The End of a Marriage (Colette and Matheo) novel Chapter 265

Chapter 265

Her name left his lips, low and rough, like a question wrapped in

something dangerous.

“Isla?”

Isla had no choice but to turn and face him.

For a moment, Graham just stared, his expression unreadable, his

dark eyes raking over her like a slow–burning fire. It was as if he

didn’t quite believe she was standing there, in his room, willingly.

His gaze swept over her, taking in every inch–her flushed face, the

way her breath hitched, the delicate tremor in her fingers. And then,

lower.

She felt it like a physical touch, the way his eyes lingered on the thin,

almost threadbare nightgown clinging to her frame. It was nothing

special, just an old, loose white thing that had seen better days, but

standing under his scrutiny, she suddenly wished she had

something… sexier. Something sheer, something enticing. But she

didn’t own anything like that.

Not that it mattered.

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Because from the way he was looking at her, that nightgown might as

well have been sinful silk.

Heat rushed to her cheeks, blooming down her neck, spreading across

her chest. She was blushing–no, burning. Her skin felt feverish,

hypersensitive, as though his mere presence was enough to unravel

her.

And then he moved.

Closing the distance between them, step by deliberate step.

The dim halo of light from the bathroom cast him in a golden glow,

illuminating the fine droplets of water still clinging to his skin, the

deep lines of muscle, the dark shadow of damp hair curling against

his forehead.

And his eyes.

God, his eyes.

They gleamed like molten obsidian beneath thick, dark lashes, and

there was something dangerous in them–something that made her heart slam against her ribs.

Something sinful.

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There was no innocence in that gaze. Not an ounce of restraint.

It was raw. Hungry. Possessive.

And Isla… Isla wasn’t sure she even understood the depths of what

that meant.

But she could feel it.

“I—I think I should go.”

The words barely escaped her lips, a breathless, trembling squeak.

But before she could take a single step, his hand shot out, locking

around her wrist in an iron grip.

She gasped, startled, but her breath hitched for an entirely different

reason when he tugged her forward, erasing the space between them.

“You foolish woman,” he growled, his voice low, rough–dangerous.

And then his mouth crashed against hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was an assault. A ruthless, punishing claim that

stole the very air from her lungs. His lips moved over hers with an

unrelenting hunger, devouring, demanding, taking everything she had

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to give and more.

Isla barely had a chance to react before his other hand tangled in her

hair, gripping the back of her neck, holding her firmly in place as he

deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping past her lips to conquer her

completely.

She whimpered, half in protest, half in surrender, but the sound only

seemed to provoke him further.

His arm snaked around her waist, yanking her flush against his bare

chest, the heat of his damp skin branding her through the thin fabric

of her nightgown. He was solid, unyielding muscle, every inch of him

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