Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 370

Isadora forced an awkward smile. "I… just wanted to take a walk."

"A walk?" Eleanor echoed, skeptical.

"Yes, the doctor said I should walk more. It's good for the baby's health."

Eleanor tugged her coat tighter around herself. "Well, walking is fine when it's warmer. If you catch a cold in this weather, it's just not worth the risk." She started to shepherd Isadora back toward her room.

But Isadora spun around, a hint of urgency in her eyes. "Mom, I…"

"What is it?" Eleanor's voice softened.

Isadora closed her eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and blurted out, "I need to go out for a bit. You should get some sleep—don't wait up for me."

Before Eleanor could respond, Isadora slipped past her and dashed out.

"Oh, this girl—what's gotten into her?" Eleanor muttered, hurrying to the window. She pulled back the curtain just in time to see Isadora rushing toward the front drive, heading straight for the Lamborghini parked outside.

And standing beside it was that man.

Eleanor shook her head ruefully. Daughters really do grow up too fast.

She could only hope this Victor would take good care of Isadora—and that his wretched old mother wouldn't make her daughter's life miserable.

*

Isadora slowed to a stop a few yards from the car, letting the cold night air bite at her cheeks. Now that she was closer, she could see him clearly.

Victor was lounging against the car, looking languid and strangely flushed, his long lashes lowered, eyes closed. The breeze ruffled his short hair, accentuating the sharp lines of his impossibly handsome face—a face that seemed both striking and harmless in the faint moonlight.

The chilly darkness crept under Isadora's skin. Pines rustled softly in the midnight hush.

She stood there, silent, her gaze complicated—torn between worry, tenderness, and a love she barely dared acknowledge.

After a long moment, she sighed and stepped forward, each footfall echoing the breaking of some fragile string inside her.

She was falling, and she knew it.

She ignored the suggestion and reached up to touch his forehead.

Scalding. He was burning up.

"Your fever is terrible. You need to see a doctor—now."

Victor still had his head tucked against her neck, utterly unbothered. "No need. I'm not dying."

"Victor!" she snapped, exasperated.

He finally lifted his head, looking at her with soft, pleading eyes. He relented, "Fine. I'll call the doctor to come to Summit Crest Estates. But you have to stay with me."

Isadora glanced back at the house. Well, so much for sleeping here tonight.

When they headed back to Summit Crest Estates, Isadora refused to let Victor drive.

Sports cars weren't like regular sedans—the engines were too powerful, the acceleration too sharp.