Reclaimed by the Tycoon - Chapter 3

It was on the tip of his tongue then to tell her the truth. Whilst technically he’d still been married, it had been a long time since either he or Charlotte, his ex-wife, had thought of themselves as such.

Functionally, though, did it make a difference? He’d still been hellbent on seducing Isabella, on drawing her into his life, his bed, on hypnotizing her with the chemistry that was driving him mad. They’d enslaved each other, yet, it had always been a relationship with no future. For as long as his father-in-law lived, his marriage would stay legal. He could never have offered Isabella more, even if he’d wanted to.

And he hadn’t wanted to.

At the base of it, that was why he stayed quiet. She was everything he distanced himself from, in his life, these days. From that child who’d been too wild, surviving on his base instincts alone. He chose to live a life as far removed from those passions as possible. Isabella had been a dangerous, dark drug, a pull back towards a person he didn’t recognize—or didn’t want to think of as still being a part of him. Whereas he lived his life with constant control these days, she made him feel wildly out of it, spinning towards a solar flare, and uncaring that he was going to be eviscerated by its heat. That was the real reason he didn’t correct her now, with the facts of what his marriage had been.

‘I’m not interested in discussing the past. Are you going to let me help you or not?’

She glared up at him with so much rage and indignation, as though her predicament was his fault, that he let out a short laugh. Leave it to Isabella to be crumpled on the floor, no help in sight, and still come out swinging.

Her eyes shifted beyond his knees, panic-searching for someone else. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the same thing she undoubtedly did: the crowds that had been milling in the street had all disappeared, no doubt to move to the foreshore for the sunset.

‘Well, okay,’ she muttered, ever the pragmatist. ‘If you can just get me standing up, I’ll be fine to hail a cab.’

He smothered his skepticism with a crisp nod. ‘Is it only your ankle that hurts?’

She shot him a cynical look. ‘Why? Have you obtained a medical degree in the last few years?’

Heady, sparking need flashed in his blood. He ignored it. The sooner he could get Isabella safely into a cab and back out of his life, the better. Already, his body was building up a sort of electrical charge that was making him want to offer to kiss her all better—starting at her ankle and working his way slowly, treacherously, upwards.

‘No, but I have enough experience with broken bones to know moving you could make it worse.’

He felt her curiosity in the look she speared him with, but he ignored it. ‘So? Any other part of you hurting?’

Her lips parted as she looked down at her body. Her ankle was the size of a small balloon, but there was no other visible injury. Her legs were not at strange angles, her arms were capable of gesticulating to indicate her irritation and sarcasm.

‘It’s just my ankle.’

Yet for some reason, he crouched down beside her, so they were almost at eye level. ‘I had better make sure of that.’ And before he could stop himself, his hand was on her normal-size ankle, running over it, checking for sprains or breaks. He tried to keep his touch clinical, for both their sakes, but her sharp intake of breath spoke of an awareness with which he was familiar.

‘Okay?’ he couldn’t resist asking, goading her.

It was a mistake to look at Isabella, though. They were close, and when their eyes met, it was like the last two years disappeared completely. That spectacularly awful fight, when she’d learned he was legally married, the things she’d said to him, the way she’d lashed him to the bone with that quick tongue of hers. He’d never known anything like it. Yet looking into her eyes now, he felt only the best parts of their time together—that undeniable connection and heat that had anchored him to her in a way he’d never known one person could feel for another.

‘Fine,’ she said, and though he could tell she was attempting to infuse the word with coldness, he felt the zing anyway.

‘And here?’ he ran his hands a little higher, checking her tibia, then her knee, and finally, her femur, letting his hand skate over her thigh, dangerously close to her sex.

‘Nothing’s broken,’ she hissed, but another glance at the face that had been haunting his dreams for almost a thousand nights showed the heat in her cheeks, the wildness in her eyes, the parted lips an invitation he knew better than to accept. Even when he really wanted to. ‘Just help me up,’ she pleaded. Like she, too, was fighting this fight, waging a war against the sensual need that always drowned them. ‘And then we can forget we saw each other.’

‘Easier said than done,’ he said darkly, seeing no sense in denying the truth.

‘I’m not that heavy,’ she quipped, in an apparent attempt to lighten the mood between them.

‘I remember how you feel in my arms, carina. That is not what I meant.’

He moved his hands to her swollen ankle, and she made a ghastly sound of pain the second his fingers connected to it. So much for letting her limp off to some cab rank. ‘You cannot bear weight on this until it’s been checked out.’

‘It will be fine,’ she said, pressing the fingers of one hand to her temple and holding them there, like she was fighting off a serious migraine. ‘It has to be fine.’

‘Have you obtained a medical degree in the last two years?’ he threw back at her, and was rewarded with the lifting of her lips, showing a hint of amusement. Hell, that was even more dangerous than heated arguing.

‘No, but I’ve had sprained ankles before.’ Her eyes dipped lower, towards her foot. ‘Not like this, though.’ Her lips pulled to one side and there was something else in her features now, a look of worry that was difficult to see on her face.

‘What is it?’

She jerked her gaze to his, obviously trying to rearrange her features so he wouldn’t perceive her thoughts. ‘I’m just— It’s just not the best timing.’

‘Got somewhere you have to be?’

She let out a short, humourless laugh. ‘Only about a hundred and fifty places.’

He tamped down his interest. They had already scrambled halfway down a slippery slope; it was up to him to arrest their fall. ‘Once the hospital has looked at your ankle, you can do whatever you wish, Isabella.’

She opened her mouth to argue but he quickly pressed a finger to her lips, and her beautiful eyes went so wide they were like saucers.

‘Do not fight with me for the sake of it. We both remember what happens when we fight, don’t we?’