Fated Marriage Spoiled by My Ice Billionaire novel Chapter 97

After leaving the bar, James was already waiting at the entrance.

Once inside the car, Isabelle let out a long sigh and stared out the window. Damian watched her from the side.

The partition slid up, making the backseat feel smaller. Flickering streetlights occasionally cut through the dim interior.

Damian wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

Dizzy and off-balance, Isabelle quickly grabbed his shoulders, kneeling on the seat.

She almost cried out but bit it back, afraid James, who was driving, might hear. "What are you doing..."

"Can't I just hold you?" he said, a challenging, almost wicked smirk on his lips.

"That's not it..." Isabelle whispered.

He looked at her bright red lips and the blush spreading across her cheeks—whether from shyness or the alcohol, it was utterly enticing.

He couldn't resist reaching out, his thumb brushing over her lower lip.

Despite her fuzzy head, a thread of reason held. "We're in the car," Isabelle mumbled.

Damian said, "My car. I have the license. It's legal."

"No..."

"We have plenty of cars. We can get a new one if this one gets... messy."

Her half-formed protest was cut off as his mouth covered hers.

James stepped on the accelerator. Back at the villa's underground garage, James made a quick exit. "My apologies—"

Isabelle, her face flushed crimson, lay across the backseat, calling him every name in the book under her breath.

Laughing softly, he tossed his jacket toward the trunk. "You only have the guts to curse me out when you've had a drink. Let's see if you dare tomorrow when you're sober!"

Isabelle shot back, "Damian, you jerk!"

"Say whatever you want..."

Condensation fogged the windows. The motion-sensor lights in the parking garage flickered on and off.

After a bit, Damian picked up his jacket, draped it over her, and cradled her in his arms. He grabbed the torn clothing and tossed it into a nearby bin.

Isabelle buried her face in his jacket, though she could still vaguely make out a few handprints on the glass.

The seat covers will probably need replacing too. The thought made her want to hide even deeper.

On the second floor, he paused in the living room, taking in the scene of scattered luggage. It was obvious who was responsible.

Isabelle peeked out. A few particularly eye-catching black lace nightgowns were among the mess on the floor.

Damian looked down at her. "Did she give you trouble?"

Isabelle replied, "No, it was fine when I left."

His jaw tightened. He carried her to the bathroom and helped her wash up.

She glanced at it. I almost forgot I had another car.

Collin smiled, "Isabelle."

Isabelle greeted. "Collin."

They exchanged a few polite words.

"You don't look so good. Are you feeling okay?" Collin asked, noticing her flushed face.

Isabelle touched her cheek. It was burning. She'd had a headache since morning but blamed it on the hangover.

After a full day of work, it was worse. Her nose was stuffed, and her voice had been hoarse since last night. If not for the heavy nasal congestion, her raspy voice would have been a dead giveaway.

"Ma'am, would you like to check your temperature? We have a first-aid kit," a perceptive attendant offered.

Isabelle didn't refuse. She sat on a nearby sofa. The thermometer beeped, displaying 101.8°F.

"See?" Collin said, handing her a glass of warm water.

"It's fine. I'll just pick up the car and get some medicine from the hospital," Isabelle replied, her voice thick and strained.

Collin said, "I'll drive you to the hospital."

"You don't have to..."

Before she could finish, Collin stood up and walked to the service desk. After a brief conversation, he returned.

Collin insisted, "I'm not comfortable with you going alone like this. It's all arranged. Someone will deliver your car to your place."