by Milly Taiden
She took the steps two at a time, adrenaline giving her the strength to move despite her curves. Alison was nowhere to be found as she walked into the guestroom, her eyes wary. Three garment bags still hung in the closet. Two were empty and the third—
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Isabel unzipped the bag. Her hand shook as her fingers reached for what was left of her dress, a choked sob breaking in her chest. The dress was ruined. Like someone had gone postal, slashing it until it hung in shreds on the hanger.
“Oh, that’s a shame, Izzy.” Alison stood in the doorway in her robe, her hair and makeup already done for the evening. “And such a gorgeous gown, too. Such a color! So similar to fabric I asked you to find for me last year. The same fabric you said you couldn’t locate,” she tsked. “Who could be that spiteful?”
Isabel wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You know as well as I do who is that vindictive, you bitch.”
“Me?” she laughed, tossing Izzy’s sewing scissors onto the guest bed. “You’re right. Then again, you should know me well enough by now, Isabel. Maybe you should learn not to leave your tools around. Tempt not, want not.”
“The saying is waste not, want not, you stupid cunt.”
Alison’s mouth twisted. “Isabel is so talented. Isabel can do anything.” Her voice was high and shrill. “Oh, Candice, you should be so proud of Izzy! She’s going places!” The girl laughed. “Why should she be proud? Candice wasn’t even married to your stupid father! I’m sick of hearing it! Going places, ha! Well the only place you are not going is to the party tonight!”
Red faced, her chest heaved as she stared at Isabel, but Ally sucked in a breath and waved her off with a practiced chuckle. “I suppose we could wait for you to try and mend that mess of a dress, but from the looks of that rag, it would take a miracle.”
Her face hardened and her eyes were narrow and flinty. “I always get what I want, Isabel, and those who stand in my way end up hurt. Be grateful it was your gown I cut and not you. Stop trying to be something you’re not, Izzy. Especially not with a dress that’s better than mine.”
“I only want my due, Alison. I earned it.”
Ally scoffed. “Candice owes me. Not you. I’m her daughter.”
“That woman doesn’t owe you anything, and you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Isabel lifted her chin, meeting Ally’s stare. “Ignorance isn’t always bliss, Alison, and whatever you may think, Candice is not stupid. Regretful? Guilt-ridden? Maybe. But not stupid.”
Alison’s eyes narrowed even more before leaning toward the empty doorway as if listening for footsteps. “Did you really think you could come with us?” She turned back with a dismissive laugh. “I don’t know what you think you know, but if I were you I’d lose the notion fast. You’re a rag tag bottom feeder whose only use is in the backroom, sewing. You’ll never be more than a two-bit seamstress, so unless you’ve got a fairy godmother with a magic wand, it looks like you’re not going to the ball tonight, Cinderella.”
Heat sluiced across Isabel’s chest and her skin prickled as if on fire. Her arm shot across her middle and she cried out, falling to her knees as pain gripped her insides. Her fingernails pulsed as if they were being pulled off. Her skull felt like it wanted to reshape or explode. She gulped in air, trying to hold still until the feeling passed.
With a snort, Alison walked to the doorway. “You’re so annoying, Izzy, really. If you’re going to have a panic attack, at least wait until Candice and I leave. I’ll tell her you said not to wait. After all, a tubby nobody like you needs all the time she can get to pull it together.” Shaking her head, she flounced out with a laugh, leaving Isabel on the floor.
Izzy got to her knees, using the bed to help herself up. Through the door, she heard the two downstairs ready to go and a sob hitched in her throat. This was all Alison. Candice was a first-class bitch, but she wasn’t malicious. She respected excellence, and whatever her short comings, she would never have allowed Ally to ruin that dress.
Emotions warred in her chest at what to do next. And what the hell had knocked her to her knees? She’d never felt anything like that before. Maybe Ally was right and it was a panic attack. Isabel shook her head. It didn’t matter.
There was no way to even process what she felt. All she wanted was to take her stuff and get out. She’d figure a way to pay the two of them back in spades. If ever she wished she could shift into a raging predator, it was now. Like she told Tessa, no more Miss Nice Girl.
Refusing to cry, she zipped up what was left of her gown and unhooked the garment bag from its hanger in the closet. As for the rest of her sewing tools downstairs, she’d collect tomorrow or the next day. She grumbled to herself. Or maybe never. Maybe she’d bury them with the rest of the evidence along with Candice’s and Alison’s bodies.
It was late, and Tessa was waiting for her call. She planned to meet her with the others to take pictures. They were so happy for her, but right now all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed.
Waiting until it was quiet, she took her bag and whatever else she could carry and left. By the time she got back to the studio, she was numb. Unlocking the door, she didn’t bother with the lights. She dumped the garment bag and the rest on her worktable and then curled up on her bed.
Of course, sleep wouldn’t come. Worse yet, Tessa’s words rang through her mind in a scolding I told you so chant. She sat up in the dark, blinking at the shadows in the studio. Revenge was a dish best served cold, so she needed to chill out and plan. She’d get even if it was the last thing she did.
A knock on the door pulled her from her plotting. Isabel got up and walked to the door, dying a little when she saw it was Tess. At least she was alone.
She opened the door, holding her hand up before the woman could utter a word. “Don’t say it. I’ve been hearing your voice in my head for the past hour, and I don’t need it broadcasted live. Trust me, Memorex is enough.”
“Tell me what they did.”
Izzy pointed to the garment bag on her table and then slumped into a chair. Tessa snapped on the light and Isabel’s hand went up to shield her eyes. “I know you want to see the carnage, but does it have to be tonight?” Izzy’s voice cracked.
“The best revenge is success, Isabel. It’s not cold, though it can be coldhearted.” Tessa picked up the garment bag and hung it in the closet, unzipping the front. She looked at the shredded dress and shook her head. “Thankfully, in your case, though, your revenge is hot, hot, hot and going to stick it to them where they live.”
“I’m not in the mood for riddles, Tess. What are you talking about?”
Lifting one finger, she walked to the front door and came back with another garment bag. “This is what I’m talking about.”
She took the old one down and hung up the new one, unzipping the front.
Izzy sat up, her eyes wide. “Tess! How? When?” Inside was Izzy’s dress, or to be specific, an exact duplicate. The same amazing silk fabric, the same design. Identical.
Tessa shrugged. “You left the pattern at my place. So, I made a copy. I ordered extra fabric a while ago, just in case, and it looks like my instincts were on the money. While you were busy with the other designs, I made an identical dress. I may not be a fairy godmother, but I don’t need a magic wand to get you to this shindig tonight.”
Isabel launched herself from her chair, throwing her arms around the older woman. “You’re better than a fairy godmother. Wand or no wand, you rock!”
Tessa laughed, taking a step back. “Yeah, and no midnight curfew to get in the way of sticking it royally to those two cunts.” She made a face. “I hate that word, but in this case, it fits.” With a smile, she cupped Izzy’s cheek. “Come on. Let’s get you ready for the ball, Cinderella. I only wish I could be there to see those two sorry excuses choke on their tongues!”
13
Isabel stood on the veranda overlooking the pool. The entire place was a phenomenon. Silver decorations complete with Swar
ovski crystals dripped from the ceiling inside the main house and on the tall drink tables dotting the outside. A half-naked waitstaff coated in silver body paint carried trays with a variety of martinis, the sleek drinks the only dots of color in this shiny world.
She assumed the furniture on the main floor had been removed, giving the floor-to-ceiling glass windows a starring role in the surreal spectacle.
Isabel recognized no one, watching instead as the crowd played their parts, each vying to see and be seen. Keeping a sharp eye out for Candice and Alison, she forced herself to relax. She wouldn’t make a scene, but she wouldn’t back down from one, either. She was a shifter, and it was about time she owned her own blood. Strong. Not hard. She wouldn’t let them push her over that line.
Raising her face to the waxing moon, she closed her eyes and focused on its light. Funny how Alex Petrov had chosen silver as the party’s main theme. Part of her smiled at the analogy. Silver moonlight. Silver Screen. It probably didn’t mean a damn thing to anyone else, but it warmed her a little.
She inhaled and in that moment a familiar bark had her spinning on her high heels as a rather large German shepherd jumped up to lick her arm.
“Oh, my God! Jezebel? What are you doing here, girl?” Izzy hunkered down to scratch the dog’s ears, her eyes searching the crowd for Zander. He never went anywhere without her, or so he said, and she didn’t think Jezzie had run away again, least of all places, here.
Isabel spotted him as he pushed through the throng. The man was even more gorgeous than she remembered. He shrugged people off, his eyes darting around, obviously looking for Jezebel.
He stopped the moment his gaze met hers and a soft smile crept across his lips. “Of all the gin joints in all the world, she walks into mine.”
“Casablanca. Figures you’d guess it was one of my favorite movies.” Isabel gave Jezebel’s head another pat and then straightened, smoothing the front of her gown.
“Seems Jezebel won’t give up on getting us together,” he replied. “You should have left your note with her instead of that airheaded waitress.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ruined napkin.
Izzy’s lips parted at the smeared ink. Tess was right again. Her words were nothing but a red splotch. “I thought you stood me up.”
Zander nodded. “I figured. You are one tough woman to find. I had people searching all over the city.” He walked forward until they were toe-to-toe. “You didn’t leave me with much to go on.”
She took in his face and the raw honesty in his clear blue eyes. “How’d you know I’d be here tonight?”
“I didn’t. From what you told me, I guessed you were a talented but unknown designer and hoped you’d be here.” He shrugged. “The rest was up to fate.”
Reaching up, she rested her hand on his chest. “Fate?”
He slipped his arms around her waist. “Yes. Fate. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day, Isabel. It’s like you branded my soul.”
She felt her cheeks warm and she glanced down.
“What?” he asked, letting go of her waist just long enough to slip his fingers under her chin. “Look at me, Izzy.”
She shook her head. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m even more of a nut case than you did when I ran out on you.”
“You didn’t run out on me. You left a note that got waylaid.” He grinned. “I’m the one who hired people to search the city for you. If you’re a nut case, then I’m certifiable.”
Isabel chewed the side of her lips. “I’ve been dreaming about you, Zander. Not wistful, wishing for you kind of dreams. I’m talking X-rated dreams that haunt me even when I’m awake.” She nodded. “Very X-rated.”
Laughing, he shook his head. “Oh, babe, if you took a walk around in my head, that gorgeous blush on your cheeks would be permanent. I’ve had a perpetual hard-on for the last two weeks.”
A flirty grin spread across her lips and she angled her head. “Maybe we should compare notes.”
With a delicious, crooked smirk, he pulled her close, his lips hovering above hers. “Deal. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Hey, Petrov! Who’s the new girl?” Cameras clicked around them as paparazzi pushed and shoved, crowding the floor to get closer. “Is she in the running for your new picture?” Another asshat pushed past. “Come on, Alex, give her a sloppy kiss!”
Isabel stepped back from Zander to shield her eyes from the barrage of flash photography. The crash of reporters pressed hard, and she flinched as one shoved a camera in her face making her stumble back.
Jezebel growled and Zander caught Isabel around the waist and held tightly. “Come on. I know where we can get away from this chaos. Jezzie. Bed!” The dog bounded through the crowd, knocking people over as she vaulted past the guard on the stairs to their private quarters.
Security manned the entrances and exits, but Zander steered her toward the stairs that led to the gardens and beyond. “Where are we going?” she asked, keeping herself tucked under his arm.
“The orchard. It’s really my backyard, but I have a bunch of fruit trees, so I call it that. It’s my own private oasis.”
“Won’t the paparazzi follow?” she asked.
Zander’s security team didn’t move a muscle as he hurried with Isabel down the stairs, but his men formed an impenetrable barrier the minute the press tried to follow.
Isabel looked back, letting out a nervous laugh. “Wow. Who’d you hire? Ex-secret service?”
“My private quarters and most of the property are off limits to everyone unless they are with me personally. My team has strict orders. Especially where the compound leads out to the beach.”
Zander didn’t stop until the noise from the party faded into the night. The moon and the sound from the surf on the far edge of the property gave their surrounding a peaceful feel compared to the bass backbeat coming from the house. He let go of her shoulders, his eyes never leaving Isabel as she stood below a cherry tree.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was your own private oasis.” She reached up to touch the blossoms. “So, you’re Alexandr Petrov.” She turned, letting her hand drop from the delicate blooms.
He nodded. “Yes.”
She pursed her lips. “Not Zander the dog lover, but Alexandr ‘Alex’ Petrov, the movie producer.”
His eyes took her in, and though his inner wolf paced in its inner cage, fighting with him to drag her beneath the tree and take her, he held back.
“Zander is what my family calls me. It’s been my nickname since I was a boy. To answer your question, though, yes, I am Alexandr Petrov, movie producer—among other things, but I’m also the man you met two weeks ago who was frantic about losing his dog.”
“I see,” she replied, rubbing her bare arms.
“Didn’t you recognize me when I walked into the vet’s office? Dr. Lewis did, but—”
She shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Petrov, but I never heard of you before this party became the soul focus of the woman I used to work with.” She paused, giving him a soft smile. “I do, however, remember you cutting the doctor off before he called you by name. Was that for my benefit?”
Zander’s mouth curved in a sheepish grin. “Yes. My inner wolf perked up the moment we walked through the door. Like Jezebel, he knew you were someone special. I wanted to see if it was me you truly wanted to have lunch with, or if it was only for what you hoped to gain.” He paused. “You really had no idea who I was?”
She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I don’t really move in the same sphere as you, socially.”
He closed the distance between them. “There isn’t a day that goes by the paparazzi doesn’t hound me in one way or another. If they’re not following me from point A to point B, there’s a news story in every newspaper and blog about my latest romantic conquest. Most of it is unadulterated bullshit. You have no idea how much I enjoyed having lunch with you in relative privacy. It was a miracle. Though your picture
will be front page news tomorrow.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. It’ll probably read Alexandr Petrov on mercy date. Story at eleven.”
He hooked his hands around her waist and pulled her close. “They can write whatever they want. I know better. The only mercy I’m interested in is the kind you give me when you let me kiss you.”
14
His mouth took hers, hungry and demanding. His wolf howled deeply, and the sound in his head was possessive. An overwhelming feeling to dominate sent shock waves through his mind. With all the women he’d had over the years, no one had stirred his wolf, his cock, and his very mind like this. The unnerving feeling took hold, and he pressed her hand to the hard bulge behind his zipper.
“This is what I’ve had to live with for the past two weeks, Isabel. I swear, woman, I’m crawling out of my skin for the want of you. I want your mouth, your tongue, your slick, wet pussy, and dreaming about how you taste and feel is not enough.”
Isabel gasped at his raw, whispered words.
At the acquiescent sound, he walked her back until her butt hit the trunk of the tree. He held her tightly, pressing the hard bar of his cock against her belly. “Open for me, Izzy. I want my mouth on your clit and my tongue between your soft folds until your pussy is dripping and ready for me. I want you to come hard as my hand works your slick slit, and then when you crest again, I want you to spread you wide and give every inch of my cock.”
Isabel moaned, and Zander’s hands skimmed her breasts, working her hard nipples beneath the soft silk of her dress. He grazed her peaks, pinching the stiff flesh between his fingers. With another kiss, he stepped back, his hands trailing to her shoulders.
“Have you ever fucked another shifter, Isabel?” He pushed the straps of her beautiful gown over her arms, freeing her breasts. Stepping back, he licked his lips. “My God, you’re gorgeous.”
