Damn it, that wasn’t not a lot. “He said no, right?”
“He says he’s not sure what he can work out. Which leaves us in the dark as to whether or not we’ll have a major act when ninety percent of our tickets are already sold.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous.” He’d never have pegged the guy for bailing, but then he also wasn’t that close to him. They’d shared a stage a couple of times, and Isaac knew Chris did a good bit of charity work—which was why he’d approached him with this opportunity. He hadn’t heard any stories on the grapevine that would indicate this. Maybe it truly was just pressure from the label; he of all people knew how hard that was to deal with. “How long before he’ll confirm?”
Grace’s voice went tight, a sure sign she had low hopes for this to work out. “He won’t give us a date.”
“Leave it to me.” Chris would confirm one way or the other today. “I’ll get back to you within twenty-four hours with a definite answer.”
“And if he can’t perform?”
This was the fourth anniversary of the charity’s founding, the fifth anniversary of Oliver’s death. It meant everything to Grace and the kids she cared about so much. He wouldn’t let them down. “Then I’ll have a replacement ready for you, I promise. I won’t leave you hanging.”
Another one of those pregnant pauses. “You know…you could—”
“No.”
It was gut instinct, that denial. He’d spent five years running from his home, his memories. Going back was impossible. He swallowed the bitter taste in the back of his throat, deliberately gentled his voice. “Grace… I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Face his past? As if his psyche wasn’t already fucked up enough right now. Grace was the only good thing he carried with him from that time in his life—that and his ambition to succeed.
It was selfish; he knew that. In some ways not being in Sydney kept Oliver alive in his mind, as if his best friend had gone on a trip and would be back any minute. As if Isaac hadn’t had his world shattered when the man who’d been his brother for almost two decades had walked into the surf and not come back. Returning to Australia would be like facing an oncoming train, and coward that he was, he couldn’t do it, not yet. Not even for Grace.
His friend cleared her throat. “Right.” No condemnation or sarcasm, just a mutual understanding of the scars they both carried. The word still burned like acid.
“Five years,” she said on a sigh. “I can’t believe it. I haven’t been sleeping well.”
Neither have I. But he wouldn’t say so; Grace wouldn’t carry his burdens along with her own, not if he could help it.
“I wish I could see you.”
Not I wish you were here. Grace wouldn’t ask again. The guilt threatened to drown him.
“You deserve so much better than me, Grace.”
She murmured a sound—agreement, disagreement; he couldn’t tell. “So do you, my friend.”
“You’ll hear from me tomorrow, I promise.”
“Okay. Love you, bro.”
Bro. Oliver had also called him brother. He closed his eyes tight. “Love you too.”
He ended the call, staring down at the empty screen for a long time. Next thing he knew, his guitar was flying across the balcony to smash against the heavy railing.
“Boss?”
Nick’s shout was followed by pounding footsteps. Isaac didn’t turn around. No one needed to see the anger tearing him up inside. “It’s all right, Nick.”
The silence stretched out for a long moment. Finally Nick stepped onto the balcony. “What do you need?”
There was only one thing that came to mind, but he wasn’t certain he could get it. He’d sure as hell try, though. “Wanna go for a walk?”
“Sure.”
Isaac headed inside to dress, leaving the shattered remains of his instrument behind. It was the shattered pieces of himself he needed to put together, and it wasn’t a guitar that could do it. It was a woman, and he was going to find her.
Chapter Seven
The knock on the door was almost a relief. For the past hour Kennedy had fought with herself, with thoughts of Isaac she knew had to be banished before they latched on and couldn’t be forgotten, and yet everything she did turned her attention his way. The caress of the water on her skin reminded her of his eyes gliding over her, the rich scent of coffee reminded her of their decadent dessert and his pleasure at the glide of cheesecake across his tongue. Need shivered over her skin continually, tempting her to walk the path she’d forbidden herself to walk. No more thinking about Isaac, no more dreaming about him, and absolutely no fantasies allowed.
Period.
If she could make it to work, she could immerse herself, escape like she needed to. And if someone was rapping on her door at seven thirty in the morning, work was likely coming to her.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “What’s the— Oh.”
It wasn’t Cooper or her secretary, Jeanne, in the hall. It was her nemesis, staring down at her with an intensity she couldn’t deal with this early. “Isaac. May I help you?”
He leaned one broad shoulder against the doorjamb. “I hope so.”
This man was Trouble—and yes, definitely with a capital T. “Oh?”
His body was casual, but his eyes…they held something dark, something not good. “Was wondering if you could fit a little drive around town into your schedule this morning.”
“Now?” Her treacherous mind was already running scenarios, shuffling tasks despite the fact that saying no was the only sane solution. “Is there something you need?”
“Just to get out o’ here.”
A shuffle behind Isaac drew her attention to Nick where he leaned against the opposite wall of the hallway. The big man kept his eyes trained on his boss, a worried vee creasing his brow. Nick could drive him anywhere he wanted to go; he didn’t need her. What she needed was to avoid time in this man’s presence. So why was she hesitating over the no that rested on the tip of her tongue?
She took a deep breath—and held it as Isaac’s eyes dropped to her chest. When he raised them again, the darkness had been replaced with a different kind of need. And just like that, she was lost.
“I think I could fit you in.”
He pushed upright, shoulders relaxing as he shoved his fists into the front pockets of his faded jeans. “Great. Let’s go.”
“Whoa, cowboy!” She glanced down at the business suit she currently wore. “Give me five minutes to change. Want me to call the valet to bring your car around?”
Nick straightened from his slouch against the wall. “Already done.”
She turned to go inside. Isaac stepped forward, but a firm hand on his chest stopped him. How did a single touch generate so much heat? “You wait here. Five minutes.”
She caught a glimpse of Nick winking at her as she closed the door to her suite. The man obviously found it amusing to watch her stand up to his boss. Knowing the industry, she imagined it didn’t happen often, but she wasn’t intimidated by mega stars. They needed reminders that they were human just like everyone else, and she knew how to dish those reminders out with a sweet smile that made people like them. Isaac’s snort as her door clicked shut proved her point very well.
Five minutes later she was back in the hall, leading the two men toward the elevators. Heat trailed along her backside, and she knew without a doubt that Isaac was checking out her ass, revealed in the tight jeans and casual shirt she’d changed into. If she put a little extra sway into her step, well, so what? Just pleasing her guest, right?
Right, Ken. The mental eye roll accompanying her snarky conscience had her choking back a laugh as they descended to the valet level. Nick led the way from there, though when it was time to pile into the dark SUV, the bodyguard stayed behind. Isaac took the wheel, rolling his window down to let his friend lean in as they got settled.
“What’s the number one rule?” Nick demanded, a frown on his face.
“No getting out of the c
ar, I promise.” Isaac shook Nick’s hand. “Now go take a break, dickhead.”
A laugh broke through Nick’s serious demeanor as they pulled away from him.
Isaac glanced her way before guiding the SUV up the ramp to exit onto the street. “Let’s go.”
“Let’s go,” she agreed.
Early morning traffic slowed them only slightly as they hit the Strip. Kennedy called Jeanne, leaving a message to move a couple of her appointments to later in the day, then tapped the phone in her palm. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No.” The word held surprise, as if he’d just realized he hadn’t eaten. She turned back to her phone to remedy that problem.
After stopping to pick up their to-go orders at Egg Works, she directed Isaac to hit I-95 and head west. The silence between them was easy, content, the tension that had filled him when he knocked on her door dissipating as the minutes passed. When they arrived at the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, a smile actually tugged at his lips.
She pointed Isaac onto the scenic drive, and about a third of the way around, they stopped at an overlook. Breakfast with the desert canyon spread out before them in all its glory. Isaac sat and stared out at the view, his sensual mouth forming an awed O.
“That’s…incredible, Ken.”
Only her friends and Vince called her Ken, but she found that she didn’t mind Isaac using it.
“It’s also very isolated,” he pointed out. “You aren’t trying to take advantage of me, are you? Because I might be willing.” He shot her an amused glance. “Just sayin’.”
“I’m sure you would be,” she said wryly.
“Now who’s a bit arrogant?” he asked, laughter rumbling through his words.
“The girl with Granny’s biscuits and gravy under her control.” Reaching into the back seat, she retrieved their breakfast, packed carefully in a warming bag. “If you want some, you won’t antagonize me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They ate in companionable silence, staring out at the landscape, neither reaching for words or excuses for not talking. She didn’t know about Isaac, but for her that was rare. Her brain didn’t often stop, her conscience or psyche or whatever that damned internal voice was running nonstop. Even in bed the internal snark wouldn’t let go, keeping her from fully immersing herself in the pleasure. Not that she should be thinking about bed or pleasure or letting go while breathing the same air as the man beside her, but telling herself she shouldn’t seemed to be as effective as telling herself to stay away from him, stop thinking about him, quit losing herself in those sea-glass eyes…
A snort escaped. Yeah, that was definitely not working so far.
“What?”
She turned to Isaac, who was popping the last piece of bacon off his disposable plate into his mouth. A man chewing should not be that damn sexy. “What what?”
He swallowed, a grin taking over his lips. “What’s so funny?”
She busied herself gathering the remnants of their breakfast and stuffing it all back into the bag. “Just me.”
“Do you amuse yourself often?”
Why did the question sound so dirty when he asked it in that rough accent, as if he’d asked her if she did other things to herself? “All the time.”
An outright laugh left him then, and Kennedy found herself enthralled by the sight. He was a beautiful man, intense, but God, when he laughed, he rivaled the sun. The sight tightened her chest, especially when she contrasted it with the look on his face when he’d knocked on her door at dawn.
“So…would you like to talk about what happened this morning?” she asked.
The question hit him like a splash of cold water, cutting that intriguing amusement off abruptly. She almost regretted it, but some instinct told her he needed to talk about whatever it was. She could be wrong, but she didn’t think so.
“I got a call,” he finally said.
She stayed quiet, hoping he’d continue.
“We were friends a long time ago. Still are, actually, though we don’t see each other much. Her brother was my best friend growing up.” While he explained about Oliver and Grace, about a childhood spent in boarding schools that was eerily similar to her own, she watched his face, the emotion only occasionally flitting across it. That was the tip of the iceberg, she knew. Emotion fairly vibrated off him, no matter how much he tried to hide it. A sudden hunger to see him let go, to witness the full reality of Isaac Anschau, struck her hard. It was too much, too out of control, and if her childhood had taught her anything, it was to hang on to as much control as she could possibly grasp.
“Why don’t you want to go to the benefit?” He could; a man like Isaac would move mountains to be there for his friend.
His lips tightened into a thin line before parting reluctantly. “I don’t perform in Australia, haven’t since I left. Too many ghosts with too much reach.”
Because it was obvious from the strain around his eyes that he’d rather not say more, she let the silence fall again. A few moments later, the movement of Isaac’s hands in his lap caught her attention. He held a thin piece of soft-looking rope, knotting and twisting it between restless fingers. “What’s that?”
Isaac startled out of whatever memory he’d been locked into, glancing down with raised brows. He hadn’t known he was playing with the rope. Interesting.
Shaking off his preoccupation like a dog with wet fur, he shot her a glance from under heavy eyelids. “That’s my emergency rope.”
Okay, she’d bite. “What kind of emergency could you possibly use that bit of string for?”
“For tying up pretty girls, of course.”
For another woman, that might’ve come across as threatening, but hey, she had a brother who handcuffed his woman and “spanked her pretty ass,” as he called it. The rope wasn’t long enough to hold her captive. Before she could spout a sassy comeback, Isaac captured her hand, drawing it to the armrest between them. He unwound the knots in the cord, then recreated them one by one around her fingers, her palm, her wrist. Delicate black lines contrasted with her creamy skin. She could still move, but the firm rope secured around her limb, still warm from his body heat, did something unexpected—it aroused her. As if Isaac had marked her in some way, winding knots around her body and emotions instead of just one hand. Her breath quickened, her breasts beginning to swell and ache with the same pulsing heat that settled in her lower belly. When she shifted on her seat, squeezing her thighs together as carefully as possible so he wouldn’t notice, Isaac chuckled.
“Well, that’s interesting.”
A far different kind of heat hit her cheeks. “What’s interesting?”
“That response.”
How could he tell she was responding to him tying her up?
Her cheeks burned. She dropped her gaze to where he held her. “What are you talking about?”
Isaac paused. One thick finger traced the patterns he’d made. “You haven’t talked to Vincent about me, have you?”
“No, of course not.”
He grunted as if a bit surprised. “I’m a rigger.”
“A what-er?”
“A rigger. A Dom who enjoys tying subs up.”
His eyes held hers captive as firmly as the cord held her arm, delving deep inside her, demanding something she wasn’t sure of—until it clicked. He thought her response to the rope was…
“Ah, Isaac, I’m not a sub.” No way, no how. A shiver rocked her spine.
One brow calmly rose. “How do you know?”
Isaac’s question got her redheaded temper going. “Because I have a Dom for a brother, and he’s not exactly quiet about it. I’d know if I was submissive.” She wasn’t.
Isaac shook his head as if he didn’t believe her. “Your brother isn’t in your bed, Ken.”
“Ew!”
He laughed at that, but continued. “My point is, he doesn’t know your needs. Only a lover can read you like that.”
“I can read me like that, and I’m n
ot submissive.” If she said it enough times, he’d finally get that she was telling the truth, right? So why did a flutter take up residence in her belly? There was no reason to panic, no—
“Can you now?”
“Yes!”
There. That was definitive. He’d understand now.
One long finger traced the web encompassing her hand. “Want to know what I see?”
“No.” Yes. But…no. And yet curiosity raised its ugly head. “Um…yes?”
The word was barely a whisper, but Isaac heard it. She knew because he nodded once even as he reached for her free hand. She knew she shouldn’t, knew she’d regret it, but she couldn’t resist giving it to him, watching, fascinated, as he used the free end of the cord to tie her wrists together with delicate knots, and then he was lifting her hands to hook them behind the headrest. When she tugged…
“Isaac?”
The sound of her breath was loud in the close confines of the SUV as he leaned over her, his big body taking up all the space, all the air. She pulled on her arms again. A thrill, part fear and part something she really didn’t want to acknowledge, shot through her.
“Shh…” Isaac laid a finger on her parted lips. He was so close she could see the green and yellow striations in his blue eyes. Fascinating. She strained toward him but, with her hands above her, got nowhere—and the thrill came again, this time settling in her nipples and between her legs.
Isaac’s gaze softened even as his own breath quickened. “Feel that, Kennedy?”
She shook her head.
“No? Then let me help.”
His parted lips settled on hers, warm and firm and so, so good. He laved her with his tongue, dipped in to mate with hers, taking her breath and making her take his. There was nothing she could do to escape his kiss, nothing she could do to protest. She could only accept what he gave her—his mouth, the hard press of his chest against her aching breasts, the hungry groan that escaped him when she sucked on his tongue. And it was all mixed with the lightning bolts of pleasure that sparked every time she tried to move and couldn’t. He had all the control, she had none, and she…
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