“Yes, Isabella. Go back to sleep, angel.” His voice was gentle, almost unrecognizable even to his own ears.
“Oh, pooh. I fell asleep. I wanted to wait up for you, but…well, the bed is so soft and the sound of the waves is hypnotic.”
Isabella softened by sleep was simply adorable and he smiled despite the fact that she ignored his command.
“What time is it? How was the rest of the night? Are you pleased?” She wiped the sleep out of her eyes as she sat up.
“Shh, Isabella. Go back to sleep.”
She stood and laid a sleepy kiss on his cheek. He wanted to be angry that she defied him yet again, but he could smell her now. So sweet and fresh. He stepped closer unable to resist. Leaning in, he put his nose into her hair and breathed her in. Gentle hands slid the loosened bow tie from around his neck.
“Lie down, Isabella. Go back to sleep now,” he purred into her ear without moving away.
“Let me take care of you, Jacques. Allow me this small pleasure. Please.”
The supplicating words undid him as light fingers moved over his shoulders to peel off his jacket and began to undo the onyx buttons of his shirt, floating down over his chest with so much care and grace. She lay the clothing aside.
“Siéntate.” Those seductive bedroom eyes rolled up to him. “Por favor.”
Will I ever be able to deny this woman anything?
He sat on the end of the bed and she went down onto both knees. Carefully untying each shiny black shoe, she slipped them, one at a time, off his feet. Then each sock. After she set them aside, she rested her head on his thigh and went still. Only her pretty hand moving slowly over his leg.
He brought his hands to her hair, savoring the comfort that flowed so easily from her. Savoring of the vision of Isabella positioned in a way that ensnared him to his very soul and a foreign thought slipped into his mind.
Isabella is not simply someone I can love. She is someone who can love me. All of me, not just one part.
Someone to wait for him.
Someone to take care of him.
Not simply someone to share his bed, someone to share his life.
And there went his heart, ripped out of his chest by the woman kneeling at his feet.
All of the stress and tension of the night, of the last few months with Jerard, of the complications with his business, of the disruption in the Order, floated away with her sweet scent and the feel of her hand stroking his leg. The sound of the ocean echoed through the open doors. He lay back across the bed, unable to hold his body upright any longer. As he drifted into sleep, he felt her crawl onto the bed next to him and lay her head over his heart.
Soft.
Hypnotic.
Perfect.
Paradise.
9
An Indecent Proposal
Don’t freak out. Do not freak out. Just breathe.
Isabella inhaled the perfect blend of coffee and salt air. And the view. She couldn’t even imagine the price tag on something like that.
“A little place to get away,” she grumbled to herself. “Hell, Jacques. What does your real house look like if this is your idea of a little place to get away?”
She shot out of the chair, bare feet racing in an all too familiar pattern across the tile. To the Viking. Eight burners. Copper trim. Cobalt enamel. Not exactly her broken down old stove. Back to the Sub-Zeroes. Ah, sí, there were two. And finally around the island. Midnight blue granite with flecks of copper. To match the Viking, of course. She’d never seen a kitchen so lavish. All for a man who almost certainly did not cook.
What would Jacques think if he saw where I live? Well he won't, so it doesn’t matter.
Isabella thrust her hands into her hair, ready to burst into a million impatient pieces as the internal battle raged. Angel Isabella and Devil Isabella were arguing away as if two tiny women were actually screaming at one another across her shoulders.
“Go wake him up. Time’s a wasting,” Devil declared.
“Let him sleep. He worked from dawn to dawn. He deserves rest,” Angel argued back.
Last night when Isabella crept onto the bed next to Jacques, his limbs twined around her like vines to cocoon her in a warm blanket of ridiculously delicious smelling male and the bicker sisters started. Angel snuggled in, enjoying the feeling of being cuddled and content to let the man sleep. Devil was itching to slip beneath the duvet and wake him up with a little naughty fun. The idea was incredibly tempting, but Angel won, leaving the real Isabella wide awake with an important decision to make.
“Fantasies are bad enough. You’ll be in confession for a year if you allow what she is contemplating,” Angel huffed, shooting a disapproving look from under Isabella’s hair to Devil who grinned and said, “Let yourself burn. It’ll be worth every second. I promise.”
Would she? Wouldn’t she?
Should she? Shouldn’t she?
On the umpteenth rotation of Jacques’s kitchen, she decided. She would. She shouldn’t, but she would.
“It’s now or never. We’re going for it,” Isabella declared as if there were actually three people in the room.
Devil jumped up and down clapping. Angel shook her head.
Lust aside, nothing in life is random. She’d said that to Jerard and she believed it. Everything had a purpose and it felt like God had purposefully dropped this man into her path. A hard road awaited her when she returned to Paris and perhaps this soiree with Jacques was meant to help her muster the strength to face it. At the very least, she could check another item off her bucket list.
“You’re using him. Just like everyone else,” Angel chastised.
Ah, sí, sí, sí. She was and she knew it. She wanted…well, him actually, but she refused to let herself get emotionally involved. The luxury of a love affair was not something she could indulge. Especially now. The next few days were about the fantasy. Nothing more.
“Are you really that selfish, Isla?” Angel asked sadly.
Devil stamped her stiletto. “For once in your life, be selfish. Forget everything else and simply take what you want. It’s not as if he won’t enjoy it.” If Jacques didn’t wake up soon, Devil was going to jump up and down on the bed and get this party started.
His words rolled through Isabella’s mind while she paced. 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.
She wanted to let go. Lose herself to a new experience. Stop worrying about Teo and dying patients and…just thinking that word made her sick to her stomach.
Angel piped up, “Jacques takes care of people. Be honest. Let him take care of you.”
For the first time in hours, Devil fell silent.
“No!” Isabella shouted and slammed her fist on the counter.
For the next few days, she would let Jacques Meszaros take care of everything. After that, Isabella Rey would take care of herself.
“I’d rather hear you say yes,” a gravelly voice said from behind her.
“Ahh.” She jumped, spinning through the air, fists clenched.
“Jesus, Isabella. It’s just me. Are you alright?” Jacques asked as if concerned for her sanity. “And why are you jogging around my kitchen?”
“Fine. I’m fine, Jacques. You just startled me. Too much coffee,” she lied, keeping her eyes away from him. She was Spanish. There's no such thing as too much coffee.
When she looked up, Angel fell off her shoulder, Devil dropped to her knees and Isabella's jaw fell so far her chin almost hit the tile.
What a man, the trio sighed in unison.
The tuxedo pants were gone, replaced by loose black silk, but the wife beater he’d worn underneath the tailored shirt was still there, clinging to the hard V of a perfect boy body. Throw in the tousled black hair, the eyes and damn. There was absolutely nothing feminine about the morning Jacques. Same confident, self-assured manner. Same intensity. Same magnetism.
His hand rubbed over t
he beard shading his jaw as if he was embarrassed. “You flatter me, Isabella. The way you look at me. Like I stop your heart.”
You do. She cleared her throat. “I was just thinking, Jacques, waiting for you and thinking.”
His eyes met hers and Devil lay back over her shoulder, spreading her legs. No man should be allowed to have eyes like that. Kohl lashes surrounded copper irises that burned like liquid fire, golden and deep as if to bewitch. Jacques's eyes were alive and blazing with passion.
“I see that,” he chuckled and the look said he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Be brave, Isla. Just act like you know what you’re doing. “I’m ready to negotiate, Jacques,” she said firmly, hiding her hands behind her back. Jacques already had reservations about her inexperience with his kind of lifestyle. How silly would she look if she was shaking like a leaf when she asked him to introduce her to it?
“Really,” he sang as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “About what? Are we negotiating a deal?”
She suddenly felt insecure, very insecure, but she hid her emotion and said, “I’ve made a list of my terms.” She picked up the small piece of paper on the counter and handed it to him.
He took it and she squirmed while he read what she had written on it.
“I’m not sure what to say to this.” He looked up with a question in his eyes.
“Say yes.” She tried to keep her voice firm, but the begging tone was unmistakable.
“What made you think that this is how we should begin?”
She tried to read him. Is he happy? Annoyed? Amused?
Angel called up from the floor, “Duh, you can’t read him. He’s a Dom. But he can read you,” she warned, “like a virtuoso.”
“Ooh, ooh, ooohhh, a real live Dom. Bet he can play you like a virtuoso too,” Devil chimed in.
Isabella squared her shoulders. “You said people negotiate the terms of this kind of relationship. I read about it and, um…” The wind left her sails. “I’ve messed up already, haven’t I?”
His eyes flashed with something so…commanding. “No, you haven’t. Never be embarrassed with me, Isabella. Never be ashamed. Not with me. Not with anyone. Not ever.”
No mistaking Jacques's disapproval of her self-doubt, but she still felt it. She nodded weakly as he returned his attention to the paper, the one she suddenly wanted to rip out of his hand.
“Just to put your mind at ease, I’m not into most of the things on this list. You don’t have a very high opinion of me if you think I am.”
“Good going, Saint Isabella,” Devil whispered.
Isabella tried to hide her insecurity with a flip remark. “You mean you don’t want to throw me over your shoulder and carry me to your red room of pain?”
“Someone has been reading too many cheesy romance novels,” he chided.
“Does that mean you don’t have a playroom?”
“I call it a dungeon,” he said too matter-of-factly for comfort.
Angel gasped. Devil pumped a fist in the air.
Jacques laid the paper down on the counter and sipped his coffee, staying silent for a few moments.
“You know, something occurs to me.” He took another long sip and set the cup down next to the paper. “We’ve been together for two days and I haven’t kissed you, I mean, kissed you properly. You kissed me on the boat and I kissed you on the dance floor, but those don’t count. They were too fast.”
His hand fluttered through the air dismissing the two best kisses of her life as if they were nothing special. Then those burning eyes captured hers.
“A kiss should be slow.”
One look and the dynamic between them instantly changed. One step and she instinctively moved back. Maldita sea. Nowhere to go except against the island.
His voice became softer, more seductive. “Would you mind, my morning Isabella, if I kissed you properly before we negotiate?”
She suddenly couldn’t move. Not one inch. Three languages and she couldn’t conjure a single word. Jacques leaned in and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. A warm hand cupped her jaw as he feathered his cheek against hers, the light scratch of the stubble on his jaw touching her in much deeper places.
“Would you mind if I kissed you here?”
His open lips moved along the outside of her earlobe, the way they had on her first night with him in the gallery. Taking the tender flesh into his mouth, he drew on it slightly, then traced up the delicate edge with his tongue. Soft breath on the moistened skin sent a fine tremor through her.
“Or here?”
She mewled her assent as he lowered his head and began to slide his lips down the side of her neck, lingering at her nape and then travelling back up to her earlobe. Inviting hands brushed over her arms, down her back, barely floating over the surface of her skin, but the weight of the erotic touch held her fast.
“This is much better, don’t you think?”
Ah, sí. Mucho mejor. Dios mío.
Up and down. The caress of lips. The soft wetness of his tongue. The gentle breath.
Up and down. The nuzzle of his nose, his chin, slowly savoring the curve of her neck.
He was so warm, so safe.
“No. Not safe. Not safe at all!” Angel warned.
Devil growled, “Shut. Up.”
Jacques trailed his mouth around to the hollow at the center of her throat and pressed his lips there firmly. “Does this please you, Isabella?”
The way he said her name, infused so much sex into it, made her swallow hard against those talented lips.
“I want to bring you pleasure, Isabella. The way you bring pleasure to me.”
He moved seductively, paying special attention to the skin just beneath her jawline, teasing it with his tongue before beginning his sojourn down the other side of her neck.
“Do you feel how much you please me, Isabella?” he breathed into her ear as a hand slipped down the curve of her lower back and pulled her body against his. “Do you want me as much as I want you?”
Good morning, gorgeous! The hot press of his erection burned through the layers of silk between them. She wanted, oh, how she wanted. So badly it made her quiver, but despite how expressive she was everywhere else, expressing her sexual desires was forbidden territory.
As if he felt the hesitation, he prompted, “Tell me, Isabella.”
Moving her hair away to expand his exploration, he poured the lightest of kisses across her collarbone and over her shoulder. A hand raised her chin as he made his way, nibbling and suckling, back up to her chin. She felt his lips move against her skin as he spoke.
“Tell me you want me.”
The words nearly popped from her mouth, Te deseo. Je te veux. Pick a language. I want you, want you, want you!
Before they did, Angel played the judgment card. “He wants you to talk like a cheap whore. In the name of all that is sacred, Isabella, you were raised better than that.”
“Say it. Fuck me, Master. I want you to fuuuuuckkk meeee,” Devil screeched in reply.
Isabella didn’t speak. She’d indulged certain guilty pleasures before, but it was easier to appease the conscience with silence. Words carried too much responsibility. She pressed her lips together and moaned deep in her throat.
“If you want my kiss, Isabella,” Jacques purred and the words seemed to stroke over her skin like coaxing fingers, “let me hear your voice.”
This man was dangerous. Muy peligroso. He’d told her that he liked to find limits and press against them and he’d sure found hers. Much too easily. He wanted her voice. Denial was not allowed. Just being near him like this made it damn near impossible.
Everything about Jacques was luring her in. The trace of crisp, clean cologne mixed with light masculine sweat. The velvet heat of smooth skin over iron muscle. The subtle, suggestive roll of his hips and shoulders. He was making her burn for his kiss like she’d never burned for anything before.
Those lips would not meet hers until she obeyed.
/>
Until she gave him control.
Until she gave him herself.
Jacques isn’t asking for much. Only a few words…“I want to taste you, Jacques.”
The moment her breathy plea whispered through the air, her reward slipped between her lips, filling her mouth with the taste of coffee, cinnamon and pure sin. She felt herself falling into Jacques’s possession, more with each long, slow, deep thrust of his tongue, and instinctively resisted, pushing her tongue back against his, taking the kiss from him.
He eased back, enough for his eyes to meet hers, and the copper stare mesmerized her. Then he changed. Right there in the middle of the kitchen. He just transformed into something she’d never seen before. Something more threatening. More commanding. More sexual.
This was Jacques, the Dom, and he was sure as hell letting her read him now. The expression on his face announced that this man wasn’t interested in sparring.
Did he like this? Oh, yes.
Was he good at it? Without a doubt.
Could he be toyed with or manipulated? Never.
The hot, eager intensity of his eyes told her that he wanted to introduce her to his every wanton desire, but only if she was brave enough to let him drive her past her every limitation. She swallowed hard with fear, actual fear, and the heavy weight of a deep lust settled inside of her.
When he spoke, his voice was low and hypnotic. “You offered me a few days, my beautiful Isabella, and I’m taking you up on it. I’ll be honest though. I don’t think a few days will be enough for me, but we’ll get to that later. For now, this is mine.” His hands pressed firmly against her skin, not simply touching, rather taking her body against his.
“And this.” His fingertips traced across her forehead.
“And maybe even this.” They dropped over her heart.
Her insides clenched into a tight knot of anticipation. The words alone were enough to turn her inside out, but the controlled, excited rumble in his voice touched something dormant inside of her, coaxing it to life.
“I have a single term, Isabella. Total control. I always respect limits. There are some you will try to hide, others that you aren’t even aware you have. As for your list, a few of the things on that paper are hard limits and a few, I suspect, are not. I promise that your toes will curl while we find out, but either way, I demand total control.”
Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two Page 12
