The sight of Isaac wearing only a towel around his hips made the marrow in her bones turn to mush. At the same time, a heaviness filled her abdomen and a lightness filled her head. Openly staring, she absorbed the glorious sight of him. The sharp angles of his freshly shaven jaw. The damp black hair curling over his forehead. The stark hills and valleys of muscle in his torso. The rapid rise and fall of his hair-dusted chest. The breadth of his shoulders rounded with perfect symmetry. The powerful strength of his arms, tensed and ready to avenge whatever had done her wrong.
Pushing words past her dry throat, she managed to say, “Nothing urgent, though I could use your help. I can’t unbutton my dress.”
The tightness in his shoulders eased. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right out.”
Two minutes later he exited the bathroom smelling like lotion that matched his cologne, wearing a pair of boxer-briefs that left little to her imagination and a worn t-shirt that looked soft and inviting. If she couldn’t snuggle with him, maybe he’d let her borrow just his shirt. Longing washed through her again, and her fingers curled into fists to keep from reaching for him.
When he approached her, she turned, swept her hair to the side, and pointed to her back. “I can’t reach the buttons.”
His low laugh caressed her neck where she’d pulled her hair away. “I can see how that would be a problem.”
Apparently, she hadn’t done a thorough job of removing some strands because his strong fingers touched the nape of her neck, sliding into her hair, combing it over her right shoulder. She locked her knees to keep from swooning backward against his chest.
The whisper of his touch on her skin as he unfastened the row of buttons sent luscious shivers cascading over her. He smelled of soap and clean male essence. Her toes curled in her high heels. She kicked off her shoes to plant her feet more firmly on the carpet. She might embarrass herself by turning and melting into his arms uninvited.
At the base of her spine, the gentle pressure of his hands fell away. “Thanks for your help,” she said.
“Any time.” Instead of taking her in his arms like she dearly wanted him to, he stepped back and moved to the other side of the bed. “Hey, any chance you have a nail file I can use?”
Perplexed, she glanced over her shoulder. He stood with his back to her offering a measure of privacy. It seemed like an odd time to attend to nail hygiene. And what guy ever used a nail file? She shrugged. “Look in my makeup case on the glass shelf.”
He disappeared into the bathroom.
Seizing the moment, she discarded the gray dress he’d bought for her and pulled on her flesh-colored camisole, since she had nothing else to wear to bed. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and saw her nipples clearly through the thin fabric.
The second she heard the bathroom door squeak, she lunged under the sheets, pulling them up to her armpits. She hadn’t dated all that much, and she’d never felt terribly secure in her own skin. If they ever found themselves in bed together, she’d rather he explored her body in the dark under the covers, before he saw her parading around in her underwear and decided he wasn’t interested in what was underneath. “Fingernail emergency?” she asked.
A sound of amusement came from his throat. “No, but this will work in a pinch. It’s for the door.”
“Did it give you a splinter?”
He chuckled. “It’s an old trick I learned when I bought my first car lot. More like a junkyard, to be honest. It wasn’t in the best part of town. Sat vacant for half a year before I got to it, and chop shop pickers had helped themselves to an all-you-can-steal buffet of car parts. I slept in the office onsite for the first three months to catch them in the act. One night they decided to try and steal my cash drawer. I think I sent two of them to the hospital. Served them right. So because I couldn’t afford a real alarm system, I bought bells for the front door and improvised my own alert system inside where I slept.”
“Why did you buy a junkyard?” That seemed beneath his family pedigree.
He shrugged. “I’m an Atlas. It’s mandatory we own our own business by the time we’re twenty-one.”
Well, that was one way to instill the entrepreneurial spirit in the offspring of one of the wealthiest families in America. “But why work, when your whole family is richer than Donald Trump?”
He glanced at her with a stupefied expression as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Why wouldn’t I work?”
A self-made man to the core, she thought with appreciation. She respected that he’d chosen to work his way up in sales—from a junkyard to the largest Harley-Davidson dealership in Nevada—instead of riding on his family’s lucrative coattails.
Intrigued, she watched him open the door of their room, position the nail file at the edge of the top hinge, and then close the door with careful precision. “When you sold your dealership, why didn’t you retire, rather than coming to Denver to work for Soren Security?”
“There’s a Russian saying that translates to something like, ‘work until you drop.’ If you’re asking why I decided to make the shift to more of a desk job, I was looking for a change, a new challenge. Selling vehicles didn’t give me that anymore. My brother Jake made the transition first, buying the Sorens’ bounty hunter business. He inspired me, made me reevaluate some things. That’s how I ended up there, and here, with you.”
What Isaac didn’t tell her was that when the Sorens offered him a job as their sales director, and he’d shown up in Denver to discuss the option, he’d met Mindy. Everything about her had set off fireworks inside him. He’d made his choice within the hour. But that was something couples talked about once their relationship was established. One of those stories of fate, lightning striking, that married people told their friends at dinner parties when someone asked, “How did you two meet?” He wasn’t about to launch into those details when he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
After she’d been terrorized, he wasn’t going to make a pass at her, even though she’d spend the night next to him in bed. A fantasy he’d carried with him for a long time, but not one he could explore tonight.
A renewed sense of frustration lit his veins with a fire he couldn’t quench. He’d patiently waited for the perfect time to take her face in his hands and taste her lips beneath his. If he’d waited this long, he could handle another twenty-four hours of looking without touching.
Ignoring the desire pulsing in his blood, he sighed and went to the nearest side table. It seemed to be the right height to wedge under the door handle, but it missed by an inch. So he grabbed the chair at the small desk and propped it at an angle beneath the handle.
Then he stepped back to demonstrate. “First, we’ll hear the scrape and snap of the nail file, then the thud of the door hitting the chair. I’m not a deep sleeper. By the time this system comes into play, I’ll jump out of bed and stand here like this.”
He unplugged the floor lamp, clutched it in his fists like a baseball bat, and stood against the wall beside the bed. He drew the makeshift weapon back over his shoulder.
“If they manage to get past the chair, while you’re calling security I’ll be taking a swing. They’ll never see me coming.” He followed through with a slow-motion arc as he stepped around the corner and pretended to bash someone’s face in with the lamp. “No one will get to you. I swear it.”
“Thank you, Isaac.” Reasons why she should fall hard for him continued to stack up in his favor. Her emotions had practically built a shrine dedicated to him. How would she get through this week without caving in to temptation?
Although, if she worked up the nerve to make an advance, and he shot her down, she’d never be able to look him in the eyes again without feeling the burn of humiliation. If by some miracle they landed this sale, the Sorens might send them on other trips together. And if her attraction to him wasn’t mutual, that would make for the most awkward interactions.
Until he showed her undeniable proof that he felt the same spine-tingling attraction she did, she
’d keep her hope and desires to herself. Another Helenism reared up from her subconscious. “The greatest risks are only worth taking when you know you’ll win.” But then it wouldn’t be a risk, would it? Her brain hurt contemplating the options of what to do with Isaac. She couldn’t think about it anymore tonight.
“God, I’m tired.” Depleted on every level, she closed her heavy lids and fell back against the pillow.
Unable to help herself, though, she peeked through her lashes to glimpse Isaac walking around the bed to her side, and her heart skipped a few beats. Above her he braced one hand on the headboard, giving her a fine view of his taut triceps. With his other hand he reached for the lamp chain, but he paused. She held her breath. Please, please touch me, hold me, kiss me.
He glanced down at her with those impossible-to-read dark eyes. She lifted her lashes. Their stares held and she lost herself in the inky spheres.
A soft smile of regret touched his lips. “Good night, Mindy.”
When he pulled the chain, the room plunged into darkness. Then she heard him walk back to his side of the bed. She released the breath she’d been holding, masking the sound with a yawn. The blankets rustled and the mattress dipped with his weight. The cool sheets instantly warmed with his body heat. Oh, that gorgeous body.
Stiff as a board, she lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Every sound and movement heightened her awareness of him. She yearned for the accidental brush of his hand on her skin. The slightest invitation for her to roll into his arms and find his lips in the dark. She knew he would be an amazing kisser. Some men just gave off that uber-sensual vibe and radiated smooth seductiveness.
The thought of his tongue gliding against hers sent a shiver from her scalp to her toes. She bit the insides of her cheeks to contain a wistful groan.
“You cold?” he asked. “Here, you can have the comforter.” An extra layer draped over her. “I’ve been told I’m a restless sleeper. I tend to kick off the covers anyway.”
He’d been told…no doubt by the countless women he’d taken to bed. The heat glowing within her cooled several degrees. Why couldn’t she be one of those women? Was she that unappealing to him?
Once again, an ego-bruising Helenism stabbed at her, but she shut down the thought before it had the chance to fully form. Her mother may have syndicated advice columns in popular magazines and newspapers, but right now Mindy didn’t want to hear it.
They lay silently for awhile.
Isaac tossed and turned and then announced, “I can’t do this.”
“Wh-what?” He couldn’t even stand to be in the same bed with her?
“I can’t sleep in a shirt. I’m not used to feeling confined.”
“It’s okay. I can’t sleep in pants or I get that restless legs thing.” She realized her statement informed him that she wore only her underwear and the camisole beneath the covers, and he might not want that image floating in his head as he went to sleep.
“Thanks for understanding,” he said in a slightly strangled voice.
The bed creaked when he sat up. She heard the stretch of fabric as he pulled his shirt over his head, faint whoosh when it hit the floor.
The scent of his freshly washed skin drifted to her, taunting her. She went weak with yearning, glad for the firm mattress supporting her.
Once he settled in again, he took up his entire half of the bed. It wasn’t just his imposing form but also his presence. Whatever space surrounded him, he owned. Which had nothing to do with macho arrogance. He exuded pure confidence, a man completely secure in his world and whatever happened to be in it. At the moment that was her. She’d been sucked into the orbit of his sphere, and gravity had definitely kicked in. She wanted nothing more than to give in to the force drawing her toward his massive appeal.
So she rolled over and faced away from him. If he didn’t want her that way, she’d get over it. Wouldn’t be the first time. What kept her hoping, at the precipice of falling for him, were those moments she swore an inexplicable magnetism existed between them. An unspoken, unquestionable pull that kept drawing them together.
Although, as she lay in his bed and he seemed unaffected, she seriously started to question the sparks of attraction that lit his gaze when she caught his eye in an unguarded moment. Maybe she should upgrade her Netflix account to platinum status so she had something to do on Saturday nights in the future that probably wouldn’t include him.
On that depressing note, she sank into the net of sleep waiting to catch her and pull her under.
Next she knew, daylight struck her eyelids. But she didn’t want to open her eyes or let go of the web of sensation surrounding her in blissful comfort.
Her cheek rested against a warm, hard surface. A firm clasp cupped her shoulder, tender and reassuring. One of her hands rested between two firm pillows radiating heat.
Suddenly she froze. Those weren’t pillows. And the hard surface against her face wasn’t the mattress.
Oh, no. Her eyes flew wide open to the view of an expansive male chest, her head cradled by his shoulder.
“Morning,” he whispered. His sleep-roughened voice drifted over her like velvet.
“Okay.” She swallowed. “This is awkward.”
A sound of amusement rumbled in his chest. “Don’t move your hand up, or it could get even more awkward.”
Blushing hard enough to burst a capillary, she yanked her hand from between his thighs and sprang to her side of the mattress. “I—I just—I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”
“I’d say I was sorry, too, but…” He stopped himself from speaking.
Leaping out of bed, she dashed into the bathroom. She didn’t want to hear what he’d been about to say. No doubt women threw themselves at him all the time. But she wasn’t like that. Normally. Yet he probably had the Isaac Effect on any female with eyes and a pulse. With his God-given sex appeal he could wake a woman from a coma.
The throb between her thighs let her know she was far from comatose or unaffected. For crying out loud, she couldn’t help it. If she could shut off the valve to the molten heat that oozed through her when she looked at him, she would. In spite of last night’s turbulent events, her deprived sex drive begged for relief, a hot tumble with him between the sheets, the warmth of his body moving with hers erasing her doubts and fears.
Chest aching, body flushed, she adjusted the shower faucets until they offered the right lukewarm temperature. European-style showers, as she’d discovered yesterday morning, didn’t offer the steamy heat Americans were used to, at least not for any reasonable length of time. Glad she’d waxed before her trip, instead of having to take time to shave, she hurried through her bathing routine. Why the rush, she didn’t know. Maybe her skin needed the rough stimulation of her loofah sponge to scrub away Isaac’s unspoken rejection and the invisible stain of last night’s attack.
Fortunately, she’d packed all her toiletries and makeup in her carryon bag. Only her clothes had gone missing. Oh, and the ever important SOS thumb drive.
What an epic failure on her part. Why hadn’t she placed the device in her purse, instead of her suitcase? Shame burned in her throat.
As she huddled under the spray of the quickly cooling shower, she considered the ramifications if she had managed to do the correct thing and kept the thumb drive on her. The burglars would’ve stolen the tech intel out from under them.
At least there was some hope their luggage would arrive before the trip ended. If the drive had been stolen, she and Isaac would’ve had nothing to give the Markovs. Making their entire company-expensed excursion to Russia a wash.
Maybe everything did happen for a reason, as her horoscope yesterday had suggested. She half dreaded what today’s forecast held or how her personal astrologer would try and shine the sun through such a thick layer of storm clouds. Ugh.
As stepped out of the shower, she realized belatedly she hadn’t brought clothes in with her. She’d been too intent on putting space between her and the object of her
desire.
After blow-drying her hair, she wrapped a towel around her body. She tried to tug the short fluffy shield lower than the curve of her backside, without much success. Giving up her attempt at modesty, she opened the door to the scent of breakfast.
Her stomach growled. She couldn’t believe after last night’s twenty course feast she was hungry, but the smell of rich food pulled her into the room where Isaac had set up a tray on the desk. Wearing his worn t-shirt again, he half sat on the desk and pointed to the chair he’d removed from the door and set at the desk. “Come eat. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I ordered a little of everything.”
“This looks amazing.” She sat down and inhaled two slices of bacon.
“Yes, it does.” He paused with his coffee mug halfway to his lips and a few drops dribbled down the front of his shirt.
Then she realized the source of his distraction—her. Wearing nothing but a towel. “I should go change.”
“No, you really shouldn’t.”
Her gaze flew to his. And there it was…that mysterious sparkle in his deep dark eyes. A mixture of amusement and interest and…attraction? She was probably seeing things.
Too enticed by breakfast to decipher mysteries this early in the morning, she polished off a potato pancake topped with applesauce and washed it down with a hot cup of tea.
As she bit into another piece of bacon, she experienced a sudden flashback from last night. The sharp stench of the man’s breath who pinned her against him. The metallic taste of his ring when she tried to scream. The hateful words as they snarled at her. Vicious strength crushing her, bruising her. No escape.
Her appetite disappeared. She dropped the bacon and shoved her trembling hands between her knees.
Isaac’s gaze alert, he sat forward. “What’s wrong?”
“He was wearing a ring,” she said unsteadily.
“Who?”
“One of the men who…” She cleared her throat. “Who broke into my room last night.”
Isaac’s voice lowered to a hypnotic baritone. “That’s good you remembered. After a trauma, memories can be slow to come back. Do you remember what the ring looked like? How the men were dressed?”
Bedded by Her Bodyguard (Billionaire Bodyguard Series) Page 5
