Page 42 of Reclaiming Izabel

“Are you being sarcastic?”

Jesus Christ.

She huffed in her seat and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her look out the window. I resisted the urge to speed down the ramp leading to the house I’d rented, but the surging adrenaline in my system needed its own outlet; I just didn’t know where. I was afraid I might take it out on Izabel. Being alone with her was not a good idea at the moment, but I had no choice. She had to stay out of the public eye and there was no one I trusted to be her security.

The house that Hank found for me was on a thousand-acre rural development. Horse fences lined the roadway, until, finally, we came upon the stone columns that marked theproperty entrance. I was gratified to hear the catch in Izabel’s breathing as we drove through the subdivision. The full moon was high, and it spilled its light on the sprawling meadows. A large part of the acreage remained untouched to give the residents privacy and the country-estate flair.

The Escalade turned onto a paved driveway where it stopped in front of an all-brick Georgian house.

“I packed some of your clothes,” I told her. When I exited the vehicle, Izabel did the same, but her eyes were riveted on the house. After getting the overnight bags from the back, I slammed the tailgate and walked up beside her. Landscaping lights illuminated the front of the house and the covered porch.

“Why?” She turned to face me, her eyes suspiciously glassy.

“I wanted to remind you of what we once had.”

“By throwing one of my designs back in my face?”

“That was not my intention.” Her reaction bewildered me. I was at a loss at what to do anymore. Nothing made her happy. Maybe she was right—I’d changed; she’d changed, too.

Frustration constricted my chest. I refused to accept defeat.

I unlocked the heavy door and threw it open. The foyer chandelier was already on and it didn’t take me long to find the other switches to flood the house with light. It had a beautiful interior, one I knew Izabel would appreciate, but she was seething.

“Do you remember what we used to do?” I dropped the bags on the floor and moved into her space. Not waiting for her answer, I continued, “On the weekends—becausemy wifewas such a workaholic—we’d fill up our coffee mugs and drive to some of your projects. We’d each point out what we liked and what we wanted to go into our dream house.” Her eyes grew distant as if remembering. A telltale smile softened her lips, so I pressed on. “You lost interest in our routine months before my deployment and I didn’t know why.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. I bent over and unzipped one of the duffels and extracted crumpled sheets of vellum.

When she saw what was in my hand, big tears rolled from the corners of her eyes.

“I found this in the trash can of your office,” I said softly. “I checked the date. It was the month I left.” Sorrow clogged the words in my throat, but I got them out. “Three years ago.”

Izabel opened her mouth, and her breath hitched in a soundless cry. Tears fell faster and she shook her head. “You had no right to go through my trash.”

“You lost interest because you’d already designed our dream house?—”

“Stop!” she yelled. “Why don’t you just stop!” Her eyes flared angrily. “We can’t go back to what we used to be?—”

I dropped the ruined plans of the house and grabbed her shoulders. “Tell me why. Why won’t you even try?” I thought of the architect after her. “Is it because of that man?”

“What man?”

“The one who kissed you!”

“Kyle?” Hearing his name snapped the last threads of my control. Rage hazed my vision and, before I realized what I was doing, I grabbed Izabel by her ass. Lifting her, I walked us toward the dining table.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “Put me down!”

I dropped her on the table and slammed my mouth on hers in a ferocious, claiming kiss. The need to erase the other man’s touch was all-consuming. Izabel was fucking mine.

She struggled, but I was unrelenting. My hand curled around her nape. I plundered her lips, forcing them open, our lips clashing as my tongue swept inside, uncaring if she bit me. Wanting to feel her skin, I yanked at the front of her sweater, scattering buttons. My greedy hand left her nape and delved behind the cup of her bra while the other unhooked it. Thefeeling of her nipple taut against my palm made me so goddamn hard.

She moaned into my mouth, beginning to respond, and I coaxed her further into complete surrender.

She was hanging off the table now, one arm wrapped around my neck as she rubbed her pussy against my erection. Her hand slipped beneath my shirt, stroking my abs. I rumbled in approval.

I needed her taste on my tongue.

I loathed breaking our connection, but I murmured for her to kick off her sneakers and she quickly complied. Then I laid her down on the table, bending over her, capturing her nipple with my tongue, before I planted kisses down her rib cage, all the while pulling her leggings down.

---