They were within a few feet of the picnic table when a girl with blonde pigtails came running up to them. “Sofia! There’s a pink princess cake and we all get to wear tiaras!”
Sofia didn’t look impressed, and Luca surprised a smile. Pink princesses weren’t her thing. She liked books and Star Wars. It was something he loved about her. Something that reminded him of Isabel. A stubborn determination to be herself, whatever the cost.
“Go on,” Isabel said to Sofia. “I’ll be right there.”
Sofia took off at a dead run, her dark hair fanning out behind her in the humid breeze.
“I just need to say hello to Meredith’s parents,” Isabel said without looking at him. “You don’t have to come.”
It was her way of saying she didn’t want him to come, and he tried not to be stung by the knowledge. He was her bodyguard, and if he knew one thing about Isabel it was that she wanted to pretend to be like everyone else, especially where Sofia was concerned. Bringing your bodyguard to a little kid’s birthday party probably wasn’t the best way to do that.
And she’d been distant since their encounter by the pool a few days before, hesitant even to meet his eyes. He was still trying to figure out what had happened, still trying to erase the memory of her naked body standing before him like a goddess, her sex primed and ready for him.
Made for him.
Except he didn’t want to scrub the memory. He lived for it. Lived in it half the time. He had no idea how this secretive creature had gotten under his skin, but somehow in the last two weeks, trying to figure her out had become his greatest pastime. He wondered if he’d ever do it, or if he would peel away one layer only to find another and another.
“I’ll wait over there,”Luca said, indicating a park bench near the bike path.
“Thank you.”
She turned away and headed for the group of parents and children congregated around the picnic table and balloons. She looked so small walking away from him, so alone. She was only twenty-three — he’d double checked when he’d found out his charge was the older of the Fuentes sisters — and yet she seemed to have total parental responsibility for Sofia. Not that Sofia was difficult, but still. Isabel had to have dreams of her own. He knew she painted in the art studio, working on the giant canvases he’d seen the day Robert had given him a tour of the house. He’d been surprised when he realized they were hers, although he couldn’t have said why. Maybe he’d expected her to be less complex, and there was no way you could reduce the creator of such beauty to something simple. The canvases were vibrant, emotional abstracts with big sweeping bursts of color laced with darker threads that were harder to notice. He could see her in them: the beauty and magic touched with something secret and brooding. It was like watching a hurricane approach Miami, watching the colors of the landscape dim and darken as the storm approached.
He was no art expert, but he was definitely starting to see a parallel between Isabel’s work and her own dark corners.
He watched as she shook hands with a man and a woman in their thirties. They all smiled, and Isabel gestured to the bench where Luca sat. A moment later, the woman handed Isabel two plates of cake, and she started back toward Luca.
“Cake,” she said, handing him the plate.
“Thanks.” They ate the cake in silence for a couple of minutes before he spoke again. “Do you want to tell me what happened the other night?” he asked gently.
She gazed across the park toward the party where one of the little girls was being blindfolded to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey. “No.”
“I’d like to know.”
“It’s not something I want to talk about,” she said, still careful not to meet his eyes.
He took a minute to consider his next words, taking advantage of the opportunity to soak up her beauty. She was wearing a long black skirt with a tasteful slit up one leg, her delicate feet wrapped in gold sandals. Her shoulders were as beautiful as a sculpture, her skin glowing under the white tank top she wore with the skirt, a narrow necklace hanging between her beautiful breasts. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone so lovely. She took his breath away, and he felt a vicious swell of protection. She didn’t deserve the life she had. She deserved magic and laughter and freedom, and he suddenly felt like he would do anything to give those things to her.
“Is it me?” he finally asked. “Did I push too hard?”
For the first time in days, she met his eyes. “Not at all,” she said firmly. “Please don’t think that.”
“Then what?”
She shook her head and stood. “I just… I can’t do this."
He caught hand her as she walked away, her dark hair picked up by the breeze, blowing like strands of mahogany silk in the wind.
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
“You can’t help me anyway,” she said. “And really, you’d do well to leave now, while you can.”
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too late; I already care too fucking much.” He hadn’t realized the truth of it until he’d said the words, but now he knew it for fact. He couldn’t just leave Isabel and Sofia to Diego. Couldn’t just walk away, knowing Isabel was imprisoned in her own home, haunted by something so vile the light in her eyes dimmed every time she thought about it.
“Well, don’t.” She lay her palm against his cheek, and for a moment, her gaze was tender, all the feeling he knew was between them evident in her eyes. “It will end badly for both of us, querido.”
He watched her go, his heart in his throat. He didn’t know what was keeping her imprisoned, but he knew he couldn’t leave until she was free.
And he had a feeling that might mean the end of them all.
17
The house was quiet, Isabel’s brush against the canvas the only sound in the studio. It was her third late night working in a row. Ever since her conversation with Luca at the park, she’d had a hard time getting to sleep, her mind racing over the possibilities, over the look in his eyes when she’d told him to leave it alone.
It was too soon for love, wasn’t it? And yet what else was this feeling in her bones? This longing that made her body ache, her heart feel hollowed?
She’d hurt him. That was the worst part. She’d seen it in his eyes. And hurting a man like Luca wasn’t something anyone should do. Not because he was too gentle or sensitive, but because he was so strong. He could hold the whole world on his shoulders without flinching — and that meant he shouldn't have to. She’d never felt so safe in someone’s presence, not even when her father had been alive.
She dipped the brush in the last bit of paint, a jade-like shade of green with a fine, barely-there metallic sheen. She’d been winding it through the bigger segments of blue, hiding it so you had to really look to know it was there. The more she worked, the closer she came to finishing, the more revelatory the process felt, and when she finally put down the brush and stepped back, she understood.
It was about Luca. For him.
The sweeping arcs of blue were his magnanimity, his strength, in every color on the cerulean scale. But there was something else there, too. Not darkness, which is what she usually hid in her paintings. But something strong and light, something generous and warm in the jade and verdigris and sea foam shades she’d wound throughout the canvas.
She saw what he’d given her in the colors and movement of the piece.
Hope. Somehow he’d given her hope.
He didn’t want anyone to see all the goodness hiding in him. In fact, she had a feeling Luca had been guarding the secret of who he really was — guarding his heart — his whole life.
And yet he’d shown it to her. He’d laid himself bare before her, kneeled in front of her body like a man at worship. Asked nothing in return.
A ferocious storm of emotion swept through her, filling her chest, threatening to choke her with its power. It was too much — the painting, Luca, the way she felt abou
t him. She already had so much to lose. It was foolish to tempt the fates with anything else.
But she couldn’t stop her feet from moving, and she slipped from the studio and walked deliberately up the stairs, coaxing herself along when her heart beat too fast, when fear threatened to paralyze her. This was different. She was choosing this, choosing him.
And that made it different. Sacred.
Her breath caught in her throat as she approached his bedroom door. She’d been surprised when he hadn’t followed her to the studio. Had wondered if maybe he hadn’t heard her slip from the room. Bu even as she thought it she knew it wasn’t true. He heard everything, saw everything.
About her especially.
He’d let her go as a gift. Risked Diego’s wrath to give her some semblance of privacy while she worked. Would he welcome her now? Or had he already gotten tired of her indecision? What if he didn’t want her anymore?
It didn’t matter. She had to let him know how she felt. It was all there in the painting. In her heart. She would die if she didn’t release it.
She continued down the hall to his room and knocked softly on the door. He didn’t answer, and she hesitated before finally easing it open and stepping into the dark bedroom. She shut the door behind her and scanned the room, her eyes coming to a stop on the empty bed. She found him a second later, standing with his back to her, looking out over the ocean beyond the property.
She didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t know what to say. How was she supposed to tell him everything she was feeling? How was she supposed to open her heart and her body to someone when both had been shuttered for so long?
In the end she didn’t have to worry. He spoke first.
“You came,” he said, without turning to look at her.
“Yes.” She crossed the room, came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his torso until her palms lay against his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“For not wanting me?” he asked.
She hesitated, looking for the words. “For wanting you so much and not telling you."
He turned around, and pulled her body hard against his. There was no gentleness in his eyes. Only fire. But still she wasn’t afraid. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
She pressed against him, ran her hand down his chest, rested it on his cock, already hard in his jeans. Then she leaned in and kissed the place where his heart lay under his skin.
He groaned, and his big hands came up to her face. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, searching her eyes. “If you don’t leave now, I’m going to take off your clothes, Isabel. And I’m going to carry you to my bed and kiss every inch of your body before I fuck you and make you mine.”
She nodded solemnly, wanting him to know she understood. “Yes.”
And then his mouth was crushing hers, his tongue easing between her lips. He slanted his head so he could take the kiss deeper while he cupped her ass, pressing her even tighter against his erection. It was like lighting a stick of dynamite at the center of her body, and she moaned in his mouth as her hands explored the bare peaks and valleys of his chiseled chest, the hardness of his stomach. She dipped her hand into his jeans, and he growled, then lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, his eyes on hers the whole time, like he was afraid she would disappear if he looked away.
When they got to the bed, he laid her down gently and lifted her nightgown over her head, then drew in a long shudder of a breath as he stood back and looked at her.
She resisted the urge to cover herself under his searching gaze. No one had ever looked at her so closely before, like they wanted to memorize every curve and dip, every shadow, every hollow. But she wanted to give him this. Wanted to give him herself in a way she’d never given herself to anyone. Freely. With only love.
“Sometimes I think your beauty will kill me, Isabel,” he finally said.
She held out her hand for him. “It won’t.”
He stripped off his jeans, revealing his body in all its glory. Every inch of him was hard, lean muscle. His chest was broad, and she had a sudden memory of him on the beach the night they met, the feeling she’d had of being guarded by a giant angel, his arms like enormous wings. Every muscle in his abs was defined. She wanted to run her tongue along each corded ridge on her way to his cock.
And what a cock it was. Big and wide, she could almost feel the weight of it in her hand. Feel the push of it into her body. She was soaked with need for him.
“Luca…”
He positioned himself over her, lowering his head to kiss her. He was gentle at first, but it didn’t last long. Their desire was like a powder keg, poised to explode, and soon they were kissing with ferocious abandon, his tongue diving into her mouth, exploring every corner while she ran her fingers up his sculpted back.
He nipped at her lower lip, then kissed his way down her throat, tonguing the hollow at the center of her collarbone. She tried to reach for his cock, needing more contact with him, all the contact she could get, but he quickly wrapped both of her wrists in one hand and pinned them over her head.
She felt a moment’s panic then. She was pinned to the bed, could hardly move under his strong body. He must have seen it, because he stopped, searching her eyes.
“Are you afraid, love?”
She thought about the question, wanting to be honest. But she wasn’t afraid. Not of Luca. The only thing that scared her now was the past. She shook her head, and he released her hands, touched her face.
“I will never, ever hurt you, sweetheart. You have my word. But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”
She shook her head. “I might die if you stop.”
His laughter was a low rumble that vibrated through her body. “I might die if I have to.”
Then he was kissing her softly, his mouth sweeping hers more tenderly, another promise that he wouldn’t hurt her. But the longer he kissed her the more she didn’t want his tenderness. She wanted his mouth everywhere on her body. Wanted his cock to drive into her, stretch her, fill her. He must have sensed it because his kisses became more urgent, and then he was making his way back down her neck, pausing over her breasts, raking his teeth gently over the erect nipples, pausing to suck and lick, using his teeth all over again in a cycle of torture that threatened to send her over the edge before he’d even been inside her.
She grabbed a fistful of his hair. “Please, Luca. I don’t want anything right now but to feel you inside me.”
“I want to taste you,” he murmured against her belly. “I’ve been dreaming about how sweet you taste every minute since that night by the pool.”
“You can taste me later," she gasped, reaching for his cock. “And I’ll taste you later, too. Right now I just need you to fuck me.”
He groaned and reached for the nightstand, then kneeled between her legs. He was a work of art, as beautiful as any sculpture in any museum in the world. She sat up, took him briefly in her mouth before rolling the condom over his massive shaft.
He growled and pushed her back on the bed. “You don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” she gasped as he positioned the crown of his cock at her entrance.
He answered by sliding it back and forth across her folds, wetting his cock with her desire, circling her clit until she was digging her nails into his hips, begging him to take her.
Finally he bent down, careful not to put his full weight on her body while he kissed her, plundering her mouth with his tongue at the exact moment he sunk into her so hard and deep that she cried out in his mouth.
He buried his face in her neck for a few seconds. “Fuck, you’re so wet, so tight, Isabel. Like you were made for me.”
She stroked his hair, relaxing her muscles, letting her body open to him. “I was made for you, mi amor. Now fuck me until I scream.”
He growled again, dragging out of her in an exquisite kind of torture. When only the tip was still inside her, he thrust deep and hard again, sink
ing into her until she felt him hit the top of her womb, until there was nowhere else for him to go.
And still she wanted more.
She grabbed his ass, lifted her hips off the bed, pulled him into her while she met his thrust. He stifled a groan and kept moving, dragging his massive shaft through her wetness again and again.
She felt the orgasm at the periphery of her consciousness, an ache that originated deep in the well of her pussy. The friction of his body against her clit, his cock pushing and pulling through the depths of her core, spiraled her closer to the explosion that she knew was waiting for her. Now she had to have it, and she ground against him when he pushed inside of her, letting his body rub her clit while he filled her, reaching for the orgasm that was speeding toward her like a lit fuse.
“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, baby?” he asked.
The words sent another surge of wetness to her pussy. There was no inhibition. No second guessing. Only this moment. This sensation. This man.
“I’m going to come so hard, Luca. So hard.”
“Do it,” he said. “Let me feel you come around my cock.”
Her pussy was tight around him now, clenching down on his shaft as he grew bigger, close to his own orgasm. She could feel it building in him. Could feel it in the way he got longer and harder.
“Come with me,” she gasped.
“Oh, I’m going to come with you, Isabel. I’m going to give it all to you.”
He was pumping fast now, thrusting all the way inside her, brushing her clit with every motion until the tiny bundle of nerves was almost numb with anticipation. She lifted her hips higher, pulled him deeper, and her pussy gave one last clench around him before the orgasm rocked through her body, releasing all the tension that had built there in one giant wave that kept crashing and crashing, the roar of it making her feel like she was sitting on the bottom of the ocean while the waves rolled violently over her head.
The Muscle Part One Page 6
