CASH GRAVES
ISABEL SLADE (First Person’s POV)
“…I eat boys like you for breakfast,” I hummed to myself, stubbing out my cigarette.
Evening had settled in and Carl would be home soon.
I glanced at the diamond ring on my finger.
Soon to be Mrs. Isabel Graves. How tragic.
“Pathetic” I spat as I pulled the ring off, dropped it on the coffee table, and padded barefoot to the pool.
I need a few stolen moments of silence before Carl returned, ready to claim my body.
Sighing, I let the robe slip down my body, untied my bikini top, and dove into the warm water, wearing only my panties. The lights around the pool dimmed automatically. I floated, letting the warmth loosen every sore muscle.
Today had been long day. The case of the dead men across the city was a whole puzzle to uncover. It was a perfect disaster, the kind that thrilled me, but also kept me up at night thinking.
I dipped beneath the surface again, holding my breath.
The murders affected Carl more than any Police Chief should be affected by a case. His obsession with this one was personal.
Too personal.
I finally pushed myself out of the pool, dripping and breathless. I brushed my wet hair back, and the cold air hit my bare nipples, turning them hard. I didn’t bother to cover up.
My breasts bounced around with every movement as I strolled around the pool, squeezing water out of my hair. I was naked except for the soaked panties clinging to my hips.
I walked past the ring without a second glance. When the wedding comes, the tabloids would eat it up.
Chief of Police Marries His Own Crime Scene Investigator.
I paused in front of the mirror, ruffled my wet hair and sighed. It had been weeks since I’d gone to the salon, so I needed a haircut.
“Hmm. I look like a virgin,” I muttered to myself, inspecting the thick strands.
“Are you?” a dark voice asked behind me.
I jerked in fear, a scream nearly bursting from my chest as I spun around, eyes wide, and came face to face with a man in his early twenties, standing there looking charming.
“Oh my God!” I yelped in fear.
“Uh…” he drawled, clearly just as surprised, his eyes glued to my exposed breasts. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“And standing there in the corner answering questions I mumble to myself isn’t supposed to be scary?” I snapped, reaching for a towel. His gaze remained stubbornly stuck on my chest.
“I… couldn’t help myself,” he muttered, blinking like he’d just come out of a trance.
“Cover your eyes,” I scolded, wrapping the towel tightly around my body. “Who the hell are you?”
“This is my house. Who are you?” he countered, and I looked around for a weapon.
“Excuse me? I could shoot you right now. How the fuck did you even get in?”
“I have the code,” he replied casually, “because it’s my house.”
“What?!”
We both paused, the realization settling awkwardly between us.
The conversation had turned oddly calm, considering the circumstances.
“And you are?” I arched a brow, unimpressed by the fine looking stranger in a leather jacket standing across the room.
“Cash Graves,” he said coolly.
He was Carl’s son.
The young reckless one who kept him up at night.
My defenses dropped.
“You’re Isabel,” he said, lips curling into a half-smirk as his eyes raked my body “His new arm candy. Carl never told me he was was serious about you, I never expected him to drag along someone twenty years younger than him”
“Watch your mouth, boy” I warned, glaring “I’ve heard plenty about you.”
His eyes brightened with mischief. “Indulge me. I love hearing the fantasies people have about me.”
Oh, he was exactly how Carl described him.
And for some weird reason, I was intrigued by the young man standing in front of me, even when I knew Carl would kill me if we even dared.