Isabelle leaned across the leather seat, her perfume heavy in the confined space of Julian's car. Her manicured fingers trailed up his thigh as she gazed at him through lowered lashes.
"Julian," she purred, "we could take the long way back. My mother won't expect me for hours."
I was watching this scene unfold from some hidden corner of my consciousness, dreaming it perhaps. It felt distant yet painfully real.
Julian's eyes remained fixed on the road, his jaw tight. Without looking at her, he reached down and removed her hand from his leg.
"That's enough, Isabelle."
She blinked, momentarily stunned by his cold tone. "But I thought—"
"You thought wrong." He pressed the intercom button. "Maxwell, take Miss Beaumont home directly."
"Yes, Alpha," came the driver's immediate response.
Isabelle's confident smile faltered. "Julian, don't be like that. Mother's busy with her committee meeting. We have the whole evening..."
