Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Isabelle's POV
Back in the living room, the housekeeper was already reheating dinner for us.
Jeremiah carried all my shopping bags upstairs while I followed behind clutching the tulips, my eyes helplessly drawn to his broad shoulders tapering to that perfect narrow waist.
Watching him move with such casual confidence made heat pool in my stomach.
God, his body was absolutely fucking perfect—those incredible abs I'd felt under my hands that night, though I couldn't remember exactly how many there were. Just that they were rock-hard and felt amazing under my fingertips...
I pressed my hand to my forehead, desperately trying to banish those vivid memories before I completely lost it.
Back in the bedroom, Jeremiah casually helped organize all my new clothes into the walk-in closet, including my most intimate pieces without even batting an eye.
It wasn't until I was in the study arranging the tulips in a crystal vase that had clearly never held flowers before that I remembered—I'd bought some pretty revealing lingerie today.
Panic shot through me as I rushed back to the closet, only to discover he'd already organized everything with military precision, including the lacy black bra and matching panties I'd impulsively bought.
My face went nuclear thinking about his hands touching my underwear.
"Hungry?" Jeremiah appeared beside me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"Starving, actually." I quickly turned and fled the closet before I could embarrass myself further.
"You really need to stop skipping meals like this."
"I know, I know." I couldn't help the secret smile tugging at my lips as we headed downstairs.
The dining room was perfectly set when we arrived.
I went to wash my hands in the kitchen, trying to calm my racing heart.
"Mr Winslet is absolutely devoted," the housekeeper whispered conspiratorially in my ear. "He waited outside in that garage for twenty minutes and refused to touch his dinner."
My chest tightened with an emotion I wasn't ready to name as I glanced toward Jeremiah.
He was taking a business call, pacing with that predatory grace of his, and when our eyes met across the room, the intensity of his gaze made my knees weak.
We both quickly looked away, but the electricity lingered.
"Did you drink your milk today?" Jeremiah served me generous portions while speaking.
"Oh yeah, Thank you."
We sounded so ridiculously formal, like strangers trying to be polite rather than two people who'd shared a bed and were legally bound to each other.
"Don't set an alarm tonight. We leave around 10:30 tomorrow morning," Jeremiah said, cutting his steak with precise movements.
I blinked in confusion. "Wait, you're coming too?"
"Did you not read the schedule?" His eyes flashed with that dangerous look that made my stomach flip with equal parts fear and arousal.
"Sorry, Mr. Wins—" I caught myself mid-sentence, my anxiety making me revert to professional mode.
Shit, if this were the office, he'd be tearing me apart right now.
"Forget it. Just be with me and you'll be fine."
Jeremiah's tone softened slightly, but I could see him mentally filing away my lack of preparation.
I exhaled shakily, feeling like I'd just failed some kind of wife test.
Jeremiah set down his utensils and his expression grew serious. "Conrad's still in hospital, but someone with serious pull made the assault charges disappear. No paper trail."
My blood turned to ice, and I gripped my fork so hard my knuckles went white.
If Conrad got pulled out of legal trouble that easily, he had dangerous people protecting him.
"Who exactly did you piss off?" Jeremiah's voice was razor-sharp, his CEO mask sliding firmly into place.
I couldn't meet those penetrating eyes. I'd wanted to tell him this story days ago, but he'd shut me down.
Since he was finally asking, I didn't hold back. I told him everything—the pregnancy trap, the setup, the whole ugly truth about Conrad and Skye's schemes.
Jeremiah actually fucking smiled.
In this tense situation, the bastard was smiling.
"What's so damn funny?" I demanded, thrown off by his reaction.
He ran his tongue slowly across his lower lip, a gesture that made my core clench involuntarily.
"That whole 'kill two birds with one stone' strategy using his pregnant mistress as the murder weapon—I'm genuinely impressed."
Her tactical thinking had been unexpectedly sophisticated. Jeremiah had assumed she was just someone who didn't like to lose arguments, but her strategic instincts were razor-sharp.
He felt a surge of genuine admiration, and for a moment thought his gamble on marrying her had paid off spectacularly.
"Really?" I was stunned, having fully expected him to be furious about me dragging him into my mess. "You don't think I'm..."
"You were brilliant. But next time something like this happens, you tell me first. No more going rogue."
Jeremiah reached across the table and gently brushed a crumb from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
The simple touch sent electricity shooting straight to my core. Was he basically saying 'I've got your back' in the most devastatingly sexy way possible?
I sat frozen as his thumb lingered just a second too long against my lips, my heart hammering so violently I was sure he could hear it. My entire face felt like it was on fire.
Jeremiah looked so unexpectedly tender in that moment that my brain completely short-circuited.
"I'm going to shower." He stood and casually ruffled my hair before heading upstairs.
He'd just... touched me like I was precious to him.
I sat there in complete shock, tracking his movements until he disappeared from view.
I took several shaky breaths and pinched my burning cheeks—this was definitely not a dream.
No one in my entire life had ever made me feel protected, valued, worth defending.
But everything about Jeremiah's words and actions screamed 'you're mine to protect now.'
I finished dinner in a complete daze, replaying that moment over and over until I was practically squirming in my chair.
After his shower, Jeremiah settled at his computer in the study, hair still damp and wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips.
I tried to focus on design work from the small leather sofa, but concentration was impossible with all that bare chest and muscle on display just feet away.
My traitorous brain kept replaying every detail of that night—how those muscles had felt under my hands, how his skin had tasted...
Frustrated beyond belief, I slammed my laptop shut and flopped face-down on the couch with a dramatic groan.
"Problem?" Jeremiah's amused voice made me peek up.
"Creative block," I mumbled into the cushions, very aware of how my silk pajama shorts had ridden up.
I could feel his eyes on me, that heavy gaze traveling over the curve of my ass and bare legs in a way that made heat pool between my thighs.
"Jeremiah," I sat up abruptly, tucking my legs under me. "When you moved my stuff, where did you put that box of old sketches?"
I vaguely remembered him handling some of my more personal items with surprising care.
He rose from his chair in one fluid motion, and I couldn't help tracking the play of muscles across his back as he retrieved a large portfolio box from the built-in shelves.
"This what you're looking for?" He walked back over, and I had to actively stop myself from staring at the way his sweatpants rode low enough to show that dangerous V of muscle.
"Yes, perfect." I reached for the box, my fingers brushing his as he handed it over.
The brief contact sent sparks shooting up my arm.
"Let me guess—you didn't prepare a portfolio either?" Those dark eyes saw right through me, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.
"Guilty as charged," I admitted with a sheepish grin, hugging the box protectively. "But I have tons of old work we can use."
Instead of returning to his desk like a normal person, Jeremiah settled onto the couch right beside me, close enough that I could smell his shower gel and feel the heat radiating from his skin.
My entire body went on high alert.
"What are you doing?" My voice came out breathier than intended.
"Just curious to see your work." His tone was casual, but there was something predatory in the way he was looking at me.
The air between us felt charged, electric with possibility.
"Oh." I opened the box with trembling hands, hyperaware of how his arm stretched across the back of the couch behind me, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
I started flipping through old sketches, but I could barely focus with Jeremiah's intense gaze following every movement. His proximity was intoxicating—I kept getting distracted by the steady rhythm of his breathing, the subtle flex of his forearm muscles as he shifted position.
When he casually picked up one of my sketches to examine it more closely, I panicked and snatched it back, shoving it deep into the box.
"I need to organize these first," I said quickly, scooting away from him before I did something stupid like climb into his lap. "You should get back to work..."
Jeremiah's low chuckle sent shivers down my spine as he returned to his desk, but not before trailing his fingers lightly across my shoulder—a touch so brief and casual it could have been accidental, except for the way his eyes darkened when I shivered in response.
I watched him settle back at his computer, my gaze drawn to the yellow tulips now prominently displayed on his desk. Seeing them there, in his perfectly organized workspace, made something warm and dangerous bloom in my chest.
God, this man was so damn hot!