Chapter 44
**Tom**
I trudged back to the living room, bracing myself for Isabella's inevitable advances. Sure enough, she sidled up to me when I appeared, her perfume enveloping me in a cloud of jasmine and something musky.
"There you are," she purred, her hand reaching my arm. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
I forced a chuckle, trying to subtly put some distance between us. "Of course not. Just catching up with Natalie."
"Well, now you can catch up with me."
I forced a smile, desperately searching for an escape route. "Right, catching up. How's... work?"
Isabella's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Oh, Thomas. Always so polite. But I didn't come here to discuss spreadsheets and quarterly reports."
Her hand trailed down my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close she was standing.
"No? What did you come here for then?" I asked, immediately regretting the question.
She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. "I think you know exactly what I came for."
I jerked back, nearly spilling my drink. "Isabella, I've told you before—"
"That you're not interested, I know," she finished, rolling her eyes. "But come on, Thomas. We both know there's something between us. Why fight it?"
I glanced around the room, desperately seeking an ally. William and Michael were still deep in conversation, oblivious to my plight. Olivia seemed to have dozed off on the couch, her wine glass dangerously close to tipping over. And Natalie, the traitor, was watching us with undisguised amusement.
"Look, Isabella," I began, trying to inject firmness into my voice. "You're a lovely woman, but—"
"But what?" she interrupted, her fingers playing with the top button of my shirt. "Too lovely for you to handle?"
I let out a strangled laugh. "That's not—I mean—"
"You know," she mused, her eyes raking over me, "I've always wondered what you're hiding under these buttoned-up shirts of yours. Care to give me a private tour?"
My face felt like it was on fire. "I, uh, I don't think that would be appropriate."
Isabella threw her head back and laughed, the sound drawing the attention of our other friends. "Oh, Thomas. Always so proper. Don't you ever get tired of being the good boy?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Isabella took advantage of my stunned silence to press herself against me, her curves molding to my body in a way that made it hard to think straight.
"What if," she whispered, her lips brushing my ear, "I told you I wasn't wearing any panties?"
My brain short-circuited. I could feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her dress, and suddenly, the room felt about ten degrees warmer. I swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
"I, uh... that's... quite the fashion statement," I stammered, cringing at my lame response.
Isabella's laugh was low and throaty. "Oh, Thomas. You're adorable when you're flustered." Her fingers traced lazy patterns on my chest. "But I bet you're even more adorable when you let loose."
I glanced around the room, praying for divine intervention. Or maybe just for Natalie to remember her promise to run interference. But my so-called friend was conveniently conversing with William, studiously avoiding eye contact.
Traitor.
"Isabella," I said, trying to inject firmness into my voice. "This isn't appropriate. We're at a friend's gathering, and—"
"And what?" she purred, her hand sliding dangerously low on my back. "We're all adults here. No one's going to clutch their pearls if we sneak off for a little... private conversation."
I stepped back, nearly tripping over my feet in the process. "Look, I appreciate the, uh, offer. But I'm not interested."
Isabella's eyes narrowed. "Not interested? Please. I've seen how you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."
"That's called polite eye contact," I muttered.
She ignored me, pressing on. "I know you want me. So why fight it? Why deny yourself the pleasure?"
"Why do you need this so desperately? Plenty of other men'd jump at the chance to be with you. Why waste your time on a stuffy professor?"
Isabella's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Maybe I like a challenge. And you, Thomas Blackwood, are quite the puzzle."
"Trust me, I'm about as challenging as a children's jigsaw puzzle. All my pieces are right there on the surface."
"Oh, I don't know about that," she purred, her fingers tracing my shirt collar. "I think you've got some hidden depths. And I'd love to... explore them."
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "Isabella, I—"
"Shh," she pressed a finger to my lips. "Don't overthink it, Thomas. Just feel."
And then she kissed me, her lips soft and insistent against mine. For a moment, I froze, caught off guard by her boldness. But then something inside me snapped, and I found myself kissing her back with a fervor that surprised even me.
My hands found her waist, pulling her closer as our tongues danced. She tasted like expensive wine and forbidden fruit, intoxicating and dangerous.
Oh God, what was I doing? My brain screamed at me to stop, but Isabella's lips were demanding, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. My body was responding against my better judgment. It had been a long time... too long.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, she pulled away, leaving me breathless and more than a little dazed. Her eyes, hooded with desire, fixed on me. I swallowed hard, struggling to find my voice.
"Well, well, Thomas," she purred, a triumphant smile on her lips. "I knew you had passion under that buttoned-up exterior."
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I felt like a deer caught in headlights, stunned and uncertain.
Isabella's smile widened as if she found my inner turmoil amusing. "Now that we've established you're not made of ice," she said, her voice low and suggestive, "the question is: what do we do about it?"
She took a step closer, her eyes never leaving mine. "We could continue this little... tryst, right here. Or, if you'd prefer," she paused, her gaze flicking toward the hallway, "we could find a more... private location."
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it. "I, uh..." I felt like an awkward teenager again, fumbling for the right words. Every rational thought had flown out of the window.
Just then, we heard Natalie's voice cutting through the room's charged atmosphere. "Tom? Isabella? What's going on over there? Everything alright?"
Isabella, unruffled, called out casually, "Everything's fine, Nat! Just catching up."
Isabella's casual response to Natalie felt like a bucket of cold water. I blinked, trying to shake off the daze of our heated moment.
"Right," I mumbled, running a hand through my hair. "Catching up."
Natalie appeared beside us, eyebrow raised. "Uh-huh. Looked like quite the conversation from where I was standing."
I felt my face flush. "It wasn't—we weren't—"
"Save it, Tom," Natalie said, rolling her eyes. "I don't need the details of your little makeout session."
Isabella just smirked, looking far too pleased with herself.
"Anyway," Natalie continued, clapping her hands together. "I've got a brilliant idea to liven up this party."
Natalie's 'brilliant ideas' usually end with someone embarrassed, drunk, or both.
"Let's play Truth or Dare!"
And there it was.
"What are we, sixteen?" I protested weakly.
"Oh, come on, Thomas," Isabella purred, her hand reaching my arm again. "Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I think I left it in my other pants," I muttered.
But Natalie was already corralling the others, her enthusiasm infectious. Soon enough, we were all seated in a circle on the living room floor, drinks in hand.
"Alright," Natalie said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Who wants to go first?"
"I'll start," Isabella volunteered, her gaze locked on me. "Thomas, truth or dare?"
Of course. I should've seen that coming.
"Truth," I said, figuring it was the safer option.
Isabella's smile widened. "Tell us, Professor Blackwood, have you ever had a dirty dream about one of your students?"
"That's hardly an appropriate question!"
"That's kind of the point, Tom," Natalie said, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
I looked around the circle, hoping for support, but found only amused faces. Even William, usually the voice of reason, seemed entertained by my predicament.
"Fine," I grumbled. "Yes, I have. Once. And before you ask, no, I won't say who it was about."
Isabella leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "Ooh, naughty professor. I bet it was about—"
"Moving on!" I interrupted hastily. "Michael, truth or dare?"
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