Stealing my chance to authenticate the actuality in his tone, Hunter disconnects our call. His dismissiveness shifts my mood from frustrated to volatile. I clutch my cell phone for dear life while fighting the urge not to send it flying across the room. I wouldn’t hold back if its crash didn’t have the possibility of waking Isabelle.
As a fiery heat roars through me, I shift on my feet to face the room she’s sleeping in. My hands itch to touch her, to unearth the reason she strips my astuteness with only the briefest glance, but I’m also desperate to discover the secrets in her eyes and if they’re the reason she’s so guarded.
If she’s putting up barriers because she’s afraid I won’t like what I find, she hasn’t done her research on me. I love a good challenge. The most awarding things I have in my life are the ones I fought the hardest for, and not one of those things has a monetary value.
With my shrewdness dissipated, I stalk closer to Isabelle’s room. I’ll never take anything unwillingly, but it’s been hours since her seductive scent has lingered in my nose. Another sample is overdue.
I have the door handle almost fully descended when the shrill of a cell phone scares the living daylights out of me. It’s coming from the pocket of my trousers—the same pocket I placed my phone in after Hunter abruptly ended our call.
While grumbling an infrequent curse word under my breath, I attempt to hit the end call button. In my hurry to silence my phone, my thumb jabs the call button instead of the disconnect button.
“Boss…” Hugo questions for the second time when I leave his first greeting unanswered. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.” I pace away from Isabelle’s room like my morals weren’t on the verge of snapping. “What do you need?”
“Hunter said you wanted me to swing by and pick you up, but you didn’t mention a time. Thought I should check in…”
My eyes lift from a purchase acquisition Regan emailedme this morning to Catherine when she exits the main room of my penthouse. Even purchasing one of each item in Isabelle’s size at the department store, the receipt she handed me was less than the cost of one of my tailor-designed suits.
“That should have everything covered.” She floats into the living room, swipes up my empty mug from the coffee table, then places it into the dishwasher without a single thought crossing her mind. “Her clothing is hanging in the closet, her shoes are beneath them, and I cleared out a handful of drawers for possible future use.”
A scratch impinges my throat from her assumption Isabelle will be a long-term guest at my apartment, but I have more pressing matters to attend to. “Which drawers did you clear out?”
With her nose screwed up in disgust, Catherine closes my bone-empty refrigerator before spinning to face me. “The stack between your suits and running shirts.” I realize not all the disdain on her face comes from my lack of catering when she adds, “Correct me if I am wrong, Isaac, but you specifically requested for me not to touch the bedside tables.” I imagine just how roguish she was in her youth when a teasing glint bursts through her eyes. “Ialwaysdo as I’m told.”
Although I have no proof, not an ounce of hesitation is felt expressing that she snuck a peek at the contents in the drawer Isabelle dumped her panties in last night. Usually, I’d be irritated about a lack of privacy, especially so soon after Hunter’s infringement. This morning, all I’m experiencing is gratitude. Her inability not to snoop reminded me that Isabelle’s panties are in a drawer they don’t belong in. I haven’t slept with her, so the only place they belong is in a private collection I had no idea I desired until now.
“Catherine…”
She arches a brow, wordlessly encouraging me to continue.
“Hugo will be here within the hour, so why don’t you pop down and grab a quick lunch while I see my guest out.”
“Certainly.” Unlike her earlier smile, this one is weakened with hesitation. She was hoping for an introduction with the woman she purchased a closet full of clothes for, but since my relationship with Isabelle isn’t at that stage just yet, I’d rather wake her without an audience.
“Buzz me once you’re done.” Any unease left loitering in the air evaporates when she chokes on her last two words. “Please forgive me. That wasnotexpressed as intended.” Watching a woman in her mid-sixties squirm isn’t something I ever thought I’d enjoy, but Catherine’s hued cheeks prove there are many surprises left for me to explore in this world. “Good afternoon, Mr. Holt.”
“Good afternoon, Catherine,” I reply, struggling not to smirk about her formal salutation. It’s foreign to see her flustered, and I’m savoring the changeup.
The latch on the front door of my penthouse has barely clicked into place when I head for the master suite. Unlike my earlier endeavor, I don’t hesitate while opening the door. I took care of Isabelle last night without touching a single inch of her succulently smooth-looking skin. That type of struggle not only deserves a commendation, it also warrants correction.
Don’t misconstrue. I willnevertake anything not willingly given. I’m merely authenticating emotions Isabelle isn’t prepared to explore right now.
While pacing to the bedside table, my eyes rake Isabelle’s slumbering form. Unlike the many times she trespassed onto my half of the mattress last night, she’s resting on the very edge of the springy bed. One of her legs has wrangled out of the bedding, and the shirt I dressed her in last night sits high on her back, exposing both the dimples in her lower back and a healthy portion of her scrumptious backside.
Once I’ve fished her panties out of the drawer, despite my shrewdness begging me otherwise, I move toward the bed instead of the door. With my ego feeding off the knowledge I identified Isabelle’s panties out of a sea of many without a snippet of hesitation, I trek my finger over a portion of skin on her shoulder not covered by my shirt.
A needy growl rumbles in my chest when my meekest touch bristles every fine hair on her body. My hands itch to explore, fondle, and caress her, but I keep things simple by gliding my fingertip down her shoulder blade and over the bumps in her spine before stopping a mere inch from her enticing ass.
Her body’s uninhibited response to my touch is better than anticipated. Not only do goosebumps break across her skin, but my name also tumbles from her lips in a husky, wanton purr. It turns my cock to stone and snatches the last morsel of my shrewdness.
I’d give anything to claim her as mine right now—anything at all. With her knee tilted, the slightest adjustment of her hips would give me unhindered access to the intoxicatingly fragrant pussy that kept me awake half the night.
The temptation is immense, but I walk away instead, choosing to have my second cold shower in less than twelve hours instead of answering the insatiable needs of my cock. I won’t make it out of the bathroom with my dignity intact this time around, though. It’s uncommon for me to take matters into my own hands, but the urge is too diverse to ignore. I need to come, and I need to recall Isabelle’s husky deliverance of my name while doing it.
10
By the time I return to my room, Isabelle is awake. Just like last night, her dilated pupils make her eyesdark pools of seduction. There’s just one notable difference. Her wide-eyed response isn’t complements to a bunch of soiled panties in a bedside table. It’s from drinking in the inches of my naked form not covered by the basic white towels Catherine stocks in the guest bathroom.
