You care about me, Jacques? “I can understand that. I am too,” she said.
“People use the word compassionate for someone like you. For someone like me, they might choose a different word,” he said softly, “but in a certain way, I suppose we’re not so different.”
A different word. What word? “Pain isn’t always about pleasure for you, is it, Jacques?
“I didn’t say it was. Punishment is painful for both parties involved.”
“But you still do it to women you care about?”
“When necessary, I do, but recently, no. I haven’t been with a woman that I cared enough about to pursue a longer term relationship, so it hasn’t gotten to that in a while.”
Okay, that almost sent her screaming into the night.
“Is that the only way it works, Jacques? A woman has to give up control to be with someone like you?”
“Yes, Isabella. That’s the only way it works. How does this feel?”
“Better actually, but I’m cold.”
*****
Jacques pulled the comforter over Isabella’s legs even though he didn’t want to. She had shapely legs and a luscious round bottom. One that he’d memorized. He’d kept his eyes focused below her waist while they talked to avoid looking at her sunburnt back. The red skin only made him want to peel off that bikini bottom and spank her backside for disobeying him.
And he would be a liar if he didn’t admit that even without the sunburn, he wanted to bare that sexy ass to his hand. Even before she opened her mouth, Isabella Rey turned him on. Her body was beautiful, all smooth skin and feminine curves. But she did open that sumptuous mouth and they weren’t exactly talking about the weather.
He was hard as a rock.
Given her chosen profession, he knew she had a strong character, but he was a little surprised at how boldly she talked to him about Dom/sub sex. She was genuinely curious and obviously trying to figure out how what he was saying fit into her world, but she wouldn’t have done that if she truly understood.
Most women approached him very warily, if at all, especially those who knew the game. He was an extreme lover even among the extreme. Jacques Meszaros, the Dom, earned his reputation and he wasn’t known for love or compassion.
Isabella clearly sensed the hardness in him, but acted like he was as harmless as a pussycat. She actually talked to him as if he was a normal person, not a CEO or a badass Dom. That was wildly counter to his usual experiences with people and it felt nice. Warm.
Her voice interrupted his thoughts. “And if you and I were to say, um...”
“Yes, Isabella. You would give yourself to me and in exchange, I would take care of you. Your job would be to let go and trust me to take care of everything. But surrender is not as easy as it sounds, my fiery angel, so mine would be to help you. In any way that I see fit.”
“Any what do you get out of,” she cleared her throat, “helping me?”
“I get everything.” A stab of want shot through him just saying the words.
“Okay, so let me get this straight. Jacques takes care of his lovers and Jacques takes care of Jerard and Jacques takes care of thousands of employees and Jacques takes care of strangers he hasn’t even met. But tell me this.” She eased onto her elbows to look at him over her shoulder and asked, “Who takes care of Jacques?”
“I take care of myself.”
She rolled onto her side and looked up at him, completely at ease exposing her body to him. That was truly sexy. He respected confidence and pretty Isabella certainly had it.
“Well that doesn’t seem fair. I sort of get it in the bedroom or wherever you do what you do, Jacques, but in the end, you’re still a man with emotions and needs, and they can’t all be kinky.”
“My turn to ask a question. Are we negotiating?”
“What?”
He dropped his voice to a more seductive tenor. “You heard me, Isabella. You know what I am. You’ve only had a few lovers, whom I will surmise did not make your toes curl, and you admit to submissive fantasies.” He let his eyes trail over her bare skin as his knuckle stroked lightly along the side of her breast. “Are we negotiating about how it would be if you and I were lovers?”
Isabella swallowed hard.
A wave of guilt crashed over him. Why am I doing this? It isn’t fair.
Sweet Isabella had no idea what she would be in for if they were lovers. And he really shouldn’t even use that word. A woman like Isabella would misinterpret it. He didn’t make love. He fucked. His affairs were perverse and carried out by his rules. A compassionate woman like this needed nurturing as much as she needed to nurture. He may “take care” of his partners, but nurture them, he did not. Love them, he did not.
“Alright, Isla. Let me answer for you. You’re a good person. Very special. You may want a little dominance, probably because some guy got you off with a little taste of it at some point in your life, but that does not mean you should get mixed up with a man like me. You may think you want what I’m talking about, but you don’t. You can stay here with me and take a break from your world for a while, but you don’t have to be my lover to do that. I’m enjoying your company and it would make me happy just to see you enjoy yourself. No strings attached.”
She stared as silence filled the space between them, then that pretty hand curled into a fist and pounded down on the mattress. “Maldita sea, Jacques. That’s not what you were supposed to say.”
The huff may have been beautiful, but he wasn’t deterred. “I am not what you want, Isla. The sex I like isn’t romantic or sweet. It’s raw, often painful. I demand total submission and that requires a spine of steel and a hell of a lot of stamina.”
“But beating women into submission isn’t all that you are, Jacques. You told me about your cousin, your parents. I see how much you care about Jerard. I know how generous you are with complete strangers. There’s a lot of love in you. Why do you hide it?”
Part of him was tempted to lie just to keep this special lady in Monaco, but he wasn’t a liar and there was no point in sugarcoating the truth. Isabella needed to know what she would be in for if she got involved with him.
“None of those people are my lovers, Isla. Don’t deny what I am. I don’t. I’m different with the women who submit to me.”
“Then you’re with the wrong women,” she said softly and dropped her gaze to the finger tracing little circles over the duvet. “It seems to me that if you were with the right lover, the dominance might, well, it might be different. It might be more expressive of the man you are with everyone else.” She raised her eyes again. “More like the man you are with me.” She punctuated her obvious sincerity by sucking her bottom lip.
When he saw the provocative and subconscious invitation, he went deadly still, holding his breath until it burned in demand for release.
She went on. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to teach me, Jacques? That sexuality shouldn’t be out of sync with the person you truly are? You say I’m special, well you’re exceptional.” A flick of her eyes shut down any chance to dispel the compliment. “You deserve to have someone love the whole you, not just one part.”
Isabella wasn’t stupid or naïve. How could she have that kind of faith in his character after such a short time? And how could a novice cut right to the heart of the lifestyle and understand the difference between his bullshit version and the ideal?
Her fingers moved up and over the back of his hand. “If I was your lover, Jacques, how far would you go with me?” Curiosity swirled with desire in those chocolate eyes, weakening his resolve to push her away.
“How far would you let me?”
“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you, but I honestly don’t know.”
That answer and the look of innocence in those imploring eyes snuffed the momentary seduction. Of course she didn’t know. She was a novice and he didn’t do novices. He really didn’t want to do this, but it was for her own good.
“Then let me tell you ho
w far I would want it to go. First, I would spank your backside until it was as red as that sunburn to punish you for not listening to me about the tanning oil. Then, I would savor the delicious color I leave on your ass while I fuck you on all fours.
“If things weren’t so messed up with Jerard, he would probably be with us. The first thing I would have him do is turn on all of the lights in this room so I could watch while he suckled every exquisite inch of you until you believed, down to your marrow, in your own magnificence. Whether he tied you up while he did it would depend on how much you struggled with being exposed like that. Make no mistake about it, Isla. I am a dangerous man. A very kinky, dangerous man. You do not want anything to do with a man like me. Trust me.”
Sitting abruptly, she grabbed both of his hands and looked him directly in the eye. “I do trust you. I’ve never met anyone like you, Jacques, I know that, but for some weird reason, I know you won’t hurt me. I feel connected to you.”
Connected? She shouldn’t feel connected. She should be freaked. He certainly was.
Emotion rose in her and it wasn’t disgust or fear or judgment as she went on. “I’ve spent my entire adult life waiting for lightning to strike and it never has. At first, I blamed my Catholic guilt, then claimed that I couldn’t find the right guy. But that’s a lie. A huge fucking lie.
“My love life stinks. I spend half my time baffled by all the fuss about sex. It’s just not that great. I don’t know how you knew it, but you’re right. I had one small taste of dominance at seventeen and that moment made me feel more than anything I’ve felt since. I’ve spent the last eight years masturbating to that memory without having the courage to try to find it again.
“So here I am at twenty-five, a woman with straight toes. I mean not just straight, Jacques, gun scope straight. I don’t want to die, um, I mean, while I’m still young, I want to understand who I am. I want to feel what I felt at seventeen. You said you were fire. Well I want to burn. So I guess the answer to your question is yes. We are negotiating. I can’t promise that I can be everything you want, but I will try. And I can’t promise you more than a week, but I would like the comfort of you for while too. And I would definitely like my toes to curl.”
Hello, hurricane.
He was stunned. Isabella certainly had a fire in her soul. She cursed like a man, she didn’t listen to him when he told her to do something as simple as putting tanning oil on her skin, she wanted to take care of everyone around her, including him, and she had flat out rejected his very sage suggestion that she run from him.
This was definitely not the kind of woman he went for. Definitely not what he needed. Especially right now. No way this relationship would work even for a short time and he really had to focus on Jerard. So he gave her the only response he had.
“One week, Isabella. And I promise your toes will curl.”
*****
The sun was shining, but you’d never know it. Not here. No windows, electric blue light and shadows. No day. No night. Only high class decadence.
Jerard sat alone in the casino bar, waiting in the appointed seat. He twisted his hand in the glow of the uplight in the counter. He’d been told as a kid that God touched that talented hand. There’d been times when he looked at its work and almost believed. Now the skin looked eerily pale, like a corpse’s, and that seemed morbidly appropriate given his purpose here.
An older man took the seat next to him. Silk suit aside, his meaty, calloused hands told his tale. He ordered Bundaberg straight as he lit his cigarette and his diamond pinky ring flashed in the bar light.
“Hello, mate.” The accent was crude like the man beneath the fine clothes. “You a gambler?”
“I’ve been known to put a little money down.” Jerard tapped a finger on the cocktail napkin in front of him. “I like horses.” Yeah, right. Horses.
“Ace. I might be able to help with that.”
Jerard slid the cocktail napkin along the bar. The man downed his drink as a hand disappeared into his jacket. He dropped a twenty onto the bar, picked up the napkin and the money underneath, then disappeared into the shadows.
Jerard sipped his drink. After a few minutes, the man returned and spoke to the bartender. When he stepped away again, a cigarette box lay on the bar. For a fleeting second, Jerard thought about leaving it. Instead he picked it up, gave it a little shake and enjoyed the calm of feeling the small bottle moving inside.
He stood to leave the club, but he wasn’t headed into the sunshine.
7
You Ain’t Never Met A Man Like Me
One mistake.
He made one mistake. Let himself get seduced into the fantasy of the sexy novice who dropped into his life, but he didn’t act on it and it wasn’t too late to change course. This thing with Isabella wasn’t going to happen. He would take her to the party and then send her home.
Last night was...well, he didn’t really know what the hell that was. Isabella fell asleep. Even after their conversation, she was comfortable enough to fall asleep with him sitting on the bed next to her rubbing her back. She hadn’t lied when she said she trusted him and that blew him away.
That and the vision of her half-naked body lazing across his bed. The curve of her full breasts peeking out from under her ribs was an exquisite tease and when she rolled to her side, the vibrant reality of her figure burned into his mind indelibly.
One of the keys to mastering a woman was making her feel confident enough to be at ease in front of him. It usually took weeks, maybe even months, to undo the societal head trip that inhibited most women. Sometimes even he failed. He knew exposing her body to a man was not her norm, but Isabella was at ease with him in what? Less than twenty-four hours. Trust and confidence like that was a powerful aphrodisiac.
He spent half the night watching her sleep instead of sleeping himself. Even when he turned off the light, he lay in the dark breathing her in and suffering. He wanted to roll over and sink into the oasis next to him. Wanted it so badly, it hurt.
But with sunlight came reason. He wasn’t right for someone like her. And she certainly was not right for someone like him.
Jacques stormed down the hallway, all business with an assistant on each elbow, alternately chattering on a cell phone or hurling questions at him. Politely, of course.
“Sir, the caterer needs approval to substitute...”
“Sir, the final seating chart is waiting for your review.”
“Sir, the auctioneer needs your decision on...”
His schedule was absolutely jammed today, just like every other, and he didn’t have time for Isabella. He would just go into the room, wake her up and leave.
“Sir, we have to be at the Casino in thirty minutes.”
“Sir, I need a signature in the office before we go.”
“Sir, I need...”
“Stop. Wait here,” he said to his overeager helpers.
He twisted the nob. As soon as Isabella's lovely scent hit his nostrils, he inhaled her again. Closing the door, he leaned against it and breathed deeply. The room was quiet and still. So peaceful. So far away from the demands on the other side of the door. Isabella was curled up on his bed like a kitten, wearing his shirt.
She looks so pretty wearing my clothes. Before the vision of his hand slipping beneath that shirt became any more real, he stopped himself. No. No. No. No playing with your new toy today.
Wait, she wasn’t his toy. She wasn’t going to be his toy. He was taking her to the party and that was it. Jacques shook his head to snap himself back into the plan.
What is it about this woman with her beautiful body and her beautiful spirit and her beautiful round bottom peeking out from beneath the...Stop it!
“Isabella, wake up,” he barked.
No, not Isabella. Isla. Isla. ‘We are just friends’ Isla.
“¡Vete!” She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her ears.
What the...Did she just tell ME to go away? He had half a mind to spank that sumptuous b
ottom, feel her squirm against his erection until he slipped his fingers between her...Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!
“Isla, wake up. Right now!” he roared.
A mass of black hair appeared from under the pillow. Two pretty hands brushed it away to reveal the finest pair of bedroom eyes he had ever seen.
“Who’s grumpy in the morning?” she cooed at him and he felt his lips curling up before he could stop them.
“I am not grumpy. I don’t like people ignoring me.”
My God, now he sounded like he was pouting. Earth to Jacques. Are you there, Jacques?
“I have a lot on my agenda today and I don’t have time for games.”
“Not even one itty-bitty little good morning kiss?” she said, rolling onto her back and stretching her body across the bed.
Bye, bye, kitten. Hello, kitty. A mad rush of blood shot straight to his cock.
“I brought you something.” He turned sharply and pointed to a rolling rack in the corner that was filled with dresses. Every single one was red. “Pick one for tonight. The tailor will be here in an hour for alterations.”
‘No way we're just friends’ Isabella padded across the room to the rack, stopping to peck a kiss on his cheek as she passed.
“Why are they all red?” she asked in a husky, low morning voice.
Actually, it was a sultry, sexy midnight voice. Is she doing that on purpose?
She circled the rack letting her hand run over the sea of red and snared him with those bedroom eyes.
Forget the wild hair, the legs, the lips, what will those eyes look like when I...
“Red is my favorite color,” he grit out through ground teeth.
What in the hell is wrong with me? Losing focus? This woman definitely has to go.
“Which one do you want me to wear, Jacques?” she purred in that voice again.
The husky sound only made him harder. She bit her cushy lower lip and forget the agenda, all he could think about was watching the traitor in his pants slide over that lip into the wet silk of her mouth as she stared up at him with those chocolate eyes.
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