5: Sha

uca's Pentho

g over her shoulder. Her wedding dress was gone, replaced by fitted jeans and a black tank top that hugged her toned arms and subtle curves. Her dark brown braid was frayed from the day's chaos, auburn highlights catching the

st. His 6'2" frame filled the space, his jet-black hair slightly tousled, the scar above his eyebrow stark in the soft lig

don't you?" he said, his voi

s glinted with mischief as she kicked off her boots, leaving them in a heap by the couch. She flopped onto the l

glinting as he crossed his arms. "Ther

"What, scared I'll mess up your bachelor

said, his voice low, edged with frustra

me into this gilded cage." She gestured at the penthouse, her fr

eaving your boots everywhere?" He pointed at the offending pile, his scar catching the light. "This is t

st gonna play house until you're done with me?" She stood, her lean fra

ir thickening. "And I'm not your punching bag," he said, h

ushing his. "Maybe I will. Or maybe I'l

is eyes darkening with something dangerous

ted how his height, his scent-sandalwood and steel-made her feel exposed. She turned

ca's hand on her waist, the heat in his eyes. She wandered to the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, her tank top loo

ked, his voice softe

pe into her mouth. "Not use

erald eyes catching the moonlight. "This place i

d by the admission. "What, the great Lu

Isabella. Always have been. This-" he gestured at the penthouse, "-is

ng over her shoulder. "Then why

ust about me. It's the family. The men who'd die i

e said quietly, her fingers tracing the cro

s hand brushed hers on the counter, a fleeting touch that sent a spark throug

she said, heading for the guest

rm. "Good," he murmured, his voice carryi