I’ve always been able to sense her before seeing her. It’s a knack I’ve had since the day she ran into me at the airport, and one of the reasons I bumped her ticket to business class when I noticed what town she was flying to. I needed to see if it was a one-off rarity or something I could hone and strengthen. The fact I felt her nearness a mere second before she stumbled over her feet was a good indication it wasn’t a once-off. It’s grown even more palpable since then.
The circumstances of how we met are quite comical when you think about it. I own a fleet of private aircraft. I’ve not flown commercially in over six years, but with Regan’s sister, Raquel, going into labor six weeks early, I requested my pilot, Scout, to take them back to Texas.
I could have had another aircraft from my fleet come to collect me, but with it adding a six-hour delay to my travel plans, I went the commercial route instead. Along with asking Isabelle to become my wife, that was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
After pushing back from my desk, ensuring there’s enough room for Isabelle to slot between it and my lap, I raise my eyes to the door. Isabelle has her shoulder propped against the doorjamb. She’s wearing one of the shirts I usually go running in. It swims on her, but for what it lacks in curve-hugging capabilities, it makes up for in length. It’s short enough inches upon inches of her luscious thighs are exposed, making me reasonably confident she isn’t wearing panties. Her hair is a mess from both the sex swing and sleep, and her face is free of makeup, yet she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I jerk up my chin, demanding her to my side with no words spoken. My cock thickens when she immediately jumps to my command. Isabelle is a strong, powerful woman until she’s under my control. Here, she’s my soon-to-be wife, my lover, and my best friend. She completes me in a way I never comprehended but crave more than anything. I’m an extremely wealthy man, but I would give away every penny I have if it were the only way I could keep her in my life.
Could you imagine having a love so strong, you wouldn’t hesitate to give everything away to keep it? Isabelle stood by my side while ugly truth after ugly truth was unearthed about my life, yet she still looked at me with as much love and devotion as her eyes are holding now. Even believing I sided with the devil she once called her father didn’t dampen the intensity her eyes hold anytime they lock with mine. She trusted I’d never betray her, and every day since, I’ve strived to do precisely that.
A growl rumbles in my chest when Isabelle sidesteps the hand I’m holding out in offering, choosing instead to prop her backside on my desk. It isn’t all bad. Confirmation that she isn’t wearing any panties has occurred, and my cock is braced against my zipper, aware it’s moments away from being surrounded by her heat again—the first of many times today.
My jaw tightens when she murmurs, “I have a confession to make, and I’m reasonably sure you won’t like it, so I think it’s best I sit here.” Her thighs tremble, her body incapable of denying how horny it gets when I’m being a dominant, aggressive asshole. “Let me finish before you get all worked up. It might not be as bad as you’re thinking.”
“When it comes to you, Isabelle, every scenario is bad.” Her lips curve into a smile instead of dropping into a frown. If it were anyone but her, I’d call her a foolish bastard. “Does your confession involve anyone touching you in any meaning of the word? A handshake, a kiss, a sneaky cuddle when a nightmare clings to your skin.”
I didn’t mean to say my comment as aggressively as I did, but I just can’t help it. Even knowing Hugo is getting married this month hasn’t lowered my anger about the kiss he shared with Isabelle on New Year’s Eve. I know why he did it and understand his reasoning, but not a day has gone by that I haven’t watched the surveillance footage of their kiss, seeking any signs their closeness is more than friendship based.
Isabelle proved it without a doubt when Hugo returned to Ravenshoe months ago at my request, but there’s a snippet of hesitation in my mind. It probably has more to do with the fact Hugo and his family are moving to Ravenshoe next month than an inability to trust. If I can trust Hugo with my life, why wouldn’t I trust him with my soon-to-be wife?
I guess referral guilt buckles even the most assertive men’s knees. I’m keeping secrets, so until I’m willing to share them, I can’t expect others to be upfront.
Thankfully, Isabelle takes my somewhat frustrating personality in her stride. After cupping my cheeks and lowering her forehead to mine, she whispers, “It’s just you and me, Isaac. Together forever. There willneverbe anyone else.”
The coolness of the band wrapped around her ring finger adds to the assurance of her words, much less the lowering of her lips to mine. She kisses me like she’s starved of my taste as if we don’t kiss like this every night before we go to sleep and every morning when we wake.
Once she’s resuscitated the air in my lungs as only she can, she inches back. She doesn’t go far, just enough I can see the honesty in her eyes when she confesses, “Enrique reached out to me last week.” She feels my shoulders bunch but continues talking before she loses the chance. “I didn’t tell you about it as I wanted solid proof it was him before pestering you with it. Ryan helped me achieve that yesterday. The handwriting on the postcard was confirmed as a match to the paperwork Enrique filled in when he gave a statement to Ryan last year.”
The quiver of my jaw is heard in my words. “You showed Ryan Enrique’s note before me?”
“You know about his note? How?” She stills as reality dawns. “You’re watching me.” She huffs before folding her arms under her chest, hoisting her fantastic tits higher. “I should have known. You’re always watching me.”
Her eye roll stops halfway when I mutter, “Because it’s my job to protect you, Isabelle. Nothing is below me when it comes to keeping you safe.”
“I don’t need protection from Enrique, Isaac. He’s my brother.” Before I can retaliate that he also kidnapped, drugged, and held her against her will, she pushes her finger to my lips, stopping me. “You evoked your last favor with Henry to help Enrique. You wouldn’t have done that unless you thought he was a good person, so why aren’t you trusting your instincts? They’ve never led you astray before, Isaac. They won’t this time either.”
Although frustrated, she hands me the postcard I saw her grab off the windshield of one of my town cars last week when she exited my nightclub. It’s a basic message handwritten in a foreign language.
“What does it say?”
Isabelle appears more frustrated now than she was when she discovered I track her every move on the many cameras I have set up around Ravenshoe. I’ve added even more the past six months to ensure the routes to Callie’s preschool are under constant surveillance.
With her annoyance gone and her grin smug, Isabelle replies, “He is your protector. He is a good man.”
My heart rate climbs. “That’s what he said to you before he was detained by Henry’s men, wasn’t it?” I sound confused. Rightfully so. Isabelle’s Russian is poor, but after some pushing, she deciphered every word Enrique spoke to her the morning after her court hearing.
Not even a second later, it’s as if a bolt of lightning passes through my weary brain. Isabelle’s eyes track me as I race across the room, seeking the sale paperwork Callie arrived with.
The Popov entity is one of the most ruthless mob strongholds I’ve come across the past seven years, but everything, including the sale of children with the monarch’s blood is documented down to the wire. Vladimir is either a stupid man or he’s so confident he’ll never face prosecution, he doesn’t yield to the same precautions as those in his industry.
My heart beats double time when I find the document I’m after. It’s the price tag of the little bunny Callie clutched every night her first week here. Although it’s a matted mess no amount of laundering will fix, she loves it with every fiber of her being. Now I understand why.
“Look.” Isabelle gasps when I spin the price tag around to show her the handwritten inscription on the back. “On vash zaschitnik. On khoroshiy chelovek.”
“He is your protector. He is a good man.” She peers up at me with her big chocolate eyes out in full force. “I told you Enrique was a good man. Second only to you, his enigmatic personality is horrendously misunderstood. He’s neither a monster nor a myth. He’s merely a man. Abrilliantone. Just like you.”
Accepting praise isn’t a strong point of mine in general, but it’s even harder when it’s coming from Isabelle.
