Sweet Flash Marriage with the Restrained Tycoon (Isabelle and Damien) novel Chapter 39

Isabelle had to admit that she liked it just now. But she didn't know why she pushed him away. It was confusing.

She remembered what Diana had said. "You mean you haven't done it again since the first night? Just go for it, girl! He looks like he knows exactly what he's doing..."

Her face felt instantly hot.

It was only much later, after they'd fallen completely in love, that Isabelle realized her friend had been right. He did know exactly what he was doing.

By day, he was gentle and steady. But at night, the wildness of him—the recklessness, the possessiveness—surfaced. He held nothing back, every part of him radiating a raw, thrilling intensity.

Damian slowly got up, turning away to refasten buttons that had somehow come completely undone.

"You..." she sat up, speaking cautiously. "I just need a little more time..."

Damian replied, "Okay."

Isabelle quickly pulled her disheveled top together, put her pants back on properly, and hurried into the bathroom.

What are you hesitating for with a guy that hot? He said it was his fault to save your pride, but you're the one who started it! He took the blame, and he's loaded and gorgeous. Why let him go? You're married, that stuff is gonna happen sooner or later anyway!

A wave of self-reassurance washed over her. At the very least, he wasn't as terrible as Gary!

Isabelle seemed to reach a decision. She unbuttoned the third button of her top, revealing her collarbone, and adjusted her clothes unnaturally. I'll just try!

But just as she was preparing herself, she felt a warm, untimely flow.

Seriously? My period now? This is the worst timing.

Feeling awkward, she walked out of the bathroom and turned on the bedroom light.

Damian was already in bed, but not asleep, just looking at his phone.

She opened the closet, searching for something, but couldn't find it.

"Looking for something?" Damian put his phone down.

Isabelle was embarrassed. She closed the closet door. "Aunt Flo is in town."

Damian asked, "Your aunt is visiting this late?"

Isabelle was speechless. Of course a clueless guy would say that.

After two seconds of silence, Damian understood. He got up quickly, as if realizing he'd forgotten something essential. "I'll go get her..." he paused, correcting himself. "I'll go buy what you need."

He threw on his coat and walked straight out, not even bothering to change.

He was back in under ten minutes.

Isabelle met him at the entryway. His face was flushed from the cold wind and snow, his breath visible in little puffs. Snowflakes clung to his hair, and his hands, holding a plastic bag, were stiff.

Isabelle, as usual, had draped herself over him, her arms wrapped around his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck. And at some point, his large hand had found its way around her waist.

He was awake but didn't get up. Instead, he quietly breathed in the scent of her hair and gently kneaded the curve of her waist.

A phone vibrated.

Isabelle sighed in her half-sleep, rolled over, fumbled for the phone on the nightstand, and, half-squinting, swiped the green answer button from muscle memory.

"Hello..." Isabelle mumbled.

No response from the other end.

"Huh? Wrong number?" Isabelle brought the phone closer, forcing her bleary eyes open. "Louis?"

That was the name displayed on the screen. She didn't remember having a contact by that name.

She was suddenly wide awake. This isn't my phone.

She looked up at Damian.

He looked down. Their eyes met.

Isabelle slowly handed the phone to him. He took it, their fingertips brushing for a fleeting moment—even that brief contact felt warm.