“Just give me one moment to call my study group and cancel.”
He nodded, waiting.
Charles didn’t pick up the call, but Isabel quickly sent him a text message and then tossed her phone in her purse. “Let’s go,” she said to Jacob, feeling breathless.
She followed him to the rear passenger door of the SUV Eddie drove. He helped her up, into the seat, which wasn’t easy because she wore her boots and a short pleated skirt under her raincoat. Once she was settled in, he leaned over her to address Eddie.
“We’re going to my place,” Jacob said.
Eddies brows rose. “Uh-huh.”
With her chin on her chest, burrowed beneath her coat collar, Isabel had a split-second opportunity to collect her wits and rethink her actions before she let herself be whisked away with Jacob.
Was she certain she knew what she was doing? Was this really wise of her?
Do it, the daring part of her said. Relax and take a look round his flat. See what’s what. Talk with him. Dig deeper into his motivations.
But that wasn’t what happened at all. As soon as they reached his building, he took her hand and then like the good bodyguard he was, he opened the door, blocking her from the cold wind with his body. He led her a few feet across the pavement and into the small building she recognized as his home.
When they got inside the foyer—it was really just a three-level town house, she realized—and up the stairs partway, she stopped him on a quiet landing.
Jacob turned to her, drawing her close. “You know what?” he asked, gazing at her.
“Wh-what?” she said breathlessly, feeling hot all over.
“Holding back my feelings—” he brushed her lips with his “—has been—” his teeth caught her bottom lip “—a mistake.”
And then he kissed her. Heat coursing through her, she touched his head, running her fingers through his short, clipped hair. He devoured her with his mouth, tasting of mint.
Her heart was pounding, her breathing quickened. Her breasts felt full and heavy, and she squirmed against him.
He opened her coat, and with warm hands stroked up her leg and under her short skirt. She’d worn boots with warm knee socks, but beneath her skirt she just wore pants—panties, the New York lingerie store clerk called them. His palm pressed over her mound, his finger drew aside the elastic of her new cotton panties—now damp with her desire—and his thumb stroked her bare flesh.
She bucked, from the irrational shock over what he was doing—he had touched her so intimately, so publicly, where anyone could see them!—as well as from the sensation he gave her. Waves of pleasure were building slowly within her. His low voice spoke against her skin, his blue eyes, deep as the ocean, gazed into hers. “I’m not holding back what I feel for you any longer.”
She shivered. “O-oh,” she said.
His thumb caressed her softly, over and over, around and around that spot she could not believe he’d dared to breach. A significant barrier was coming down between them, quickly, and rather than fighting it, she welcomed it. She gasped slightly and moved against his palm. “Jacob, I...” Somewhere, her brain was trying to form words but failing.
Oh, he felt so nice. She wasn’t used to this treatment. She gazed into Jacob’s eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, his tongue caressing her tongue, his thumb creating more pleasure than she could stand.
He was destroying her composure, surely and swiftly.
He pressed his lips to her ear. “I’m not holding back anymore, Isabel.”
“No. Don’t. Please.” That was all she could manage to gasp.
He shocked her again, where she thought she couldn’t be shocked any longer. With a last gentle kiss on her lips, he withdrew his mouth and his hand. She felt naked without him.
And then he lifted her skirt and lowered his head.
She gasped loudly.
After her surprise passed, she sighed and relaxed into him. He felt amazing. Amazing, amazing, amazing. Jacob was amazing. Tension was building in her—sweet, easy tension—and it was bringing her to a height she would soon fly from. She rested her fingers against his head, needing to climax with him....
Just then, a door below them opened. Jacob lifted his head and gently put her panties back in place, then smoothed her skirt down.
With serious eyes, he looked into hers. “We have to move now, Isabel.”
“I...can’t...”
“I’ll help you.” He took her hand.
Feeling more grounded in her own body than she ever had before, she reached up to him and pulled him down to her, kissing him, tasting herself in his mouth.
Wordlessly he smiled at her, slung her laptop over his shoulder and led her up the carpeted stairs.
He squeezed her hand tightly as he unlocked the door to his flat and drew her inside.
Jacob Ross did not make love to her with efficiency, with urgency, or—that first time, at least—with humor, but with all the intensity in his heart and soul. He burned for her, and he was determined to make her burn, too.
Isabel had never experienced anything like this. With his gaze locked on hers, Jacob set her laptop down and then lovingly undressed her. He kissed each part of her as though his kisses were meant to start a fire of need and want within her.
Her raincoat went first, and then her boots, her woolen socks unrolled. Then her blouse, her bra, the damp cotton panties.
He left the pleated skirt on her. The female version of the Scottish kilt she’d made him wear. And the scratchiness of the wool against her bare bum felt incredibly sexy.
But what he’d done to her on the landing had been foreplay, and she was burning hot now. She wanted him to enter her and consummate his passion. They hadn’t moved five feet beyond his front door. Wearing just her short skirt, she undressed him just as carefully.
He picked her up and brought her to his bed. She felt the soft mattress beneath her, the tenderness with which he held her in his arms. He got protection from somewhere, and she drew her knees up for him; wanted him to enter and stroke her. He kissed her, gently, and when he came inside her he paused, sighing. “Heaven,” he murmured.
She cupped his face. Jacob. Ran her hands down the length of his smooth, muscled back. Around broad shoulders that supported her.
Kissing, sighing, they made love slowly. Such a delicious feeling flooding her entire body, from the tips of her breasts to her toes. She arched her back, crying and gasping. Isabel wasn’t usually a physical person, not someone who cried out and who burned. Normally she was controlled, in possession of herself, not as in tune with her own desires.
But not with Jacob. He was entirely physical. He took her body and he brought them both to climax, a long, delicious ride that was...perfect. Sweet and fulfilling and full of tenderness and release.
There was no control left in her anymore. And it felt nice not to be in control, for once.
This was a man she could easily make love to for all her days.
* * *
ISABEL WOKE TO late afternoon sun slanting across the pillow. Jacob was sleeping on his back, a sheet covering just his waist, while she’d slept with her head pillowed on his chest.
Stretching, she glanced at the clock. They’d been sleeping soundly for four hours. She didn’t need to leave yet. They still had time together.
“That’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks,” he murmured, running his hands through her hair.
“Me, too.”
“Usually, I toss and turn. Sometimes going to bed with the music on helps, but having you here is better.” He turned to his side, shifting her to the mattress beside him. She leaned her head on her arm and smiled at him.
“Want to stay in bed for a while longer?” he asked. “I’m up for more hooky.” He glanced at the clock and winc
ed. “Or we could order some early dinner.”
“I’m supposed to be working on the take-home final exam for my business law course,” she murmured.
It didn’t faze him. “Bring your books here if you want, and I’ll help you.”
“How?” she asked, laughing. “My exam is for business law, not criminal law.”
“I know.” He continued to sift her hair through his fingers. “I finished two years of law school, so let me guess—your survey course covers basic contracts, torts, property...” He paused. “What else? Corporations?”
“You mean you’re a lawyer, too?”
“No. I never finished my third year or sat for the bar exam.”
She sat up. “How is it that you’re such a Renaissance man?”
He smiled. “I’m not.” He rolled over and stretched. “I went to law school nights the first few years I worked for the NYPD, mostly to appease my mom. But I’m drawn to law enforcement. What can I say?”
She drew her knees under her arms and wiggled her toes. On Jacob’s nightstand, she saw a small book beneath his iPod. She reached past the iPod and picked it up.
The back of the dust jacket had a familiar color portrait of the Scottish poet Robert Burns. She turned it over. “Burns” was all the cover said.
Inside, one page was dog-eared. Isabel flipped to it. “A Red, Red Rose” was the poem Jacob had marked.
She pressed her hand to her heart. There was so much more to Jacob than she’d realized. And here was proof that he’d been affected by her, even before they’d been physically intimate.
Overcome, she lifted the bedsheet and joined him there, stretching out on top of him. She already felt imprinted to him, to the texture and scent and taste of his naked skin. To the comforting feel of his kiss. His mouth quirked into a smile, and as she kissed him, he groaned and stroked her body.
“I can’t get enough of you, you know,” he murmured.
“That’s what I was hoping.”
They made love again. Then they ate. They talked, and the shadows lengthened so it was dark again.
A part of Isabel knew she shouldn’t be doing this, that they still had issues between them. Furthermore, outside this bedroom, they each had commitments, and those commitments clashed. She knew that she was only hurting herself in the long term by bonding with him now. But she couldn’t stop herself.
Partly out of guilt, while he was dressing and also on the phone with Eddie, discussing a court date they had for the next day, she dressed quickly and took heed of her uncle’s advice. She walked round his flat and made note of everything she saw.
In a small, sparse kitchen area, she observed that he did not cook much. His refrigerator held mainly beverages—juice, water, milk, beer—and a stick of butter. The freezer contained only ice cubes. In the cabinets were boxes of cereal and a loaf of bread.
She moved to the living area—a couch, television and table. Serviceable and neat. He had an acoustic guitar; its case was open and some sheet music was spread across the coffee table. There were shelves stacked with books—Jacob was obviously a reader.
She felt a pang of sadness in her chest. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. She just knew that she wanted to cry over having to do this.
And then, tucked between a sketchbook and a stack of spy thrillers, she found a textbook titled Hostage Rescue. Sinking onto the couch, she cradled the heavy volume.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She gazed up at him. He had changed into jeans and a U.S. Secret Service T-shirt.
“Is this textbook from your work training?”
Jacob sat on the arm of the couch next to her. His voice was gentle. “Yes, it is. Are you looking for something? I’ve been watching you for a few minutes now.”
She closed the cover of the book and tapped her finger on it. “Your father was involved in the rescuing of my two cousins. We haven’t really talked about that.”
Slowly he nodded. “You’re right.”
“Jacob, I’m sorry he was killed. That must have been horrible for you.”
He smiled faintly. “Thanks. I never really knew him. My mom doesn’t talk about him, either, so...”
“It must have been difficult for you growing up without him.”
He shrugged slightly. “I’d always known he’d abandoned us, even before he was killed. I didn’t have great feelings about him. I was angry that he’d left my mother. I wished I could talk with him and ask him why he did it.”
“You never had answers?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Eventually, I just sort of put him out of my mind. When I became friends with Eddie, and we were both interested in applying to the police academy, my mom...she got really angry. That was the first time we’d ever had a rift like that. She didn’t want me to join the NYPD, not after what happened to my father.”
“Yes, I can see her point. But you did it anyway?”
“I...like being in law enforcement. I like being good at it.” He caressed her cheek. “I think everybody needs to be good at something.”
She felt a lump in her throat.
“This,” he said, “what you and I are doing now, is how honest I want to be with you. It’s how I want to be.” He was silent for a moment. “Do you think you can forgive me for not being more honest with you earlier? I feel bad for making you look incompetent to your uncle. And for upsetting you.”
“You do?” she breathed.
“Yeah.” He traced his finger along her chin. “Your feelings are important to me, Isabel.”
She lowered her gaze. “Truthfully, I spent most of the weekend thinking about the wedding...especially when Rhiannon was on the monitor and I told you all those things, in confidence, about who she and Malcolm were. That would have been a good time for you to tell me everything, Jacob.” Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t finish. She couldn’t even look at him.
He sat on the couch beside her. He was staring at his hands on his knees. It seemed he couldn’t look at her, either. “Maybe...I’m learning to be more open,” he said.
She thought back to their lovemaking. He’d been open there.
She put her hand on his knee. “Is this because...your family doesn’t talk about things?”
“I don’t think you can blame them for what I do or don’t do.”
“I don’t blame anybody. I think we all protect ourselves the best way we know how, don’t we?” She ran a finger over the cover of his textbook. “I mean, nobody wants to be a hostage.”
Least of all her. She kept thinking about what her uncle had asked her to do—or rather, what she had suggested in her rush to please her uncle.
A risk assessment.
What was Jacob’s risk to them?
She looked at him point-blank. “You said that you need to know what happened with your father because...your employer requires it.”
“Yeah. That’s the immediacy of it. But...” He ran a hand through his short hair. “It’s become more than that to me.” He tapped a finger to his chest. “I’d like to know. And I should know.” He paused. “The point being, it’s truth. And I don’t want to hurt you guys. Far from it. My father—my real father, Donald Ross—hurt me and my mother more than anyone else ever could. He abandoned us, long before he died. I have no illusions about that. There’s no legacy for me to rehabilitate.”
He shook his head. “I just need to know. Not just for work, but for me. To give me some sense of meaning that will never be shared beyond you, me, my employer and maybe my little sister, if she asks.”
Isabel curled into his lap. She wanted to give all that to him. Maybe she could help him.
“Tell me what I can do, Jacob. What specific things do you need from my uncle? Do you need a Q&A session with him? Is that what the Christmas invitati
on with him was all about?”
“Yes. I asked him for a talk. That’s all I want. Just to find out from him what happened, because he knows.”
“My cousins were abducted and held for ransom strictly for the money, because we, as Sages, owned a private company. Malcolm and Rhiannon suffered for it—they were held for eleven days. My uncle has always felt guilty, I think, over what happened to Rhiannon, especially. He has a soft spot for her and Malcolm.”
“Yes, I sensed that, too, based on what I saw at the wedding and what you also told me. But, Isabel, I don’t want to open any old wounds. That’s the last thing I want. If I can just get an investigator’s understanding, the same as any case-study class in a hostage negotiation—” He tapped the book. “Just the basics—like a diagram and layout of the facility where the incident occurred. A time line with numbers and scope of the law enforcement personnel involved. A narrative of the decisions made and operations taken. A description of the hostage-takers and their demands. The weaponry and caliber of bullets used.”
“I’m not sure we can get you all that,” she said, feeling overwhelmed.
“We can try, can’t we?” His eyes were blazing, burning with desire and emotion.
And suddenly she knew. If she could somehow find a way to salvage this, to meet his requirements, then maybe they could salvage their relationship, too. Maybe they could find a way to make a love affair work.
It was crazy. And yet...
She turned to him. “Do you think we can make this relationship between us happen?” she asked.
He nodded, seemingly overcome with emotion.
All she could do was try.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“UNCLE?” ISABEL SAID into her mobile phone at four-thirty in the morning, her time. She’d come home from Jacob’s flat a few hours ago, and the first thing she’d done was jot down everything they’d discussed. “I have the risk assessment you asked me to perform.”
“So soon?”
“Yes. I skipped classes yesterday and spent the afternoon in a dialogue with Jacob.”
Then she recited from her prepared notes, giving her uncle a sanitized version of what Jacob had requested from them.
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