Chapter 285
Graham scoffed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her forward so she
was flush against him. “I don’t fear many things,” he murmured, his
lips brushing against the shell of her ear, his breath warm and
intoxicating. “But an angry Maggie? That woman is a menace.”
Isla laughed, the sound soft and sweet, but Graham silenced it with a
kiss–slow, deep, possessive. It stole her breath away, made her forget
the world outside this bed, outside him. His fingers curled into her
hair as he tilted her head back, his lips lingering at her jawline,
trailing down the curve of her throat.
She sighed into him, her hands slipping over his shoulders, tracing
the defined muscles as if trying to memorize them. She didn’t want
him to go. Not yet.
But he pulled away, just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with
something unreadable. Something dangerous. Something addictive.
“If I don’t leave now,” he murmured, his lips still brushing against her
skin, “I won’t leave at all.”
Isla swallowed, her heart pounding, but she let him go.
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Once he was gone, the room still smelled like him–like the musk of
his cologne, the warmth of his skin, the memory of their bodies
tangled together. She sighed, sinking deeper into the sheets, her
fingers tracing the spot where he had just been.
And for the first time in a long time, she slept through the night like
a baby, lost in the remnants of his touch, his scent, and the lingering
heat of his presence.
The next two days were a whirlwind of excitement, a feverish blur of
movement, laughter, and breathless anticipation. The estate buzzed
with energy as the final wedding preparations took shape. Graham’s
friends arrived the night before, filling the halls with raucous
laughter and old stories that had Isla rolling her eyes–especially
when it came to Daniel. Loud, smug, and completely insufferable, he
had rubbed her the wrong way from the moment they met. But she
barely had time to dwell on her irritation; Maggie and the rest of the
staff were run ragged, ensuring everything was perfect. The house
pulsed with life, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers, the
warmth of candlelight, and the quiet hum of expectation.
But the nights–the nights–were a different kind of intoxicating.
The days belonged to the wedding preparations, but the nights
belonged to them.
As the sun dipped beyond the horizon and the guests slowly drifted
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away to their rooms, Isla found herself wrapped in a different kind of
anticipation. The moment the last door closed and the house fell into
silence, she knew what was coming. And her pulse thrummed in
response.
Graham wasted no time.
The instant they were alone, his hands found her waist, pulling her
flush against him, his body hot and demanding against hers. “You’ve
been avoiding me all day,” he murmured against her neck, his lips
trailing fire along her skin.
“I’ve been busy,” she shot back, though her voice wavered when he
nipped at her pulse point, a wicked smirk on his lips.
“Too busy for this?” His fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet
his gaze–dark, intense, possessive.
Her breath hitched.
There was something primal in the way he looked at her, something
that made her knees weaken and her stomach tighten. She barely had time to respond before his mouth crashed against hers, claiming, consuming. The world outside–the wedding, the guests, the perfect
facade they’d upheld all day–melted away as his hands slid over her body, his touch igniting something deep, something dangerous.
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The nights became a sanctuary, a secret world where words were
replaced with whispers and sighs, where restraint was nothing more
than a forgotten thought.
Graham was relentless–untamed. He stripped away the last of her
reservations, leaving her breathless beneath him, tangled in silk
sheets and heat. His lips traced the curve of her collarbone, down the
dip of her spine, his hands exploring, owning, until she was arching
into him, whispering his name like a prayer.
And when the night faded into morning, when reality came rushing
back with the first light of dawn, Isla found herself staring at him-
this man who had turned her world upside down. The man who, in
mere hours, would be her husband.
She should have been terrified.
But all she felt was exhilaration.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
