by Shandi Boyes
An explosion of fireworks erupts through my body from the primal visual. My climax is long, mind-blowing, and so loud, I’m certain the commuters traveling amongst us heard my cries of pleasure.
“Mine, Isabelle. You're mine,” Isaac grunts before the hotness of his spawn coats the walls of my clenching pussy.
Chapter 21
Isaac
“Hey, Isaac, it’s Ryan. I wanted to advise you that Theresa Veneto was released on bail this afternoon to await trial in a few months.” He breathes harshly down the line before coughing to clear his throat. “Yeah… umm… anyway, have a good Christmas.”
My brows scrunch, apprehensive about the uneasiness in his voice. Ryan usually exudes cockiness. It’s a natural characteristic ingrained in every detective or police officer I know. I imagine their industry is no different than the one my empire is immersed in. You need to have very thick skin to survive this ruthless world.
I lower my cell from my ear and dial one to return his call. The phone rings several times before he finally answers, “Ryan Carter.”
“Did I wake you?” My tone eludes to the fact that I’m not bothered if I did.
“Not exactly.” His voice has more self-assuredness than it did in his voicemail. “You caught me during a moment.”
My brow arches over the slyness of his reply. “Opening an early Christmas present?”
He chuckles a full-hearted laugh. “Something like that.”
My gaze drifts across the master suite to a naked Isabelle sleeping peacefully. Her hair is a tousled mess, and mascara is smeared under her eyes. I’ve left her resting a little longer this morning since I spent most of the night in a jealousy-fueled rage fucking her senseless, wanting to ensure she knows precisely whom her body belongs to.
I tried to rein in my jealousy, to smother the rage burning me from the inside out. My suppression was working after spending nearly an hour dancing with her at the cocktail party, but it returned full pelt when she kissed Colby on the cheek when we were leaving. He brazenly winked at me before returning her gesture. My fist clenched, and my jaw muscle ticked over his foolish lack of judgment.
The only reason he left the party still walking was because Cormack eased my fury by reminding me that Isabelle was wearing my ring. He also assured me he’d speak to Colby on my behalf. Cormack is my closest confidant, and he handled the issues regarding Clara with due diligence, so I trust he will follow through with his pledge for Colby.
Cormack was the reason Clara requested to speak to me last night. Each member of the McGregor family are well known in the press as billionaires, but every penny they have is in Cormack’s name. When his grandfather passed away, he left his entire fortune to Cormack.
Cormack despises the money nearly as much as he despised his father, but for the sake of his younger siblings, he maintains control of the McGregor entity. He allocated an extremely generous living allowance to his siblings, but he also encourages them to find their own place in the world as he did when he left the McGregor residence with nothing but the clothes on his back.
Clara believed Cormack’s withdrawal of funds was solely based on her false allegations against me, but after speaking with Cormack last night, I discovered that wasn’t the sole reason he cut her allowance.
Feet padding down the line interrupts me from my thoughts, while also reminding me I have my phone attached to my ear. I pace out of the master suite to ensure I don’t wake Isabelle.
“Theresa secured bail?”
Ryan took his findings to the judge who presided over Isabelle’s case the day following our meeting in my foyer. The judge agreed that Ryan had enough evidence to issue an arrest warrant for Theresa, giving him the pleasure of arresting her the following afternoon. She had been held in custody since then, awaiting her arraignment.
“Yes, but that was expected. Isabelle was charged with murder, and she was given bail, so it set the precedent that the person who falsely accused her of it would also be given bail.” I hear him scrub his hand along his jaw. “We’ve hit a bit of a stonewall.”
“How so?” My tone lowers as anger grips my body.
“The new DA assigned to the case agrees the evidence is compelling enough to convict Theresa, but he's worried the jury might feel compassion for her, considering everything that happened between you two.”
My back molars grind as my grip on the phone tightens, but before I can speak, Ryan continues. “He thinks your refusal to dispute her claims makes you look guilty.”
“Who told you what happened between Theresa and me?” The files on the court proceedings between Theresa and me are sealed, so Ryan wouldn’t be able to access them.
He coughs, clearing the rattle in his deep voice. “Alex.”
Blood teems furiously through my body. “Those files are sealed. He wouldn’t have access to them.”
“He didn’t. He found out via another source.”
I stiffen. Only one other person knows about the incident between Theresa and me, but she’s worked for me for years, so why would she betray me now?
“I have to go,” I advise Ryan, anger echoing in my voice.
“Isaac!”
I press the phone back against my ear. “Yes.”
“Give her the chance to explain. Not everything is black and white.”
Yeah, because there's always a heap of fucking gray no one pays any attention to.
When I disconnect our call, I grip my phone tightly, fighting the urge to send it hurling across the room. The blood streaming through my veins is overheating my body with anger. I'm so worked up, I don’t notice Isabelle sneaking up on me until her arms wrap around my torso, startling me enough, I yank away from her.
When I capture her tempting smell filtering through my nose, I curse under my breath, then spin around to face her. Pain grips my heart from the frightened haze in her alarmed eyes, but before I can soothe it, she rushes for me, stealing any apologies about to seep from my lips by enclosing her mouth over mine.
Her kiss is lush, mind-stealing, and devoted. By the time she pulls away, my earlier anger is a distant memory.
“That’s better.”
A grin tugs on my lips. This is another prime example of how she knows me better than anyone. I didn’t even need to speak, yet she offered me comfort.
After running her finger along my arched brow, she locked her eyes with mine. “Merry Christmas, Isaac.”
“Merry Christmas, Isabelle.”
When I grind my now stiff cock against the seam of her panties, her groan matches the grumbling of her hungry tummy. “Time for breakfast?”
She nods. “I'm starving… for you.”
I hit her with a flirty wink. “What did you think I’m going to feed you for breakfast?”
When she shudders in excitement, I increase my pace, eager to once again have her underneath me.
Isabelle’s head pops out of the fridge when a doorbell shrills through the kitchen. “I’ll get it.”
She places a quick kiss to the edge of my mouth before marching toward the foyer. I invited my brother, Nick, his fiancée, Jenni, my nephew, Jasper, and my dad here for Christmas brunch. With Nick’s crazy schedule and all the mammoth tasks I’ve been undertaking the past several months, Isabelle has not yet met my family, so she’s beyond excited that they’re coming today.
Her excitement was even more paramount than when I gifted her a five-carat diamond-drop necklace for Christmas. My motive for her gift was a little cunning on my part as I fully plan on seeing her in nothing but her necklace and a pair of black stilettos later tonight.
I lower the temperature on the oven to ensure Isabelle doesn’t burn the pastries and muffins Harlow made for her yesterday before I join Isabelle in the foyer. I stop frozen partway there when I discover who’s standing in the entryway.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Isaac,” Isabelle interrupts, looking mortified.
My eyes snap to hers, bewildered as to why she’s i
nviting Theresa into our home. Why in the world would she want any association with the lady who framed her for murder?
When she nudges her head at the lower half of Theresa’s body, I realize why she reprimanded me for cursing. A little boy with dark brown hair has his arms wrapped around his mother’s leg, hiding from my furious scowl.
“His only wish was to see his father for Christmas,” Theresa comments in a snarky tone.
As I battle to hold in my offensive language in front of the small child, Isabelle bobs down in front of him. Her nurturing chocolate eyes easily gain his attention, but if it didn’t, I’m sure her smile will. “Hi, what’s your name?”
“Jeremiah,” he answers, his voice quivering with nerves.
“That’s a lovely name. I’m Isabelle. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jeremiah.” He moves a step closer to her, coming out from the shelter of his mother’s leg when she asks, “Do you like cookies?”
His eyes widen before he eagerly nods.
After running her finger down the crinkle in his nose, Isabelle’s eyes drift between Theresa and me. “I’ll take him into the kitchen so you two can talk.”
The incessant scowl Theresa regularly wears is firmly in place as she nods her head at Isabelle’s suggestion. My jaw ticks, furious she can’t even be polite when Isabelle is striving to save her son from witnessing an argument on Christmas morning.
When I nod, Isabelle guides Jeremiah toward the kitchen, her spare hand squeezing my shoulder on the way by. Her strides stop when I seize her hand from mid-drop to lift it to my mouth. When I kiss the edge of her palm and place it over my heart, her pulse thumps through her veins
“I love you too,” she mouths before she continues into the kitchen with Jeremiah looking up at her in awe.
Chapter 22
Isabelle
I lift Jeremiah to sit on the sparkling countertop before moving toward the fridge. “Would you like a glass of milk with your cookies?” I keep my tone friendly since he's nervously fiddling with the hem of his Christmas sweater.
“Yes, please.”
I smile before grabbing the carton of milk out of the fridge. After snagging two glasses out of the drying rack, I pace to stand next to him. Jeremiah has big ocean-blue eyes and brown hair that curls around his ears. His rosy cheeks, plump lips, and small dimple in the middle of his chin make him utterly adorable. He’s one of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen.
“How old are you, Jeremiah?”
His hands tremble when he accepts the glass of milk I'm holding out for him. “Four, turning five.”
Even under the awkward circumstances of our meeting, a grin tugs my lips high when his sip of milk leaves a milk mustache on his top lip. I turn toward the oven when the timer dings, announcing the baked treats Harlow supplied me with for our brunch are ready.
Jeremiah’s eyes bulge when I say, “The cookies are ready.” I remove the three trays of baked goods to cool before placing four M&M cookies onto a white porcelain plate. “They need to cool a little.”
He licks his lips while nodding his cute little head. My ears prick when Theresa’s raised voice bellows into the kitchen. I’m not surprised when I don’t hear Isaac’s response. It’s his low, calm voice that causes the most quivering response from me. That’s when I know I'm in the most trouble. If his tone is low, that’s when he's the most furious.
My eyes sling back to Jeremiah when he asks, “Is my daddy mad at my mommy?”
My heart clutches when I see tears welling in his eyes. “No, sweetheart. No one is angry. It’s Christmas. Even the Grinch grows a heart Christmas morning.”
“And Mr. Scrooge,” he chimes in.
I giggle. “And Mr. Scrooge.”
I check the temperature of the cookies, ensuring they're cool before handing one to Jeremiah. All the moisture in his eyes disappears when he munches on the cookie while sipping his glass of milk. As he fills his hungry tummy, I run my eyes over his face, searching for any similarities between him and Isaac. The cleft chin is the biggest indication that Isaac could be his father, but Isaac is sterile, so that places Theresa’s claims of paternity into doubt.
A short time later, Theresa enters the kitchen. She’s as obnoxious as ever. “It’s time to go, Jeremiah.”
Nodding, he locks his big blue eyes with me. “Thank you for the cookie, Isabelle.” I smile from the way he stumbles out my name.
“You’re very welcome.”
When I help him down from the counter, the stranglehold on my heart intensifies when he wraps his arms around my legs to hug me tight. “Merry Christmas.”
Before I can return his embrace, Theresa yanks him away from me. My already faltering heart almost breaks when he stares up at Isaac, begging for a snippet of his attention. It does break when Isaac fails to respond to his silent pleas.
When our front door slams shut, my eyes drift to Isaac, who is leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. He's dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, but his standoff demeanor makes the visual not as glorious.
“He's very cute and well-mannered—”
“He isn’t my son, Isabelle, and encouraging him to believe any different will only hurt him in the long run.”
Obviously, my face is showing my pain for Jeremiah.
“Are you sure he isn’t yours?”
Isaac pushes off the doorjamb and strides toward me. His steps are fast and efficient, and they have my pulse quickening. After sitting me on the countertop Jeremiah was sitting on mere minutes ago, he nudges my thighs apart so he can stand between my legs.
“He isn’t my son,” he repeats, his tone nothing but honest. “I had my procedure six years ago, and he isn’t even five. I never had sex without protection, even knowing I’m sterile. The timeframe is wrong for the time I slept with Theresa. Our… affair ended in March, he was born in February.”
“Then why is she telling him you're his father? That isn’t fair to him. All he wants is the attention of his dad.”
“Because she knows I won’t fight her paternity claims.”
My brows furrow. “Why wouldn’t you fight them?”
“Because I’d have to give her my DNA.”
My brows furrow even tighter. “Yeah… so?”
He slants his head before cocking his brow. “Give my DNA to one of the most corrupt police officers in the country? Not only would she have it for any criminal activities she wanted to pin on me, but I also have no doubt she’d forge the tests to make it look like I’m Jeremiah’s father.”
He has a valid point. She didn’t even have my DNA, yet she still had me charged with murder.
“Is Jeremiah the reason she got fired from the police force?”
“No.” He halfheartedly shrugs. “Not exactly.”
I arch my brow, requesting further information.
“Theresa is…” He stops talking, unable to articulate a word to describe her.
“A vindictive bitch. Yep, I'm aware of that.”
He snickers. “Yes, that and a few other choice words.”
He steps closer to me until his breath flutters my lips. “She lost her position at Ravenshoe PD because she not only broke into my apartment on several occasions, she also used undercover officers for her personal benefit.”
My interests are immensely piqued, but I remain quiet, waiting for him to elaborate on his answer.
“She placed undercover officers in my clubs under the assumption they were to net me in a drug sting. She falsified documents, so it looked like she was investigating an illegal drug circuit that was allegedly being run by my clubs, all to secure my DNA.”
I blink several times in a row, utterly confused. “What benefit would she get from that? Even if you were arrested, she couldn’t have requested your DNA without a legitimate reason. Drug trafficking isn’t a valid reason for needing DNA unless you were convicted of the crime. But even then, no judge would be eager to sign off on a warrant if you refused to supply your DNA. So putting them undercover was fr
uitless if her ruse was only to get your DNA.”
He coughs to clear his throat. “The undercover officers were all blonde and under the age of twenty-eight.”
My brows furrow even closer. “I still don’t understand.”
He arches his brow. “They were all attractive and female.”
Like the sun rising in the sky, lucidity forms. I swallow to clear the lump in my throat. “Did you… umm… sleep with the undercover officers?”
“No,” he replies with a swift shake of his head. “I have a knack for reading people, and I could tell something wasn’t quite right with them.”
I release the breath I'm holding in.
“But even if I weren't suspicious, I would’ve never left a used condom lying around. I'm smarter than that. Well, I was, until you arrived in the picture. You completely blindsided me.”
He drags his index finger down my screwed-up nose. I should be angry we’re discussing his previous sexual encounters, but I’m not. Even though I hate the idea of him with anyone else, I appreciate that he's being forthright and honest.
“How did you find out they were undercover officers?”
“Hunter,” he says like that one response should answer all my questions.
I stare into his eyes, still confused.
“He’s a brilliant researcher and hacker.”
Oh.
“Have you ever considered arranging your own paternity test?”
He nods. “Yes, but not because I believe Jeremiah is mine, but because I want to refute Theresa’s claims. Theresa never attended the appointments I scheduled. She always had an excuse. Jeremiah was sick, he had a temperature, or she had to work. After the fifth attempt, I gave up.”
“She made excuses as she knew what the results would be.”
“That I’m not his father.” He brushes a wayward hair off my cheek before his eyes turn back to mine. “She thought she was clever. She designed one of the most arduous ruses I’ve dealt with. She even slept with a man with a cleft chin to make her ruse more believable, but I'm smarter than her, and I know without a doubt he isn’t my son.”
