The Final Chapter: Enigma, #4 Page 23

Not a word seeps from his lips when he sits me into the passenger seat of our rental car, buckles my seatbelt into place, then jogs around to hop into the driver’s seat. I try to formulate words, to articulate something about what just occurred, but my words stay trapped in my throat, refusing to be relinquished.

  I’m not surprised when Hugo drives us straight to the private airstrip we flew into yesterday afternoon. We agreed last night that as soon as we unearthed what really happened to Ophelia, we’d immediately inform Isaac of our discovery in person. My agreement was the only way I stopped Hugo from calling Isaac last night.

  When we pull into the airport hangar thirty minutes later, Isaac’s private jet is on the tarmac, warm and ready to go. The crew was advised that the plane must be ready for departure with minimal notice required because Isaac didn’t want any delays separating us longer than necessary. My heart was initially warmed by that statement, but now it’s full of panic because every mile I get closer to Isaac means I’m closer to losing him forever.

  For the past three hours, Hugo has aimlessly flicked through outdated magazines. He’s not reading any articles. He’s too busy eyeballing me to pay attention to anything else.

  I put his gawking to good use. “How old do you think Ophelia’s son is?”

  He sets down the magazine to scrub the five o’clock shadow on his chin. “Five or six,” he replies, his voice uneasy.

  “So the dates could add up. He could be Isaac’s son.”

  Since my comments are more statements than questions, Hugo doesn’t respond. He just wearily smiles before moving into the spare seat next to me. Fresh tears prick in my eyes when he drapes his arm around my shoulders, offering me silent comfort, but even devastated, I don’t shed a tear. I’m out of my quota of tears for the day.

  “You can’t fight fate, Izzy.” The deepness of his voice vibrates right through me. “But that doesn’t mean you should give up. Isaac gave you an engagement ring as a promise. He’s never spoken those words to another woman before, so that alone shows your importance to him. You need to have faith that things will work out the way they're meant to.”

  I inhale a lung-filling gulp of air before nodding. After everything Isaac and I have endured the past few months, I believe our relationship is strong enough to pass the most strenuous tests. But this time is different. I’m not going against a woman who wants to compete for Isaac’s heart. I'm battling a woman who already owns a portion of it. It doesn’t take a genius to know that this will be one of my hardest fought battles, but that doesn’t mean I won’t give it my best shot.

  Chapter 29

  Isaac

  “The transfer of assets has been approved as you requested.”

  I press my cell phone closer to my ear, ensuring I can hear Parker over the roaring chant of the crowd. “Is it the original asset I secured?”

  “Yes. I informed them that you wouldn’t be willing to accept anything less than what you purchased.”

  “Good. I’ll have the transport information and logistics forwarded to you by tomorrow afternoon. This sale needs to remain confidential. I can’t run the risk of anyone finding out about my business dealings with Vladimir.” Especially Isabelle.

  “I understand, and the transport team has been debriefed on the situation.”

  “Good, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I disconnect our call, then place my cell into the gym bag at my side. Cormack’s amused but guarded gaze follows me when I stand from the bench seat I’m sitting on. He remains quiet as I do a set of reps to ensure my muscles are firm and warm, meaning they’ll be less likely to sustain damage from any blows that may be inflicted on them.

  Six years has passed since I last undertook this warm-up routine, but it feels like no time at all. The only difference this time around is Ophelia isn’t fretfully pacing.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? You aren’t as young as you were back then.” Cormack hands me a white towel to run over my sweat-drenched head since I’ve finalized my thirty-minute routine. “You’re still as cocky, but that doesn’t mean you’re as fast as you once were.”

  My chuckle echoes in the quietness of the locker room. “Are you worried about me getting hurt? Or you losing your twenty percent cut since all the proceeds go to charity?”

  Cormack’s brows furrow. “I guess I better cut back on the cigars and whiskeys at your restaurant next week to save me some coin for a rainy day.”

  I laugh even louder. He could never work a day in his life if he wanted to live off his family inheritance. But just like me, everything he has in his life, he’s achieved himself.

  My chuckles die down when I catch the live broadcast of the pre-fight banter on a color television hanging in the corner of the room. Ever since Henry Gottle, Jr. announced a charity match between the current heavy-weight contender for our region and me, I’ve been inundated with requests for interviews.

  Most people are unaware of how I gained the capital to start my empire. The main rumor is that it was funded by drug trafficking, but drugs have never, and will never, run through my empire. Due to the lack of knowledge, fight commentators believe I'm going into this charity match blindfolded. I’ve seen fake eulogies of my death, cartoon artists have sketched me with my head removed and dangling from The Constrictor’s hand, and the fight commentators are remarking that tonight’s match will be a prime example as to why a businessman should stick to business proposals and not boxing rings. Their taunts have made me determined not to walk out of that ring until their ideas about my reputation have significantly altered.

  In all honesty, I only truly considered Cormack’s suggestion after my encounter with Isabelle. And while I’m being totally forthright, I’ll admit hearing Isabelle say I stole her dreams cut through me like a hot knife through butter.

  I want to give Isabelle the world. Everything I have, I want to share with her, so it killed me to hear that she abandoned her dreams to be with me. If I were a better man, I'd let her go so she could live her life the way she envisioned, but I can’t. Although her statement cut me raw, everything she said was true, but I'm a selfish man, and I refuse to give her up. I’m struggling being away from her the past two days as it is, let alone for a lifetime.

  It’s taken all my restraint the past two days not to charter a jet to Tiburon and bring her home kicking and screaming against her will. But I gave Isabelle a week to work through whatever neuroses she's having about our relationship. If she doesn’t return in a week, I'll go to Tiburon and bring her home myself. Isabelle is mine, and I have no intention of ever giving her up. We’ve already walked through the gates of hell, and our relationship came out the other end stronger, so I'm confident this latest battle will only make our relationship even stronger.

  My attention is diverted from the two fight commentators on the screen when I become aware of Isabelle. My pulse increases as my eyes lift to the entrance of the locker room. I'm not surprised when I find the doorway empty. It’s been my lingering wish the past thirty-six hours that Isabelle would miraculously appear, leaning in the doorway of my home office like she has every morning since we became engaged, to have her sleep-weary eyes absorb my body before she kisses me good morning like she's starved of my taste. I’ve gone two mornings without experiencing her endorphin-inducing kisses and forty-eight hours since I’ve had her beneath me. Although it has only been two days, it feels like a lifetime.

  Isabelle is the main reason I agreed to participate in this charity match. I need to bang my chest, to show I’m still a man who should be feared. Because although Isabelle has defrosted my cold insides, making me appear less ruthless than I once was doesn’t mean the reputation I fought hard to achieve should be disregarded. If anything, it should create more caution. As now, I’m not just protecting my empire, I’m defending something much more valuable. Something I'd never allow anyone to harm. Something I'd kill for just to be safe. There are no boundaries to how far I'd go to keep Isabelle protected. That, in itself, should be grea
tly feared.

  I’ve just finished securing a pair of black gloves to my hands when a fight promoter enters the locker room to advise it’s time for the match to begin. I shoot Cormack a cocky wink before I follow a bursting-at-the-seams Henry Gottle, Jr. down the corridor. This charity match has created such a buzz in the industry, they're looking at expanding it to other regions. Ticket sales alone increased thirty percent from the regularly-scheduled events. It’s the hype Henry has been actively seeking since he became a promoter three years ago.

  Unlike his father, all Henry’s dealings are strictly above board, even when you're evoking a favor. Just like Isabelle, Henry doesn’t believe your hands need to be stained to make an impact in the world. Although I'm sure his logic was severely tested when handling his divorce from Delilah Winterbottom. That woman would easily provoke any man to stretch his limitations on what was classed as morally ethical.

  The roaring chant of the crowd intensifies with every step I take toward the ring. My blood turns potent, spurred on by the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’ve always quoted that my time in the underground fight circle was purely to gain enough capital to establish my empire, but in all honesty, I fought because I relished it. The rush of adrenaline, the challenge, and the thrill of a win kept me coming back week after week. If it was all about the capital, I could have stopped fighting within six months. I didn’t. I continued fighting for nearly two years as I savored it. I was in my element.

  I'm in my element.

  “You're still one crazy son of a bitch,” Cormack chuckles as he shadows me down the corridor after my match against The Constrictor.

  Although the fight went on a little longer than I’m accustomed to, it was a decent match that kept the spectators sitting on the edges of their seats. The Constrictor is a well-built brute of a man. His shoulders are nearly double the width of mine, but that brought up the notion, ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’ And he hit the boxing mat on numerous occasions throughout the night. Call me conceited, but I wiped his arrogant smirk right off his abhorrent face, and I loved every minute of it.

  “Is this going to become our regular Friday night schedule again?” Cormack’s tone is full of sarcasm.

  He can be playful. It isn’t his body he's putting on the line. Although I'm walking away with my undefeated title still firmly in place, I'm sporting a few bruises and a possible cracked rib I didn’t have earlier. After sitting on the bench seat in the locker room, I remove the tape from my hands. My body is flushed with heat, the blood pumping through my veins as hot as the sun. There's only one other thing that can cause this much adrenaline in quick succession. That thing is Isabelle. My Achilles heel. My hardest fought battle. Mine.

  An hour later, after being given the all-clear from the medical team, I drive through the gates of my private residence. When I exit my Bugatti, I feel Isabelle’s presence before I see her. She's leaning against the French doors of my home, wearing a pair of super-tight denim jeans and a black ribbed sweater. My cock hardens when my eyes roam over one of the most captivating faces I’ve ever seen. Sexual energy crackles between us, making my blood even more potent as the thrill of the hunt scorches through my veins.

  In the corner of my eye, I catch the quickest flash of a grin from Hugo before he jumps into his Chevelle parked in the shadow of the night. He tears out of the driveway, leaving the scent of burning rubber in his wake.

  Isabelle nervously fiddles with the hem of her sweater as my lengthy strides span the distance between us. Although her eyes are still guarded, they're sparked with lust. She’s yearning to be touched. Consumed. Devoured.

  “Isaac.” The huskiness of her voice has my cock stiffening more.

  “No, Isabelle. Not now, not yet.”

  I crowd her against the door, leaving not even an inch of air between us.

  “We need to talk.” Her voice is barely audible over the roaring of my pulse in my ears.

  “I know, baby, but not now.”

  I seal my mouth over hers, not giving her the chance to protest. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted her delicious lips. My body is still pumping with adrenaline from the fight, but seeing her again has sparked a new type of adrenaline to streak my blood.

  Within a second, her determined stance goes lax, and her arms sling around my neck. When I grope the back of her thighs, her legs curl around my waist. Her switch from resolute to submissive is quick and complete.

  I rock my hips, ensuring she can feel the effect she has on my body. She isn’t the only one who becomes lost when we're together. My astuteness, my levelheadedness, my ruthlessness, it all becomes null and void when her mouth is on mine.

  My kiss steals every whimper escaping her mouth as my stiffened shaft rubs the seam of her jeans. I don’t know if any of my staff are still in the vicinity, and in all honesty, I don’t care. No one else matters when Isabelle is on my radar.

  Not a soul.

  My blood thickens, enticed by the mass injection of endorphins from Isabelle’s mind-blowing kiss. She makes me feel invincible like nothing could ever stop me from achieving my dreams, and I want it to be the same for her. That’s why I spent the last thirty-six hours doing precisely that, ensuring I decipher how she can have both her dreams and me. Once all the pieces of the puzzle are in place, I’ll show her that I didn’t steal her dreams, they were just hidden from view for a few months.

  When I pull back from our embrace, Isabelle’s eyes bounce between mine. She doesn’t need to speak. Her eyes are expressive enough. Her sorrow for her harsh words and her silent pleas for forgiveness are all relayed by her rich chocolate eyes. No words need to seep from her lips for her to articulate her remorse.

  I press a kiss to her palm before placing it on my heart, soundlessly forgiving her.

  Tears form in her eyes as she replies to my declaration of love with words. “I love you too.”

  Her breaths quicken when I walk us down the long hallway of my residence. She intakes a quick, sharp breath when I swing open the bedroom door at the end of the hall, her arousing purr hardening my cock.

  When I push my lips to the shell of her ear, the hairs on her neck prickle. “If you ever try to leave me again, I'll tie you to that swing and never let you leave this room.”

  She shudders in my arms as her thighs strengthen their grip on my hips. I snap my eyes shut and inhale deeply, relishing the smell of her skin mingled with the scent of her arousal. Once I’ve had half my fill, I pace us toward the sex swing hanging in the middle of the room, my lengthened strides only stopping when Isabelle murmurs, “Ophelia is alive.”

  Chapter 30

  Isabelle

  Other than Isaac stiffening, I would assume he didn’t hear my statement. On the flight back to Ravenshoe, I envisioned ways of telling him more judiciously, but my plans flew out the window when I saw the determination set in his eyes—the yearning to claim and mark me as his, to ensure I was aware I belonged to him. His dominant nature beams out of him. It’s as natural to him as breathing, but I don’t want him to claim me when he's not aware of the extenuating circumstances that may change his mind about whom he wants to claim.

  I love Isaac, but even I know that may not be enough anymore.

  My initially devised tactic already altered once tonight when I arrived at the arena where Isaac was preparing to participate in a charity fight. When I saw him sitting on the bench with his head hanging low, deep in thought, I knew I couldn’t share my discovery with him in that environment. Tonight was the first time he’s stepped foot into the ring since Ophelia’s ‘accident.’ That, alone, showed he was emerging from the dark cloud that’s been plaguing him since her ‘death.’

  Even knowing Ophelia is alive, Isaac needed to go through that process to help him heal. Although I bit my nails the entire time, I watched his fight from the side of the arena. The instant I spotted his succulent smirk, I knew I made the right decision. He loved every second of the match, even getting battered and bruised.
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  My gaze turns down to Isaac, waiting for some reaction. He remains quiet with his darkened eyes flicking between mine. My heart bleeds when he places me back onto my feet, then takes a step back. His eyes are clouded with confusion, and his ruthless businessman mask is secured firmly in place.

  “My uncle saved her from her father’s clutches.” My voice comes out trembling to match the flipping of my queasy stomach. “She was never in an accident. She’s been living in Tiburon the entire time.”

  A look I’ve never seen crosses over his face before it vanishes as quickly as it came. He stands across from me, completely motionless. His shoulders are square and taut, and his lips are etched into a harsh, thin line.

  “Say something.”

  His silence is cutting deeper than any words he could possibly say, proving people who claim ‘silence is golden’ have obviously never been in his presence when he's staring at you like you’re a stranger, where mere minutes ago, he was peering at you in awe. He’s never been a communicator, preferring to use his body to express himself rather than words, but his silence weighs heavily on my chest, amplifying the pain crippling me.

  The clutch gripping my heart firms when I take a step toward him, and he shakes his head, soundlessly rejecting me. Realizing he most likely needs answers, I dig the photo Brandon gave me out of the pocket of my jeans. After smoothing out its wrinkles, I hand it to him. The tremor zapping my arm makes the picture shake like a feather in a hot summer breeze.

  “Her name is now Olivia. She’s a pharmacist in a town on the outskirts of Tiburon.”

  The darkness in Isaac’s eyes changes when they dart down to assess the picture. I balk when he snatches it out of my clasp to appraise it. His eyes flick as he ticks off each of Ophelia’s unique features. I did the same thing when my eyes first absorbed this photo—same nose, same eyes, same face, same heart-shaped mole.