Dangerously Tempted

Chapter: 4 Annoyingly Calm

Isabel

I was flustered, to put it mildly. Maybe even angry. When Odile left, I felt this wave of shame settle over me, my skin burning with heat that had no outlet, along with this low-simmering anger I couldn't shake. It took way longer than I'd care to admit to pull myself together—to breathe normally again. Despite the tension in our argument, I couldn't stop thinking about her hands on my thigh, her breath on my neck, the shivers that ran down my spine. Her mouth on my breast. I was hot—and pissed.

Someone I had already known, already lusted over, was the person I was supposed to marry? That felt like some kind of gift from the gods. If only I wasn't so against the whole arranged marriage thing. It gnawed at me—challenged my morals and my nerves.

What really got under my skin was how easily she'd marry anyone just to make them happy. Why didn't she think about herself? Where was she in that equation? But beyond my irritation, I was hit by something simple and undeniable: I was very, very attracted to her.

At the masquerade, the mask had shielded her features from me, but now that I could see her clearly—damn, she was hot. Slender and firm—when I grabbed her arm to steady myself, it was solid muscle, completely unexpected under that wool cardigan. Her style screamed "old money," with those tan pants and brown cardigan, and as much as it suited her, I had a hard time thinking pleasant thoughts seeing her in it.

When dinner finally rolled around, I couldn't focus. The dining room surprised me; it was big, sure, but somehow still managed to feel cozy. I couldn't figure out how something so grand could be so inviting.

A long table sat at the center, covered with a white cloth trimmed in gold. There was a lot of gold in this house—gold-rimmed teacups, gold-lined books, even the library doors. But none of that held my attention the way Odile did.

I couldn't read her, and our earlier argument hadn't helped. I understood her frustration, at least on some level, but there was still something off. In the garden, she had been so guarded, hesitant even. But in the library? That was a whole different person. Her eyes had told a completely different story. And now, at dinner, she was back to her buttoned-up, reserved self. I knew that was because of me—and that scared me.

Even as she dabbed her lips with a napkin, though there wasn't a trace of food on them, I couldn't help but wonder: what more was there to her? What else would she show me?

Snapping out of my daze, I forced myself to eat, focusing solely on the food for the rest of dinner. Afterward, Odile didn't say a word. She was there one second, and gone the next—disappearing so fast I didn't know how to react.

Part of me was annoyed. How could she not say anything to me the entire time? But another part of me was thankful. The longer she stayed silent, the longer I could hold on to whatever dignity I had left—without her stealing it away with that damn captivating voice of hers.