Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two

by Verne, Jillian

  Good morning, protective instincts.

  When she finished her drink, she held out her hand to him. “I’m Isabella Rey,” she said with a duck of her head, “and I don’t make it a habit to get drunk and come on to strangers. I’ve only ever had a few lovers and none that I picked up in a drunken stupor.”

  That was very honest. And even more appealing.

  "It’s nice to meet you, Isabella,” Jacques said, not releasing her hand.

  It was soft, satiny soft, fine boned and lovely. He turned her wrist and traced a finger over the palm. She didn’t pull away.

  Fascinating. This woman was like a shifting tide, going one way one minute and another, the next.

  “Or should I call you 'my morning Isabella?' The woman I met last night was very different from the one I am meeting now. You were pretending to be something you’re not. Why?”

  He was many things. Indirect was not one of them.

  “Do you always ask such personal questions of people you’ve just met?” She sounded offended, but that hand stayed put.

  “Sometimes. Answer me.” He gave her the look. The one that said start talking. Pronto.

  No fists, no cursing, his morning Isabella responded with a beautiful rush of words. “You’re right. I was pretending. I feel so stupid now. I got all gussied up only to get stone-drunk. I don’t know what I was thinking really. Just trying to escape for a little while, I guess.”

  “You are not stupid,” he corrected. “Escape from what?”

  A little tug.

  Oh, no, Isabella, you’re not allowed to withdraw. Not now that you’ve made me curious. He squeezed her hand tighter.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but sometimes it gets me down. I work at the Institut Gustave Roussy in Paris. I’m an oncology nurse. I see a lot of suffering. I do what I can to help, but it can be rough sometimes. I guess I was running away for a while.”

  That may be the truth, but it was a half-truth and Jacques knew it.

  “I’ll bet. You must have a compassionate nature to have chosen that profession. It takes a very special person to help others face the challenge of cancer. I admire you for it.”

  “I try.”

  He was pleased that she didn’t put herself down. Until she did it again.

  “What I do is nothing compared to what someone like you does, Jacques.”

  “No, Isabella. I just have a lot of money. It’s people like you who do the real good for other people. You actually touch them, care for them. As I said, that makes you a very special person. All I do is sign a check.”

  “I don’t agree. What you do really helps these people. I know. I’ve seen it firsthand.” She laid her free hand atop their clasped hands. “Trust me on that.”

  Uh-huh, a very compassionate nature. “So, how did an oncology nurse who's only had a few lovers end up at Nicolai’s opening? Not that I assume you don’t have an appreciation for art, mind you, but my cousin’s is pretty extreme.”

  “My roommate, Craig, is an artist. He volunteers at the Art Saves Center. Jerard Gagne invited him to the opening and he brought me. Craig was the source for the dress and the shoes too.” She let out an adorable giggle, obviously enjoying the memory of last night’s Isabella. “Craig’s a really good guy, always trying to pamper me. It was fun to wear that stuff, really fun. I usually wear pastel polyester and clogs.”

  “Craig has excellent taste and he made you happy. That makes me happy.”

  She shrugged uneasily and her pink tongue peeked out to swipe across that cushy bottom lip. “The Isabella you met last night wasn’t all pretend, Jacques. I like Nicolai’s art too.”

  He practically choked on his coffee. Did she just suggest what I think she did? “Jerard is a close friend of mine. He’s a great...” He stopped the worthless chatter about Jerard. He had to know. “Are you a submissive?”

  Her eyes flicked up and he was snared by the look. “Are you a Dom?”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he snapped.

  “From the way you say that, I’ll take it that the answer is yes.”

  There was the fire again. No direct answer, but the body language. Gorgeous. She bowed her head, unconsciously, submissively, as she questioned him. Pretty Isabella might not know her own nature, but he sensed it. Tasted it. Smelled it. That’s why he’d been so fascinated by her last night. It wasn’t just her arousal at the film and forget running away for a while. She was running toward something. Something she didn’t acknowledge consciously, but something he knew all about.

  “That doesn’t shock you, does it, my morning Isabella?”

  She didn’t meet his eyes, rather looked over his shoulder to the water, and shook her head. Her curiosity was so strong he could feel it, but not as strong as her hesitation. He decided to move the conversation away from sex for the moment, wanting her to relax with him before he reintroduced the topic.

  “You have a lovely accent, Isabella. You were not born in France.”

  “I was born in Barcelona. I moved to Paris at seventeen and never left. I speak French and English, but Spanish is my first language. Were you born in France?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not comfortable talking about yourself.” There was no judgment in her voice. It was just a statement.

  “I don’t like interviews and I prefer talking about you. Why did you come to France?”

  She rolled her eyes and reached for her water glass. “Defensive much? I’m not interviewing you, Jacques. We’re just talking. Getting to know each other.” But when her gaze returned to his face, she answered his question. Quickly.

  Much better.

  “Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of living in Paris. School gave me the chance. I'm the first in my family to attend University. Everyone is so proud, but all these years later and they’re still mad that I haven’t moved back to Spain. Why did you come to France?”

  To find my destiny.

  Jacques shook his head. That wasn’t the reason. He came to be close to Nicolai and to expand the family business. Fulfilling a foolish prophecy had nothing to do with it and hadn’t he just said he preferred talking about her. He opened his mouth to scold her for ignoring him and abruptly closed it. Those brown eyes were sincere. Genuinely interested and so sincere that he found himself talking.

  “I’m an only child. Nicolai is my cousin, but I think of him as my brother. We grew up together. After Eton, I moved back to Greece to work in the family business and he moved to Paris. Back then, the business was limited to shipping. I’ve expanded things a lot since then. I moved the headquarters to Paris. Partially because I needed a more global city to expand, but mostly because I wanted to be close to my cousin. My turn. Do you have siblings?”

  She smiled brightly and started chirping away. “Four brothers. One of them shows up on my doorstep every few weeks. They always have some lame excuse, but I know they’re checking up on me. I adore mis cariños, but,” she held two fingers close together, “let’s just say, my sweeties are the tiniest bit overprotective.” There was no missing the sarcasm in her voice.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” he interjected.

  “Once Joaquim showed up at six in the morning on a Sunday and Craig answered the door.” She rolled her eyes again, laughing at the memory. “It’s a good thing Craig is gay or Joaquim would have killed him. He’s the oldest and really scary. Poor Craig.”

  Craig, the gay roommate. The one who likes to pamper Isabella. The one who makes her happy. The one who I suddenly like even more.

  “I’m closest to Teo. He’s a musician. God, Jacques, you should hear him play. His music makes me cry. He’s in Paris a lot these days. His career is really taking off. I’m so proud of him and God knows he deserves some happiness.”

  Jacques didn’t miss the mama bear in her voice when she spoke about her favorite brother. He was curious, but far more intrigued by the little sister. “What made you choose oncology?”

  “Oh, no, you don�
��t. It’s my turn. You skipped from Eton to moving a multinational business to Paris. What happened in between?”

  Something about that beautiful smile, those warm eyes, made him answer despite himself. He really liked this woman.

  “The family business was mine to inherit, but my father made it perfectly clear that he expected me to earn it. That tough old Greek clawed his way up from nothing. After Eton, my peers went on with their privileged lives. I was sent to work on the docks. Tough job, but it made me appreciate real work.

  “I never went to University. I studied remotely with professors from around the globe. I’ve probably got enough coursework for one or two, but no degree. By twenty-two, I was in the executive suite. At twenty-seven, I took over when my father had a stroke. He’s doing better now, but the experience changed him. He and my mother live in Greece. I don’t see them as often as I would like, but we talk almost every day. My father is my inspiration. I respect the hell out of that man.”

  “My grandfather is mine. He died of cancer when I was eighteen.”

  “So he’s the reason you chose to work in oncology?”

  “Initially, but it’s more than that. Mi abuelo always said he was a rich man. He didn’t have money, but he said he had everything that mattered and that made him rich. I learned what he meant as an intern. There are so many poor souls, Jacques. People with no one to love them or hold their hand in a time of need. Charity is about sharing wealth and that doesn’t only mean money. I found my vocation in the people with no one to hold them up.”

  “That’s a beautiful philosophy, Isabella,” he said, humbled and highly impressed.

  They talked for a long time, the conversation intimate and easy. Isabella was an intelligent, compassionate woman and it felt as if he had known her for a very long time. As if he wanted to know her for a very long time.

  And she was so damn pretty. Some women are tough, some glamorous, some cute. Isabella was pretty and everything a woman should be. Curvy, lush, sensuous. She was full of fire, but still gloriously submissive. He tested his suspicion a few times and her responses did not disappoint. She’d grown up surrounded by very loving, and very, very protective men. That background obviously molded her character. She was a person who cared for others, yet felt comfortable being cared for herself. Those deep roots bred strength yet still fostered a sublime femininity. And that was dangerously appealing to a man like him.

  So much for not adding another complication to my life. He slipped a more seductive tone into his voice and asked, “Do you have a boyfriend, Isabella?”

  “My friends call me Isla.”

  “I’m complimented that you would count me as a friend, Isla, but that does not mean I didn’t notice that you haven’t answered my question for the second time.”

  She shifted in her seat, obviously recognizing the shift in him. “I don’t know and no. Satisfied now?” She crossed her arms over her chest as if she was annoyed, but those eyes shot down to the table.

  He leaned over and took her hand back into both of his. “No, Isla. We are just getting started. Why do you say, ‘I don’t know’ to the question of whether you’re a submissive? It’s really a yes or no kind of question.” And the fact that you remembered it after all this talk gives me the answer anyway.

  “I say, ‘I don’t know,’ because I don’t know.”

  That answer was one-hundred percent honest. Isabella's nature colored so many of her responses, but that special part of her was unexplored. He watched the pulse jump at her throat and knew she wanted to withdraw, but she didn’t pull away. Brave.

  “Well then, answer this. Do you think you might be and don’t want to be, or have you never tried that type of relationship and think you might want to?”

  He brushed a hand over her cheek and her voice became breathy. “How are we talking about this? I just met you. You could be some kind of psycho for all I know.”

  He was scaring her, for sure, but not because she thought he was a psycho. Seeing her nervousness tinged with arousal was such a turn on. He pushed harder.

  “I think you know I’m not or you wouldn’t be sitting here so calmly with me. And that's the third time you didn’t answer my question.”

  Those eyes shot to his face. “What are you doing, saving up my infractions so you can justify spanking me or something?”

  So you’re reading me too, my morning Isabella. He cocked his eyebrow at her.

  “The latter,” she blurted. “I’ve never tried that kind of relationship and I think I might like it.”

  He rewarded her honesty with a smile.

  Curious chocolate eyes looked deep into his, searching. “Do you like it?”

  Now he had to shift in his seat. Unexplored, but she wanted a taste of her secret desires.

  “Yes, Isabella, I like it,” he said with a small laugh and her mouth opened on a silent gasp.

  “Are you good at it?”

  There was an air of innocence in her, but those eyes were begging for corruption and he was definitely on board with that plan.

  “You’re very direct, aren’t you,” he said.

  “You don’t like that about women?”

  No looking away for that question. It was a challenge.

  He held her eyes as he answered, “No, actually. I do, very much. I respect people who know how to express themselves. You want to know about something, so you ask. I definitely respect that.” He leaned in close to her face. “And to answer your question, yes. I am very good at it.”

  Her breath hitched and she looked away, withdrawing again.

  “Oh, come on, Isla. You said it yourself, we’re just talking. You want to ask, so ask.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip as her eyebrows knit together and said, “Expressing yourself directly seems to be the opposite of being submissive, don’t you think?”

  “Is that why you struggle with your sexuality? Because you think it means you’re weak? That you’re not supposed to express who you are and what you think?”

  “I do not struggle with my sexuality.” She raised her chin.

  Pride. She had it in spades. Just another thing to like about her.

  “Yes, you do,” he said plainly.

  Her eyes flashed with fire. “I’m a strong woman, Jacques. I can take care of myself.”

  That statement was perfectly predictable. Why did society make it so hard on submissive women to be what they were? He hated that. He could guess why Isabella repressed herself in her real life. The religious upbringing, the overprotective brothers who wanted her happiness, but who, as men, probably struggled with their little sister’s sexuality. Even if he wasn’t the one, she deserved a lover who truly satisfied her and she would never find one unless she accepted herself as she was, not as she thought she was supposed to be. He felt responsible to teach her that. Pretty Isabella was about to get her first lesson on the world according to Jacques Meszaros.

  “You take care of yourself and everyone around you,” he declared. “Your sexuality doesn’t negate that. You are not weak. You’ve told me all about your family. You were raised to be strong and caring, but you are also used to being loved and protected. Of course that type of life experience would translate into your sexuality.”

  He turned her palm up in his hand and ran his fingers along her love line to the delicate bones of her wrist before meeting her gaze again to add, “In the most beautiful way.”

  She smiled at him, obviously still uncomfortable, but basking in the praise of something she never thought she would be praised for. He’d seen that many times before too. Tragic.

  “The fact that you are a strong, grounded woman makes you ideal for this lifestyle. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to understand yourself, decide what you want and go after it. Whether it be in the bedroom or the board room.”

  Her body language told him that she wanted to believe what he was saying, but she was struggling so he kept on. “Power exchange requires a delicate balance, Isla. Think about it from th
e Dominant’s perspective. If a submissive doesn’t have a strong character, what is the value of submission? For a Dom/sub relationship to last, the submissive partner has to be a very strong person. It's that way in every successful relationship that I know anyway.”

  “So if the woman is supposed to be the strong one, what’s the guy supposed to be?”

  “If you’re really interested in understanding the lifestyle and how you might fit into it, the first thing you have to do is throw away the stereotypes.”

  She opened her mouth to dispel the accusation and he continued, “The submissive partner isn’t always a woman. You conceptualize it that way because that’s what turns you on.”

  She looked away again.

  “Look at me.”

  Her eyes snapped up.

  “It does turn you on. I can see that pretty clearly so don’t bother trying to hide it. Submissive sexuality is beautiful to me. I’m honored that you would open this part of yourself to me.”

  She sighed and he continued. “To my mind, both partners have to be strong and very self-aware, but it takes a lot more courage to submit to the will of another person than to be the one who needs the submission.” He let a snap enter his voice. “The whole thing starts with communication. You said you want to get to know each other. Well, let’s get to know each other.”

  She stayed quiet for a moment. He watched as she absorbed the reprimand and processed it into the invitation that it was meant to be.

  “Why do you need submission?” she asked with a lovely dip of her chin.

  He couldn’t hide the satisfied smile as he answered, “For me, it’s very simple. I need control, thrive on it actually, and I like extremes. Plain vanilla doesn’t do it for me. In anything. My life is very demanding and I need something that completely absorbs me. Kinky sex is the only kind that does.”

  “So you’re not fifty shades of fucked up?”

  “No, Isla,” he chuckled, “I’m not fifty shades of fucked up. I grew up in a happy home. Not one you might call typical, but happy. My parents loved each other and me. I never had a bad experience with sex. My first lover was older than me and very adventurous. She let me experiment and it didn’t take long to figure out what got me going. Something wild and uninhibited lives inside of me. Your turn. Why do you want to submit?”