in my arms because I knew why she was frustrated. Knew what I was doing to cause it.
But I didn’t know how to stop. How to explain.
Never in my entire life had I felt this sort of barely leashed energy, and Isabel had no idea how close she was to shoving open the flood gates holding back the snarling beast inside me.
I didn’t like that she was frustrated with me.
I didn’t like that I’d walked away from her in my bedroom.
I didn’t like that we forever seemed to walk this tightrope of soft, stolen touches or immediate combustion.
At my continued silence, she made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.
“I’m sorry,” I ground out. I unfolded my arms and set my hands on my hips. It was the only way to keep from grabbing her, tugging her to me like I wanted. “I’m sorry for the other night. I shouldn’t have …”
But my words stopped there. Because I couldn’t make myself apologize for touching her.
I couldn’t make myself apologize for one moment where I felt the press of her body against mine. Imagined pushing her back onto my bed and finding slick, sweet comfort with her legs around mine. I’d thought of it a dozen times since she walked out of my house, each time, finding empty release with the shower pulsing hot over me, the bed empty next to me.
“You shouldn’t have what?” she whispered. Isabel didn’t back down an inch. “Even now, you can’t say it.”
My eyes held hers because of course she knew what I wasn’t willing to say.
I held myself still because this precipice was dangerous, and it wasn’t the place for us to fall over it. There was no way for me, not now, to explain how selfish it would be for me to go down this path with her.
How unprepared I was for someone like her.
Her blue eyes changed as I stood there silently, from anger-tinged desire to resignation, and it made me want to rage.
“Isabel,” I said, shifting closer to her, my hands lifting toward her.
“No,” she said firmly. Her hand came up, stopping just shy of my chest. I think she knew—we both knew—that if we touched right now, any good intentions would vanish. Not just vanish, they’d explode. “Don’t call me by my first name, don’t act like you’re going touch me right now, unless you know exactly what that means for you.”
I backed up, hands dropping back by my side.
Her chin quivered dangerously, but she sucked in a sharp breath. Watching her ability to get control of her emotions was incredible.
“I’m done being awed by you, Aiden Hennessy. I’m done acting like I don’t want you because I do.”
If a man could remain standing while feeling humbled to his core, without falling to his knees, then I’d just managed it. She was staggering in her strength, and I had my first flash of unease that I was fucking up something big … something that might not happen to me again.
“And I think the part that makes me so mad,” she continued, “is that I know you want me too.”
I had to look away. I had to get myself under control. Remember why she was so wrong for me.
But even if she was, Isabel was right about this, and I respected her too much to lie to her.
My voice hardly worked when I spoke. It sounded rusty and rough, but the words came out clearly all the same. “You have no idea how difficult this is for me.”
“Then tell me,” she begged, stepping closer. “Tell me.”
I swiped a hand over my mouth.
If I pinched my eyes closed, I could hear Beth talking to Anya. I could hear the words she said. Isabel represented every selfish desire I could’ve conjured for myself. So that was what I did. I tried to tug that memory front and center because it felt like the only way to make sense of this mess.
“I just need you to be patient with me,” I told her, voice taking on a harsh, frustrated edge.
“I am being patient.” Isabel swallowed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to keep letting myself get whiplash until you decide this is okay. I’ve had a lot of things happen in my life that I had no choice but to push through.” Her voice was unsteady, but her eyes were clear. “But this, I can choose. Until you’re ready to do the same.”
My feelings for Isabel were too big. At that moment,