Chapter 147
LEVI
The dress slipped lower, whispering over her skin as if about to unveil a priceless possession. More skin. More temptation.
She shifted in her seat—slow, deliberate—turning fully toward me until one knee rested on the leather, half-facing me in the dim interior of the SUV.
The leather sighed beneath her. My pulse matched the sound—measured, deliberate… and one second from shattering.
And then—her hand found my thigh.
Her fingers moved with maddening patience. Sliding higher. And higher. Until her palm settled over me.
I inhaled sharply, but the air caught in my throat. The swallow that followed was embarrassingly loud in the silence between us, and her smile told me she’d heard it—savored it.
“Woman, what are you doing? I—”
The words died as the SUV slowed, then rolled to a stop. A thin, merciful thread of self-control snapped taut inside me. We had arrived.
Thank God. Two more seconds of this and the driver would have been convinced he’d stumbled into the filming of a porn movie—possibly titled Scandalous Engagement.
Even then, I didn’t move her hand. Couldn’t. My gaze flicked to the window, scanning past the tinted glass to the organized chaos waiting outside.
Paparazzi. A wall of them. Flashes already pulsing like white-hot lightning against the night. Security held them back, stationed along the crimson rope in a practiced formation—shoulders squared, feet braced, eyes alert. They were ready for us. Ready for her.
This whole spectacle? It was for her.
I couldn’t give a damn about the venue, the press, or the ocean of money I’d just set on fire to make this happen. But I knew it would make her happy. And it makes every woman happy, doesn’t it? To be seen. To be celebrated. To be the center of gravity in a room full of people who orbit you like you’re the sun—especially with a man who loves you at your side.
Besides… I was nowhere near ready for whatever the hell Isabella thought she was doing to me in that SUV.
The engagement party was held at Grande View—the crown jewel of New York’s restaurant scene. Renting it out for the night had cost me a fortune, the kind of number that makes most men sweat. Not that the money mattered. Not really. Somewhere, deep in that stubborn corner of my mind I usually ignored, a voice kept telling me it was worth it. That this place—by the sea, on this night—would mean something to me. To her.
Grande View wasn’t just a restaurant. It was a temple. A monument to excess, to power, to beauty—the kind money could buy, but nature could still outshine without even trying.
The entire building was encased in glass so pure, so flawless, it seemed the walls weren’t even there. Beyond them, the sea stretched out in dark, restless magnificence. Waves curled and broke against the sand below, lapping at the building’s very foundation. At high tide, the water surged up to kiss the windows, spraying them with quicksilver bursts of foam—an intoxicating illusion that blurred the line between land and sea.
I’d seen something like it before at The Marine Room in La Jolla. But here? Here it was larger. Wilder. More decadent. More unapologetically exquisite.
I’d been to both—and without hesitation, Grande View won.
“Sir, are you ready to get down?” the driver asked.
I turned my head. Isabella was still adjusting her dress with one hand, the other… still on me.
I almost laughed at the absurdity. The calm, pristine world outside, and in here—chaos. Heat. Her.
She gave the slightest nod. “We are,” I told the driver, though my eyes never left her.
God, the way that neckline clung to her… the way her breasts shifted beneath the fabric with each breath… I wanted my mouth on her. Now. I wanted to taste her skin, close my lips around those perfect peaks, and suck until she gasped—until the only air she could take in was mine.
My body was already betraying me, blood surging south, tightening me painfully against the constraint of my trousers.
“Wait,” I said suddenly, just as the driver’s hand reached for the door handle.
Isabella’s lips curled—subtle, victorious. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was winning this little war of ours, and she knew it.
But I would win the war. She might have taken this battle, but before the night was over, she’d be the one undone.
I stared straight ahead, forcing my breathing into something resembling control, locking every muscle until my pulse finally began to slow.
“You can open the door now,” I said at last. My voice was steady. My body was not.
The driver stepped out immediately, his movements crisp and practiced, opening my door first. The scent of salt and expensive perfume swirled together in the cool night air.
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