Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two

by Verne, Jillian

  “Who are ‘we?'” She thought of Andre’s comment about the Order.

  “For the moment, suffice it to say Nicolai and I, but Jacques has a lot of friends who care about him and want to see him happy.”

  A secret club for masters of the universe. Uh-huh, this guy definitely fits that description. She glanced across the room at Nicolai who almost slayed her with his stunning cerulean eyes and a subtle bow. Double uh-huh. Isla, meet Dom number four.

  Both of them must have thought she was really stupid. Did they honestly think she would fall for this? Make her believe that they wanted to make Jacques jealous just to get him closer to her. Men may be from Mars, but she grew up with four brothers. Even though she was from Venus, she understood exactly what was happening. Jacques’s friends probably did want to see him happy, but they really wanted to razz him because he had a crush on a girl and they wanted her to play along without letting her in on the joke. Rich, talented and sexy-as-sin, but they were still little boys trying to one-up each other on the playground.

  Well, if the blonde sex god wants to play, who am I to deny him. Her bottom lip slipped into a pout with the thought. The Spanish make body language into an art.

  Score one for the pretty little thing. Big guy almost dropped to his knees.

  “What’s wrong, sugar? Did I upset you?”

  “You lied.” Her arms rolled behind her back as she swiveled her body in front of him.

  Score two. Sabin’s eyes fell before he could catch them. Big guy was a boob guy.

  “You don’t think I’m pretty,” she said in her best baby talk.

  “I do.”

  Cue the downcast eyes. This really isn’t fair.

  “You are the prettiest girl in the room.”

  Big brown eyes rolled up to his face, nice and wide and imploring. “Really?”

  “On my honor, darlin’. So pretty you make me want to kiss you despite Jacques.” Those crystal blue eyes melted into the most innocent, adoring stare.

  Estupendo. El hombre es estupendo.

  She bit her bottom lip and watched Sabin literally restrain himself to keep from touching her. “But you don’t think I can handle Jacques. You think he won’t want me unless he’s jealous,” she cooed somewhere between Scarlet O’Hara and Marilyn Monroe.

  Sabin was tripping over himself to make her feel better. “No, no, no, darlin’. I was just, I mean, we were, ah, I’m sorry, Isabella. I didn’t mean to offend you. Of course you can handle Jacques.”

  She walked her fingers up that regrettably clothed chest. Sabin looked at her, all apologetic and confused.

  “Like I can handle you?” She winked at him.

  His entire being lit up. “Oh, Isabella. You naughty girl. You’re good. You’re very good.” He smiled the confident smile a man who knows he’s about to get something he wants. “I’ll assume this means you’ll play along.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Perfect.” Then those baby blues gave her a look that hit her right between the thighs. “And I’m sure that sexy ass will love every bit of what Jacques gives you for playin’ with us.”

  Her eyes shot so wide it hurt.

  “Sweet Jesus, you’re not a... I just assumed that you were, um, I mean, you’re with a man like Jacques so you must be...” Sabin’s eyes shot to Nicolai, then back to her.

  “A sub. I’m not sure about that yet,” she said with a shrug, “but you’re right about one thing. Jacques has already tried to push me away. This morning and he succeeded,” she flashed a huge grin, “for the last time.”

  Sabin replied with a megawatt smile and took her hand to lead her to the dance floor.

  *****

  Not him. Anyone, but Timonen.

  There wasn’t a woman in the world who could resist that sexy cowboy. The one who had his mitts all over Isabella. The one Jacques was going to murder the minute he extricated himself from this stogy bunch of old codgers. Rich old codgers who donated buckets of money and whom he suddenly couldn’t tolerate for a single minute more.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  Of course, she went for the most eligible bachelor in the room. A beauty like Isabella could take her pick. The problem was that Sabin was going for her too. His partner did have excellent taste after all.

  Why had he been damn fool enough to take a woman like Isabella to an event like this, dressed like that, after giving her the brush off this morning?

  Why? Because you're going to send her home. That’s why.

  Yeah, right. Isabella Rey wasn’t going anywhere except into his bed. He was going to tie her there for a month, maybe two, and get so deep into her soul that she…Sabin’s hand trailed slowly along the sweep of Isabella’s back, dropping, dropping…

  Touch her backside, hayseed, and I swear I’ll go rebel on your ass. The hand stopped as Sabin whispered into her ear.

  God, now he's sweet talking her, laying it on thick for sure. Isabella is too smart to fall for that. Wait a minute. Did she just wiggle her hips? Like she's enjoying the southern sex talk. Like she wants that hand to keep moving. Why shouldn’t she, fool? You blew her off and spent the night chatting up the money in the room. She thinks you’re not interested and she’s moving on.

  “Not so fast, Isabella, not so fast,” Jacques murmured to no one.

  After a few very painful minutes, he said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. There is an urgent matter that requires my attention.” He bowed graciously, burning to get away, but he wasn’t stupid. Got to kiss the ring for a good cause.

  “The Foundation sits in awe of your generosity once again. May I get you anything before I take my leave?” he asked, ever so politely.

  One champagne, a club soda with a “mere touch” of lime and two introductions later, he made his escape.

  As Jacques stepped away, his assistant grabbed him. “Sir, we need your...”

  “Not now,” he growled, his eyes locked on Isabella who was swirling under Sabin’s arm and looking waaaayyy too sexy dancing with his ex-friend.

  Great looking, dripping in money and the blonde fucker can dance too. Does he have some kind of an in with God?

  Ten years of friendship down the drain. Gone. Poof. He positively hated the guy.

  Another two steps and another barricade. “Sir, the auctioneer is demanding...”

  “Not now!”

  Damn it. Can’t she see that I don't have time for anything other than getting my woman free from those thick southern paws?

  His scorching stare fell on his rattled assistant and she instantly shied away.

  Good. She wouldn’t bother him again. Not for a decade or so. Now back to Isabella.

  Nicolai stepped directly into his path. “Something wrong, cousin?”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. “No, everything’s fine,” Jacques said, voice flat.

  “Good. Can you come with me for a minute? I want to talk to you about something important.”

  “Can it wait? I’m in a bit of a hurry.” A hurry to kill that traitor who has his hands all over my woman.

  “Non.”

  “Casse toi, Nico. I don’t have time for you right now.” Jacques stormed around him.

  Where is she? Sabin couldn’t have gotten Isabella out the door that fast, but Jacques couldn’t see her. Urgent eyes scanned the room for his lady in red. He blew out a heavy breath when he spotted her. Only to suck it back in as Sabin lowered her body into a dip, his goddamn lips only inches above the lovely curves of her chest.

  Jacques almost exploded.

  Nicolai stepped into view again, blocking his path to Isabella, and lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “Hey, connard. You may not have time for me, but I’ll bet you have time for Sir James.”

  Before Jacques could answer, Sir James walked up to them. “Lovely party, Jacques, absolutely smashing. I wanted to give you something before I leave.” James stopped talking and looked at him with a confused expression. “Are you alright, good fellow? You’re white as a ghost.”

  He had to st
op. Sir James was one of the biggest benefactors of the Foundation and there he stood, check in hand. The crazy Brit drifted along the edges of the Order, sometimes a member, sometimes not, but that was James. Unique and odd. Mid-thirties with a taste for bow ties and older women, James flitted through his fascinations with the help of a family fortune larger than the GNP of a small country. Wickedly intelligent, some claimed he was an Oxford man; others, Cambridge. James once laid claim to the London School of Economics. Inconsistent seemed the only consistent description of the man. That and deeply philanthropic.

  “What?” Jacques snapped.

  Nicolai interjected. “What Jacques means to say is that he’s fine. You know how these events go. A lot of details to deal with, a lot of stress. Quite a party though, isn’t it, James? I was disappointed that it wasn’t you who won my portrait. I would be honored to photograph your Jessica. She is truly divine. A portrait of her would be a crowning jewel in my portfolio.”

  At the mention of his lover, James turned his attention from Jacques’s rudeness to Nicolai. Nicolai smiled. Jacques frowned.

  “Thank you, Nico. Great compliment coming from a chap with your eye. I will pass your gracious words along to Jessica. My precious sends her regrets at being unable to attend tonight. She’s in Scotland visiting relatives.”

  Relatives? That was the classic British understatement. She was probably at Balmoral on a shooting weekend with the Queen. Lady Jessica had the bluest of blue blood running through her veins.

  “Well perhaps we can arrange to meet at another time to discuss a portrait,” Nicolai offered.

  Jacques glowered at his cousin. Shut up, Nico, and just let me get the damn check.

  Nicolai ignored his not-in-the-least-bit subtle attempt to scare him off and continued chatting up James. “I’d be happy to make the trip to London to meet with her.”

  “Right, good man. Let’s do that. What was the final bid? It was yours, Jacques. Was it not?” James turned to him. He was practically hopping from foot to foot, eyes locked over James’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re well, Jacques?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. 750,000€ for an excellent cause.” The voice was gruff, but he managed to stand still and resume his role as the dutiful host. “I’m distracted, I apologize, James. I’m grateful that you’re here and have sincerely missed the pleasure of Jessica’s company.”

  “Of course, no apology necessary.” James handed him the check. “I believe this will cover the donation for a portrait.”

  Jacques stuffed the check into his jacket pocket without looking at it.

  “Before you rush off to whatever is so urgent, Jacques, I have one condition to place on that donation. Your lovely Isabella impressed me very much tonight. I want her to administer the money. She decides on the recipients, consisted with the mission of the Foundation of course.”

  Jacques blinked at James without speaking.

  “Say alright, Jacques, and go get her,” James quipped.

  “Alright, Jacques.”

  James and Nicolai burst out laughing as Jacques bolted around them.

  *****

  “Here he comes, darlin’. Remember, do it just like I said. He might get prickly, but he won’t bite. At least not here.”

  Sabin eyes sparkled with delight as he leaned over to lay gentle kisses along the slope of her neck. He pretended to be startled when Jacques approached them.

  “Jacques, where have you been hiding this delicious woman? I have positively fallen in love with her. She’s just as sweet as sugar.” Sabin turned her to face Jacques, crossing his arms over her chest, and squeezed tight like she was his teddy bear.

  Isabella raised a hand over her head to stroke his cheek. “Sabin’s going to teach me to ride, Jacques. Doesn’t that sound fun?” she asked with her best little girl giggle.

  Sabin looked down as she turned her face up to his and smiled adoringly. He pecked a little kiss on her forehead. “That’s right, sugar, I’m going to teach my girl how to ride.”

  Jacques’s mouth fell open.

  Closed.

  Opened again.

  “Sabin owns seventy horses. Did you know that Jacques? He wants me to go with him to his ranch.”

  Jacques looked horrified.

  “Oh, pooh, Sabin. All this dancing and dreaming. I’ve forgotten what you wanted me to tell Jacques.”

  “Think hard, sweetness. Try to remember. He has to hear it from you.”

  She stared at Sabin and sighed as if she was looking at her very own Prince Charming. Then turned to Jacques as if pained to be looking at a frog. “You’ve been so kind to me, Jacques, and I didn’t set out to upset you. Please don’t be angry with me,” she said with a grimace.

  “Just tell him, sugar. It’s easier that way. Dragging this out is only making him suffer.”

  “Okay, Sabin, I’ll do what you say.”

  “Anything I say, sugar?”

  She giggled like a teenager with her first crush. “Absolutely anything.”

  “Then tell him exactly what I told you to say.”

  She fixed her eyes on Jacques as Sabin kissed her cheek. “Got you.”

  Jacques didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stood there, eyes wide, and stared.

  “Jacques?”

  Nothing.

  “It was a joke, Jacques.”

  Still nothing.

  “We were just playing a little...”

  A hand shot to the base of her neck, brutal fingers digging into her hair. Another fell over her bottom to clutch her softness. Jacques yanked her away from Sabin, trapping her body against a hard wall of male beast in a tuxedo. Piercing eyes of molten copper seared her, offering a glimpse of Jacques’s true soul. The passion, the possessiveness, the raw intensity of a dominant man taking what was his. She was scared, truly scared.

  And wickedly turned on.

  He bent her off balance, suspending her body above the floor, and kissed her. Not a polite, middle-of-a-crowded-room, ‘that was funny, Isla’ kind of kiss. A kiss unlike anything she’d ever imagined. An ‘I will adore you, own you and you will never even think of another man for as long as you live’ kind of kiss.

  She was vaguely aware of people moving around them. Heard a strange sound. Something distant, getting louder. Jacques righted her and stepped back, but kept both hands planted on her shoulders.

  It was applause. The people in the room were applauding her. Her and Jacques. She wanted to look around, but couldn’t tear her eyes away. They were riveted to Jacques as he leaned in to whisper into her ear.

  “No one else. Understand?”

  Her entire being responded to the certainty in his voice. “Yes, Jacques.”

  “You are mine.”

  Tightened with the certainty of his words. “Yes, Jacques.”

  “And sub or no sub, you know what I’m going to do to your sinful backside for that joke.”

  Her knees went weak with the certainty of how much she wanted what he would do. “Yes, Jacques.”

  Jacques turned to Sabin, Nicolai and James who were standing together and clapping, and bowed.

  *****

  Jacques eased out of the car.

  What a night. What a fucking night. How could one evening hold so many highs and the lowest of lows?

  No point dwelling on the low, Jerard wouldn’t be home anyway, and the highs were skyrockets. The auction exceeded even his expectations. The party was fantastic, the Foundation raised millions and the paparazzi photos of the star-studded guest list in tomorrow’s society blogs would guarantee the success of the next event, but the crowing prize of the evening had been his and his alone.

  Isabella.

  Walking into the Casino looking stunning in red.

  Inspiring the crowd with her incredible compassion and dedication to others.

  Dancing with him while he dreamed of a future with her at his side.

  It didn’t matter that she didn’t have red hair. The ramblings of a fortuneteller seemed silly when
the real key to the elusive dream he’d been chasing for years presented itself like a gift in the midst of a frenzied night. And just to be sure the message made its way through his thick, superstitious skull, his brothers from the Order did their part. Their little joke certainly snapped his feelings into focus.

  Jacques couldn’t believe the thoughts running through his mind, but there was no denying them. Shaking his head in a motion of disbelief, he smiled a warm, hopeful, humble smile. He could love this woman. Actually love her. The realization floored him. As would she, if she consented to be his.

  Summer hadn’t arrived and a light chill hung on the breeze. Instead of heading through the front door, he circled around to the back of the house. He was exhausted but too wired for sleep and wanted to enjoy the peacefulness of the crisp ocean air for a while. He folded the lapels of his tuxedo over his chest as he walked across the terrace.

  The light in his bedroom was on. Isabella was lying across his bed sound asleep. A stunning tableau, but the doors to the terrace stood wide open. He glanced up at the security cameras knowing that someone in a hidden room was watching over her. Still, he felt ill at ease until a man, camouflaged in black, eased out of the darkness and nodded to him before disappearing back into the shadows. His security team was top notch. They weren’t any more comfortable with Isabella being alone and vulnerable than he was. He would commend them for the attention in the morning.

  He sat on the end of a chaise and stared at her through the open doors. So lovely, dressed in the chiffon slip he’d chosen for her and bathed in the soft glow from the bed table lamp. Rose silk skimmed over each alluring curve and settled into each enticing crevice. Peaks of light. Valleys of darkness. Divine femininity. Isabella’s sensuality spilled across the bed. Long thick hair fanned like a dark wave over the pillow. One delicate hand lay palm up as if awaiting his touch. Sumptuous full lips fell open as if awaiting his kiss. Isabella looked like a sleeping princess awaiting her prince.

  My God, she is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. He rolled his eyes up to the heavens and whispered, “Thank you.”

  As he stepped through the door, his sleeping princess stirred. “Jacques?”