Chapter 710

Isabella smirked, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Really? After all these years, you're going to play the shy, untouched gentleman with me?"

Henry remained silent, his jaw tightening as her fingers slipped another button free. The crisp white fabric parted, revealing the sculpted planes of his torso.

Her palm flattened against his skin, absorbing the heat radiating from him. She curled into him like ivy clinging to stone, her body molding against his with practiced ease.

Henry exhaled sharply but didn’t pull away.

The warmth of him seeped into her, easing the tension coiled in her limbs, though her face stayed unnaturally pale. "What about Eleanor—"

"Don’t," he cut her off, voice low. "My team has eyes on her. She won’t be a problem."

Isabella scoffed. "She wants a seat at the table, fine. But she expects the whole damn boardroom on her first day. That’s not how this works."

Taming Eleanor was proving to be more exhausting than either of them had anticipated.

Henry’s hand settled at the small of her back. "I know."

Her gaze snapped up, sharp as shattered glass. "You’re hard."

His eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the cool gray of his irises. He didn’t hesitate—just bent and captured her mouth.

She twisted away.

In one fluid motion, he flipped her beneath him, pinning her wrists to the mattress.

Isabella shoved at his shoulders. "Henry!"

"You noticed the problem," he murmured, voice rough. "Now you’re going to help solve it."

Her hand dipped into his pocket, fingers brushing dangerously close to the evidence of his arousal.

"Christ, Isabella." He caught her wrist, his grip just shy of painful. Did she think he was some toy she could wind up and put away?

She wrenched free and pulled out his phone. "Since you’re so worked up, I’ll call Eleanor for you."

His brow furrowed. "Enough. There’s nothing between us."

Ignoring him, she tapped the screen. "Still using my birthday as your passcode?"

The phone unlocked.

Her eyebrow arched. "You never changed it?"

Years later, and he still used the code she’d set—like some sentimental fool.

Her thumb hovered over Eleanor’s contact, but Henry caught her wrist again, slamming her hand back against the sheets.

"Shouldn’t my wife be handling this?"

"The divorce papers are already drafted," she hissed. "I’m not your—mmph!"

He kissed her again, harder this time.

Isabella writhed, nails digging into his shoulders. "Let go!"

Henry didn’t relent. His mouth trailed down her throat, his fingers slipping beneath the silk of her blouse.

She’d clung to him, touched him without hesitation—did she really think he wouldn’t react? That he was just some convenient source of warmth?

The fabric slid open, revealing smooth skin. His hand disappeared beneath the silk, the glint of his watch the only sign of restraint in a man who usually had too much of it.

Color flooded her cheeks. She shoved at him. "God, are you sixteen? It’s the middle of the day—have some shame!"

His breath hitched. "Since when did that ever stop us?"

She hadn’t forgotten. Their marriage might have been strategic, but the chemistry was undeniable.

Henry had lived up to every whispered rumor about high-society husbands.

And why wouldn’t he? She’d chosen him, after all. Handpicked him for this alliance.