Page 65 of My Infatuation with Isabella

He steps closer, and even in my heels, he towers above me, making me feel powerless and a little...intimidated. This weird mood of his is getting more volatile and I don’t trust his intentions right now. He’s constantly touching me. He justkissedme. Those are definitely not the actions of a married man.

“That was enough for me,” I lie. “And this is where it ends. Goodnight.”

I turn to walk away, but only take a few steps before he calls out behind me. “You left your keycard on the table.”

I stop, and after a small groan, I walk back to him.

He takes it out of his pocket and looks down at it. “Room...1206.” With a naughty grin, he hands it to me. “Have a good night.”

I snatch it from him and walk away. The elevator ride up to the twelfth floor and the walk down the corridor seem to take forever, but ten minutes later, I’m in the safety of my room. The photos Tommy sent don’t do it justice. This room is massive with elegant modern finishes. I walk to the round table a few feet from the door and find a vase of long-stemmed red roses, a complimentary basket of chocolates, and a bottle of champagne.

“Hmm...” I lift the bottle as I mull the idea over in my head. “Not a bad way to end this weird night. A bubble bath, some strawberries, and a few glasses of champagne should do the trick.”

Carrying the bottle with me to the bed, I call room service and ask them to bring up a bowl of strawberries, then walk to the bathroom to run a hot bath. My mind is still reeling with everything that happened downstairs and I just want to force the thought of him out of my head. I want to stop thinking about his hot mouth on mine. I want my body to stop buzzing with the electric current his touch put in motion. I’machingfor him, and I just want it all to stop.

See, the problem with Dylan is that I always underestimate my feelings for him. I’m out here living my best life, doing just great, and he barely crosses my mind. I’m happy. I go out and socialize with friends. I drink. I party. I make sure I bring a little adventure to each day. My life is amazing. But then I haveoneinteraction with him, and I realize:Oh, yeah, that’s why I’ve been single since 2019.

And I’m happy. I’m fulfilled. I don’t need a man in my life, but when I think about the man I want in my life, it’s always only him. He broke me inside. I just can’t seem to make any meaningful connections with other men. God, I’m pathetic. How many more years do I need to get over this guy? He moved on and found love again, so why can’t I?

After kicking off my heels, I undress, and my body feels nothing but relief to finally be out of my tight clothes. I hear a knock at the door and turn off the faucet. Pulling on the fluffy white bathrobe, I tie a knot in the belt before I leave the bathroom to answer it.

“Hi,” I say to the man on the other side.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he greets with a friendly smile as he hands me my bowl of strawberries.

“You have just made my night. Thank you.”

I take the bowl from him and shut the door. Halfway back to the bathroom, I hear another knock. Crap! I assumed the cost would be part of the room, but I think I have to pay for that. I place the strawberries on the round table, grab my clutch and walk back to the door.

“Sorry. How much do I owe you?” I ask sheepishly, scrounging for cash as I open the door.

“Give me a couple hours with that mouth and we’ll call it even.”

My eyes shoot up and all I encounter is a cocky grin on the gorgeous face of Dylan De Lorenzo. I’m speechless for a moment because I can’t figure out what game he’s trying to play here.

With a frustrated humph, I cross my arms over my chest. “What do you want?”

“I think you know what I want.” He places his hand on the flat of my chest and pushes me back a step or two. “I’m coming in.”

He usually phrases that line like a question, almost as if he’s asking permission before he enters my room, but that was him simply stating a fact because he walks in and kicks the door shut behind him.

His eyes are dark, blazing with lust, showing me his exact intentions as they scan me from head to toe. I’m not sure how to react to him barging in like this. I don’t know if I should be scared or aroused. I seem to be a bit of both because my hands are trembling, my heart is racing, and my breaths are incredibly unsteady. He takes a step toward me, and I step back.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say.

“And yet I am.”

“Where’s Fran?”

“I’ll tell you where she’snot. She’s not here. She...” A short, sardonic laugh pops out of him, one that lacks any kind of humor. “She was an unfortunate victim of the zombie apocalypse.” He laughs again, gripping the knot on his tie and tugging it down. “The fuckers destroyed everything. She didn’t stand a chance.”

What in the world is he saying? He tosses his tie on the floor and starts unbuttoning his shirt. The first thing that catches my attention is the chain around his neck, the one I gave him years ago. Why is he wearing that? My train of thought is derailed a second later when he pulls his shirt off his shoulders. Lithe, cut, and defined, every muscle – from his broad pecs to the hard lines of his six-pack – is sculpted to perfection. Not even the scar across his left ribs can diminish the beauty of this man.

It takes a hot minute for my brain to acknowledge that he’s standing in front of me half-naked, and I swallow hard when I realize what’s unfolding. This is happening. I haven’t decided if I want it to happen, yet I feel like the choice has been made for me.

Everything about this whole encounter is confusing me. He laughed a second ago, but he isn’t happy. He’s pissed off, but he’s unsettlingly calm. He seems to be upset about whatever is going on between him and Fran but he’s fricken shirtless in my room. What the hell is going on? Something isn’t right. He takes another step toward me.

I take another step back. “Are you drunk?”

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