Chapter 143
CHAPTER 30
The ride to hell mercifully ended as the car pulled up in front of his building. Graham was out of the vehicle in seconds, his long strides carrying him toward the elevator without a backward glance. Every nerve in his body screamed for distance—distance from her, from the maddening effect she had on him. His fingers itched to grab her, pull her close, and yet he knew he had to stay as far away as possible.
But fate wasn’t so kind. He groaned internally as Isla’s soft footsteps hurried behind him, her timing impeccable. She slipped into the elevator just as the doors were closing, and they ascended in silence. The tension between them was suffocating, the confined space amplifying every detail—the faint scent of her perfume, the delicate rise and fall of her chest, and the way her lips pursed, as if she were deep in thought.
By the time they reached the penthouse, Graham was barely holding on. He needed air, space—anything to escape her intoxicating presence. Instead, it felt like she was everywhere. She trailed him through the house, her soft footsteps a constant reminder of her proximity. The kitchen, the balcony—she was there, her wide, innocent eyes watching him, oblivious to the fire raging inside him.
The final straw came when she followed him into his bedroom.
“*ISLA!*” His voice was sharper than he intended, and her wide-eyed expression made his chest tighten with guilt. But he couldn’t take it anymore—her closeness was driving him insane.
“I—” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I just wanted to say… I want to go back to Thornfield Manor tomorrow.”
She spoke so quickly, so nervously, that she seemed almost afraid of his response. Her wide, doe-like eyes peered up at him as though she expected him to sprout horns and charge at her. And perhaps, in a way, he would’ve liked to.
“Right.” The single word hissed through his clenched teeth, his jaw so tight it felt like it might crack.
“Good night then,” she murmured, retreating quickly. The soft click of the door closing behind her was like a starter pistol to the chaos in his mind.
Alone in the quiet of his room, Graham leaned against the door, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to control the storm raging within him. His mind screamed for release, his body desperate for the touch he craved but couldn’t allow himself to take.
*God, why couldn’t I be that man?* he thought bitterly. If he were the kind of man who lived without restraint, without morals, he could storm into her room right now. He could pin her soft, delicate body beneath his, feel the heat of her skin, the intoxicating warmth of her untouched core. The mere thought made his pulse hammer in his veins, his body aching with unfulfilled need.
He could imagine it so clearly—her breathless gasps as he claimed her, the way her fingers might clutch at his back, the arch of her body as he pushed her to the edge again and again. The fantasy burned in his mind, vivid and tantalizing, but it was also laced with guilt.
Because Isla wasn’t just any woman. She was innocent—completely untouched, her body unmarked by any man’s hands before him. He couldn’t bring himself to take her like some selfish brute, to use her to satiate the relentless hunger that consumed him and then discard her.
But walking away from her was proving impossible. Every fiber of his being wanted her. Needed her. His body was a traitor, hard and aching, his need so raw and desperate that it bordered on agony. He wanted to lose himself in her, to feel her soft curves pressed against him, her voice crying out his name as he made her his.
Yet his conscience reminded him of the truth: if he wanted her, truly wanted her, there was only one way. He would have to marry her. Not because it was the honorable thing to do—though it was—but because it was the only way he could have her without guilt. And God help him, he needed her more than he’d ever needed anything in his life.
Graham raked a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening with resolve. There would be no more waiting, no more excuses. He would make her his—soon. Because if he didn’t, he was certain he’d lose himself completely.
Isla broached the topic over breakfast once again, her voice tentative as she voiced her desire to return to Willow Creek. Graham, weary of her persistent obstinacy, simply sighed, his expression unreadable as he casually sipped his coffee. He maintained an air of calculated indifference, not bothering to meet her eyes, knowing that his demeanor needed to be perfectly calibrated for what was to come.
"Yes," he replied slowly, his tone casual, almost dismissive. He shrugged nonchalantly, as though her departure held little consequence to him. It was crucial that he appeared completely detached at this moment. “Let me know whenever you are ready to leave and I will alert the pilot.” He sipped his coffee once again.
Isla, surprised by his immediate acquiescence, hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. She hadn't expected him to agree so readily, and his apparent indifference unsettled her. Was this a test? A ploy to gauge her reaction? She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, fidgeting with her spoon as she searched his face for any hint of underlying motives.
"Okay," she finally managed to say, her voice tentative.
"One more thing," Graham said, his tone measured, as he set his coffee mug down with a deliberate clink. He finally looked at her, his expression unreadable but sharp, as though gauging her reaction was part of a calculated move. "Now that you're going back to Willow Creek, I want you to choose one of the cottages on the property that are currently rented out."
Isla blinked, her brow furrowing deeply. Suspicion flickered in her wide eyes. "For what?" she asked, her voice tentative, the beginnings of unease creeping into her tone.
"For yourself," Graham replied smoothly, shrugging as though they were discussing something as trivial as the weather. "Choose one of the larger ones on the east side. They’re a bit high-maintenance, but they’ll suit you better in the long run."
Her confusion deepened. "I thought I would be going back to Thornfield Manor." Her voice trembled slightly, the words faltering as though she were trying to convince herself as much as him.
"Yes, for now," he said, nodding as if her concern was of little importance. He reached for his empty mug and placed it back on the table with a soft thud. "But soon Thornfield Manor will be sold. And since I know how much you love that place, I couldn’t, in good conscience, leave you without somewhere to go. Pick the house you like best on the property, and I’ll ensure the deed is transferred to your name before the estate is sold."
He continued, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were outlining a business transaction. "It’s mid-January now. I’d say three months should be sufficient. I haven’t spoken to my lawyers yet, but the next two months are packed for me. I’ll be in Luxembourg next week, then handling matters in London, and after that, a month in Washington, D.C. I’ll be busy until April, but I can come to Willow Creek then. By that time, you should have chosen a cottage, and I’ll finalize the arrangements for the rest of the property to go on the market."
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