Sweet Flash Marriage with the Restrained Tycoon (Isabelle and Damien) novel Chapter 53

"Hello, this is Ashley Debose. I'm looking for Damian." Ashley's voice was gentle, the kind Isabelle herself might have found pleasant.

"Ms. Debose, it's eleven o'clock. What do you need my husband for? He just stepped into the shower. If it's not urgent, I can have him call you back later." Isabelle kept her voice light.

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I'll just contact him tomorrow," Ashley replied, a clear note of fluster in her tone.

"Alright then. Goodbye."

Isabelle smiled and, just before hanging up, called out in a sweet, husky voice, "Honey, you done yet? I've been waiting forever."

The call disconnected.

A slow smile spread across Damian's lips as he turned to look at her.

"So? Pretty good acting, right?" she bragged, grinning like a kid who just aced a test.

But before her smile could fade, Damian peeled off the disposable gloves he was wearing. He turned slowly, his body shifting to pin her against the sofa cushions.

"Damian..." Isabelle gasped, her hands flying up to press against his shoulders. The heat of his skin burned through her palms, and a strange warmth began to pool low in her belly.

The phone clattered to the floor, forgotten.

Their ragged breaths mingled in the dim light. He was so close she couldn't make out the look in his eyes.

He reached up carefully, took off his glasses, and set them on the coffee table beside them.

This was only the second time she'd seen his eyes without the glasses. They were a clear, bright shape, completely different from his usual intense, intimidating gaze. There was no chill, no distance in them now.

Isabelle remembered this. The first time they shared a bed, the first thing he did was take off his glasses.

He wants to...

A wave of panic washed over her.

Damian leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. His breathing was heavy, as if he'd downed a bottle of hard liquor.

"Honey..." His voice was a ragged, needy whisper against her lips.

"Damian, the act's over," Isabelle murmured, trying to sound firm. She pushed against his chest with her forearms, but her strength was no match for his. He easily pinned her arms to her sides, bringing their bodies flush against each other.

"We're married, Isabelle," he reminded her, the words rough.

"But you promised me time," she protested, her face flushing.

"Kissing you isn't the same as sleeping with you. Do I need to schedule that too?" His voice dropped to a low, almost pleading murmur. In that moment, he looked like he needed comfort.

He cupped her chin, his thumb stroking her jaw as his soft gaze swept over her face.

"I just thought..." she began, biting her lip in embarrassment.

"Do I look that desperate for it?"

He was rejected. Is he mad again? Please don't be mad. He's impossible to deal with when he's angry.

"Isabelle," Ashley said, her tone still gentle.

"Ms. Debose," Isabelle said.

Ashley was two years older and far more mature, usually the picture of composure. This time, however, she seemed to be struggling to keep up the act.

"How old are you, Isabelle?" Ashley asked.

"Ms. Debose, why do you ask?" Isabelle replied, already sensing where this was going.

"You know Damian is married, right?" Ashley's voice was still pleasant.

"Of course I know," Isabelle said with a light laugh, her purpose now clear.

Ashley seemed taken aback. "Isabelle, you're only twenty-two. How can you do something like this?"

"Do what, exactly?" Isabelle asked, feigning innocence.

"Anyone with eyes can see how intimate you two are. I'm advising you to stay away from him. If his wife finds out, your reputation will be ruined." Her words sounded like friendly advice, but the real goal was to remove an obstacle.

She might not have worried about other women, but Isabelle was a different story. The girl was undeniably beautiful, and Ashley felt her confidence waver.

"Ms. Debose, as you said, this kind of thing would ruin a reputation. But Mr. Cross is the one initiating everything. I'm just a junior employee..." Isabelle let her voice trail off, layering on the pitiful tone.