The Final Chapter: Enigma, #4

by Shandi Boyes

  When the clock strikes midnight, his fingers weave through my hair, and he tilts my head back, taking complete control of my mouth. I'm astonished when my body reacts to his kiss by kissing him with just as much vigor.

  He kisses the hell out of me, not holding anything back, then it takes several long seconds for my inebriated mind to comprehend what’s going on.

  Oh god!

  I yank back before dragging my hand over my mouth, trying to rub away the kiss, pretending what just happened didn’t happen. Hugo remains quiet, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as the reality of the situation dawns on him too.

  “Isaac will kill you.”

  Air puffs out of his nose as he curtly nods. “Yeah, well, at least I know what I'm getting myself into. That dumb fuck had no clue you were in the process of signing his death certificate.” He motions his head to Ayden, who is watching our exchange with his mouth gaped open.

  When Hugo throws me over his broad shoulder, my hand slaps over my mouth as all the liquid I consumed tonight threatens to resurface. I’m so drunk, I’m not the slightest bit fazed by the amused faces of the patrons when Hugo strides past them with me flopped over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

  “Cate,” I mumble through my hand covering my mouth. “I brought Cate with me.”

  “Already taken care of,” he replies as he continues with his fluid strides.

  The coolness of the night sky helps quell my swirling my stomach when we emerge outside, but Hugo’s smack to my backsides commences an entirely new worry.

  “You better not vomit in my baby, Izzy. If you do, that smack won’t be the only punishment you’ll get,” he warns as he places me in the passenger seat of his car and fastens the seatbelt around my torso.

  Chapter 31

  Isabelle

  A rough grunt escapes my parched mouth as I return to the land of the living. My head is pounding like a mariachi band performing on the streets of Mexico. My throat burns like I swallowed car battery acid, and my eyelids are so heavy, they refuse to open. I feel like I’m in the process of dying.

  When my hand stretches out to snag the spare pillow at my side, wanting to cover my eyes from the blinding sunlight making my pounding headache ten times worse, I do die.

  A woodsy smell is invading my senses.

  Oh, shit. What did I do?

  My heart races as memories of last night trickle back into my head—the warning Isaac issued, the excessive drinking of any cocktail I could get my hands on, Ayden… oh god, and Hugo! The unnatural beat of my heart kicks up a gear when I taste Hugo on my mouth. As guilt weighs heavily on my chest, a guttural groan scuttles up my throat. Even though Isaac left me, Hugo still works for him. Isaac is his sole source of income—his bread and butter. A man with control issues like Isaac would never let a mere peck-on-the-lips kiss go without reprimand, let alone a kiss that was anything but simple.

  Hugo and I have grown close the past several weeks, but even in my hungover state, I know our kiss was a spur-of-the-moment decision made without just cause. I can only hope Isaac remembers his quote on how haste decisions cause mistakes because when Hugo kissed me, he wasn’t thinking of the repercussions of his rushed judgment—just like I didn’t before returning his kiss.

  With reluctance, I pull the pillow away from my face and apprehensively flutter open my eyes. Once my eye sockets are lubricated with fluid, they sweep the room. The thumping of my head intensifies when they take in a space I don’t recognize.

  I thought my days of waking up in strangers’ beds were behind me.

  Thick cream curtains are draped across a large window. A woven rug covers a majority of the dark, highly polished floorboards, and the bed is a four-poster design, but unlike Isaac’s, the posts are dark and thin, without the wood-turning effects. A wooden desk is by the window, and a cream wing-backed chair is seated in front of it. The wall behind the bed is done in a wooden design of dark, light, and white woods skewed in a rustic pattern. The room is very manly but warm and inviting, just like its owner, Hugo.

  Could this morning get any worse?

  After groaning about my stupidity, my eyes shift to the other side of the room. A swear word seeps from my lips when my eyes lock in on Isaac’s furious gaze. He's seated in a cream leather chair that blocks the entrance door of the room. He’s dressed in a black three-piece suit, and he has a pulse-quickening scowl marring his handsome face. His stubble-covered jaw is ticking relentlessly, and his dark, livid gaze is rapt on me.

  My head screams in protest when I lurch from the bed. As my eyes snap shut, my hands circle my temples, praying the contents of my stomach stay put.

  I don’t need to open my eyes to know Isaac has moved off the chair. The hairs bristling on my neck are all the indication I need to know he's standing at the end of the bed. Opening one eye only, I glance up at him. My libido awakens from its resting state when his narrowed gaze lowers down my body. The tick of his jaw ramps the longer he peruses me. I find out why when I follow his gaze.

  This day just got ten times worse.

  I'm wearing what I’m going to assume is Hugo’s short-sleeve college shirt. I’m assuming it is Hugo’s since it has a faded Rochdale Village emblem on the front.

  Isaac’s gaze lifts from my shirt to my eyes. “Get dressed so I can take you home.”

  Any protest preparing to whimper from my lips halt from his furious glare that sears me motionless. “Get dressed!” he demands in his low, knee-quaking tone.

  My eyes scan the room, seeking the microscopic dress I wore last night. I find it draped over the master bathroom door handle on my left. With shaking thighs, I scamper off the bed, ensuring I hold down the hem of Hugo’s shirt so it maintains a respectable length.

  I slip into my tight mini dress as Isaac removes the heavy piece of furniture blocking the doorway as if it is weightless. Once I have the zipper in place, I hesitantly pad across the room. My breath snags in my lungs when Isaac pivots around to face me. A deep, knee-clanging growl tears through his stern lips when he absorbs the outfit I wore in public last night. It’s so skimpy, it could be classed as a piece of lingerie instead of a dress.

  In silence, Isaac shrugs off his jacket, places it over my shoulders, then secures the three buttons into place. Once his jacket is covering half of my body, he encloses his hand around mine and strides to the door. His steps are so fast and furious, I have to jog to keep up with him.

  When we enter the living room, I scan Hugo’s apartment, seeking any sign of him. When my gaze comes up empty, I turn my eyes to Isaac. “Where's Hugo?”

  His grip on my hand firms, causing pain to shoot up my arm, but he remains quiet. My eyes widen when we enter the hallway. The security personnel who work in the lobby of Hugo’s apartment building are standing guard at the elevator bank, ensuring no one can access the elevator. I'm surprised the fire warden would allow them to block an entire elevator.

  Suddenly, clarity forms. Isaac owns the building, so if he wants to garner an elevator for personal use, so be it.

  The security officer warily smiles as the elevator doors snap shut, entrapping me in a small mirrored box alone with an infuriatingly angry Isaac. He's so mad, heat is radiating off him in invisible waves, making my hungover state even more noticeable. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, vainly trying to settle the swirling of my stomach.

  They crack back open when the elevator dings and my arm is yanked. Isaac’s fluid steps move us out of the elevator and into his awaiting town car at the speed of lightning. The swishing of my stomach amplifies when I see Hugo’s baby still parked in his car space.

  I duck into the back of Isaac’s town car, slide across the seat, then raise my eyes to the rearview mirror. A sigh spills from my lips when I notice Roger’s dark gaze reflecting back at me.

  “Is Hugo okay?”

  Isaac doesn’t respond to my question. He just keeps his gaze planted on the scenery outside as we make the thirty-minute trip to his residence in complete silence.


  “Your services will not be required for the remainder of the day,” Isaac informs Roger when his vehicle pulls into the front steps of his private residence.

  His dangerously low tone causes a shiver to tingle down my spine. He glides out of the back seat of the car before tipping his torso back in to assist me out. A highly inappropriately-timed grin creeps onto my mouth, pleased by his chivalry.

  When we enter the foyer, my eyes dart to the entryway table. My engagement ring, cell phone, and the handwritten note are where they were last night, meaning Isaac is only returning home now.

  With his hand still gripping mine, Isaac briskly guides me into the master bathroom. He walks me into the double-headed shower, turns the water on full pelt, then holds me underneath the freezing cold spray. My loud squeals shrill through my ears before clustering in my hungover head. I fight against him, wanting to adjust the water temp to a more acceptable level, but a person of my size doesn’t have a chance in hell against a man with the strength of Isaac, much less when it’s hardened with anger.

  Once I’m saturated head to toe, he adjusts the temperature of the water to a more appropriate, non-teeth-chattering setting. Still clothed, he scrubs his thumbs over my lips, removing all traces of Hugo’s kiss from my mouth. Remorse grips my heart from the devastated look in his eyes.

  By the time he drops his hand, my lips are swollen, tingling, and raw. I figure that’s the end of it, but the shredding of my dress proves we’re only getting started. He shreds my dress right off my body, dumping it along with my black lace panties into the waste bin under the vanity sink.

  “Hugo and I didn’t—”

  My words trap in my throat when he glares. “I swear to God, Isabelle, if you mention his name one more time today, I'll take you over my knee, and he will lose the ability to breathe.”

  He stares at me, assuring I’m aware his threat isn’t idle. Even though his comment is laced with viciousness, he appeases some of my concern by confirming Hugo is safe—for now.

  I remain completely motionless when he uses his shower gel to lather my body in a thick coating of bubbles. Once the bubbles have been removed, his dedication turns to shampooing my hair. The slightest moan seeps from my lips when his fingertips massage the pressure points in my thumping skull.

  My pulse quickens when his furious eyes dart down to mine. “This isn’t for you.”

  Once the shampoo has been removed from my hair, Isaac steps out of the shower, taking me with him. His saturated dress shirt, vest, and trousers cling to his body, showcasing the spectacular ridges of his muscles as he drags a fluffy towel over my body.

  Once I'm dry, he gathers me in his arms and strides into the master suite. Goosebumps form on my body from his wet clothes clinging to my bare skin, but Isaac is too steaming with anger to notice the chill.

  After placing me on the bed, he removes his wet clothes, replacing them with a pair of running shorts and a white shirt. Even with my heart twisting in pain, my eyes can’t help but run over his glorious body, absorbing every perfect dip, plane, and curve into my memory.

  Once he's dressed, sans underwear, he gathers one of his dark blue shirts from the drawer and pivots around to face me. My teeth gnaw on my bottom lip when it dawns on me what he's doing. He's removing Hugo’s scent from my skin by replacing it with his own. Because I slept in Hugo’s bed in his shirt, his woodsy smell infused onto my skin.

  My pupils widen as a thought smacks into me. Why is he claiming me knowing Ophelia is alive?

  “You're mine, Isabelle,” Isaac mutters under his breath while tugging his shirt over my head.

  My eyes dart between his as confusion makes itself known with my gut. “But are you mine?” My tone is surprisingly strong for how much my heart is hammering. “Or are you hers?”

  His silence remains as staunch as his composure, and it has my anger from the past two days steamrolling back in. I jump up from the bed, causing my head to get a rush of dizziness from my quick movements.

  “Are you here because you're claiming me as yours? Or because you want to ensure Hugo doesn’t stake a claim to your possession?”

  He shoots me a wry glance that has my pulse hastening. His fury at the mention of Hugo’s name is marked all over his face, but it doesn’t lessen my anger in the slightest.

  “You left, Isaac. You walked right out those doors without a backward glance.” I point to the doors of the master suite. “You rushed out of here, forgetting all the promises we made to each other. All the promises you made to me. That means you lost any right to claim me as yours.”

  His face reddens as his furious eyes glare into mine. I reinforce my stance, showing him I’m not the daft wallflower he thinks I am. I'm the strong, independent woman my uncle raised me to be.

  “Did you go to her? Did you see her? Her son? Is that why you rushed out of here so quickly?”

  The stranglehold on my heart strengthens when he angrily mutters, “Yes.”

  “And?” My eyes flick crazily between his. “Did you kiss her?”

  Isaac chuckles a menacing laugh. “You’re going to ask me about whom I kissed, when you woke up in another man’s bed, wearing his clothes, smelling like him!”

  “Yes!” I shout as my tears burn my eyes. “Stop skirting and answer the goddamn question. Did you kiss her?”

  “Yes.” His darkened gaze connects with mine. “I kissed her.”

  Pain shreds through my heart. “You son of a bitch!”

  When I pivot on my heels and sprint for the door, Isaac growls my name. I ignore his threatening tone by racing down the hall as fast as my quivering legs can move.

  Halfway down the hallway, my wrist is seized, and I’m yanked back, then my body is pinned to the wall by Isaac’s imposing physique. A hiss whimpers through my lips, my body choosing its own response to his closeness. Even irritatingly angry, it can’t deny its attraction to him. He owns my body, and everyone but me knows it.

  “Why did you come back? Why didn’t you just stay with her?” I sob as the first lot of tears splash on my cheeks.

  The pain of seeing everything I'm losing up close is too much for me to bear. My heart feels like it’s being torn in half, my head hurts, and my body is aching to be claimed by him.

  “Because you're mine, Isabelle.” He's so close, his warm breaths dry my tears. “You're mine.” He crowds himself closer, leaving nothing between us, making us become one. “And I am yours.”

  Chapter 32

  Isaac

  Thirty-six hours earlier…

  * * *

  Can you imagine having everything you’ve ever believed suddenly stripped away from you? Every decision, every mistake, every choice I’ve ever made was altered when Isabelle whispered that Ophelia was alive.

  At first, I assumed I must not have heard her right, that I must have misunderstood what she said. It was only when she continued speaking did the reality of the situation dawn on me. I placed her onto her feet and took a step backward, so I could gauge the veracity of her bold statement, unable to fathom a response to the truth in her eyes.

  Every decision I made from the day Ophelia died ran through my head—my empire, my decision to make myself sterile, my inability to express my feelings to Isabelle. It all filtered through my mind on repeat. Its raucous cycle only stopped when Isabelle said Ophelia had a child, a boy whom she guessed to be around six—the age my child with Ophelia would have been if she weren’t involved in her accident.

  Blinded by shocked anger, I packed a bag, eager to seek answers to the questions hampering my astuteness. The cloud consuming my mind lifted for the briefest second when I caught sight of the devastation marring Isabelle’s beautiful face. Even knowing I was hurting her, my hesitation about leaving only lasted a second. Nothing would have stopped me that night. I needed answers, and Ophelia was the only one who could give them to me.

  The flight to the other side of the country was tedious and uneventful. Even exhausted from not sleeping the previous two nights without
Isabelle and fighting in the charity match, my ability to sleep still lacked. My brain wouldn’t stop replaying the lead-up to Ophelia’s death in my head over and over again.

  By the time my private jet arrived in Tiburon, it was a little after seven in the morning, and the battery on my cell was sitting at twenty-three percent. In my haste to pack, I failed to grab a charging cable. Once Hunter advised the location he’d given Isabelle the previous day, I shut down my phone to conserve its charge.

  My extreme speed in my rental car had me arriving at the family-owned pharmacy just before eight. Not surprisingly, the front glass doors were deadbolted, and the sign displayed that the pharmacy wouldn’t be opening until ten o’clock. I yanked my cell phone out of my pocket and fired it up, planning to call Hunter. I wanted to get the private home address of the pharmacy owners, too impatient to wait another two hours.

  My lengthened steps to the rental car halted when my skin prickled with an awareness that I was being watched. When I lifted my gaze, the air was vehemently removed from my body. There standing before me was Ophelia. The first girl I ever loved.

  As my heart thwacked against my chest, I scanned every detail of her face. She had the same turned-up nose, but her eyes were lighter than I remembered, her hair wavier, and the color of her skin a hue darker. But even with the small changes in her appearance, there was no way she could deny she was Ophelia.

  “Isaac.”

  She rushed toward me to throw her arms around my neck. When her familiar wild strawberry scent engulfed my nostrils, it was like the last six years had never happened. I was once again a college boy enjoying the thrill of the chase. Ophelia was the first girl to refuse my advances. It took me months of wooing before she agreed to go out with me.