Dangerous Exes (Page 13)

“Sure, come in, not like I have company since apparently I’m getting engaged and trying to hide it from everyone I know.”

“About that.” Isla whirled around. “I think a public engagement would be best.”

“Of course you do.” I sighed, praying for patience. “You wouldn’t happen to be one of those girls that has a scrapbook full of wedding ideas just in case the right guy comes along, would you?”

She traced a droplet of wine on the pristine white counter with her fingertip and shrugged.

My eyebrows rose. “A Pinterest board too?”

She jerked her head up. “If I did, it would be a secret board, so don’t even try to find it.”

I smirked at the sudden blush on her cheeks. “You have your colors picked out then?”

“Black and white,” she said with a straight face before bursting into laughter. “You should have seen your eyes light up!”

It was my turn to blush as I swiped my wine from the countertop and took two more healthy sips. “Pretty sure my eyes would never light up over wedding talk—I wasn’t planning on ever walking down the aisle again.”

“Guys don’t walk,” she said with a wink. “But if you want me to be at the end of that aisle, all you gotta do is ask, baby.”

“I’m not drunk enough for you yet.” I drank more.

She grabbed the bottle and lifted it to her damn lips, then tipped it back before I could stop her. “Ohhhhh, that’s a nice red blend.”

I clenched my teeth. “People use glasses.”

“Point one out, and I’ll use one,” she said with a wide smile.

“You aren’t going away, are you?”

“No.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“Care to find me a glass?”

Scowling, I went to the cupboard, pulled out another crystal glass, and handed it to her.

Our fingers brushed.

I shouldn’t have even noticed.

I hated that I did.

I hated that her eyes flickered to my mouth before she turned away and poured herself a glass as big as mine.

The kitchen felt too small for the both of us.

And I felt awkward just standing there while she took her first sip. It felt wrong to stare at her lips like I hadn’t just tasted them. Pieces of hair curled by the back of her neck, had she just showered? Did she have naturally curly hair? Why the hell did I even care?

I lifted my hand.

Then dropped it to my side as she walked away from me and sat in the adjoining living room. I assumed she wanted me to follow, so I grabbed my glass and the bottle, and sat next to her on the white couch, praying the whole time she wasn’t a spiller.

“So.” I leaned back. “The reason for this late-night visit?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes darted from the wine bottle to me, then back again. “I also thought that maybe . . . we should call a cease-fire.”

“Cease-fire?” I leaned forward and clasped my hands together. “What do you mean?”

She blew out a breath like she was annoyed, then turned to me. “Look, we can’t constantly be at each other’s throats if we’re supposed to be showing people that we’re a happy couple.”

My stomach filled with dread.

My eyes burned like I’d just had acid dumped into them.

“You should go.” I stood.

Isla looked around the room then back up at me. “What did I say?”

I didn’t realize how much anger I still had inside.

Anger at being controlled.

Allowing myself to be a puppet.

Allowing a woman to tell me how I should live my life, and why.

And I sure as hell wasn’t doing it again.

“I’m not your child, Isla.” I didn’t mean the words to come out so aggressively. “I can’t—” I lost my voice.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Isla set her wine down and reached for my hands. It was so unexpected that I collapsed onto the couch as she pulled me closer. “That is not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” I countered. “Fake marriage for the cameras? You think the universe is just trying to fuck with me?”

She flinched.

“Sorry.” I rubbed my thumb across her hands. “I didn’t mean it, I just—”

“Don’t take out your anger with Vanessa on me. We are two completely different people. I can’t even stand the color white.”

“Your car’s white, Isla.”

“Because black gets too hot in LA and I don’t like colorful cars,” she pointed out like I should care. “Okay, how about we come up with a list of rules? Lines we can’t cross during the next few months?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You would do that?”

“Jessie, do you really think I want you to shut me down? Do you think I want the world to look at my business, the one I’ve built from the ground up, and think we just sleep with clients’ husbands?”

“I don’t know? Do you?”

“The nonprofit was your life—this is mine.”

“Touché.” I knew I was pushing her, but I was just so . . . damn angry. Still. Over things I couldn’t control, over things she helped set in motion.

Isla hung her head again. “You like control, I like control, though I’d like to point out that I at least don’t have a stick up my ass. I’m more of the type of person who just likes to have a plan, whereas you like things to look a certain way.” She stared at me. “Does it . . . bother you if I do this?”

She moved the magazines on the table, making it so they weren’t straight but all over the place.

I almost broke out in hives.

“Okay, so that’s a yes.” She moved them back. “See? These are the things I should probably know—”

“No.” Fear lodged in my throat at the idea of letting someone get close to me again only to betray me—only to make me realize that I was somehow lacking. “Engaged in name only.”

“Like a regency novel,” she said under her breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Regency. Historical romance.” The smile on her face fell as she stood again. “So, no cease-fire, no rules, except what? Make sure that we hold hands and smile when we’re in public, and don’t get caught with your pants down?”

“Fine by me.” I stood and stared at the door behind her, hoping she’d get the message.

She downed the rest of her wine and walked to the door, then turned around. “You do realize that a relationship means you give fifty percent, you meet in the middle, you compromise. I’m not asking for a spleen, I’m just asking for you to help me so I can help you.”

She cringed.

I shook my head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Isla, the only thing I need from you is a ring on your finger and your word that you’re going to fix what you broke. If you don’t . . .” I shrugged.

“Ah, back to threats.” I could have sworn tears filled her eyes, and I almost felt like a jackass for making her feel that way when I was just as guilty of nearly kissing her, of putting her in a bad place. The temptation had been too much, and fighting my growing attraction to her was almost as hard as hating her.

I still put the blame on her. On the yoga pants.

On the situation.

If we were keeping track.

She still ruined me.

And all I did was react to being with her in a trapped space with a working dick.