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Her lips twitched.

“So if you want to play, give me the safe word.”

She answered almost immediately.

“Orange blossom.”

That stopped me.

Of everything she could have chosen.

Before I’d ever seen her face, before I knew her name, I’d known that faint trace of orange blossom slipping into the dungeon with her.

I smiled.

“Orange blossom?”

“You said something I wouldn’t say by accident.”

“Fair enough.”

“And I’m green.”

I raised a brow.

“Obviously.” She shifted her wrists beneath my hand. “I sent you those pictures, Lachlan. Don’t start treating me like I’m fragile now.”

“I’ve never thought you were fragile.”

“Good.”

I released her wrists.

She moved before I realized what she intended.

Isabella twisted hard beneath my arm, caught the folded belt in her hand, and yanked.

The leather slid out of my grip.

“What the—”

She ducked beneath my arm and slipped away from me.

Then she laughed and ran.

For half a second, I stood there staring after her, genuinely surprised.

Then something primitive snapped awake inside me.

“Oh, you’ve made a terrible decision, Mouse.”

Her laughter floated back from the hall.

“Still green, Irishman!”

I went after her.

The sharp click of her heels echoed ahead of me until she hit the living room and apparently remembered she was trying to outrun a six-foot-four man while wearing shoes designed for dinner rather than escape.