One-night stand with cheating fiancé's uncle

Damari Evans moved with the fluid grace of a river, every movement seamless. When Isla Turner stepped into the shadow he cast, she felt the warm press of his lips against hers. Normally reserved and strictly by the book, Damari stunned her with the sudden, unexpected warmth rolling off him.

Vicente Wood, her ex, had kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, even her cheeks a hundred times— but he’d never touched her lips. Isla wasn’t used to this kind of close proximity, and a hot wave of embarrassment washed over her just being this close to her old flame out of nowhere.

Damari could feel the woman in his arms was unmoored, vulnerable. Like a tiny stray cat caught in a winter blizzard, shivering every time the wind bit. He shifted his hand to her back, tucking her away from the cold brick at her spine, and hauled her tighter, trying to soothe her jittery nerves with his own heat.

Vicente had come sprinting outside, desperate to explain himself to Isla. She’d shown up that evening to pick him up, and that had to be a good sign, right? A shot at getting back together. He needed her to believe there was nothing going on between him and Rhea Rodriguez.

When he rounded the corner, he caught sight of a couple locked in a heated kiss. The woman’s hair fell to hide her face, and she was tucked all soft into the man’s coat, held in such a protective grip that her features were completely obscured. The man’s hand cupped her cheek, strong fingers with prominent veins, and his watch glinted in the dim light— a dead giveaway of the commanding, powerful man holding her.

They kissed like the whole rest of the world had just ceased to exist. Vicente averted his eyes fast, unable to picture the carefree woman in that embrace as the calm, put-together Isla Turner he knew.

In that moment, Isla felt like driftwood bobbing in the ocean. She fisted the open collar of Damari’s shirt, her trembling lashes giving away every bit of her inner conflict. Every single one of her senses was wrapped up in the man in front of her; time felt like it had frozen solid. She couldn’t tell if Vicente had left yet.

Damari kissed her gentle, no demand, just the soft brush of his lips against hers. Even so, the light press of his mouth turned her knees to jelly. She leaned into his shoulder, breathless, and whispered, “Did he leave?”

Damari’s voice was low and magnetic, rough like sandpaper brushing over something delicate. Isla pushed him away fast, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks blazing pink.

“Mr. Evans, I’m so sorry. I just broke up with my ex, I didn’t want to face him. Earlier…”

She dipped her head, stumbling over the explanation, earnest but awkward.

Damari caught her wrist, his tone light. “Helping my wife out of a tight spot is the very least I can do.”

The confused look she gave him was so damned charming, it made his chest feel tight.

He kept his face perfectly straight, and asked, “Need I remind you? We’re already legally married.”

Before Isla could fully wrap her head around what that meant, they were already heading out via the private elevator, dodging any chance run-in with Vicente.

Inside the elevator, Isla’s pale cheeks bloomed rosy, just like a ripe peach, soft and sweet and impossible to look away from.

The cold night air outside finally cooled the heat burning up Isla’s face. Dazed, she kept wondering if Damari’s words had just been to help her out, nothing more. Nothing deeper.

Isla never was one to overthink things. She got her head back on straight fast, and broke the thick awkward silence hanging between them.

Damari nodded, and handed her the car keys. When their fingers brushed, a tiny spark of warmth zinged through both of them.

After that kiss back at the entrance, Isla was antsy. She stepped ahead to open the back door for him, like she was supposed to.

Damari moved right past her, and wrenched open the passenger door instead. His gaze was deep, steady, unwavering. “You’re not my chauffeur.”

Isla nodded, getting it. Of course. She was his assistant, not a driver. My bad.

When she shut the back door and slid into the driver’s seat, she noticed Damari hadn’t buckled his seatbelt. Probably the drink he’d had earlier throwing him off.

The luxury sedan was so spacious she couldn’t reach it from the driver’s seat.

She spoke soft, a quiet reminder. “Mr. Evans, your seatbelt.”

The man lounged back against the leather seat, streetlights gilding the sharp edge of his chiseled profile and catching the faint fatigue under his eyes.

Damari looked half asleep, eyes closed, ignoring her reminder.

Committed to keeping things professional, Isla leaned over him to reach the seatbelt. Her fingers had just brushed the buckle when she locked eyes with his sharp, awake gaze. Her balance gave out, and she tumbled right into Damari’s lap.

“Aah…” she gasped. When she blinked her eyes open, she realized she was awkwardly kneeling between his spread legs, hands splayed over his shoulders, pressed flush to his solid, warm chest.

“Mr. Evans, I was just trying to fasten your seatbelt,” Isla rushed to explain, soft and flustered, under his unblinking scrutiny.

Anyone walking in on this position would think she was hitting on him! Previous assistants had gotten fired for way less than this with Damari.

Desperate to hang onto her job, Isla babbled, “I saw you were awake and I got nervous. It wasn’t on purpose, I swear…”

Never before had Isla been this flustered around him. Her clear, bright eyes gave away every bit of her unease, and sheen of unshed tears glinted at the corners.

Damari lifted her chin, his voice rough and husky. “Wasn’t intentional what?”

Unaware of how heavy his gaze was on her, she blurted, “I didn’t mean to flirt with you.”

Damari laughed, low and warm. “Isla, even this level of obvious awkwardness doesn’t tempt me.”

Isla was stunned by the smile tugging at his lips.

She’d seen him smile before. But those smiles were always cold. Mocking.

This one was like sunlight splitting through storm clouds, spilling soft golden light over a still lake. Mesmerizing. Stunning.

Maybe it was the smile that dazzled her into opening her big mouth. She asked, innocent and dumb, “Then what would it take?”

She regretted the question instantly. She fumbled to buckle his seatbelt as fast as she could and pulled out of the parking spot like she was fleeing the cops.

Damari never answered. Isla kept her eyes fixed on the road, but snuck a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

He was resting his chin on his hand, staring lazily out the window. Was it just her imagination? Or was there still a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips?

Damari’s mind briefly drifted to the lace nightgown he’d seen laid out on her tray earlier that week.

At least that would be more tempting.

When they pulled up to Damari’s private residence, the second Isla parked she rushed out to yank open the passenger door for him.

Damari stepped out graceful as ever, and Isla locked the car before following him inside. At the front entrance, she set the car keys down on the side table by the door.

“Mr. Evans, you should get some rest. I’ll be heading out now.”

He turned to face her, blocking the doorway with easy, natural authority, his voice cool. “What do you mean, heading out?”

Sensing he was pissed, Isla’s brain raced a mile a minute trying to figure out what she’d messed up.

She’d definitely locked the car, right? Was it her driving that annoyed him?

“Mr. Evans, I don’t drive that often. I’m sorry if the ride wasn’t comfortable. I promise I’ll practice more…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Damari tugged her inside the house and shut the door with a firm, final thud.

She ended up pinned against his chest, overwhelmed by how big and intense he felt against her.

“Mr. Evans, please just tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it. I really need this job, please don’t fire me.”

Her voice came out plaintive, wobbly, and she heard him let out a soft sigh right above her head.

When he said her name, it came out deep, rich, soothing enough that she froze mid-babble.

Confused, she looked up at him. The dim light hid whatever emotion was swimming in his eyes.

He spoke slow, deliberate, every word sinking right into her chest. “We’re married now. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Mr. Evans, this is your home.”

Damari added, soft and sure, “It’s your husband’s home.”