But she didn’t.
She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her.
Isabel turned, watching her as she shrugged off her leather jacket and tossed it over a chair. “Still sure about that drink?” she asked, her voice smooth and teasing.
Victoria exhaled slowly, then nodded.
“Good.” Isabel moved to the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Jameson and two glasses. She poured carefully, deliberately, aware of every movement Victoria made behind her. The way she surveyed the space, the way her fingers brushed along theback of the couch, the way she was deliberately not looking at Isabel.
So damned controlled.
Isabel smirked as she turned back, pressing a glass into Victoria’s hand.
“To good whiskey,” she murmured, clinking their glasses together.
Victoria’s lips twitched. “To one drink.”
Isabel watched as Victoria took a sip, watched the way her throat moved as she swallowed, the way her tongue flicked out to catch a stray drop of whiskey from her lower lip.
Heat coiled deep in Isabel’s stomach.Patience.She took a slow sip, letting the burn settle. And then she waited.
She let Victoria drink at her own pace, let the silence stretch, let the weight between them grow thicker, heavier, unbearable.
Until—
Victoria set her empty glass on the counter.
One drink.Just like she said. Isabel’s pulse kicked.
My turn.
She moved forward, slow and deliberate, stepping into Victoria’s space, crowding her. Victoria stilled. She didn’t touch her.Not yet.
Instead, she leaned in, just enough for her breath to ghost over Victoria’s jaw, for their bodies to nearly—nearly—brush.
“You’ve had your one drink,” Isabel murmured. “Now what?”
Victoria swallowed hard. Isabel could hear it. Feel it.
She tilted her head, letting her lips hover just beside Victoria’s ear. “Tell me what you want, Captain.”
Victoria’s breath hitched. But she still hadn’t moved.
Isabel smirked against her skin. Waiting. Waiting for Victoria to be the one to break.
And finally—she did. Victoria turned into her, eyes dark and hungry, and before Isabel could tease her again, before she could whisper another challenge?—
Victoria kissed her.
The moment their lips met, Isabel caught fire. Victoria wasn’t soft, wasn’t tentative—she was starving. And God, Isabel couldfeel it.
She let Victoria take for a moment, let her pour all that pent-up tension, all that unbearable restraint finally breaking into the kiss.
But then—Isabel took control.
She pressed forward, owning it, taking everything. Her fingers threaded into Victoria’s bun, gripping, pulling, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss until there was nothing left between them but heat and want.
Victoria let her.
