by Nalini Singh
Not when he was unsuitable, blue-eyed trouble.
Her toes curled inside her heels. Her lower body clenched. And her breasts, they seemed to well inside the cups of her bra.
And Devil Ísa whispered, Nothing says you have to marry him, you idiot. Don’t you want to look back and have some wicked stories with which to scandalize your grandchildren?
7
Sailor the Merciless
SAILOR WENT TO BED ON FRIDAY night with a lush redhead on his mind. Was it any wonder that his body refused to settle down?
Groaning, he fisted the hard length of his cock and stroked. And thought about punishing his redhead for the torment. He wasn’t into pain or whips and chains, so maybe he’d tie her up and tease her until she begged for mercy.
He wouldn’t have mercy, he decided.
He’d lick and suck and keep her on the edge while he feasted. And he’d tell her how he’d thought about her as he stroked his own body. How he’d fantasized about sinking into her in a single deep thrust and feeling her so tight and wet around him. How he’d imagined stripping her bare so he could fondle her breasts and scrape his unshaven jaw over the delicate perfection of her skin.
His body shuddered; his back arched.
Crashing back down, the release easing his sexual tension but doing nothing to take his redhead off his mind, Sailor said, “Definitely no mercy.” His chest heaved up and down. “When I catch up with you, spitfire, it’s going to be all about revenge.”
Sweet, slow, erotic revenge.
Wickedness is underrated.
~ Nayna Sharma
8
Misbehaving Devil Women
SATURDAY NIGHT ARRIVED FAR TOO quickly.
Ísa had spent Friday night dreaming of tangled limbs in the back seat of a certain truck; memories of the dream, of a blue-eyed man with a sinful smile, had even infiltrated her waking hours to leave her breathless. Tonight she decided she’d exorcise his ghost. Tonight she was going to have fun, dammit, and not be the granny her subconscious kept accusing her of being.
The worst thing was that Devil Ísa was right.
It felt as if she’d been the adult in her family since she was fifteen. Oh, Jacqueline could run a multimillion-dollar business empire and negotiate stellar deals, but when it came to holding their scattered family together, it was Ísa who did the heavy lifting. She’d realized on the day of Catie’s birth that if she didn’t step up to the plate, no one else would. Certainly not Jacqueline’s fourth husband, the man who’d fathered Catie.
Ísa’s father, Stefán, obviously had no reason to look out for his ex-wife’s daughter with another man. Not that he’d much looked out for his own either.
Her phone beeped.
When she picked it up, it was to see her father’s handsome face flashing on the screen as if she’d summoned him out of thin air just by thinking of him. “Hi, Dad.”
“Your mother told me you’re finally taking more interest in her company,” he said in Icelandic, as if they’d just spoken yesterday instead of four months ago. “Good. Once you get some experience there, you can move into a vice presidential position in my fleet.”
Ísa rubbed at her forehead. This, this was why her parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out. They admired each other enormously and remained close friends to this day, but they simply could not stop playing the game of one-upmanship when it came to business.
Even when it involved their daughter.
Switching to the same language Stefán had used, the language that still colored her English, she said, “How’s”—oh God, what was the name of her father’s current wife?—“er, Jenetta,” she finished, hoping he’d blame the pause on the international phone connection.
“Oh, Jenetta and I parted ways two months ago, sweetheart. She was lovely, but a touch vacuous in the brain-cell department.”
Ísa winced on behalf of the departed Jenetta. “So you’re single?”
“Not for long! I was able to get an expedited divorce—I won’t bore you with the details of how. The wedding’s going to be in New Zealand. You know I like you to be part of the bridal party.”
Any other person might’ve been confused. Any other person was not Ísa and hadn’t grown up with Stefán. “What’s the name of your fiancée?”
“Elizabeth Anne Victoria. Such an English name. Her parents are viscounts or something.” A verbal shrug that only a man who was one of the wealthiest in Europe could make—a man who’d already married and divorced a princess and two prima ballerinas. “I’ll send you the wedding invitation, but here’s the date.”
Ísa dutifully noted it down.
Stefán hung up soon afterward as he’d received a call from a corporate partner on the other line. As she put down her phone, Ísa realized she had no idea of her father’s current physical location. She’d also forgotten to subtly nudge him for more information about Elizabeth Anne Victoria—specifically, the new fiancée’s age. Morbid curiosity had her googling for a woman with that name who was the child of a viscount.
Two results came up.
One was an eighty-year-old married matriarch.
The other a twenty-one-year-old lissome beauty whose Instagram feed was full of images of her in various bikinis with captions that were either “motivational” sayings about working hard and achieving the dream or giggly reports about her latest vacation to some sun-drenched island so exclusive that you needed a private yacht to get to it.
According to her bio, she wanted to be the first woman to fly into space. Her goal was to be “an inspirational role model to younger women!” It seemed to have escaped Elizabeth Anne Victoria’s notice that a number of women had already beaten her to the stars. And that, to achieve her goal, she might need to study something other than the “meaning of life through a cocktail glass.”
“Lots of brain cells there, Dad,” Ísa muttered, wondering if the ink would even have a chance to dry on the marriage certificate before Stefán got bored. For a smart man, he’d never made a sensible choice in marriage partners, Jacqueline included. He either chose barracudas like Ísa’s mother or, lately, women who simply couldn’t keep up with the brain that had taken a fleet of failing cruise ships and turned it into a global empire.
Putting down her phone, Ísa stared in the mirror again. Her father was about to cross the last line—he was going to marry a woman younger than his daughter. That was it. Ísa had had it. “I don’t care what I have to do tonight,” she vowed, “but I am not coming home without misbehaving at least once!” No more playing it safe. Not tonight.
Devil Ísa cheered.
Decision made, Ísa threw open her wardrobe. It was filled with full-skirted day dresses, well-cut shirts, and skirts that flattered her body but weren’t too tight to wear to work. Clearly she couldn’t wear any of those things to a party where she intended to commit at least one sin, maybe two. She wanted to look dangerous and sexy and delicious, not like a prim and proper high school teacher.
“No turning back, Ísa.” Sucking in a breath, she pushed aside all the other clothes in the closet to reach into the very back. Her fingers brushed the hard edge of sequins. Stomach tight and fluttery, she pulled out the hanger holding the dress.
She didn’t know what Catie had been thinking, buying this for Ísa’s birthday a couple of years ago. Her sister had talked Harlow into going along with the choice—the two of them had pooled their money to be able to afford it.
The dress was a vivid royal blue and sequined from top to bottom.
That sounded impressive until you took the length of the dress into account: the thing had no straps and the one time Ísa had worn it—for her at-home birthday dinner with Catie and Harlow—it had only come to halfway down her thighs. Bending over hadn’t been an option, not unless she wanted to reveal the color of her panties to anyone behind her.
Resolve teetering, she almost shoved the dress back in. A woman with breasts her size was not meant to wear a strapless dress. But if she didn’t wear this
, it would have to be a T-shirt and jeans.
Real sexy. Real wild. Real breaking the rules.
Annoyed with herself, she stripped down—bra included—and wiggled into the dress. It had a zip down the side that made it easier. It was only when she began to tug up the zip that she remembered the dress’s tight fit. It had made her feel like a fat sausage until Catie pointed out that the tight fit was on purpose so that her boobs wouldn’t fall out.
“And it’s meant to show off your curves,” her sister had said with a sigh. “I wish I had some curves to show off, but since I don’t, I’m going to make sure you don’t hide yours.”
According to both her siblings, she’d looked “hot, hot, hot” in the dress.
Dress on, she walked to the mirror again, then dared take a peek. The dress fit like she’d been painted into it, sliding down her back in a smooth curve before shaping itself over her rear. It was much the same in the front except that the smooth line was broken by the clever ruching across the stomach that made it appear as if she didn’t have a belly at all.
Up top, her breasts were impressively encased and pressed together just enough to create some admittedly sexy cleavage. Ísa took a second look… and smiled. She owed her little sister an apology, because the dress? It was perfect for the woman she wanted to be tonight.
Devil Ísa was now in charge.
Taking down her hair, she went to pick up her hair straightener—only to realize her wildly tumbled locks looked insanely sensual, as if she’d just gotten out of bed… or the back seat of the gardener’s truck.
Blushing red-hot, she waved her hands in front of her face while still grinning; okay, yes, she’d run away before really doing anything, but at least she’d done something. And if she ever ran into him again, she wasn’t going to run away. No, she’d take him up on his invitation to enter the back seat, should the offer still be open.
Her core threatened to melt.
“Focus, Ísa,” she ordered herself. “Stop thinking about the gardener. I’m sure there are plenty more fish in the sinful sea. And you’re going fishing.”
She picked up her makeup and got to work.
Finished after a careful twenty minutes, she stepped back—and found a stranger looking out at her. A stranger in a smoking-hot dress with a tumble of red hair around her shoulders and lips so lush and plump they looked bitable.
Yes, her hips were wider than was fashionable, and she definitely had more curves than she should, but tonight Ísa was going to forget about should. Tonight she was going to celebrate who she was and let out the vixen within. Maybe if she did enough vixening, she’d forget the man with the blue, blue eyes who’d touched her as if he wanted to devour her in small bites.
Those eyes…
She frowned, still unable to shake the feeling that she’d seen them before, though that was impossible. She’d have remembered that gorgeous face, those sexy lips, that incredible build. No, she’d never met her gardener before that steamy kiss that haunted her dreams.
* * *
NAYNA WHISTLED WHEN SHE SAW Ísa. “Talk about sex on legs!” she said from the driver’s seat while Ísa got into the passenger seat. She’d come downstairs to wait for Nayna, determined not to chicken out and change.
“Wow,” Ísa said of her friend’s own dress. “It looks like you wrapped a black bandage around yourself and said you were done. It’s holy-crap fantastic.”
The dress had thin straps, but otherwise it was similar to Ísa’s in that it hit Nayna midway down the thighs. The bandage look was made all the sexier because it didn’t cover every single part of Nayna’s body. A little gap by her ribs, a hint by the curve of her hip, a strip along her lower back; the exposed sections were tiny, but that was why they looked so damn tempting.
Some of those exposed areas, however, were located in—
Ísa’s eyes widened. “Are you naked under that?”
A distinctly naughty smile from her best friend. “Shh.” Giggling at Ísa’s scandalized gasp, she said, “I had to hide this from my mother. I put it in a box marked Tax Documents and left my stilettos in the car. Then, tonight, I walked out in a giant coat and sensible shoes.”
Ísa couldn’t understand Nayna’s decision to live at home, just as she couldn’t understand her friend’s agreement to an arranged marriage, but it was what Nayna wanted. “I approve of your cunning ways.”
“Did you see how it glitters when the light hits it?”
“You look like a goddess of the night.”
Nayna cut herself off mid-laugh. “Damn.” She pointed to where she’d hooked up her phone to act as their GPS. “Can you fix that?” For some reason the screen had gone blank.
“What’s the address?” When Nayna told her, Ísa didn’t bother to reset the phone. “I know the way. My mother used to take me to parties around there.”
Social events that had actually been more like business mixers.
Jacqueline training Ísa to be her successor. A mini-dragon. No matter if Ísa had no desire to breathe fire and cut throats.
“You met our host through work, right?” she said to Nayna about twenty minutes later as her friend brought the car to a halt partway down the long drive already clogged with a number of vehicles.
“It’s a couple actually.” Nayna turned off her engine. “The kind of power couple who end up in the social pages. This is their annual pre-Christmas-slash-anniversary party.”
“Oh, I didn’t bring a gift.”
Reaching into the back, Nayna held up a beautifully wrapped package. “Already taken care of. It’s a his-and-hers spa package from that fancy place we took Catie to when she turned thirteen.”
Once out in the balmy night air, they took care navigating the drive, neither one of them used to walking in such spindly high heels. Ísa also had to fight the urge to keep tugging at her dress. It wasn’t going to get any longer no matter how hard she tugged.
“Devil women,” she said to Nayna, hooking her arm through her friend’s. “That’s what we are tonight.”
Nayna nodded, something haunted in her eyes. “Wild, wild devil women,” she said. “Definitely not good girls who do what their families want.”
Ísa wanted desperately to follow up on what she’d caught in Nayna’s expression, in her voice, but there was also a desperation in her friend that said Nayna needed to have a good time. Tonight was not the time to talk about her choices and whether she truly could live with them.
“I dare you to kiss a random guy tonight,” she said instead of digging into Nayna’s heart and fears. “A gorgeous, ripped guy you’d never normally approach.” Her friend was confident in her work, but she was Ísa’s best friend for a reason—neither one of them was exactly the femme fatale type.
“Dare accepted,” Nayna said firmly. “Since we’ll never again see each other, who cares if he thinks I’m a crazy woman?”
Ísa decided she’d have to keep an eye on her friend tonight. There was an edge to Nayna she’d never before felt. Or… maybe she wouldn’t keep an eye on her. Nayna already lived life by too many rules. Tonight was about breaking them. “Just tell me if you’re going to go off with someone so I don’t worry.”
“You do the same.” Nayna took a deep breath as they reached the open front door. “Let’s go do bad-girl things.”
They entered to find the party already in full swing. To their right was a massive living area that flowed out onto a huge deck that, in turn, led into the glowing blue waters of a pool that already boasted several swimmers. The cathedral ceiling soared high above, a huge crystal chandelier glittering light across every surface.
Music filled the space, not so loud as to halt conversation, but more than loud enough for those who wanted to dance—as a champagne-flute-waving group was doing in one corner, that area decorated with disco ball lights that turned it into a mini dance floor filled with beautiful bodies.
Walking gingerly into the area where yet more beautiful people laughed and mingled, Ísa had a sudd
en attack of nerves. What the hell was she doing here? She didn’t look anything like these skinny creatures with their sleekly tumbling hair and skin tanned to golden perfection. If she tried to tan, she’d turn into a crispy critter.
“Nayna!” A stunning brunette walked toward Nayna with her arms wide open.
Going into them, Nayna hugged the other woman before passing on the gift package. “This is my friend Ísa.”
“I hope you two brought swimsuits,” the brunette said after a hug of welcome. “Though”—a wink—“from the look of it, not everyone is bothering with suits.”
The brunette was tugged away by another woman a second later while a grinning Ísa looked at Nayna in a silent question. Not saying a word, the two of them began to head toward the pool.
And the back of Ísa’s neck prickled with a sudden, visceral awareness.
Of hot, blue-eyed trouble.
9
Voodoo Games
ÍSA TURNED AROUND WITH A pounding heart… to see only the glossily beautiful people she’d already spotted, including a couple of men who were trying to catch her eye. Ignoring them, she kept on looking for the cause of her prickling awareness.
Nothing. No sign of her hot gardener.
Disappointment was a leaden rock in her stomach.
“Oh my God.” Nayna’s awed whisper snagged her attention. “Is he even real?”
Following the other woman’s gaze, Ísa saw that it was locked on the heavily muscled form of a tall male with bronzed skin and rough scruff around his jaw, his black hair tumbled.
