*Isabella's POV*
"Anyway… what's the next step from here? He said he would come with lawyers," I asked, shifting in my seat, the weight of it all pressing on me. "Well, I'm gonna need the recording," Jacob said, all business now.
I nodded, unlocking my phone, scrolling to the file, and sending it over. His phone dinged a second later, and I saw his jaw tighten as he glanced at the screen. "But Isabella," he said, lifting his gaze to mine, softer this time, "you must know I won't escalate this if you don't want me to."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice low and steady. "I mean, this could be a possible scandal. It could be everywhere, and your name would be involved. If you don't want to, I could delete it. Tell them something else." His eyes weren't cold or calculating like they usually were. They were soft. Genuine. And it almost fucked me up more than his cocky smirk ever did.
"What? You would do that… for me?" I asked, my voice coming out smaller than I intended.
He nodded, slow and sure.
I let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half disbelief. "I promised myself not to kiss you today, but I can't resist when you do things like this."
His brows shot up. "Why the fuck would you promise that?"
"Because you pissed me off," I admitted, biting my lip. "With the whole twin connection thing."
"Doll," he said, that damned word dripping with affection and annoyance all at once. "It's just the truth. Take it however the fuck you want, but try—just try—to have an open mind."
The awkwardness from the weekend slipped between us like a shadow, thick and suffocating. I hated that it still lingered.
Clearing my throat, I forced myself to bring us back on track. "How about… you don't show the recording unless it's truly necessary." My voice wavered, betraying the nerves I was trying to bury.
"I can do that," he said simply.
I let out a sigh of relief I hadn't realized I was holding.
That evening I stepped out of the shower. The steam still clung to my skin as I stood in front of the mirror, towel wrapped loosely around me. I was about to change into my usual pajamas when a thought hit me square in the chest.
He can't sleep with me without his brother, huh? Preaching about "how I'm not ready."
I smirked at my own reflection. "Well, two can play at that fucking game."
I straightened my shoulders, narrowed my eyes at the girl in the glass. "I have discipline too. I can control myself. Let's see how you like this one, Mr. Self-Control."
With a wicked grin, I pulled out my satin pajamas—the ones I'd been saving, the kind that were less "sleepwear" and more "lingerie" The shorts barely reached my thighs, just long enough to cover my ass, but leaving plenty of skin exposed. The top? God, it was a joke, just enough fabric to technically count as a shirt, but it did nothing to hide my cleavage. At best, it covered my nipples and the bottom of my breasts. Perfect.
I headed downstairs, each step deliberate, until I reached the kitchen. The smell of garlic and something savory hit me first. Then I saw him.
Jacob, shirtless, muscles flexing as he stirred a pot on the stove, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that clung low on his hips. The sight made me pause, heat flooding me even though I was supposed to be the one in control here.
For a second, I just stood there, admiring the sharp cut of his shoulders, the way his back muscles shifted with each movement, that cocky ease in everything he did—even cooking.
Goddamn it, I thought, biting my lip. He makes this way too fucking hard.
Finally, I stepped forward, my bare legs brushing against the cool tile as I closed the distance between us.
"What's for dinner?" I asked, sliding into the kitchen like I owned the place.
"Just plain chicken with..." Jacob froze mid-stir as he turned around, and I noticed immediately. His answer cut off as his gaze locked on me, roaming shamelessly over every inch of exposed skin before resting on my cleavage. A low, frustrated sigh escaped him as he finally averted his eyes.
Holy shit, I thought, smirking to myself. He's practically eye-fucking me.
"With… rice," he finished awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck like a damn teenager caught red-handed. He turned back to the stove, muttering, "I'll be done in five."
"Cool," I said casually, turning toward the dining room. "I'll wait at the table."
"You do that… and put some clothes on," he shouted after me, voice rough, barely hiding his irritation.
"Excuse me, Mr. I'm too cool for shirts," I called back, feigning innocence while biting back a grin. "Just sit down and shut the fuck up," he snapped, though the tightness in his voice betrayed him. I slid onto the table, a small victorious smile curling on my lips. Well played, Isabella, I thought, enjoying the tiny war I'd just won.
"Okay, maybe help me with—" Jacob started, but his words trailed off as his gaze ran shamelessly up my thighs.
I was perched on the edge of the table, legs crossed, lazily twirling a strand of hair around my finger while biting my lip. I knew exactly what I was doing, and judging by the way his jaw tightened, so did he.
"With what, Jacob? Why don't you help yourself?" I teased, flashing him a wicked wink.
That was all it took. The look on his face told me he didn't need another damn invitation.
In two strides he was in front of me, closing the distance so fast it stole my breath. His mouth crashed onto mine, desperate and hungry, and I melted into him before I even realized it.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, tugging me closer, while the other pressed firmly against the small of my back, pulling me into his hard body. My promise to myself, I'd just tease him, play with him, nothing more, slipped right through my fingers.
I was lost in him, in the taste of him, in the fucking fire of it all… until a familiar voice cut through the haze.
"Jacob."