Chapter 3: Dangerous Longing
1371 Words
Chapter 3: Dangerous Longing
The Billionaire's Forbidden Desire
Isla’s heels struck the marble floor in hurried, uneven steps as she fled down the corridor, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the elegant hum of the gala behind her. She didn’t stop until she reached the far end of the hall, her trembling hand bracing against the wall.
Her chest heaved. Her fingers shook. The taste of Alexander still lingered on her lips, the bruising heat of his kiss seared into her skin.
What the hell have I done?
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the warmth of his hands from her memory. But it was useless. She could still feel the roughness of his palms on her waist, the possessive strength in the way he held her.
And worst of all, she could still feel herself leaning into him. Wanting him.
A soft gasp escaped her lips as she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, attempting to stifle the sob threatening to escape.
She needed to leave. Now.
Straightening, she smoothed the fabric of her gown with trembling fingers and forced herself to breathe evenly. Her vision was still blurry with unshed tears as she turned the corner, heading toward the main hall.
But before she could disappear into the crowd, a familiar voice stopped her.
“Isla.”
Her entire body stiffened.
She turned slowly, and when she saw Elliot striding toward her, a wave of nausea churned in her stomach.
His smile was bright, easy—completely oblivious to the chaos swirling inside her. “There you are,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I was starting to think you’d escaped without me.”
Her throat tightened. Forcing a smile, she let him take her hand, though her skin felt ice-cold against his warmth.
“I just needed some air,” she murmured.
Elliot’s brow furrowed slightly. His eyes drifted over her face, searching. For a moment, she thought he might ask why she looked so shaken—why her lips were slightly swollen, why her hand trembled faintly in his grip.
But then his expression softened. His smile returned.
“Understandable,” he chuckled lightly. “These events are suffocating.”
She nodded numbly, forcing herself to fall into step beside him. She barely registered the light pressure of his hand at the small of her back as he led her toward the exit. She barely heard the polite goodbyes he exchanged with their colleagues.
She was too consumed by the memory of Alexander’s kiss, by the way his voice had broken when he whispered, Don’t marry him.
Her heart twisted violently in her chest.
---
The limousine ride back to Elliot’s penthouse was suffocating.
Isla sat in rigid silence, her hands folded neatly in her lap, while Elliot talked about the investors he had met, the connections he had made. She barely heard a word of it. She kept her eyes fixed on the blur of city lights flashing through the window, willing the night to disappear.
When they arrived, Elliot pressed his lips lightly against her cheek, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll pour us a drink,” he murmured before disappearing into the kitchen.
Isla’s hands clenched at her sides. She wanted to scream. To run. To rip the taste of Alexander from her lips.
Her legs were heavy as she made her way to the window. The city sprawled out below her—glittering and endless—but she felt nothing. Only the aching weight in her chest.
Her eyes closed. And she saw him.
Alexander.
The way his gray eyes darkened with longing. The rasp of his voice when he whispered her name. The desperate edge in his kiss—the kind of desperation that only came from years of losing and longing.
Her fingers curled against the cool glass of the window. She had tried so hard to erase him. To bury him. She had convinced herself that she could build a life with Elliot. A safe, practical life with a man who would never destroy her.
But Alexander Vaughn was not the kind of man you forgot.
She jumped slightly when she felt Elliot’s hands on her shoulders, his voice soft against her ear. “You’re quiet tonight,” he observed, setting their drinks on the nearby table.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to relax beneath his touch. “Just tired,” she murmured.
He turned her gently toward him, his eyes searching hers. “You’ve been tired a lot lately,” he said softly, concern flickering across his features.
For a brief moment, guilt coiled in her stomach. Elliot was good to her. He was safe, steady—a man who would never break her heart. She should have loved him.
But she didn’t.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, slow and tender.
She barely responded.
He pulled back slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “You okay?”
Her throat tightened. “Yeah,” she forced out, offering him a weak smile. “Just exhausted.”
Elliot studied her for a moment longer, his eyes clouded with concern. But then he simply nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ll finish up a few emails.”
She nodded mutely, offering him a strained smile before disappearing into the bedroom.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she pressed her trembling fingers to her lips. Her chest heaved in shallow, uneven breaths as the tears she had been holding back all night spilled over.
She curled onto the bed, clutching the satin sheets beneath her fingers, but nothing could erase the memory of Alexander’s touch.
---
Across the city, Alexander sat alone in his penthouse, a half-empty tumbler of bourbon clutched in his hand.
The city skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but he barely noticed. The taste of her still lingered on his lips. The memory of her soft gasp as he kissed her, the way her hands clung to him—he felt it like a fire burning beneath his skin.
He drained the rest of his drink in one sharp swallow, but the liquor did nothing to ease the ache in his chest.
When she had fled from him tonight, he had let her go. But the moment her eyes filled with tears, he knew—he knew—she still felt it too.
He ran a hand roughly through his hair, his jaw tightening with frustration. For two years, he had stayed away. For two years, he had watched from afar as she tried to build a life with another man.
But tonight, he had seen it—the sadness in her eyes, the doubt flickering across her face when she stood beside Elliot.
She was slipping through his fingers, but he would not lose her again.
No matter the cost.
---
The following morning, Isla stood in front of the floor-length mirror in Elliot’s penthouse, staring at her reflection. Her hair was still damp from the shower, clinging in loose waves around her face. The silk robe draped over her shoulders felt too heavy.
Her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. Her skin was pale, her lips still faintly bruised from Alexander’s kiss.
She pressed her hand lightly against her chest, trying to slow the rapid beat of her heart.
Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. She walked over and lifted it with trembling fingers.
One new message.
Her breath caught when she saw the name.
Alexander: We’re not done, Isla. You know it. I know it.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Her trembling fingers hovered over the screen, but she didn’t respond. She couldn’t.
Instead, she stared at the message until her vision blurred with tears.
She knew she should delete it. She should erase it and bury the memory of his kiss deep in the recesses of her heart.
But she didn’t.
She set the phone down with shaking hands and turned toward the window.
And in the depths of her chest, she knew the truth.
She was already falling again.
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- Writer
