Chapter 428
Isabella’s pulse raced as Nathaniel’s kiss left her breathless.
His voice alone was enough to unravel her defenses.
So hypnotic, so commanding.
She felt herself melting under his touch.
“Fine,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “It’s not like it’s my first time. I’m not losing anything.”
She wanted this—needed to feel alive.
To reclaim a part of herself she thought she’d lost.
But Nathaniel’s expression shifted instantly.
His eyes cleared, intense and serious.
He pulled back, putting space between them.
“Don’t ever say that again, Isabella.”
She blinked, confused.
What had she said wrong?
He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
His voice was low, firm. “Listen to me. What happened five years ago wasn’t your fault. Your body, your soul—they’re still pure. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. Never belittle yourself because of something that wasn’t in your control.”
He stood up, adjusting his shirt with practiced elegance.
“I crossed a line today. I shouldn’t have let it go that far. I respect you too much for that. And I need you to respect yourself, too.”
Warmth flooded Isabella’s chest.
They were so close… yet he stopped.
For her.
Most men would’ve taken what they wanted without a second thought.
They would’ve called her easy.
Used.
But not Nathaniel.
She rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
Her cheek pressed against his back.
“Nathaniel,” she murmured. “Giving myself to you isn’t disrespect. It’s what I want. Are you really turning me down?”
His body went rigid at her touch.
She could feel the tension in his muscles.
The struggle.
But his voice was steady. “I want you, Isabella. More than you know. But not like this. Not when you’re drunk. Not when you’re confused. I want it to be on our wedding night.”
Her heart fluttered wildly.
He was serious.
He really meant to marry her.
This wasn’t a game to him.
She pushed him playfully, putting on a teasing tone. “So eager to make me a Blackwood, are you? Not a chance. I won’t marry a man who can’t even slice ginger properly.”
She was sure he’d failed at that task earlier.
Probably ordered takeout instead.
Nathaniel’s eyes darkened. “Are you saying you won’t make it up to me?”
Isabella coughed, caught off guard.
Why did he have to be so direct?
“I need some air,” she deflected, moving toward the door. “It’s getting stuffy in here.”
But when she turned the knob, it didn’t budge.
She pulled harder.
Nothing.
Frowning, she glanced back at Nathaniel.
“What’s wrong with the door?”
“Your son’s doing,” he replied simply.
Oliver.
Of course.
“What do we do now?” she asked, a hint of panic in her voice. “How do we get out?”