“Never been in a sauna before?”
“Of course I have.”
He eyed her knowingly. “Recent, then?”
“Recent?” She frowned.
“Your diagnosis.” His gaze flitted down to her stomach, and she looked down too. Even though she knew what she would find there. Littered over the soft bulge of her belly were countless bruises. Faded mixed with fresh to create a dark rainbow against her brown skin. Fuck.
“I… I’m naked,” she said foolishly.
“Not completely.” He smirked up at her useless bikini, still pushed aside around the full mounds of her breasts.
“Oh, bugger,” she muttered, pulling the cups back into place. “Jesus! You’re naked too!”
“Yeah. Because we just—”
“I know what we did. What if someone comes in?!”
He shrugged. She waited for him to continue. Of course, he did not.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she snapped, standing up. And then she wobbled slightly as her world slipped to one side—which rather undermined the impression of authority she’d been trying to create. He steadied her effortlessly, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and holding her in place until her balance was restored.
“Careful,” he said.
How helpful.
Infinitely irritated, Lizzie pulled away—as soon as her wavering senses would allow—and stalked towards the door, intent on recovering their clothing from the sauna. Or rather, his towel and her bikini bottoms. He followed quietly, walking as though he wasn’t buck naked in a public place. Lizzie, meanwhile, practically ran across the smooth, stone floor.
How ironic that she’d come here intent on relaxing. Alone. Now her heart was pounding, her head was spinning, and God damn it, her pussy was still tingling like a traitor. Now was really not the time for this sort of thing.
But Christ, Isaac was rather magnificent, wasn’t he?
When he wasn’t filling her with impotent fury.
No; that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault that she’d come over all damsel in distress. It wasn’t even his fault that he apparently knew, based on nothing more than a near-faint and a few bruises, that she was diabetic.
Maybe he was psychic. Maybe he’d broken into her room and found her insulin. Maybe she needed more water.
Sighing, Lizzie opened the door to the sauna—only for Isaac to drag her back into his arms like he was pulling her from the path of a speeding car.
“Stay,” he grunted, letting go of her. Then he went in, quickly returning with their things.
Her nerves completely raw, Lizzie arranged the scrap of fabric around herself before fumbling with the ties. Everything slipped tragically south at least five times before Isaac gently pulled her hands away, replacing them with his own. In a humiliatingly short space of time, he had her covered up again.
“Thank you,” she whispered, avoiding his eyes. Worrying that her own would spill over with the hot, embarrassing tears that had been threatening for the past few minutes.
“Hey,” he murmured, nudging at her chin again. Reluctantly, she looked up at him—and was shocked to find not an ounce of pity on his face. In fact, he looked the way he always did. Calm, controlled, slightly intimidating and entirely Isaac.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Okay?”
She should’ve scoffed, or pulled away, or asked him what, exactly, he meant by that. She should have told him that these days, she couldn’t do anything but worry.
But when she opened her mouth to reply, all that came out was, “Okay.” And the word must have been an incantation of some kind because it cast a spell over her pounding heart and aching head and battered pride. As soon as she said it, it became true.
She was okay.
“You need to eat?” He asked.
“Maybe. I’ll check.”
“Want me to come?”
“No.” Because sure, this conversation wasn’t nearly as painful as usual. It didn’t make her want to sink into the earth, or hit something, the way it did every time she visited her doctor. But talking about an illness was very different to living it. And bringing Isaac into her world of blood sugar tests and insulin shots and controlled chaos was not something she could do.
She could barely stomach the thought of involving her own brother, for God’s sake.
“Okay,” he said.
And that was it. She rolled back on her heels for a second, shifting her weight like a child killing time. He simply stood, that towel back in place on his hips—and it was even more arousing than it had been before, because he wasn’t some anonymous figure now. Lizzie knew exactly what lay beneath that towel.
And she wanted more of it.
But that was an entirely different problem, one for a different day.
“I’ll just… go, then,” she muttered. Graceless as a bloody hippo. Blushing slightly, she turned and hurried towards the archway that would take her away from this entire experience.
“Lizzie,” he called after her. She paused, looked over her shoulder in question. And now, if she didn’t know better, she’d think that he was nervous. But when he spoke again, his voice was as steady as ever. “Tomorrow, yeah?”
Somehow, she smiled. “Yes. See you tomorrow.”
He gave her a sharp nod. And by the time Lizzie reached the changing rooms, she wasn’t embarrassed or worried or annoyed anymore.
She was smiling still.
Sixteen
The next morning, Isaac wandered the corridors of the hotel’s vast gym, its contemporary decor and high-tech equipment making the little wing of the elegant building seem like an entirely different world.
This was their fourth day at the hotel, but he hadn’t entered the gym until now. Isaac wasn’t a big fan of gyms. He thought all the fancy machines and mirrored walls were more of a hindrance than a help; unnecessary trappings that would do nothing but distract him. His routine had been honed from boredom and a determination to improve himself somehow, in some small way, after the disaster he’d made of his life. He focused on weight-bearing exercise because he didn’t take tools of any kind for granted.
You never knew when you’d find yourself in a 7 foot square cell without a thing to your name. Not even your dignity.
So gyms weren’t his bag. Which suited him fine; the thought of voluntarily spending time in an enclosed, public space made his skin crawl, anyway. But today, instead of following John out onto the slopes for another lesson—like the last one hadn’t been painfully unsuccessful—he was making his way down to the little room Audrey had described to him the other day. The studio, she called it.
Because, though he could barely believe it himself, Isaac wanted to talk. Specifically, to Lizzie. Even more specifically, about them. And he knew, thanks to the girls’ tendency to dump information onto any passing soul, that Audrey’s daily practice would finish at 11.
So, he thought as he meandered closer to the final door in the hall. Right. About. Now…
It was open, just a crack, and music danced through the gap between door and frame, soothing his anxiety. This would be fine, he told himself. Isaac had studied the map that came in his little welcome package; this was a side entrance. He’d wait here until the music stopped, until they wrapped up whatever complicated shit they were doing in there, and then when Audrey left through the main door, he’d go in and talk to Lizzie. And maybe she’d do that thing she did—maybe she’d retreat into coldness after the events of last night. He was starting to realise that distance was her knee-jerk reaction to vulnerability. But that was okay. Because he knew what to do when she got all prissy.
He knew how to make her laugh.
Isaac leant against the doorframe, and a slice of the room came into view. He saw a mirror along one wall, and in its reflection, a desert storm, spinning with sharp precision across the floor. Lizzie. She flashed in and out of view, and despite his attempts at subtlety, Isaac strained forward, desperate to see more.
She was magnificent.
No audience but him.
Except, if it wasn’t real—why did it hurt so much?
The music faded slowly, not into silence, but into calm. The tempest had passed and now the raging waters stilled, and Lizzie’s body caressed the floor itself like a lover. Isaac watched, transfixed, squinting through the gap, not knowing or caring where the hell Audrey was, just needing to see more, more of this brilliant, magnetic strangeness…
A slow clap began, crashing through the music like a hammer. One, two, three hollow blows, destroying the magic that had unfolded before Isaac’s unbelieving eyes. He watched as the reflection that was Lizzie stiffened, fell out of perfection and into reality. She looked up, and he expected to see his own confusion in her brown eyes. But there was no confusion. Only fear.
What the fuck was Lizzie afraid of?
The clapping stopped, replaced by slow, purposeful steps. They clicked across the wood floor, and Lizzie scrambled to her feet as though the devil himself was coming towards her.
Then a figure stepped within the mirror’s reach, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Isaac recognised the source of Lizzie’s fear. It was Mark.
“Very well done,” Mark said wryly. “Beautiful, in fact.”
Isaac should step forward. Show himself. In the last few seconds, this had gone from innocent observation to something like spying. And he wasn’t going to eavesdrop. He had some manners.
But something kept him frozen, kept his muscles locked into place.
“Thank you,” Lizzie said. Her voice was empty; her spine stiff. Isaac had thought he understood her, but at this moment, he had no idea what was going on in her head.
Mark seemed to, though. He stepped even closer, a thin little smile on his sharp face, and then he held out a hand, as if to touch her. His fingers hovered over the bare curve of Lizzie’s shoulder the way one might trace the air above a work of art. “So, my dear,” he began.
That was enough. Isaac didn’t want to hear whatever was coming next.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed the door open and entered the room with more noise than he’d thought himself capable of. Two sets of eyes swung to stare at him, and he felt his face heat. Great. So he’d announced his presence. Now what?
He was saved from deciding when Mark stepped abruptly away from Lizzie, the sly expression on his face disappearing like mist. “Montgomery, m’boy,” he grinned, all good-nature and welcome.
But Isaac saw something slimy and cold beneath the other man’s smooth veneer.
“Morning,” he nodded. And then, turning to the centre of the room, the centre of his consciousness right now: “Lizzie.”
She nodded in turn. “Isaac.”
Ah, the way she’d said his name last night. Would he ever hear that again? Right now she was more wooden than the floorboards beneath their feet.
“What brings you here?” Mark asked, his tone deceptively light. His eyes were heavy, heavy, heavy.
“Looking for Audrey,” Isaac said. “Told her I’d help with her homework.” Which wasn’t a lie. Only he hadn’t planned on helping today.
“Her personal study, you mean?”
Isaac shrugged. He didn’t understand the intricacies of the girls’ many extra lessons. He just helped them with their geography and listened to them moan.
“Well, she’s not here," Mark said. "Didn’t you hear? She went out skiing with some boy yesterday and sprained her ankle.”
This was the part where Lizzie sniffed something about having warned Audrey countless times. Only Lizzie was silent. Completely silent.
Suddenly, Isaac felt the need to get her away from Mark. Or rather, get Mark away from her.
“Right,” he said. “That’s a shame. Where is she?”
“I believe she’s holding court in the drawing room,” Mark chuckled.
“Tell her I’ll come up and see her, yeah?” He stepped further into the room, moving with purpose, heading straight for Lizzie. His eyes remained pinned to Mark, and he displayed his message clearly. Off you go, mate. Do one.
Mark stilled for a moment, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. But then he seemed to brighten—not like the sun, but like an old penny made temporarily fresh by rain.
“Of course, of course,” he smiled. “I’ll tell her now. I was heading up to see her myself. Have a nice day, you two.” His smile twisted slightly, a smirk breaking through as he swept through the room’s main doorway with an airy wave of his hand. Huh. For a man who’d seemed reluctant to leave seconds ago, he’d certainly had a rapid change of heart.
Shrugging off the strangeness—everything about Mark set off his internal alarm these days—Isaac drew Lizzie into his arms. He almost passed out when she came to him immediately, docile as a lamb. There wasn’t a moment’s resistance or sarcastic comment to be found; she just folded herself against his chest, burying her face in his T-shirt.
Perplexed, he peered down at the top of her head. She looked fine. Normal. But then, all he could see of her right now was that enormous bloody bun. He pushed her back slightly, just enough to see her eyes. They were… troubled. Dim. There was no laughter, no passion, not even a spark of annoyance. Just an empty desolation that inspired something close to fear in him.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
She shook her head as if emerging from a dream. “Nothing,” she murmured.
“Lie.”
She gasped, looking up at him in outrage—but then, after a beat, her anger faded into a smile. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I just… You know I used to work in Paris?”
“Really?” Clarissa said something like that. About seeing Lizzie perform in France.
“Yes. Not that long ago. I was… Well. You don’t need to hear that story. But being here is reminding me of things. People.”
“People?”
She huffed out a laugh. “I made a lot of friends there. But I ruined everything when I left. Burned all my bridges. Blazing glory. You know. It was all very me.”
Huh. Isaac didn’t know the circumstances, but that did sound very Lizzie. Only…
“Why’d you leave? Must’ve been bad.”
She looked up at him, startled. “What do you mean?”
“You don't give up. You don't just... leave. So it must’ve been bad.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I suppose it was.”
He wrapped his hands around the soft flesh of her bare upper arms, rubbed them soothingly, warming away their goosebumps. “Tell me?”
“I…” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You know what? I think I will.”
“Good,” he murmured. But… not yet. She couldn’t tell him yet. Not while her eyes were haunted and her hands were shaking. Suddenly, Isaac was desperate to bring back her spark, to make her smile again. That seemed even more important than learning her secrets.
And so he took a step back, looked down her body until he came to those pale pink shoes. “How’d you do that thing?” He asked, nodding at her feet. “Up on your toes like that?”
She licked her lips. “I… There’s a box. Like a block of wood, right here.” She picked up one foot and tapped the toe against the floor.
Isaac’s brows shot up. “And you just
… stand on it?”
“Yes.” As if to emphasise the word, she rose up onto her toes again. She was almost as tall as him, now. Much easier to kiss…
“Doesn’t it hurt?” He asked.
“I suppose. It doesn’t really matter.” Then she laughed, covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “Stop looking at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m talking nonsense.”
Isaac felt himself grin. “You kind of are.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Show me,” he said impulsively. Because he wanted more of the beauty he’d seen before Mark had ruined everything, and he had a feeling that it would make her happy.
He was right. She looked pleased, even though she tried to hide it. “Alright,” she murmured, and held out a hand. Isaac took it, his fist swallowing up her slender fingers.
She raised her left leg, perpendicular to her body. The limb twisted strangely so that her heel was pushed up towards the ceiling. It should’ve looked uncomfortable, unnatural—but it was oddly beautiful. And he knew it must be hard, but her face was a picture of serenity, and the lines of her body were so smooth and graceful, he could almost forget the sheer strength she possessed.
Her eyes met his, crackling like twin flames. She raised her leg even higher, until her pointed toe was hovering above her head.
“Jesus,” he muttered. Then he remembered that all of her weight was still balanced on one foot. “Jesus,” he said again.
“I should dye my shoes,” she said conversationally, as though she wasn’t defying gravity before his eyes. “Walk around me in a circle.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Walk.”
“Uh…” He did as instructed, still holding her hand… and she turned with him, rotating like a figure in a music box.
“But I don’t bother anymore. No-one’s going to see them anyway.”
Lost, Isaac shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“My shoes,” she said patiently. “They should be brown.”
Undone by the Ex-Con_A BWWM Romance Page 13
