“Where’d you find your sleepwear?” I pause, looking down to her phone. “And your phone.”
Isa shrugs, dipping her finger into the cream pot before sucking it all off. “Guess someone gave enough of a shit to hold on to some of my things.” She raises her hand up at me, flashing her fingers and her damn Lorraine Schwartz emerald cut solitaire diamond ring. That twenty-four-carat bastard is about as heavy as my regret for not breaking her out. “Including this.” Only the multi-million-dollar ring isn’t on her marriage finger, it’s on her middle finger.
She giggles like the psychopath that she is, flipping me off. “Thought you’d like that, husband.”
I wave Stacey off, my eyes locked on Isa. “What is it you want, Isa.”
Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?” There’s a long pause, long enough to hear the old grandfather clock that sits in the foyer.
I lick my lips, ignoring Stacey crashing cutlery around in the kitchen. “I mean, what do you want?” It’s a double-edged question.
I take in her features. Even having just woken up, she’s flawless. Her milky soft skin and pinched red cheeks, even her long dark blonde—or what even color is that—hair twisted into a messy top knot is perfect, and don’t get me started on the soft curves that she’s somehow gained, just begging to be grabbed onto. Isa being on the curvier side lately gets my heart racing way more than it did when she was slim. More to bite on.
“You want to know what I want?” Isa slowly walks her round ass around the kitchen table. I watch as fire flashes over her green eyes, the defiance she tries so desperately to bury fighting its way to the surface. I want it. I want all of her. When you marry someone, you don’t just marry the parts that you like about them. You marry every single inch of that person. The good, the bad, the evil, and in Isa’s case, the recklessness.
“I want you to tell me that you knew I wasn’t gone. I want you to tell me that my daughter is still alive and that I really did see you outside my room door when I was locked up in purgatory.” My fingers flex as she draws closer. With her hands now on my thighs, my muscles tense. “And I want you to get rid of that walking excuse of a plan, because have you forgotten?” Her index finger glides down the side of my cheek. She leans down to my ear and nips my lobe. Jesus Christ. “I. Don’t. Share.” She attempts to push up from me, but I snatch her wrist, pulling her straight back down onto my lap. Her legs spread wide over mine as she sinks into me. I’m done fucking around with this. I need my cock in her ass just to remind her who fucking owns it.
I open my mouth. “Fin—”
“Isa?” Max’s voice is like a bucket of cold water. Water I will happily drown him in.
Isa grins, gauging my reaction. Her eyes stay on mine. “Max!” She swings her legs off me and makes her way to him. “I’ll just get changed and then we will go.”
“Go where?” I snap, glaring at her and not paying Max any attention. I readjust my stiff cock in my pants.
Isa turns to face me. “To see Devon.”
I freeze, my hands clenching. “Why?” She doesn’t know the depth of Devon. Not even fucking close. Fuck. And I was supposed to have that conversation with her last night.
“Because he was my friend before all of this happened.”
“Was he?” I push from the table and stand to my feet. “Or was he simply on a job?”
She pauses, turning back to face me. “What?”
“As much as I’d love to watch you both verbally abuse each other, can I have a word?” Max interrupts, his hand around her arm.
She smiles up at him. “Sure. Follow me.”
As they both disappear down the hallway, I pace around the table until I’m in the kitchen where Stacey is sitting on one of the bar stools.
Her eyes come up to mine, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her sad. Wish I could say I cared, but I don’t. Stacey is a complicated piece of ass. She always has been.
She pulls off the ring that’s on her finger and places it on the table. “You’re still in love with her…” It wasn’t a question; it was a fact.
“She’s my wife. I didn’t marry her because I didn’t love her.”
“And what about me?” she snaps, her eyes colliding with mine as she pushes up from the stool. “How was this all supposed to go down?”
I lean back onto the counter, crossing my legs at the ankles. “I can’t answer that question.”
“You’ve been colder than normal toward me, Bryant. To be honest.” She rubs her damp cheeks. “I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to do this without gaining deep feelings for you.” There’s so much I should say to her. She deserves that. I may be cold and ruthless, but I make exceptions at times, and Stacey is one of them. Not as important as Isa—no one fucking is—but important, nonetheless.