Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

Chapter 108

Isadora's cheeks flushed, a soft pink coloring her ears as Victor's words lingered in the air.

Without hesitation, Victor reached out and slipped his hand into hers, the gesture intimate and easy, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

His palm was large and warm, enveloping her slender fingers completely.

Isadora wasn't used to this. The crisp early autumn breeze did nothing to cool the restless flutter in her chest. Her palm was already damp, and she instinctively tried to pull her hand away, not wanting him to notice.

But Victor didn't let go. At first, he'd just held her hand, but now his fingers interlaced with hers, holding her tighter.

She'd never held hands with anyone like this before. It felt so close, so unmistakably romantic-her heart thudded in her chest with nervous excitement.

Victor glanced down at her, lips curving into a teasing smile, his gaze playful. "Is it too warm for you?"

Isadora shot him a glare with her bright, expressive eyes, certain he was doing this on purpose.

She stubbornly replied, "I'm just hungry, that's all."

Victor chuckled softly, still holding her hand as he led her inside.

moonlight, their shadows-two people and a dog-stretched long and harmonious across

by caught sight of them, eyes going wide in surprise before quickly

master holding hands with a woman before. Isn't that the same

you she was special. Even Pudding, who never lets anyone near him, follows her around. Anyone would think she's his

is about to get a

was set with an array of dishes: sweet and tangy glazed ribs, steamed

eyes widened in delight, her mouth already

sure what you liked, so I just threw a few things together.

Pudding!" she protested, recalling how she'd simply taken a few

eyes crinkling with

ribs and piling them onto a plate-until it was heaping full. Then, with an easy bend, he set the plate down on the

golden retriever, bounded over, tail wagging, and settled beside them to enjoy his

Victor as he reached for a set of crab crackers. His long, deft fingers

found it too much trouble-especially in front of someone else—so

but

delicate, snowy crab meat into a small porcelain bowl, setting it in

she asked,

an eyebrow, setting aside the utensils before picking up a damp napkin to wipe his hands. Then, with gentle fingers, he brushed away a tiny bit of food from the corner of

eyes, dark and mesmerizing, softened with affection as he gazed at