Second Chance Betrayal: A Billionaire’s Sinful Reunion

Isla's POV

The minute Damien’s mouth is on mine, his body pressed to mine, I forget everything but him. It’s like I can breathe again, like I’ve barely been living until right here, right now. I don’t want to, but I still love him, and I didn’t think I would ever kiss him or touch him again.

He backs me up and presses me against the wide concrete pillar that divides the railings and walls, his fingers tangling into my hair, his hand slipping under my sweater, his warm palm pressing to my ribcage. It’s not until that hand cups my breast that I jolt into reality.

“Stop,” I say, catching his hand and pressing on his chest. “Stop. I can’t do this.”

He goes still but he doesn’t immediately release me. God, I don’t want him to release me and yet I cannot survive the onslaught of emotions he creates in me if I don’t stop now. I can’t just fuck him. It’s not in me.

“Right,” he says, his hand falling away and pressing onto the concrete on either side of me, his body lifting away from mine. “You’re with Ri.”

“I’m not with Ri, and if I was with him or anyone, it wouldn’t be any of your business. We’re not together anymore.”

“You went from me to him. You went to my enemy. Do you know how badly that cut? That’s when I stopped coming after you. That’s when I let you go.”

“I was trying to survive. And you were cut? I was bleeding out. And do you really think I’d come to you if I was with Ri? I’m a loyal person. I never betrayed you. I wouldn’t betray someone I was with.”

“Unlike me, right?” he challenges. “I did not betray you. I’ve tried to explain.”

“I’m not here to talk about this. I can’t go down this path again. It still hurts and I'm telling you that is more than you deserve.”

He stares at me, those green eyes unreadable, but his emotions are radiating off of him and pounding on me even as the rain pounds against the roof. He pushes off the pillar and walks a foot away to plant his hand on the railing and lowers his chin to his chest.

I can still feel his hand on my breast. I can still taste him and it’s killing me.

“I said what I came to say. I should go.” But I don’t move. I don’t push off the pillar.

“Don’t,” he says, looking over at me. “Don’t go.”

There’s torment in his voice, a guttural plea that conflicts with all he did to me. I know this, but I don’t move. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I don’t know why I’m still standing here.” My lashes lift. “I can’t stay. I have to go.”

I move then. I try to walk past him, but he pushes off the railing and steps in front of me.

“Eric and Davis are about to be here,” he says of his best friend and business manager, and his personal attorney. “I’d like them to hear what you had to say.”

“You can tell them.”

“I’d like them to hear it from you.”

“I need to get back.”

“Stay the night and you can chopper back with me tomorrow.”

“I have a rental car,” I argue.

“I’ll take care of it for you.”

I hug myself. “I don’t need or want you to take care of anything for me.”

He looks skyward and then lowers his head to cast me in a turbulent stare.

“You’re helping me. It’s the least I can do.”

I inhale and let it out. “I’ll get a room and drive back tomorrow.”

“This house is ridiculously large. You can stay on another floor. You’ll never know I’m here.”

“I’ll know you’re here.” I turn away from him and press my hands to the railing.

He mimics my action and we stand there, side by side, the rain pounding fiercely.

“You always loved the rain on the ocean,” he murmurs after a few moments.

I loved it when I was with him. I have good memories of loving it with him.

“I won’t let you hurt me again,” I whisper.

We look at each other, a punch in the connection between us before he says, “I never meant to hurt you. I would die for you, Isla. That hasn’t changed.”

I cut my stare, so very confused because I believe him and that makes the way we ended illogical, at least for me, at least for my way of loving someone. I don’t understand his kind of love and yet I need it so damn badly.

“If I’m staying, I’ll take a glass of that scotch.”

I feel his eyes on me, those perfect, intelligent green eyes, before he says, “Scotch it is,” and pushes off the railing. “I’ll be right back.”

I nod, but I don’t watch him walk away. I stare out into the rain and my mind goes back to another day, back to the funeral, to sitting in the car and staring at the church. I hadn’t seen Damien in six painful months. I’d told myself that I was out of his life. I’d told myself that he wouldn’t want me there, but I’d cared about his father and I still loved him. And so, I’d gotten out of that car. I’d gone inside.

Damien’s footsteps sound behind me and I turn as he sets the bottle down on a table between the two chairs facing the fireplace. He fills two glasses, mine with ice, and his without because he knows I’ll want ice, and then he hands me mine. I know he’s going to touch me, but I don’t resist. I reach for my glass and when our hands collide, he catches mine and walks me to him. Heat radiates up my arm from where he touches me and I know if I look at him, I’ll forget why that kiss was bad when it felt so damn good. For several seconds we just stand there, rain and history suffocating us until he reaches up and brushes my cheek. The touch shocks me, and I shiver, my gaze jerking to his.

“Let’s sit down by the fire,” he says softly.

“I’d like that.”

He seems to hesitate to release my hand, but it slowly slides away and neither of us move. The wind gusts and that’s enough to set us in motion. I walk around the chairs and sit down in front of the fire, sipping from the glass.

“That’s strong,” I say as he sits down next to me and I place the glass on the table between us. “Maybe you need to drink mine. Eric and Davis aren’t going to be an easy audience for me.” I lean forward and hold my hands toward the fire, my elbows on my knees.

Damien leans forward with me, only he ignores the fire. “They’ve both always liked you, Isla. You know that.”

“They’re your friends, your very good friends. They’ll protect you, which is good. That’s why I came. So you can throw up the armor.”

“I thought I had,” he says. “And then you showed up at my door.”

Damien’s cellphone buzzes with a text, and he pulls it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. “Eric,” he says. “They’re almost here.” He sticks his cell back into his pocket, downs his drink, and stands up. “Let’s meet them upstairs.”

I nod and decide I do need that drink. I pick it up and take a big slug before setting it down. I stand up and turn to walk toward the door but Damien steps in front of me.

“Don’t even think about leaving while they’re here. I’ll come after you, and this time I won’t stop coming.” He pulls me to him, his long legs pressed to mine. “We’re not done, Isla. Not now. Not tonight. Not ever. We’re done pretending otherwise.”

He kisses me, a brush of lips over lips that I feel in every part of me before he rotates us and turns me to the door, his hands on my shoulders, my back to his front as he leans in and whispers, “But be warned. I’m not going to stop the next time I kiss you.”