“Please don’t leave me alone with them for that long again.”
I initially giggle at her comment, until I realize she is serious. Tilting my head, I arch my brow, requesting further information.
“Cormack and I have been on a couple of dates.”
“I figured that part out when you rammed your tongue down his throat yesterday,” I interrupt, my tone cheeky.
Harlow grins before continuing. "He is great, I like him, but I didn't realize he was. . .this.”
Her hand gestures around our elegant surroundings. The room I've awoken in is massive, easily the size of a studio apartment. It is elegantly decorated with antique furniture and abstract paintings, giving it the distinct aura of wealth and superiority.
“First a stretch limousine, then a private jet and now. . .” She stops midsentence, her brows scrunching. “I don’t think calling this residence a mansion would be a justified response. I’ve already gotten lost three times this morning.”
This time when I chuckle, she joins me.
“You won’t be laughing when you get lost, and no one finds you for days.”
“I don’t understand the problem, Harlow. If you like him, and he likes you, why does it matter if he is rich?”
“He isn’t just rich, Izzy. He is filthy rich, never needs to work a day in his life rich, and I own a bakery with books that spend more in the red than in the black,” she responds forlornly. “I don’t belong here.”
"Harlow.” I seek her gaze. "I saw you with Cormack yesterday, before the limo and before the private jet. You like him, so don't judge him on his wealth; judge him on the man he is, the same man you greeted with jubilation yesterday."
"I do like him.“
“Then that's all that matters. Ignore everything else; it doesn’t matter. It is just static noise in the background,” I encourage her. “If you like someone, throw everything else aside and worry about it later.”
She nods as her lips tug high. I return her smile, happy I eased her uncertainty. She thrusts her hand in front of my body, startling me. I eye her curiously before accepting her offer of a handshake.
“Hi pot, I’m kettle; it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she introduces herself, her tone cheeky.
Her loud, boisterous laugh booms around the room when I dive at her and knock her onto the bed to relentlessly tickle her ribs until she begs for me to stop. Our immature banter halts when the main entrance door opens with a creak. The pulse in my neck thrums when Isaac strolls into the room looking ravishing in two parts of a three-piece suit.
His eyes rigorously study my face before wandering over my exposed body since my shirt has risen while I was tackling Harlow. Pulling my shirt down to a more respectable level, I scoot up the bed to lean against the headboard. I’m so entranced by Isaac, I don’t notice Harlow sneaking out of the room until Isaac takes her place on the bed.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is rough, but his concern sounds genuine.
“I’m good.” I offer him a smile for taking care of me.
“Did you take the tablets I left on the bedside table?”
He smirks when I nod. We sit across from each other in silence for several minutes. It’s not awkward, it just feels right. He runs his hand over his head before his concerned eyes lock with mine.
“Do I need to be concerned that you have a problem with drinking?” he questions, his tone taking on a more serious note.
I smile, pleased he cares enough about me to be worried about my wellbeing.
“No, I don’t have a problem with drinking. That champagne was the first drink I’ve had since the last time you took me home,” I reply. “I knew we were flying, and I accidentally mixed medication with alcohol. My thumping head alone will ensure it will never happen again.”
Trying to lessen the concerned scowl marring his handsome face, I ask, “Do I need to be concerned that you have a problem with taking inebriated women into your room and undressing them?”
He chuckles a scrumptious laugh that rumbles through to my core. I smile, loving that I can witness a side of him his FBI file fails to show.
“At least this time you let me keep my panties,” I quip.
His chuckles stop as his eyes lift to mine. My pulse races when his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. Our kiss was weeks ago, but I can still recall how delectably sinful he tasted.
“I didn’t take your panties last time, Isabelle,” he corrects me.
