Page 68 of Heart on Ice

He takes a step toward me, his chest heaving as if he is trying to restrain himself. “Were you turned on over watching me get off to your scent?”

I swallow hard, my entire body tingling as nervous energy zips through me. “Yes.”

Pierre’s nostrils flare, his hands scrunch together, balling into a fist. He’s upset and so he should be. I violated him. “Come back to the table, your steak will be getting cold.”

Huh? “I’m so sorry.”

Pierre holds up his hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m starving.” And with that, he turns and heads back to the dining room table and starts cutting into his steak. I’m so confused. Reluctantly, I walk back to the table and take my seat. We both sit there in silence eating our dinner. Once we are done, I tell him I’ll clean up, which he lets me do and disappears into his room. I don’t see him again for the rest of the night.

I messed up.

20

ISABELLE

Breakfast was ready for me to take to work this morning when I came downstairs, which I appreciated, but Pierre was nowhere to be seen. I’m guessing he needs some space, and I don’t blame him. He did say he was going to look for an apartment today after his meeting with The Mavericks. I bet he doesn’t feel comfortable around me now. I wouldn’t. Why was I such a dirty perv?

My phone beeps.

Pierre: Are you alone?

Issy: Yes. Is everything okay?

Pierre: Check the security cameras.

Oh no. Did something happen? Were we robbed while he was out? Did Frankston eat more of my shoes? I thought I had hidden them all. Shit. Did the paparazzi find him? I click on the app and gasp, almost dropping the phone in the process. There he is without a shirt on and with his gray sweats, staring at the camera as if he’s looking right at me.

Pierre: Can you call me?

Um.

I watch as he makes the signal on the video of a phone with his fingers. Why does he want me to call him? My heart is beating outside of my chest. I press the button on my phone to call him and bring back up the security app.

“Good girl,” he coos through the phone. “Is the door to your office locked?”

“No.”

“Lock it,” he commands. I get up, rush toward the door, and click the lock.

“It’s locked.”

“Good. And there’s no way anyone can see you in your office?” he asks.

“The windows are behind me,” I tell him.

“Can any other buildings see into your office?”

“Yes.”

“Close the blinds, Issy,” he demands.

I press the button to close the blinds. “They’re closed.”

He gives me a wide smile as he pushes his sweats down and starts fisting himself. I gasp but I don’t look away. I should look away, but I don’t.

“This is what you saw yesterday, isn’t it?” he questions me.

I lick my lips watching him fist himself right in front of me. “Yes.” My answer is shaky. “And you were so turned on after watching me touch myself to your scent that you came home early to relieve yourself because that throbbing ache between your thighs was driving you insane.”

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