Isaac grinned up at her and she pulled him up. He locked his arms around her and kissed her, nibbled on her ear to make her squirm. “Tickles,” she protested, chuckling. “Anyway, I came out to find you. Molly and the kids will be here soon.”
Molly, who had always been a Seattle girl, had politely turned down Isaac’s offer to buy her and Mike a new home in Portland. Now that Isaac and Sarah had moved down there permanently, they didn’t see her as much and Sarah missed her.
“You’ve already been so generous,” Molly had said, the night Isaac had asked her and Mike the question. Sarah had still been in hospital but well on the way to recovery and she and Isaac had decided very quickly to leave the city, leave the state.
“I love this city,” Sarah had told him, “but too much has happened here. I need to move on.”
Within the week, QuinnCorp’s had opened a new office in Portland and Sarah was looking at properties. Isaac had told her to choose whatever she wanted and now they had this beautiful European-style home, all exposed brickwork, and massive fireplaces. So different from her old home. That had been her only other condition. She wanted to start again – completely. She even let Isaac have free-reign about how much money he spent on her. Everything was different. New.
Sarah had enrolled at the University of Oregon to finish her architectural degree, much to Isaac’s delight. “When you graduate,” he said, “I have the perfect project for you.”
She had looked at him curiously but he wouldn’t tell her what it was.
Now, she tugged him into the house. “Come on, wash up. You’re a bad influence on those kids.”
Molly arrived and they were soon surrounded by hugs and love and kisses and the kids, hopped up on sugary drinks from their journey. Mike had come too, deciding at the last minute to join the gathering.
When they were settled in the garden, Isaac fired up the barbecue and began cooking while Sarah excused herself.
Molly watched Mike and the kids playing with the dogs for a moment then went to see if Isaac needed any help.
“How’s she settling in?” She asked after some easy chatter. Isaac grinned widely.
“Wonderfully. She’s doing so good, Molly, you should see her.”
Molly smiled and hugged him. “I’m so glad.”
Isaac looked up to see Sarah coming out of the house, a loving smile on her beautiful face – and a small child in her arms. Her dark skin looked like her mother’s – despite the fact they shared not one drop of DNA. Sarah brought her and Isaac’s newly adopted daughter over to see her aunt and uncle, handing her to Molly, who cooed and trilled at the little girl, Sophie.
Isaac wrapped his arms around his wife then, as they watched their daughter being fussed over, and kissed her temple. “Mrs. Quinn,” he murmured, “God damn but I think we made it.”
Sarah turned in his arms and kissed him. “We sure did. We made it through hell. Now we get the good stuff.”
Isaac smiled down at his beautiful wife, who had survived the darkest hell of what humans could do to each other and still had a heart full of love to give and knew, without a doubt, that they would only see the sunshine from now on
The End.
Torn
A Billionaire Romance
Older sister Cosima takes a vacation to The Maldives, the place her father grew up, and while she is there, meets a handsome, charming stranger. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, she spends a few very sensual, very erotic days with him, both of them agreeing: no names, no strings, and no inhibitions. Cosima has always guarded her heart fiercely, so when she returns to the US, she is amazed to find herself thinking of her lover – and even more amazed when he shows up in New Orleans as the billionaire owner of the hotel she and her firm of architects are about to star work on. Arlo Forrester, though, doesn’t seem all that surprised to see her…and soon Cosima realizes that he deliberately tracked her down despite their agreement. Not knowing whether to be irritated, or delighted, Cosima finds herself falling for the property magnate, but when his ex-lover follows him to New Orleans, Cosima finds herself torn between a peaceful existence and a possibly dangerous love. Will she decide Arlo’s love is worth the pain and what will it cost her to find out?
Torn Asunder
Part One
Cosima thanked the young boy who had brought her luggage to the villa, gave him a tip and then, at last alone, flopped down onto the bed and sighed. The flight from the US had been long; she had flown through Paris and had been delayed there for nearly twenty-four hours.
Now, though, she kicked off her shoes and padded out onto the deck. The clear azure water of the Indian Ocean swirled beneath the villa, and the sun beat relentlessly down. Cosima leaned on the railing and looked out to the mainland; one of the many islands of The Maldives. She breathed in lungfuls of fresh air and felt herself relax. It had been a hard year. Her job at one of the most prestigious architectural companies in New York had drained her and then, of course, when her family had been threatened, she’d had to leave abruptly, change her name, her identity and relocate to New Orleans.
She gazed out over the ocean. She always felt closer to her late father here, even more than when she was in Mumbai. She had been born in the city, but when her family was exiled, they had spent some time here before moving to London. Cosima planned to revisit all of her old haunts while she was here – her father had been the center of her and her sister’s existence when they were young, and he had made the islands seem magical just with his presence. She was looking forward to reliving some of that feeling as she explored the islands.
‘But not tonight,’ she thought now, going inside to change in her two-piece. ‘Tonight is just about relaxing.’
She slipped out of her cotton dress and into her bikini, stretching her long, lithe body into a yoga pose to get rid of the last vestiges of plane cramp. She shoved her long dark hair up into a bun and went out, diving off the deck in one graceful motion.
The feel of the water streaming past her limbs was heavenly; she swam a breaststroke hard for a few minutes, feeling her muscles unclenching then flipped onto her back and floated, letting the vitamin D from the sun sink into her pores. Her dark copper skin gleamed gold in the fiery sun, and Cosima felt the tension of the last few months slip away.
She had been twelve when her father died, killed in a car bomb blast in London. She and her younger sister, Harper, had been with their mother that night. Monica Lascelles had been the ‘It’ girl of the 1960’s, had unashamedly romanced some of the most handsome, richest and eligible bachelors of the time. Even when she reached forty, she was still a stunning woman and still commanded six-figure sums for her pictures. She’d been all set to marry an English nobleman when, at a very exclusive private party, she’d caught the eye of the young Indian prince who was visiting on a diplomatic vision. Prince Arjun Malhotra was ten years younger, confident and the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, with his dark eyes, long lashes and boyish smile. Two weeks later, causing scandal both in India and the UK, she’d married him in a registry office in Paris. Cosima was born a year later; Harper two years after her older sister. They spent their time between Mumbai, London and The Maldives and although Cosima and Harpa lived a happy childhood, tensions in the families of their parents grew unbearable. Finally, after his father was murdered by his own bodyguards, Arjun was exiled from India on pain of death. He took his family and left forever, his heart breaking and eventually, Arjun divorced Monica after discovering she was sleeping with just about all of his friends. But for a few of the more extreme anti-royalty nuts, banishment was not enough. They hunted down and killed every member of the Malhotra family…which was when Arjun sent his children to New York to begin new lives under new identities. He was set to join them a few days later – but instead, one night, he got into his chauffeured car and was blown to bits, along with his driver and a couple of innocent bystanders.
Cosima never got over it. Harpa, from whom they’d shielded the worst details clung
to her sister; their mother, ever the attention seeker, wailed and tore at her clothes in grief. Even then, Cosima could see her mother as a vapid narcissist as her mother did interview after interview, draped in the saris that Arjun had gifted to her, smoking exotic cigarettes. Waving her cigarette lighter around imperiously, she told her life story over and over, embellishing it just a little more every time and forgetting that she and Arjun had been divorced when he died.
The FBI had told them they would have to change their names, move somewhere no-one would find them, or they’d never be safe…but Monica wouldn’t hear of it.
‘They don’t want us. If they did, they would have killed us at the same time as my darling Arjun.’
Cosima would roll her eyes. If Monica had actually been in love with Arjun, the man and not Arjun the Prince, she might have had more sympathy, but Cosima knew for a fact her mother had had a string of affairs beginning after Harpa’s birth. When Cosima was sixteen, she moved out and applied to the court for legal custody of Harpa. She got it, so impressed was the judge who saw the serious young woman, already two years ahead in her education, how dedicated she was to raising her sister. Cosima took the last of her trust fund and bought her and Harpa a small apartment in New York City. Her mother had bleated and whined but soon found that life without her daughters left her a lot of freedom to do whatever she wanted – and whomever she wanted.
Now, at twenty-eight, Cosima was a highflyer at her architecture firm, and about to become a partner. They specialized in designing boutique hotels; Cosima had an exquisite eye for color and design and soon she was a name to be reckoned with in the industry. That she was beautiful didn’t go unnoticed, and soon the attention transcended the architecture world, and she was being courted by major publications who wanted to interview her and make her a star. She had resisted, and one journalist had taken exception to her reticence and researched her background. They exposed her as a Malhotra heir, and the FBI moved quickly to move her and Harpa out of New York when she’d received a death threat.
Cosima floated in the warm water of the Indian Ocean and sighed. Harpa had been devastated to leave New York, her job as a stylist, and their relationship had suffered as a consequence. Cosima had persuaded a reluctant FBI not to take them out of the country; instead, they relocated to hot, sultry New Orleans. Cosima, thanks to a few wise investments, was taking some time out before deciding what to do next – she already had offers from some of the biggest firms in New Orleans. Harpa was back styling for, to her dismay, far less glamorous clients than in the Big Apple – and now they had new surnames too: Bedi. Cosima and Harpa Bedi. Cosima felt so disloyal to her father’s memory and his name, but it couldn’t be helped.
Cosima swam back to her villa, and stood under the shower, shampooing the salt from her hair, soaping her body until she felt clean and refreshed. She toyed with the idea of heading onto the island for supper, but she wasn’t even hungry yet. The complimentary fruit basket stood on the table in the main room, and she picked from that, trying to decide where to go to eat. The small island was so compact that she could walk into the small town in less than five minutes. Glancing at her watch, she decided to catch up on some reading, but less than a half hour later, she had fallen asleep, with the book slipping to the deck and the sun beating down her.
Arlo Forrester took two bites of his fish then sat back to people watch as he ate. He loved it here on this tiny island; somewhere he wouldn’t be recognized or harassed. Solace, he thought, that’s what this place was, a haven. He noticed a few young women glancing his way and smiled. That’s one complication I don’t need. Arlo Forrester was almost forty, never married, just out of a long, long term relationship with Sabine Karlsson, the supermodel within whom he’d shared a bed and a life with for the last fifteen years. And still might have been had it not for his ex-best friend, Cole…who had been sleeping with Sabine for the last five of those years. A random comment at a party had led Arlo to discover their secret and that was that. Arlo Forrester didn’t do second chances. Ever.
So, after Sabine had tearfully moved out of his luxury penthouse, Arlo had decided. No more commitment. After all, with his dark good looks, his long legs, and hard body, it wasn’t as if he would go without sex for long. He had enough respect for a woman that he would explain his mindset to them before he took them to bed – but he found most while agreeing beforehand, would always, always think differently afterward. That wasn’t arrogance, just his experience.
So, no commitment and from now, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to stick to that. I can even do without sex for a while, he said to himself now; just hang out with my friends, with myself.
Although I might make an exception for her…Arlo sat up as a stunning woman walked into the restaurant. Actually ‘stunning’ was a gross understatement; the woman, who he guessed was in her mid-twenties, had dark skin, a body that was slender and yet curvy in all the right places, dark hair that reached past her waist and an air of independence that he found compelling.
The maître d’ led her to the table two down from him, and she sat facing him. He could hear her chatting in perfect Dhivehi….well, it was perfect to his untrained ear at least. She was wearing a simple dark gold dress, her feet bare, no jewelry, and no make-up. Christ, who needed make-up with skin like that, those huge dark eyes rimmed with the thickest darkest lashes, that deep pink full mouth. His groin tightened as he watched her order a drink, then as the waiter left, pull a book out from her bag and began reading. He squinted to see what she was reading and grinned. Harry Potter. He liked that; he liked she didn’t try to impress the people around her with a literary classic. She looked totally absorbed in the book too – he watched her smile and frown as she read and even start when the waiter brought her food, thanking him with a smile that made Arlo’s stomach warm.
Damn… She looked up as if he’d said the word out loud and their gazes locked. A flush crept up her face, and she looked away. Arlo grinned as she looked flustered, and then studiously ignored him as she ate her food. He relented, giving her privacy, but kept her in the corner of his eye as he finished his own supper.
Forty minutes later he saw her call for the check and tip generously, gathering her book and her bag to leave. Hell, what now, Forrester…decide? Are you going to let her go? Arlo sighed. This….this wasn’t what he needed right now, she was a complication but, god dammit; she was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen… He rubbed his hands over his eyes. So much for self-control, man, when a pretty face can distract you just like…
‘I’m going to the bar. If you want, you can join me, and I’ll buy you whatever drink is your poison.’
He looked up, shocked. The woman stood at the side of his table, looking down at him. Oh hell, close up, she was even more enchanting, and worse, he could smell her perfume…a clean, heady scent that sent his blood rushing to his groin. She nodded briefly, smiled and walked off in the direction – the easy, relaxed gait almost a sashay…and dear lord, the dress was backless, showing a long expanse of café-au-lait skin.
Jeez…Arlo called for the check, hurriedly signing it and over-tipping. Be cool, man, keep her waiting for at least ten minutes…ha. No way. Arlo followed the goddess into the bar as if she had him on a leash.
She sat down in a private booth and smiled as he sat opposite her.
‘Hi.’ Her accent was a sexy mix of American and Indian, and her smile…wow, any man could get lost by staring at her smile.
‘Hello. I’m – ‘
‘No names.’ Still, she smiled. ‘I figure we can do the whole getting to know each other thing. You tell me your life; I tell you mine. Or we can just get right to what would be inevitable.’
Arlo chuckled. ‘You’re confident.’
She inclined her head gracefully. ‘But hopefully not arrogant. If you’re not interested, that’s absolutely fine, no hard feelings, let’s have a drink and say goodbye.’
Arlo shook his head in disbelief. ‘Beautiful…you’re
stealing my best lines.’
She laughed. ‘I just don’t do games.’
Arlo nodded. ‘Me neither. I like your honesty, let me repay it by telling you that there is nothing in this world I’d like more than to accept your kind offer.’
‘But?’
‘But nothing. I think a night of fucking a woman as beautiful as you would be a gift from the gods. That you don’t want names…’
‘Or strings or commitment…’
‘Or inhibitions?’ He raised an eyebrow, amused and a smile spread across her face, and she kept her eyes locked with him.
‘No inhibitions.’ She said softly, and Arlo nodded, considered for a moment. Then he stood and held out his hand.
‘Screw the drinks.’
She took his hand and stood. ‘Agreed.’
They walked back to her villa hand-in-hand, the sand soft beneath their feet, the lights from other villa beacons in the darkness. Inside, their first kiss was tentative at first then as their lips moved against the others, it deepened, and Arlo’s fingers went to the straps of her dress, pulling them down. Her dress slithered down her body and onto the floor. She wore only panties and her breasts, large and perfectly formed fell heavily into his hands, the large brown aureole framing the delicate nipples. Cosima closed her eyes as he caressed them, dipping his head to take the nipples into his mouth in turn. God, she tasted so good and soon he was unable to stop himself dropping to his knees and burying his face her belly as he pulled her panties down slowly. His tongue traced patterns over her skin, around her navel and down until it lashed around her clit and he heard her gasp. Grinning, he gently parted her thighs to gain better access to her sex, which was already glistening with her arousal. She knotted her fingers in his hair as he pleasured her and by the time he felt her legs trembling so badly she could barely stand, he knew she was his. He scooped her into his arms and onto the bed, tearing off his clothes, his cock pulsing, and straining, ramrod straight against his belly. She smiled up at him as he sat back on his haunches and grabbed a condom from his pocket. As he rolled in onto him, he took in the sight of this beautiful woman beneath him, her soft curves so delicious, so tempting that when he finally slid into her, he was so turned on that it became a fast, furious fuck, thrilling and intense.
The Alpha's Assistant & The Dom Next Door Page 79
