then something in her gives out. Her muscles go slack, and her body trembles.

I don’t let go until the crying stops and she’s quiet. Then I unlock the door, open it, and carry her back to bed, tucking her under the covers.

As I turn to go, I hear her rustle. Then my name, as a whisper, like she’s unsure of what’s in front of her. “Roman?”

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