by Jasmin Quinn
Michael ignored Anto’s insult. “Isabelle stays alive and unharmed. Understand, brother?” His emphasis on brother held untold meaning.
Anto eyes flickered from Michael to Isabelle. He nodded his head slightly as his steady gaze held hers until she dropped her eyes to his broad unyielding chest. “I apologize for attacking you, Isabelle. I will not do that again.”
Isabelle nodded and believed him.
But he wasn’t finished. “Don’t play with me Isabelle. People don’t often live to tell about it.”
As the silence stretched Michael gave Isabelle a little shake with his arms. “Promise him, Isabelle.”
She glared at Michael. Traitor! But to Anto she said, “I won’t play games with you, Anto.” Then because she couldn’t resist, she added. “Because you’re a very bad loser.”
Michael sighed but said nothing.
Anto ran a hand down his beard as he turned to Michael. “Go get us some food.” He picked up a garage door opener from an entry hall table and tossed it to Michael. “When you’re back, park in the garage. That way we’re out of sight of nosy neighbours.”
Michael deftly caught the little black box but hesitated, looking from Anto to Isabelle. “Anto, if you fucking touch her, I will kill you.”
Anto grinned, “I understand, brother. I’ll make some tea and she and I will have a lovely, civilized tea party.”
Isabelle sucked in a breath, trying to steady her hammering heart. Anto wouldn’t hurt her, he still needed her. He needed Randall Scott’s list. She was safe for now. And he seemed to abide by some sort of a weird code. He and Michael had a connection and he wasn’t going to mess with Michael’s woman. She hoped she was right, and as Michael turned to her, taking her hands in his and kissing her lightly on the lips, she knew that Michael trusted Anto to honour the code.
“I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” he promised.
Isabelle nodded as Anto said, “Get going, Michael. And get back here. I promise I won’t touch your woman, but I can’t promise she won’t touch me.”
As Michael closed the door, she turned towards Anto. Her stomach was knotted but she tried not to show her fear. She thought that he would respect her more if she stayed strong. But his light façade dropped from his face as he regarded her darkly. “You’re a witch,” he growled. “Michael is not stupid with women like he is with you.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Isabelle tried for scathing, but her voice shook as the words fell weakly from her mouth.
“At least you have the good sense to be afraid of me.” He turned from her. “Come. I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”
Isabelle followed Anto through the grey shadows. He didn’t turn lights on to show the way, instead strolled through the house like a feral cat. The house was large and sparsely furnished. Not much to bump into or trip over. She followed him up a set of stairs, each foot feeling leaden as she plodded behind him. Her heart hammered so loudly she thought he might hear. Even at his angriest, Michael didn’t have this effect on her.
He stopped in front of a large bedroom and swung open the door, stepping back. “You and Michael can have the master room.”
Isabelle poked her head inside and looked around.
Anto eyed her perusal. “Don’t worry, it’s never been used.”
She inched past him, slowly, like a rabbit trying to sneak past a rabid dog.
“Don’t turn on the lights. Maybe the neighbours don’t have to know we’re here.”
Isabelle nodded. She hoped he would leave her now, but he didn’t. He stood in front of her, his arms crossed, his legs splayed, his eyes studying her.
“The basement windows are boarded up, so that’s where we’ll do our planning and eating. This room is for sleeping and whatever else you do to keep Michael under your thumb.”
“He’s not under my thumb, Anto.” Isabelle kept her voice soft. She didn’t know how controlled his anger might be and she didn’t want to test it while Michael was out. Even with her karate, if Michael could overcome her, she shuddered to think how easy it would be for Anto.
“You’re going to get him killed – he isn’t thinking like he needs to. And Isabelle, if he gets killed, I will wipe you out. You won’t exist anymore. Not in body, not in spirit. I will make sure that everything about you ceases to be.”
Isabelle reached for the doorframe, her hands shaking, her legs jelly under her. “Why can’t we work together, Anto?” she whispered.
He sneered. “Because I don’t work with women.” And then he turned away from her and stalked down the stairs. “Come to the basement when you are done weeping. We’ll start talking about what we can do to ensure Michael doesn’t die.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Isabelle didn’t ‘come to the basement’ until Michael returned. No fucking way was she going to spend any more time alone with Anto. Instead she took off her heels and tossed them on the floor, then wandered around the beautiful massive bedroom, running her hand over the solid wood furniture, sitting in a soft, high back chair in a little alcove, wishing she could just curl up right there and sleep this entire day away.
When she woke up, it would all be a dream. She would be back at her own place, Michael would still her neighbour, but no Russians, no Jack, no Anto. She would go to Michael in the corset he bought for her, slip her panties off and drop them to the floor. He would take her in his arms and kiss her as though she were precious to him. Then he would hold her, touch her, make love to her.
She sighed as she heard the car in the driveway. Michael was back. Thank god. She entered the ensuite, sorted herself out and washed up. She unpinned her hair from the upsweep that wasn’t really all that upswept anymore, then wiped the make-up from her face. Food and sleep. Then tomorrow she’d be ready to face reality.
Chapter Seventeen
The sun streamed through the window warming Isabelle’s face and gently waking her. She wanted to hug it to her, a constant in her crazy unpredictable life. She shifted onto her back and watched Michael as she stretched her arms and legs. She arched her back and let out a little groan. Michael’s eyes were still closed, and his breathing was steady but not deep. He was waking up too. She stared at his chiseled face, perfect mouth, chin, nose, forehead. His expression unguarded and relaxed.
She loved him. She blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill out at her admission. A hollowness bloomed in her chest, a pit of vipers in her stomach. She was not as selfish as the world perceived her, not as frivolous or vain. She hated to admit that Anto was right. That Michael’s cover was blown because of her. That Michael’s life was in danger because of her. Maybe he could handle himself, but Vancouver was done with him. He had to leave.
Last night Anto had inadvertently told her that she could trust Michael. He was worried for Michael and told her that his recklessness was her fault. Even as Anto threatened her life, she’d felt a small tiny thrill at the knowledge that Michael shared her feelings. But it didn’t matter at this point. She needed to leave, to be away from him and his dark life. If he promised happy ever after, could she trust that promise? And with Anto lurking in the background, could she ever truly be safe, with or without Michael?
She shifted on her side watching Michael’s chest rise and fall. They were so tired last night, so much to say that couldn’t be said because everything seemed like nonsense without sleep. They ate beef sandwiches on stale bread, drank a couple of hits of vodka and went to bed. A quick shower for her, small kisses, gentle hugs and then falling asleep in each other’s arms. And now it was late morning. She was rested. It was day one, the planning day. One more night here, then Vancouver tomorrow. Hit Scott’s house tomorrow night, and hopefully that was the end of it. If not, then his office the next night.
That was her plan, not Michael’s or Anto’s. Her plan. The plan she decided on last night as she was waiting for Michael’s return. Her plan, the plan that involved Jack. Michael would hate her after this, but she would have to live with that. She needed to do this alone; she n
eeded to get what Jack wanted, and then she needed to disappear. Even as she loved Michael, she would never feel safe with him, the aura of mystery he maintained, his dangerous work, his dubious associates, his fucking sidekick, Anto.
Michael shifted slightly and she rolled over leaning on his chest so she could see his face, burn it into her memory. Her heart shredded as his eyes slid open and sought hers out. He moved his hand languidly to the back of her head and pushed it towards him, kissing her long and hard when their lips met. “What a wonderful way to wake up,” he murmured into her ear before dropping his lips to her neck and teasing her sensitive skin.
She sucked in her breath as he cupped his hand around the curve of her breast, gently squeezing it, running his thumb across her nipples, forcing their hardness. He flipped her onto her back and then kissed her again. Hard and desperate, his breathing picking up, his hard cock pulsing his desire against her thigh. He took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking it, nibbling it, tracing his tongue over and around it. Then moving to the other one, giving it equal attention. Isabelle arched her back and moaned, her fingers seeking his hair, lacing through it, pulling it lightly.
“Your breasts are beautiful,” Michael murmured then moved his lips to her belly, smelling her, kissing her, sketching the edges of her ribs with his tongue. “Your stomach is exquisite,” he said as he moved lower.
He kissed the arc of her pelvis, the insides of her thighs, savouring the dip that separated her pussy and her thigh, then lower running his tongue down the inside of her thighs, nibbling each of them as he held her calves in his hands, squeezing them, stroking them. “Your legs are sensational.”
He licked the soles of her feet, causing her to giggle and kick out at him. “Your feet are ticklish.” He laughed then and gave them a final swipe with his tongue before making his way back up her legs, sliding his arms under her thighs and opening her to him. His fingers tracing her vulva, tracing each fold, then licking it.
“Your pussy is hot and wet, Isabelle. It’s perfect.” Isabelle threw her head back onto the pillow and arched back as he slid his thumb over her clit, drawing lubricant from her vagina, teasing it, testing it, tasting it. He lowered his head and lapped at her juices, dragging his tongue through her folds and over her clit, licking and biting.
Isabelle cried out as he nipped her, brought herself up on her elbows, her breath unsteady as she watched him please her. He looked up as she shifted, the set to his mouth wicked as he made his way back up her body but keeping his arms around her thighs. He pushed them to his shoulders and entered her hard and swift. Isabelle threw back her head and cried out at his sudden invasion, his possession of her, his face serious, his dark eyes smoky, as he thrust into her, pushing her legs toward her shoulders.
“Oh my god,” Isabelle moaned closing her eyes and reveling in the pleasure. Michael’s cock raked her g-spot, settling deeper into her, as deep as he could be. The pressure on her clit was causing her orgasm to build. She grabbed onto Michael’s taut biceps to try to hold it back, but she couldn’t.
“Michael!” she cried out as it hit her, pulsating through her, causing a numbness in her fingers and her toes. Jolts of pleasure and release driving through her. She was dimly aware of Michael, his thrusts slowing and then stopping as she came back down.
Her eyes flew open and she stared into his serious face. She didn’t know what he was wanting, what he was asking of her. He let go his grasp on her legs and dropped down on her, bringing his lips to her mouth. She opened to him, tasting him, tasting herself and felt her passion start to build again as he started thrusting inside her. Then he rolled over, bringing her with him, settling her on top of him.
She leaned up staring at his magnificent face, and he said, “Sit up Isabelle and fuck me until you come again.” She straightened up, her legs splayed open, his cock deep inside her, his hands on her waist, fingers gripping her as he bucked beneath her.
“Fuck me, Isabelle.”
She started moving slowly, closing her eyes and flinging her head back, losing herself in the sensation of his cock deep inside her, his pelvis grinding against hers, her clit throbbing, begging for more attention. She brought her hands behind her ass, running her fingers over his balls, exploring them, squeezing them. Then hearing the sharp intake of Michael’s breath as her nails raked them, his fingers burrowing into her flesh, his thrusts more demanding.
“Sit up, Michael,” she commanded.
“Ride me, Isabelle,” he growled as he sat up, forcing their bodies closer, giving her the friction she needed to find her release. Their breathing knotted together as they thrust faster and harder, until she cried out and grabbed him hard around the neck. And then his breathing became ragged, his grunts louder, until he let go, pumping his semen into her, thrusting until he was empty, and then falling to his back on the bed, bringing her with him. They lay like that for several minutes, he sprawled on his back, her body sprawled on him, their breath twining together, slowing together. He kissed her then, a soft whisper, rolling over so that they lay on their sides facing each other. His hand ran down her body, to her hip, softly caressing her.
“Michael…” she started and then didn’t know what to say next. I love you? No, she couldn’t tell him that even if it were true. He was breaking her heart.
“Isabelle, when this is all over, we’ll leave together. We’ll be together. I promise.”
The moment was lost. She sat up, bringing her knees to her chest, staring at the wall, not able to look at him. “I don’t know if I want that.”
She could sense Michael still and then tense. He sat up abruptly, taking her upper arms in a strong grip and twisting her so she had no choice but to look at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Not smooth, unreactive Michael. This Michael was rattled.
“I don’t know you, Michael. At all. Nothing. I know that I like what I see, a lot. I know that I love being with you. But all I really know about you is that you’re a killer with scary friends.”
Michael’s dark eyes flickered with anger and he dropped his hands from her, looking down at them. Then back up to her face. “What do you want to know Isabelle? What secrets should I confess? If I promise to tell you everything, will you leave with me?”
“Is that really what you want?”
He moved away from her and dropped his feet to the floor. “Why are you making this difficult? Isn’t it what we both want? To have some time, some space, to get to know each other without running, hiding, being threatened?” He said all this with his back to her. He was pissed.
“I’m sorry,” Isabelle wished she’d kept her mouth shut. He disarmed her and made her insecure. She thought at first it would be best to tell him she wasn’t coming with him after this was over. But now thought not. He wasn’t taking her indecision well. She wondered what he would do if she revealed her true intentions. Lock her up, kidnap her, hold her prisoner?
He stood abruptly. “I’m going to shower, then you. Then we get to work.” He stalked into the ensuite, banging the door behind him, leaving Isabelle to her own stupid thoughts.
She sat there on the bed, twining her fingers together, wanting to steal back the last 10 minutes. What the hell had she been thinking? Was she just that stupid to play her hand to Michael or was she testing him? Either way, she’d earned his distrust. She wondered what he was thinking, wished she could read his mind.
She sighed as she shifted off the bed and straightened the covers. Anto was moving downstairs and she suddenly felt vulnerable in her nakedness. She slipped on a robe and sat down in a chair, staring at nothing, but then her eyes landed on her clutch on the floor, the divorce papers Jack tossed to her last night were peeking out of the bag. She reached down and plucked them up, unfurling them and smoothing them out on the table. Read them carefully, Izzy, he’d said.
She flipped the first page, it was just all the legal stuff that established who they were and what they were about. She started to page through the document slowly, reading
each unnecessary word. Is this slow enough for you, asshole? Then as she got into the distribution of assets, her face paled, her fingers stilled, hovering over the words as she reread the paragraphs. This couldn’t be right.
Jack was giving her a settlement, a one-time lump sum payment of 5 million dollars. She recoiled from it, didn’t want it. Didn’t want anything that belonged to Jack. Fuck. And her jewelry too. All the beautiful necklaces, rings, earrings that he had given her during their brief marriage. She’d hated every single piece. She was his Christmas tree and he richly adorned her before taking her out and showing her off. Such a vain man. She shuddered then furrowed her forehead. A perfect match for her. Michael and Jack. One she loved, the other she hated and yet so similar. But the difference is that Michael had a heart. He was protective of her, willing to give up his world for her.
She fingered the edge of the papers as she thought about that. Was he really? He never said that he would. He just said he would take her with him, expected her to go. Like everything else he had done to this point. Told her what was going to happen, and she’d followed along like an obedient puppy. Okay, maybe not obedient, more like an untrained, disorderly puppy. She smiled briefly, and then frowned, her forehead creasing as she looked at the documents in front of her. Why on earth was Jack being so generous? It certainly wasn’t because he thought she might take him to court and ask for half his assets. They didn’t have a prenup but they didn’t need one. Jack knew she wouldn’t cross him. Not unless she had a death wish, which she didn’t. He was giving this to her freely, and she didn’t want it. But that was crazy too.
She rubbed at her temples. Stop thinking so much, Isabelle. You have a job to do tonight. Your mind needs to be on that instead of wondering about Jack’s motives. She flipped the page quickly, as if hiding the words would make them disappear. But on the next page was a note, written in Jack’s scrawl. We need to talk, Izzy. Get rid of your watchdog. 2020, Rosewood. Sign the papers and bring them. Directly under the writing was an access card, taped to the paper. Her heart leapt into her throat as she slapped the pages closed. She looked up, towards the bathroom door. The shower had stopped and she could hear Michael moving around.
