Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two

by Verne, Jillian

  Well done, asshole, he cursed himself as he stepped next to Isabella.

  “This is awkward,” she said as she sat up and fastened her bikini top.

  “What?”

  “Me.”

  Actually, he thought she was pretty, not awkward at all.

  “Being here.”

  “Huh?”

  “With Jacques.”

  He was confused.

  “¡Maldita sea! How often does Jacques pick up random women and bring them home?”

  Duh. The pretty lady on the chaise was getting angry. Very angry. So he piped up, “He never brings them home.”

  Wrong answer. She almost flew into a rage so he added, “Don’t feel awkward, Isabella. We’re all adults.”

  She didn’t seem appeased and promptly fell into a beautiful pout.

  “I’m teasing you, Isabella. You have no reason to be insecure. I mean look at you lying there hotter than the sun.”

  “Lo siento,” she said flatly, obviously still a little peeved.

  “Sorry about what? Being so gorgeous that Jacques couldn’t resist you. How did our world famous business tycoon lure you here anyway? Money, charm, his dashing good looks?” He smiled imploringly at her.

  “I was drunk. Jacques kidnapped me.” She crossed her arms under her lovely breasts with a little huff. “I woke up on his boat.”

  Jerard threw his head back and laughed out loud. “I love it. I’m sooo glad you told me that. I’m never going to let Jacques live this one down.”

  He was still laughing when Isabella said, “Tell me about Jacques, Jerard.”

  “You spent the night with him. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “We didn’t fuck.”

  He felt his eyes pop.

  “Are you stunned because I used the word or because we didn’t?”

  “A little of both. You’re not shy. Are you, Isabella?”

  “No. I don’t have time to be shy and my friends call me Isla.”

  But she clearly was.

  Time to switch tracks. “So, Isla, you live with Craig. He’s a good guy.”

  “Mierda. I forgot to call him. House rule.”

  Jerard tossed his phone onto her chaise and she grabbed it to dial Craig. He listened to the one-sided conversation.

  “It’s not Jerard. It’s Isla. Don’t congratulate me. It’s not what you think.” She smiled at him with a blush. “I’m sorry. I got distracted...by the other guy at the gallery. Oh, never mind. Nothing happened, but I’m in Monaco.”

  Jerard could hear Craig shouting on the other end of the phone as Isabella continued.

  “No. It’s nothing like that. I wanted to come here. I decided to take a little vacation…really, I’m fine…I’m not sure, maybe in a week or so.”

  There was a long silence. When she spoke again, her voice became so sad.

  “Thanks, Craig. I’m glad you told me. I will. Yes, I will call every day. Yes, I promise. Yes…yes. Bye, daddy.”

  Isabella hung up the phone and collapsed into a fit of tears. Jerard shot to her side as she huddled over, sobbing.

  “My God, Isla. What happened?”

  After a lot of snorting and snuffing, she answered, “Monsieur Mason died this morning.”

  “Who is Monsieur Mason? A relative? A close friend?”

  “No. I’m an oncology nurse and he is, uh, was one of my patients.”

  “Do you always cry when a patient dies or was he someone special?”

  “Yes and they’re all special. Monsieur Mason died and there was no one there with him. I’m so selfish, Jerard. People shouldn’t die alone.” She started sobbing louder. “I wasn’t there to hold his hand.”

  Craig told him Isabella was an angel and he didn’t lie. This beautiful, flirty woman with the dirty mouth was spilling heartfelt tears all over him because she had that much empathy for a person she hardly knew. Kind of puts things into perspective.

  “Hey, Isla, hey.” He cupped her face and looked her straight in the eye. “It’s not your responsibility to save everyone around you from their pain or loneliness. You came here to have fun with Jacques and that’s okay. Everyone deserves a little happiness.”

  She only cried harder. “I don’t belong here, Jerard. I’m a big phony. I’m not rich or sophisticated like Jacques and you. I don’t belong in Monaco with a Dom.”

  “Yeah, I know all about that feeling.”

  “Why would you say that, Jerard? Look at you. You’re so cool and handsome. You would fit in anywhere.”

  “I guess. So you know about Jacques. Is that why you guys didn’t, um, you know?”

  She shook her head.

  “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Are you a sub?”

  She scrubbed her hands over her tear-stained face. “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that today. Are you a Dom too?”

  “Yes and no. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Jesucristo, are you guys all the same? Jacques said the same thing.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her while his question lingered.

  “Oh alright. The answer is yes and no.”

  “Touché,” he said with a laugh.

  And miraculously, she started laughing too.

  “I know we don’t know each other very well,” she said, wiping the last of her tears, “but I could really use a hug.”

  “I have an unlimited supply.” He opened his arms and she snuggled right in.

  Beautiful, flirty, compassionate and a cuddler. Kind of a wonderful combination…but not for someone like Jacques. He loved the guy, owed him a ton, but Jerard was suddenly pissed. How could Jacques bring someone like Isla here? It wasn’t fair. Jacques wasn’t right for a woman like this. He didn’t hug or offer emotional comfort. His lover’s cried, but never on his shoulder.

  “Yes and no,” he muttered. “What did you mean by that, Isla?”

  “I meant that I’ve never let myself discover who I really am.”

  “You’ve never been topped?”

  “Topped?” She let out an embarrassed laugh. “No, I’ve never been topped.”

  Okay, shit. That wasn’t the right answer. Jacques would be mad, but what else was new. “Um, Isla. I know this is going to sound weird, I mean, I’m not judging you or anything, but you should go home.”

  “What? I just got here.”

  “Go home, Isla.”

  “No. I don’t want to.” She pushed back to look into his eyes. “I know what I’m doing, Jerard.”

  The determined furrow of her brow was adorable, but she didn’t know. Didn’t have a clue and those old protective instincts went soaring. “I don’t’ think you do, Isla.”

  Her body went rigid and those beautiful brown eyes flashed with fire.

  You really are an asshole, Gagne, he thought as that fire instantly took him from wanting to play the protective big brother and to wanting to play. He shifted away from her while she spoke.

  “For the first time in my life, I’m with a man who wants to know the real me. Jacques thinks I’m perfect, Jerard. Not fucked up. Do you know how good that feels? I’ve always been afraid of who I am. I’m not afraid when I’m with Jacques.”

  He put a hand to her cheek. God, she has beautiful skin too. “I get it, Isla, trust me, I do. Jacques is a great man, but he’s hardcore. I’m not saying don’t explore your sexuality. All I’m saying is maybe you should start with someone a little less, well, extreme. On a scale of one to ten, Jacques is a twenty-five.”

  “You’re not going to scare me, Jerard. I can take care of myself.” She pressed her cheek into his hand and then settled back against his chest, wiggling over to close the gap between them. She heard him. She wasn’t mad. And she wasn’t negotiating. “But thanks for caring.”

  His hands mechanically began rubbing her back. She was smooth and warm. Holding her felt…safe. He eased back against the chaise and closed his eyes.

  They lay in each o
ther’s arms, baking in the sun and enjoying the comfortable silence until she asked, “Do you believe in angels, Jerard?”

  “If you say that Jacques and I are angels, I’m taking you home myself,” he teased without opening his eyes.

  “I believe in angels.”

  “That’s a nice thought, Isla, but I don’t believe in anything.”

  “Nothing in life is random, Jerard. I think Jacques came into my life for a reason.” She stroked her hand over his chest. “And now I think maybe you came into my life for a reason too.” She turned her cheek into him and kissed his pec. “Angels are everywhere. You just have to have the faith to see them.”

  “Without boring you with the sob story, I’ll say this. Life made me a man when I was a boy and that doesn’t leave a guy with faith in much.”

  He cringed, wondering what response Isla would hit him with. The analysis. The rejection. The pity. Her own sob story. He’d heard it all before. Why couldn’t they have just enjoyed the silence?

  She picked up her head and smiled at him. “You can borrow some of mine if you want. I have an unlimited supply.” Then she snuggled in again and fell silent.

  Out of nowhere, the thought came. Can you save me, angel?

  He felt his chest tighten. No. She can’t save me. He was far beyond believing in that kind of fairytale. Subtle tremors rolled through his body as silent tears began to fall.

  *****

  Jacques watched Isabella and Jerard lying in the sun. He was fuming.

  I told her to put oil on her skin and she didn’t. How dare she disobey me?

  No one disobeyed him. Everyone in his life did exactly what he told them to do or they were gone from it. But for some reason, he couldn’t stand the thought of this woman being gone from his life. He glared up at the sun. He would yank the damn thing out of the sky if it burned one inch of that creamy skin.

  He couldn’t go outside. They were just talking, but he would be blind if he didn’t see the silent bond forming between Jerard and the lovely lady with the black hair.

  Maybe she can help Jerard. His hands scrubbed over his face. And maybe she's right.

  Keeping Jerard occupied gave him the opportunity to go discover something he didn’t want to discover. He turned from the window, forcing himself to a stand, and headed to Jerard’s room.

  6

  Sunburn

  Isabella lay on the bed, shivering and sweating.

  Why do I have to be so hardheaded?

  She should have listened to Jacques instead of getting all huffy. So what if he was bossy. He only wanted her to use sunscreen. She didn’t and now she was burned.

  Estúpido. “Ouch!”

  “Stop squirming.” Jacques pressed his palms along her spine at the small of her back before moving gentle pressure up and over her scorched shoulder blades.

  “You don’t have to say it,” she groaned into the pillow.

  “Say what?”

  “I told you so. I didn’t listen and I’m burned.” She whimpered a little as his hand stroked over the inflamed skin.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m being as gentle as I can with the aloe.”

  So incredibly gentle. “What did you find in Jerard’s room?”

  “It’s as bad as it gets, Isla.”

  The weight in Jacques’s voice was instantly alarming. Before she could press him for more, he blew out a long sigh. “Would you mind if we don’t talk about it right now? It really knocked the wind out of me. I scheduled a call with the doctor at one tomorrow and to be perfectly honest, I need a break. Right now, I want to shut all the crap out and just enjoy the comfort of taking care of you.”

  Jacques sounded defeated, but she knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t remain that way for long. People relied on him and men like Jacques Meszaros always stepped up. You didn’t have to know him intimately to know that. She wanted to know more about Jerard, but the idea that she could comfort someone like Jacques, that she could be a source for his strength…no way she would deny him.

  She stretched her arms above her head, pointing her toes, and let those gentle hands work their magic in silence. Only soft breath and oiled skin in a quiet room. She felt the tension in Jacques begin to float away and that made her feel...proud.

  After a while, those warm hands moved down the curve of her back, over her bottom, and began to massage oil into her thighs. The way Jacques touched her, the placement of his hands on her skin, made her painfully aware that his eyes followed their path. He was looking at her body while he massaged her.

  She tensed. She liked her body. Well, most of it. Full boobs and a curvy bottom were all well and good, but curvy thighs, not so much.

  “Don’t do that, Isabella. You’re beautiful. Everywhere.” Both palms pressed in between her legs to emphasize his meaning.

  “You really are a mind reader, aren’t you?”

  “Part of the job. Inhibitions get in the way. Your skin is soft here. So lovely and soft. Spread your legs for me.”

  His fingers skimmed along the inside of her thighs to coax them farther apart and her pussy contracted so hard, she was sure Jacques could see it. For a long time, those hands squeezed and stroked, not just massaging, rather examining her.

  Argh.

  Except his touch wasn’t saying, Argh. His touch said, Ahh. As in the sensual Ahh. As in the ‘this is turning me on’ Ahh. As in the ‘I adore this body’ Ahh.

  She tried to relax. Her sex god had great hands, but seriously. Her thighs! Her legs moved together in little increments as she wiggled through the massage.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured. “Don’t think I don’t see you fighting me, Isabella. If you were mine, I would have more to say about defying my desires, but for now, let’s leave it at me telling you that I adore your body. All of it.”

  His hand swatted her upper thigh just hard enough to make her say, “Ahh,” as in the ‘I shouldn’t like that but I do’ Ahh. As in the ‘bite my bottom lip’ Ahh. When Jacques pressed his thumbs into her calves and began working away the tension built up over miles of hospital hallway, the wind left her lungs on a loud "Aaahhh"

  “You spend a lot of time on your feet, don't you?

  “I don’t get much of a chance to sit down at work. It’s okay though. Seeing people who struggle to get out of bed makes it hard to complain about having to stand.”

  “That’s a good perspective.”

  She let out a little giggle, “I wear old lady shoes at work. Craig says I look like a grandma in them.”

  “Give me those pretty feet, grandma. Let’s see if I can make them feel young again.”

  Ahh. Ahh. Ahh!

  Jacques settled himself at the end of the bed for what she hoped would be an endless session on her feet. The man did not disappoint. All she could do was mewl into the pillow and try not to drool. She’d never felt anything so fantastic in her entire life.

  She was generally pretty good at reading people, but she had never met a man like Jacques Meszaros and the pieces didn’t fit together in her mind. He had power. Tangible power. Meet those piercing eyes and you might cower or just flat out run away. Listen to that demanding voice and your spine snapped straighter. Watch the reaction of people to his name alone and you couldn’t help feeling respect. And on top of the company and the foundation and the fortune, he was a Dom too? Jerard labeled him hardcore.

  How can someone like that be so tender? How can he take so much pleasure in such a basic form of caring?

  Jacques shifted back to her side and took a sip of his drink. He was practically purring.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.” His voice was relaxed, hypnotic, as those oiled hands slipped over her back again.

  “Do you like pain or, I mean, hurting women? Jeez, that sounds so weird when you say it out loud.”

  Jacques laughed a little.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Did the woman who almost made me blush this morning just say, ‘jeez?’ You have a
potty mouth...don’t get me wrong, Isabella, the mouth is great...but the contradictions in you boggle the mind.”

  “Family flaw. My brothers like to curse. I try not to, but I fail. A lot,” she mumbled into the pillow.

  A piece of ice stroked over her shoulders.

  “Yikes! Did I mention my four very big, very mean, very protective brothers who I am going to sic on you if you don’t stop torturing me?”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said and continued right on stroking the ice over her skin. “I’m not going to lie to you, Isabella. Never will. I despise liars. So to answer your question, yes. Sometimes I enjoy things that can be painful for my lovers.”

  That answer should have sent her screaming into the night. But it didn’t. It made her want.

  Not normal, Isla. “Okay, but since you brought up contradictions, I’m wondering how that fits with your comment about enjoying the comfort of taking care of me. I don’t see a connection there.”

  “Some women need a man like me. My role requires me to take care of them. In the most intimate way. In return, I get what I need.”

  “And that is what?”

  “Control, Isabella. For me, it all boils down to control. I need it like I need air. Giving me control, allowing me to do the things I enjoy, requires trust. I earn trust by understanding needs and wants, and satisfying them. I test limits and push hard, but never too hard. If I’m unsure, I stop. For the most part, it’s about pleasure even when pain is involved, but for me, it’s always about control.”

  For the most part. What about the other part?

  “It’s never about truly hurting someone, Isabella. I hate to see you suffering like this. If I could take this pain from you, I would. Stated simply, I’m hard wired to take care of people I care about.”