Novels by linditdavids

Izzy's Pov. The dining room buzzed with chatter, glasses clinking, and laughter that felt distant to me. My pulse thudded in my ears as Adrian, leaning slightly on the back of his chair, smirked at Matt. “Trust me, brother,” Adrian drawled, voice low, carrying that dangerous calm. “You don’t want to meet her… yet.” Matt froze mid-bite, fork halfway to his mouth. “Wait—what? What are you talking about?” His brow furrowed in confusion. I swallowed hard, gripping my napkin like a lifeline. The tension between the two brothers crackled, invisible but tangible. “Focus on your wife,” Adrian said smoothly, eyes flicking to mine, the smolder in them scorching. “Stay out of my personal life, Matt. Ge… ez.” The last word was sharp, teasing, but underlined with warning. Matt frowned, clearly unsettled, but before he could respond, Mrs. Sinclair’s gentle but firm voice cut in. “Okay, Adrian, I think you’ve had enough for tonight, honey. Let me escort you to bed.” Her hands rested li

Izzy's Pov. Later that night, my phone vibrated against the bedside table, dragging me from restless sleep. Groaning, I reached for it—heart hammering before I even saw the name. Adrian. “Where the hell did you go?” His voice was low, sharp, and furious. I swallowed, curling tighter under the blankets with Matt’s warmth beside me. “I… I wasn’t feeling well,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you…” “Not good enough,” he snapped, and I could almost see the dark fire in his eyes even through the line. “And now… I’m hearing things. About a pregnancy.” Heat pooled in my stomach, shame and guilt twisting together. I forced myself out of bed, careful not to wake Matt. Slipping past him, I grabbed the phone, tiptoeing into the living room. Whispering was the only option—every word needed to be quiet, every breath controlled. “I… don’t know what you’re hearing,” I said, voice barely above a murmur. “It’s not confirmed yet…” “Izzy,” he growled, the rest

Izzy's Pov. My mother in law clearly suspected something was going on with me and her sons. That shook me to my core. And the last thing I wanted was to continue sitting at that table, as if everything was normal when she got back. “I don’t feel too well,” I mumbled, forcing my voice to sound casual. My stomach twisted, but it wasn’t nerves—it was the remnants of Adrian. His scent lingered on my skin, in my hair, like a brand I couldn’t wash off. Matt’s brow furrowed, concern etched across his face. “Want me to take you home?” I nodded, grateful for the escape. “Yeah… that would be nice.” The drive was quiet, tension humming beneath the ordinary. Every time I looked at him, I reminded myself: he’s my husband, he doesn’t know. He shouldn’t know. My pulse quickened anyway, the memory of Adrian’s hands creeping up my spine like wildfire. When we got home, I practically ran to the bathroom. The shower was hot, scalding, relentless—enough to strip away Adrian’s scent, his heat,

Izzy's Pov. The clink of silverware and soft laughter filled the room, but I felt a churning pit in my stomach. Across the table, Adrian’s brother—my husband—was talking about some new project. I nodded, smiled, tried to look engaged. Normal. Pretending. And then there was Adrian. Sitting diagonally across from me, his hand brushing ever so slightly against mine when he reached for a glass. I swallowed hard. My pulse spiked. My brain screamed, Don’t look. Don’t react. But I did. His eyes met mine, just for a heartbeat. A spark of recognition. A silent, shared sin. The rest of the table was oblivious. They always were. “Is everything okay, Izzy?” my husband asked, voice smooth, unsuspecting. “Fine,” I lied. Smiled too wide. Tried not to imagine what Adrian’s fingers would feel like on me instead of the tabletop. Adrian smirked subtly, and it was enough to make me quake in my seat. He wasn’t touching me. Not yet. But the tension between us was a live wire—ready to snap. I