“I hope you didn’t quit your day job.” I bite hard on my bottom lip to stop inappropriate chuckles escaping my lips.
The portrait is beyond revolting. It looks like someone painted a picture then threw a glass of water over it, but it is endearing his family framed his painting and displayed it just as proudly as the masterpieces worth millions of dollars.
“Maybe self-portraits aren’t my thing. Maybe I need something more inspirational to paint,” he remarks. His gaze turns from the painting to me so he can run his glistening eyes over my body. “Maybe nudes are more my thing?” He gives me a cheeky wink.
“Jeez, Colby, could you lay it on any thicker?” interrupts a perky female voice. “Did you check if she was here with someone, or are you going to whip it out and pee on her leg before any other guy sniffs her?”
“I’m going to whip it—”
Before Colby can get his entire sentence out, his chest is slapped so hard it winds him, which stops his playful taunt midsentence.
“Hello, I’m Cate McGregor. Cate with a C. This douchebag’s little sister,” introduces a cute, petite blonde.
Cate is so short she’d be lucky to be five-feet tall. She appears several years younger than me. If I had to guess her age, I'd say late teens. She has platinum blonde hair cut in a daringly bold pixie design. Her small-framed body is dressed in a pair of tiny, fringed denim shorts and a pink bikini top. Cate has the aura that makes me want to befriend her.
“Hi, I’m Isabelle,” I give her a friendly reply.
“Oh shit,” Cate says dramatically as her inquisitive eyes dart between Colby and me.
“Don’t go there, Colby,” she warns, staring into Colby’s mischief-filled eyes.
Colby doesn’t grace Cate with a reply; he merely chuckles a boisterous laugh that bellows down the hall. Hearing his laughter, Cate narrows her eyes before securing my hand in hers. She guides me through various hallways, doors and impressively large rooms. Harlow wasn’t joking. This place is massive. I’m pretty sure I'll get lost trying to find my way back to my room.
The smell of freshly-baked bread and bacon becomes more prominent the farther we walk. When we enter a massive kitchen that looks like it belongs in a fancy restaurant, Cate relinquishes my hand and approaches an elderly Spanish-looking lady placing muffins into a woven basket sitting on the island bench.
The muffins aren't the only scrumptious looking treats on display. Croissants, danishes, donuts, bacon, eggs, fresh-cut fruit, and every possible thing you could think of is laid out. My stomach is rumbling, my hunger more rampant since I failed to eat dinner last night.
“Help yourself to anything you want,” offers Cate, handing me a porcelain plate. “Once you're done, come join us outside.”
She gives me a nudge with her hip before sauntering her way out a set of French doors at the side of the kitchen. I cram my plate with a range of scrumptious goodies before walking out the French doors.
I feel Isaac’s smoldering gaze before I see him. He is seated at a table alongside an impressive grotto pool. He glances my way, and our eyes lock before his wander over my body. Once he has finished his robust inspection, he gestures for me to join him.
Smiling, I pace toward him, my body trembling with every step I take. My pulse strums faster when my eyes connect with his. His gaze is powerful, and solely focused on me. My smile enlarges to a full grin when he pulls a chair out for me to sit.
“Thank you,” I whisper graciously.
He eyes my plate with a roguish sparkle in his eyes. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment at my lack of dignity.
When he raises his coffee mug to his mouth, his Adam's apple bobs up and down in a sensual way. My hunger is no longer associated with food. I can’t stop staring at the handsome features of his face.
When my stomach grumbles, Isaac commands, “Eat, Isabelle.”
Turning my gaze away from him so I can focus on something other than his captivating eyes, I'm surprised to notice Clara sauntering toward us.What is she doing here? Is she here with Isaac?She is wearing a black pleated pencil skirt and a ruffled red silk sleeveless blouse. She looks extremely elegant compared to the way I’ve seen everyone else casually dressed this morning, everyone but Isaac.
“Isabelle, what a pleasure to see you again,” Clara greets me in a friendly manner before leaning down to press a kiss to Isaac’s cheek.
“Hi, Clara.” I pull off a chunk of the chocolate croissant and pop it into my mouth.
Even though the croissant is delicious and my mouth salivated when graced with its presence, trying to swallow it is like eating cardboard. Clara has all but crawled onto Isaac's lap. She has her arm draped around his shoulders and has perched herself on his suit-covered thigh.
Clara sneers as she lifts Isaac's coffee mug to her mouth. Her red painted lips press against the rim where Isaac's lips were mere moments ago. It is the smallest gesture, but it has the most significant impact on my already faltering ego.If they're this intimate in public, what are they like behind closed doors?
Clara is beautiful, and with her aura of grace, she'd be an ideal partner for Isaac. I can't stop the wave of jealousy crashing through me, even though I have no right to be jealous. I have no reason to be jealous over a man I have no claim to, but I can't help the uncontrollable connection I feel when he is near.
No longer hungry, I leap from my chair. “Excuse me.”
