The Surrogate He Discarded

Isobel stared at Kristoff, confusion etched across her face.

Why was he angry?

”At the hospital, didn’t you say your business with me was finished?” she asked. ”Why should I go back to the villa?”

For a brief moment, Kristoff was caught off guard.

He had said that.

”I work for Morgan Foster now,” Isobel continued, struggling to keep her voice steady. ”Besides, it’s no longer your concern, Kris...” She hesitated before correcting herself. ”Mr. Dalton.”

Despite her efforts to sound composed, a faint tremor slipped into her voice.

Kristoff noticed the way he addressed him. He clenched his fists. She used to call him intimately by his firstname. She said that she like name Kristoff. Yet now, he was calling him by his lastname, which sounded impersonal.

”Working as what, Isobel?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step toward her.

The image of Morgan’s gentle gaze lingered in his mind. The way the other man had looked at her. The way they had stood together, each holding a baby, looking almost like a family.

Jealousy twisted viciously in his chest.

Instinctively, Isobel stepped backward.

But he took another step.

And Isobel took another step back. And another. Until her back met the cold wall.

Her breath caught.

The man standing before her didn’t feel like the Kristoff she once knew.

This Kristoff looked like a predator closing in on its prey.

”I-I...” she stammered.

His intense stare pinned her in place.

Finally, she forced the words out.

”I’m feeding his babies.”

Kristoff froze.

”The twins are allergic to formula,” she explained quietly. ”I’m their wet nurse.”

For the first time since he’d approached her, she lifted her chin and met his eyes.

”I have more milk than I can use,” she said. ”Instead of letting it go to waste because I can’t feed my own child, I help them.”

Something inside Kristoff tightened painfully.

Alex had struggled with feeding too. He remembered the endless nights. The worry. The frustration. The countless formulas they had tried before finally finding one that worked.

The memory hit him harder than he expected.

”But you don’t look like a nanny.”

His gaze swept over her before he could stop himself.

She wore a fitted cropped top with a square neckline. Motherhood had softened and changed her figure, making the neckline more revealing because of fuller breasts than she probably intended.

His jaw clenched.

The sight of her stirred emotions he had spent months trying to bury. Months trying to forget.

Yet standing this close, breathing the same air, he realized he hadn’t forgotten anything at all.

Not her voice. Not her scent. Not the way she looked at him.

The distance between them suddenly felt unbearable. Before he could think better of it, he reached for her.

The moment his hands touched her, the restraint he’d been clinging to shattered.

He pulled her against him and kissed her.

The kiss was fueled by months of anger, and longing.

For a heartbeat, Isobel froze in shock. Then instinct told her to push him away. But another part of her betrayed her.

A part that still remembered him. A part that still ached for him.

The conflict left her breathless.

Kristoff held her as though letting go would destroy him. As though he had spent far too long starving for something only she could give.

Then reality crashed over Isobel. Tonight was his engagement party. Charlotte was waiting for him.

Charlotte, whose finger now bore the ring he had placed there himself.

Horror flooded through her.

What was she doing?

With every ounce of strength she possessed, she shoved him away.

”Kristoff, stop.”

Her voice came out rough and trembling.

”Get a hold of yourself.”

She pressed a hand against her racing heart and stared at him.

”It’s your engagement party tonight.” Her eyes glistened with hurt. ”You just put a ring on Charlotte’s finger.”

Kristoff went still.

Then a low, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. The sound sent a chill down Isobel’s spine.

His gaze swept over her once more, lingering far longer than it should have. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes.

”Don’t tell me you didn’t like that. You want it too, Isobel. You missed me.”

A crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

”Your body was a lot more honest than you were, Isobel.”

His fingers reached up and caught a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her bun. He slowly tucked it behind her ear, his touch deceptively gentle.

”Tell me something.”

His voice dropped lower.

”What kind of arrangement do you have with Morgan Foster that he dresses you like this?”

His gaze swept slowly over her.

”You don’t look like a nanny, Isobel. You look like someone he wants everyone to notice.”

The jealousy beneath his words was impossible to miss.

He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

”Tell me the truth.”

His jaw tightened.

”Did he offer you millions to warm his bed too?”

The accusation hung between them like poison.

”Especially now that his wife is lying in a coma.”

For a moment, Isobel simply stared at him. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Then came something far worse. Pain.

Raw, devastating pain.

Before Kristoff could react, her hand flew across his face. The sharp crack echoed through the room.

His head snapped to the side.

Silence followed.

Then her voice trembled with fury.

”Morgan is not like that.”

”Morgan would never do something so disgusting.”

Kristoff slowly turned back toward her.

”You hit me?”

The sting on his cheek was nothing compared to the rage suddenly burning inside him.

She defended Morgan so fiercely. Spoke his name so naturally. So intimately.

Something dark twisted in his chest.

He took a step backward and let out a cold laugh.

”I can’t believe you’ve sunk this low, Isobel.”

His words came out crueler than he intended.

”You told me you would find a decent job after giving birth.”

Disappointment and bitterness sharpened every syllable.

”So this is the job you wanted?”

Isobel felt as though she had been struck.

”No—”