Page 3 of Shattered Oath
No. Absolutely not. It couldn’t be. That tattoo had to be pretty common. People got matching tattoos with their partners all the time. There was no way that man was him. It had been eight years. Eight entire years since I’d seen that tattoo, since I’d traced those letters with my fingertip, since I’d asked what they meant and he’d kissed me instead of answering.
But the more I stared, the more my traitorous memory supplied details. The height, the particular way he stood with one foot slightly lifting off the ground, the breadth of those shoulders that I used to grip when?—
Oh God.
My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape my chest. I wanted to do a couple of things. I wanted to hide. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to march over there and kiss him senseless, consequences be damned.
Because call me foolish, but I had missed him terribly.
I hadn’t intended for our relationship to end. It was all his fault if you asked me. Everything was going fine. I was young and happy and in love. He just had to go and ruin everything by wanting something I couldn’t give.
The man started to turn, his body rotating slowly, and I saw his side profile first. That nose, slightly crooked from a rugby accident. Then one brown eye, warm as whiskey, lit up with recognition even from across the room.
Before he could turn his full face in my direction, I looked away, focusing all my attention on Sebastian and Aria like my life depended on it.
My neck was itching, urging me to turn, and look back at him. But I knew what would happen if I did. Our eyes would meet across the crowded room like something out of a terrible romance film. Sparks would fly. The air would crackle. And I would be right back where I was eight years ago.
But was that such a bad thing? I mean, I loved him terribly. Loved him in that all-consuming way you can only love when you’re young and haven’t learned yet how much love can hurt.
It was bad because he had made it clear that we wanted different things. He wanted forever. I wanted a career. He wanted a wife. I wanted to be more than someone’s wife. The memory of our last fight was still sharp enough to cut. His voicebreaking, my own tears, the sound of a door closing that had felt so final.
I wasn’t going to walk down that road again. Now now. Not when I’d finally built something of my own.
I set my champagne down on the table with more force than necessary. If I had any more of that, I might just spill my guts out. Or worse, I might march over there and do something catastrophically stupid.
As if what I was going through wasn’t bad enough, I heard his laugh.
That rich, baritone laugh that used to make my toes curl, that I used to feel vibrating through his chest when I laid my head against it. The laugh I heard in my dreams sometimes, the ones I didn’t tell anyone about.
My entire body reacted like I’d been shocked. Heat surged through my body, starting low in my belly and spreading outward. The room was suddenly too hot, the air too thick. The chair felt too small and I kept shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t make me feel like I was about to crawl out of my own skin.
This was why I didn’t want to be around him. He had this… control over me that made me act so unlike myself. Made sensible, practical Isabelle turn into someone ruled by her body instead of her brain.
“May I borrow you for a moment?"
Goosebumps erupted across my arms and neck. That baritone voice was now whispering directly into my ear, his breath warm against my skin, and I could smell him. Cedar and something darker, that cologne he’d always worn, the one I’d helped him pick out.
I held my body rigidly, refusing to lean back into him the way every cell in my body was screaming at me to do. I knew all his ploys. The voice, the proximity, the way he would say myname. He knew my weaknesses just as well, knew exactly which buttons to press to make me melt.
I didn’t turn to look at him before giving a simple, “No.”
My voice came out steadier than I felt. Good. That was good.
“Issy…”
Damn him. Damn him straight to hell. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew the combination of that nickname, his voice, the accent did to my nervous system… I could feel myself turning to mush. My neck was straining, muscles actually trembling with the effort of not turning to look at him.
“I said no.”
Please, please go. Leave me alone before I lose it. Don’t ask me again. Please, just go.
But of course, he didn’t go. Femi had never been good at taking no for an answer. It was one of the things I’d loved about him and one of the things that had driven me insane.
I felt him lean in closer, felt the heat of him against my back even though we weren’t touching. His voice moved from my ear down to my neck, his breath brushing against my skin. “Come on, love. Just five minutes.”
My brain short-circuited, all rational thought evaporating. I remembered all too well what it felt like when those lips grazed my skin, when that beard scratched against my neck, my jaw, my…
“Fine.” The word escaped before I could catch it. “Five minutes.”
