Just my name rolling off his tongue has me chasing climax.
“You gave them to me.”
That secures my fall into orgasmic bliss and places it safely back onto the ledge.
My confused eyes dart between his. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” he interrupts. “When you found my. . .trophiesother women had left behind, you removed your panties before shoving them into the drawer with the explicit remark it would be the only way I’d add your panties to my collection.”
“Oh.”
That does sound like something I’d do in a moment of drunken angriness.So my panties were in that drawer all along?Yuck!
“No, Isabelle, your panties are not in that drawer.”
I really need to stop mumbling out loud.
Brazenly, I question, “Where are they then?”
Mortified by my bold question, my eyes seek anything that isn’t Isaac’s amused face. Sheets ruffling fills the awkward silence when he adjusts his position. The fine hairs on my body prickle when his warm breath flutters my neck.
“They’re in myvery exclusiveprivate collection.”
A triumphant grin tugs my lips higher, pleased my panties are valuable enough to be added to Isaac’s private collection.
“And unless you want to add another set of your panties to my collection, I suggest you have a shower, get dressed, then join the rest of us for breakfast.”
Harshly gulping, my eyes flick to his. I stare at him in silence, contemplating his request. My eyes absorb every attractive feature of his striking face before I climb out of bed and walk toward the bathroom Harlow exited earlier. Isaac groans in frustration. That groan alone will warrant an icy cold shower.
19
Isabelle
Ijust broke the world record for the quickest shower. Not just because I failed to put any heat into the water to lessen the excitement coursing through my body, but because I'm interested in finding out what had Harlow so rattled earlier. Once I throw on a pair of denim shorts and a short sleeve shirt, I exit the elegant guest bedroom.
Holy crap!
If the hallway is this elegant, what is the rest of the house like? Leisurely strolling down the hall, I stop to appraise a range of beautiful oil paintings adorning the corridor. One painting captures my attention for a little longer than the rest. It is a beautiful self-portrait of Frida Kahlo. If it is an original—and I have no doubt it is—its estimated worth would be in the millions.
“She isn’t my type,” says a raspy voice in the distance. “The whole one eyebrow thing just doesn’t cut it.”
Turning my gaze to the voice, I’m met with a pair of light blue eyes brimming with mischief. His eyes offset a very handsome, preppy face. His blond hair is long enough the tips curl upwards. He is wearing long black board shorts and a light blue tee that matches his eyes perfectly. A smile stretches across my face when I notice he is also barefoot.
Once his eyes finish studying me as eagerly as I pursued him, he winks.
“You, on the other hand, are very much my type.” He struts toward me. “Colby McGregor.” He offers me his hand to shake. “If I’d known you were out in the hall waiting for me, I would’ve awoken earlier.”
A broad grin creeps onto my face from his playful banter. “Isabelle Brahn.” I accept his handshake. “Is it an original?” I nudge my head to the painting.
“Uh huh,” he answers, not the slightest bit impressed he has a painting worth millions of dollars hanging on the wall in his corridor. “When my mom found out Madonna brought some of Frida’s self-portraits, she had to get one too.” He shrugs. “If you think this one is impressive, wait until you see my favorite painting.”
Placing his arm around my shoulders, he directs me down the impressively long hallway. When we reach the very end, he swivels me to face an oil painting displayed in an ebony frame.
A giggle erupts from my mouth when my eyes roam over the hideous painting in front of me. Seeing an unimpressed frown forming on Colby’s face, I quiet my laughter and appraise the picture with more diligence. When I squint my eyes and tilt my head to the left, I can see the outline of a face.
“Is that you?” I try my hardest not to laugh.
“Yep. I figured if Freda could make millions selling self-portraits, I may as well give it a go.”
