Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

Chapter 11

Isadora clutched the blanket to her chest and edged backward. "Fair's fair. I slept

with you, then you slept with me. We're even now."

She was determined-he couldn't hold this over her anymore.

Victor withdrew his hand, the lingering warmth of her skin still clinging to his fingertips. With one hand in his pocket, he stood tall and imposing, his dark eyes fixed intently on her for a few moments.

"Get dressed and come out for breakfast," he said at last, then turned and strode out of the room.

Only after the door clicked shut did Isadora reach for the dress he'd left for her. She unfolded it and blinked in surprise-a form-fitting, deep plum dress, splashed with bold rose patterns. The fabric was luxurious, unmistakably expensive.

She had almost never worn anything so bold or alluring. Magnus had always preferred her in simple, innocent styles-soft pastels, clean lines, nothing that drew too much attention. And for him, she'd gone along with it, even though she hated it.

She'd never liked playing the innocent or pretending to be fragile. That only ever made her an easy target for people like Pearl Vaughan. But for Magnus's sake, she'd put up with it all. Back then, he was everything to her.

Looking back now, she realized she'd been hopelessly lovesick. Honestly, in this day and age, being lovesick was practically an illness-and she desperately needed a cure.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Isadora tossed off the blanket, exposing skin almost startling in its paleness, crisscrossed with marks that screamed of last night's lack of tenderness.

piece by piece. To her shock,

mute exasperation-how did Victor know her exact size after just one night? Meanwhile, she had no idea about

cheeks, trying to

a night with a man like him; her reaction

gave herself a quick

a sharp Z, and the cut of her dress forced her to walk slowly, careful not to trip. The slit in the skirt revealed flashes of her slender,

phone at the sound of her footsteps. The instant

He had good taste.

delicate features. Even without makeup, her skin glowed with a healthy,

steady rhythm on the table, watching her in silence as she came

was thinking right now-how badly he wanted to tear that dress

lazy smile

gaze, burning and intense. She tugged at her skirt, suddenly self-conscious. It wasn't

her throat. "Is there

almost imperceptibly. "You look good in that

to men telling her

a faint blush

between them felt charged with a gentle, unspoken