Page 54 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
Finally, seizing a break in the conversation, I excuse myself, claiming a need to sort out some last-minute details. As I step out of the cabin, the cool mountain air does little to ease the heat that Isabella's proximity sparked.
This attraction, it's like a live wire between us, dangerous and unpredictable. I know I need to keep my distance, to maintain the boundaries of our arrangement. But as I walk away, the memory of her so close, the way my name sounded on her lips, haunts me.
I'm playing with fire, and the more I'm around Isabella, the harder it is to ignore the burn. It's a line I can't afford to cross, not just for the sake of our fake engagement, but for everything else at stake. Yet, as I head back to my own tasks, I can't shake the feeling that this is only the beginning.
25
Isabella
Rushingintomycabin,a quaint, rustic sanctuary nestled among the pines, I take a moment to catch my breath. The exterior's log walls and the promise of an old-world charm had me expecting something akin to a lumberjack's abode, but inside, it's a different world. Warm, inviting, with plush furnishings and modern amenities skillfully woven into its vintage charm. It's cozy and intimate, the kind of place that would be perfect for a romantic getaway—if only the circumstances were different.
I drop my bag onto the soft, inviting bed and sink down beside it. The soft light from the bedside lamp casts a warm glow across the room, accentuating the fusion of rustic wood and contemporary decor. It's peaceful here, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me.
Closing my eyes, I replay the moments in the main cabin with Dom—how close we came to crossing a line. My heart races at the memory, a mix of exhilaration and fear. It's like walking a tightrope; thrilling but dangerous. I’m playing with fire, and I know it. The way his eyes locked onto mine, the heat from his body, the sound of his voice—it's all too much. Too intense. Too real.
I lean back against the pillows, my mind racing. This fake engagement, meant to be a simple business arrangement, is turning into something complex and unnerving. I can’t afford to lose focus, not when I've worked so hard to get where I am. Being seen as Dom Steele's fiancée, even if it's all a façade, it's a double-edged sword. On one hand, it's the perfect cover, a shield against any unwanted attention, especially from someone like Jason. But on the other, it's a trap, luring me into a dangerous dance of pretend that feels increasingly genuine.
The cabin, for all its comfort, feels like a gilded cage at this moment. I stand up, pacing the room. The walls adorned with vintage ski gear and framed black-and-white photos of mountain landscapes seem to close in on me. I've always prided myself on my control, my ability to keep personal and professional lives separate. But with Dom, those lines are blurring, and it scares me.
A part of me, a reckless, daring part, wants to give in to this madness, to explore this undeniable chemistry between us. But the rational part, the part that’s been my guiding force, screams caution. Dom Steele isn't just any man; he's a former hockey star, a prominent figure with his own set of complications. And I’m a woman who's built her career on being unyielding and focused.
I glance out the window, where the snow is gently falling, blanketing the world in a pristine layer of white. It's beautiful, serene, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in the tranquility of it all. But as the snowflakes dance in the wind, I’m reminded of the storm brewing in my life, a storm that threatens to upend everything I’ve worked for.
With a deep, steadying breath, I make a decision. I need to put distance between Dom and me, to cool down this simmering tension before it boils over. It's the only way to protect both our careers, and more importantly, my heart. As I lie back down, I vow to keep my guard up, to not let Dom Steele's charm and intensity break through the walls I've carefully built around myself. It's a promise I intend to keep, no matter how hard it proves to be.
Settled in my cabin, I pull out my phone, and right on cue, Jenna's text bubbles up on the screen. Her message is brimming with curiosity, typical Jenna style.
So, how's it going with Mr. Tall, Dark, and fake fiancé? Spill the tea, Iz!her text reads.
I let out a wry chuckle, typing back a response while sinking further into the plush cushions of the armchair.Everything's fine. Normal, even,I reply, trying to sound convincing even through text.
Before I can put the phone down, another message from Jenna pops up.Fine? Normal? This is Dom Steele we're talking about. I give it two days before you two are at it again."
Her words, meant to be light and teasing, strike a chord. A mix of guilt and denial stirs within me. I start typing a response, a denial loaded with my usual sass, but a sudden wave of nausea hits me out of nowhere. My phone slips from my fingers as I lurch to my feet, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead.
Staggering to the restroom, the world tilts precariously around me. I barely make it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach revolt, leaving me gasping and shaking. The cool tile against my cheek is the only relief from the sudden, overwhelming sickness.
As the wave of nausea slowly recedes, leaving me drained and confused, a thousand thoughts race through my mind. Stress, maybe? The altitude? Or something I ate? But a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers other possibilities, ones I'm not ready to face.
I sit back, leaning against the bathroom wall, trying to steady my breathing. My phone buzzes again, likely Jenna with more probing questions or playful assumptions. But right now, I don't have the energy or the desire to dive back into that conversation.
With a deep, shaky breath, I stand up, splashing water on my face and trying to erase the pallor of sickness. Glancing in the mirror, I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me—pale, unsettled, and suddenly vulnerable.
I need to get a grip. This weekend is crucial, and I can't afford any distractions or weaknesses, least of all an unexplained bout of illness. Pushing aside the lingering discomfort and the barrage of questions in my mind, I straighten up, determined to regain my composure.
But as I step out of the restroom, the unease lingers, a shadow I can't quite shake off. It's going to be a long weekend, and I can't help but wonder what other surprises are in store. For now, I need to focus on the training camp and keep my personal turmoil locked away. Whatever this is, it can wait. It has to.
Back in the main room of my cabin, my phone buzzes again. I hesitantly pick it up, expecting more of Jenna's relentless teasing. Instead, what I see on the screen brings an involuntary laugh out of me.
I'll bet you a spa day you're thinking about his abs right now ??,Jenna's message reads. Classic Jenna—always finding a way to lighten the mood, even when she doesn't know the half of it.
I consider telling her about the nausea, about how off I've been feeling. But I dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It's probably nothing, just the stress of the situation catching up with me. Or maybe something I ate. I send a quick reply, a light-hearted quip to match her tone, and set the phone aside.
Standing there, in the middle of my cabin, a strange sensation washes over me—the feeling of being watched. I glance around the cozy interior, half-expecting to find someone lurking outside the windows. But all I see is the peaceful snowscape, the trees standing silent and still in the twilight.
"Get a grip, Isabella," I mutter to myself, shaking off the eerie feeling. It's just nerves, nothing more. The events of the day, the close call with Dom, the unexpected sickness—it's all playing tricks on my mind.
Stepping out of my cabin, I pull my coat tighter around me, the crisp late afternoon air snapping me back to the present. I can feel the last remnants of unease slipping away, replaced by a laser focus on the task at hand—the first practice game.
