Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two (15 page)

Andre threw his arms over his head, striking the perfect pose. “
Olé
. Now get up. Jacques comin’ back at six and I gotta fix that.” He reached down and stroked his fingers through her hair.

“Just dye it later and let me sleep.”

“No, no, sugar. Jacques say natural color,” Andre added a lascivious wink, “and we both know that what our Jacques wants, our Jacques gets.”

She stuck her tongue out at him as she sat up. “Your timing sucks, Andre. You just ruined a perfectly glorious X-rated dream.”

A hearty laugh filled the air, “I’m not even askin’, sugar.”

“
Dios mío
. I couldn’t put it into words if you did.” Isabella shook off the last delicious remnants of her dream.

“Well then,” he said with a grin and pointed to a pale pink dress hanging on the doorframe, “perhaps you won’t be needin’ that. Perhaps something sexier for your sexy man. I brought my body paint.” The expression was pure suggestion.

The idea of herself, naked and painted, strolling toward Jacques in the setting sun made her flush. The good Catholic girl could never do that, but the sinner? She was definitely on board.

The phone buzzed on the bed table. A text from Craig.
Fair warning ur bro called 6Xs. No brush off. Soz. Good luck. Miss u.

“Oh, no.”

“Bad news, sugar?” Andre asked.

“I got so caught up in Jacques that I forgot to check in with my brothers.” Her stomach turned. "Craig wouldn't tell them…
Dios mío
, do they know where I am?"

“You look pale, Isabella. I’m guessin’ your brothers… ” He exaggerated the “s.”

She raised four fingers in the air.

“Heaven have mercy,” he said, laughing, “don’t like the little sister havin’ some naughty fun.”

“You might say that,” she said flatly.

“Well, they’re not here. What’s it gonna be? This,” he held up the dress, “or my paints?”

“Let’s go with the dress, but maybe later in the week, we’ll see.” She grinned at him.

He bowed. “Sexy devil woman.”

The phone rang again and she jumped. “
Mierda
, it’s my brother.”

“Sexy devil woman who’s afraid of her big bad brother,” Andre teased.

“You’ve never met my big bad brother,
listillo
.” She tried to sound calm as she answered. “
Buenos días
, Teo.”

“Where the hell are you?” Teo’s voice screamed through the line and she jerked the phone away from her ear. Andre backed up on his stilettos. “I’m coming to get you right now, baby girl. For Christ’s sake, Craig said you ran off with some guy.”

She eased forward, holding up one finger to Andre. “Tell me you didn’t hit him, Teo. He had nothing to do with this.”

“He sure as hell did. An opening by Nicolai Stavros? What the hell was Craig thinking taking you there? And
ese demonio
who kidnapped you, he’s in for a world of pain. Give me the address.”

“Teo, listen to me. It’s not what you think,” she started, voice pleading.

“The address, baby girl. Right now or I’m calling Joaquim.”

Maybe it was the pain that sprouted in her head at the thought of returning to Paris or maybe it was the pain in her heart at the thought of leaving Jacques behind, but she snapped at the brother she'd always had nothing but softness for.

“Don’t you dare! You don’t understand, Teo.”

“Then why don’t you make me understand,
hermana mía
,” he demanded in a voice that allowed no argument.

She never lied to her brother, but telling him this truth was too much. “
No puedo
.” Her voice cracked.

When Teo spoke again, the anger had melted away. “Talk to me,
hermana
, I know something’s wrong,” he said softly. “
Por favor, háblame
.”

Silence stretched between them. She wanted to talk to him. Teo was her soul mate. The one she turned to. The one who always understood.
But he can’t help me
. The brother who had always been her hero, her protector, her best friend, couldn't help her.
None of them can
. A tear slipped down her cheek with the thought.

“
Lo siento
, Teo. I have to go.” Her hands started to shake as she hung up. The phone rang again and she shut it off.

Andre sat on the side of the bed and took her hand.

“I’m alright, Andre, really, I’m fine.”

“Why you runnin’, sugar?”

“Who says I’m running?”

“I’m from Haiti.” Andre pressed his finger to his temple. “We see. You can’t talk to him, you talk to me.” His big hand tightened around hers.

“It’s just that I need this time away. There are things in my life right now that I’m not ready to handle. Things my family can’t help me with, you know.”

“So you’re runnin’ away with Jacques.
Oke
, but don’t go so far as to lose sight of the ones who be truly lovin’ you,” he said, voice somber.

“Don’t you start too. I’m not a child.”

“In Jacques’s world, you are.”

“I know what he is, Andre, but I need something from him before…” She dropped her head. “I just want to be, uh, different for a while.”

Andre stroked the back of her hand. “Different? You’re certainly different, sugar, and very special. A healer.”

“How do you know that?”

He smiled and pressed his finger to his temple again. “A woman like you needs love, Isabella, not just sex. Have your fun with Jacques, but don’t be surprised if the endin’ is harsh.”

“He’s never been harsh with me, Andre. I see it in him. I’m not that naïve, but with me he’s different too. Maybe Jacques needs some time to escape who he is just like I do.”

“Or maybe he’s waitin’ on an angel to save him.” Andre met her eyes with a look of concern. “Promise me one thing, Isabella. Don’t go bein’ too harsh when you leave him.”

*****

Jacques hit the foyer, anxious as hell, his mind fixated on Isabella.

After their breakfast, he carried her back to bed and she fell asleep. He left her alone with a note and a promise to make love to her at sunset. Then spent the day in Sabin’s hotel room arranging, or rearranging as the case may be, his schedule to accommodate her. He could swear Patricia almost dropped the phone when he told her he was taking a few days off.

Like I've never done that before
.

Well, come to think of it, he never had, but Isabella offered him a few days and for the next few days, she had to be his priority. If all went well, she would be his priority for the next few decades.

Man, he was jittery as a June bug…
aaaand the fact that the ridiculous expression even entered my mind means I have to stop talking to Sabin every ten minutes
.

Maybe it was all the trouble with their New Mexico facility or with Jerard. Or maybe it was the case of blue balls he was sporting.
Another first.

He laid his keys on the table by the door and headed into the living room to pour himself a tall one.
Definitely have to stop talking to that southern hayseed
.

Jerard’s voice interrupted his pour. “You shouldn’t do this.”

“I didn’t see you there. Want a drink?”

Had he not been so distracted, he would have known Jerard was there, lulling alone in the far corner next to the fireplace. Why else would every curtain be drawn? Drugs and sunshine, never the twain shall meet. At least Jerard wasn’t shut up in the bedroom with one of his junkie whores.

“Got one.” Jerard tinkled the ice in his glass. “Send her home, Jacques. She doesn’t know the game.”

Jacques took a slow sip and let the heat of the whiskey douse the sharp reply. He did not want this fight. Not tonight.

Jerard wasn’t letting go. “She’s going to get attached.”

He swirled the amber liquid around his glass a few times. “Maybe I want her to.”

“Yeah, right. Like you want all your woman to stick around, huh, swinger.”

Jacques wasn’t sure if it was the smart-ass comment or the fact that Jerard was spot on about Isabella’s naiveté, but months of frustration bubbled over into angry words.

“Maybe if you weren’t stoned all the time, you would want her to as well.”

Jerard shot to his feet and got right in his face. “Why? So we can have our happily-ever-after. You, me and Isabella behind a white picket fence. Get real, Jacques. That dream is dead.”

The distance in Jerard’s eyes pricked his heart. Jerard was his second. Together, they rocked women’s worlds, always looking for
the one
. Always dreaming of life as a trio if they ever found her. But that was before all the shit that had come between them.

“She’s different, Jerard. With her, I’m different.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jacques. I’m not one of your sycophants. I won’t smile and swear the truth of whatever you want to believe about yourself. And don’t pretend you’re in any way capable of loving this woman. You’re not.”

The words were harsh enough alone, but the sarcastic tone sent a sensation like nails against a chalkboard up his spine. “That’s low, Jerard.”

“Is it, Jacques? Is it really? You are what you are and that sweet lady doesn’t have a clue. You’re too damn arrogant to even know how to be different. If you keep her here, she’s doomed.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“You make them love you, Jacques. All of them. And when they do, you throw them away. You want Isabella to stay. For what? A week. A month. However long. You’ll make her love you and then you’ll throw her away.”

He was taken aback by Jerard’s bitterness. He’d never heard anything like that from Jerard before and it made him aware of how wide the chasm between them had become.

“I still want the dream, Jerard. Maybe with Isabella we can…” he was lying and he knew it, “…I don’t know.”

“You want red hair on a leash, Jacques, and that is NOT Isabella. She’s too good for perverts like you and me.”

Match meet powder keg. “Who the fuck are you to judge me? A damn junkie. A guy who has the world at his feet and instead of celebrating that and creating something great, what does he do? He cowers with his lowlife friends. Why, Jerard? Because mommy didn’t love you. You’re pathetic.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back.

Jerard turned sharply, heading for the exit, and Jacques grabbed his arm.

“Stop.”

Jerard tried to pull away, but he held fast. Even though Jerard could best him in a physical fight, Jacques had emotional dominance and he was using it.

“I apologize. I’m angry and it tainted my choice of words. But there is truth in what I'm saying and you have to face it. You have to turn your life around.”

“Do you enjoy humiliating me, Jacques?” Jerard’s voice shook. “Do you want me to beg you to let go?”

“No. I want you to let me help you.” The depth of his concern rang in his voice.

It was met with resignation. “I can’t be who you want me to be, Jacques. I’m not strong like you.”

“Then lean on me, Jerard. God, please. Why won’t you let me help you?”

The broken look on Jerard’s face hit him like a fist. God damn it, he loved this man and his powerlessness boggled his mind. Why? Why wouldn’t Jerard accept help?

When Jerard spoke again, his voice was so soft. “Because I love you, Jacques, and I’m just hanging on until you throw me away too.”

Jacques felt his fingers go numb, felt Jerard’s arm pull away, as the truth washed through him. He couldn’t throw Jerard away because he was already gone and there was nothing, not a single goddamn thing, he could do about it. As he watched Jerard retreat, all he could do was pray.

Please, don’t let him die.

11

Destiny

Jacques fiddled with his watch. Sprawled across a chaise, waiting for Isabella and fidgeting like a damn teenager. Not a common habit, nor one he particularly liked.

He couldn’t get Jerard’s words out of his mind.
You make them love you, then throw them away
. He didn’t have to hear Jerard say that to know it was true, but until Isabella entered his life, he’d never regretted it. Now he did. That truth validated Jerard’s other words.
She is too good for you
.

He looked at his watch for the thousandth time, just about ready to storm into the house when Isabella stepped through the door.

Holy Mother of God
. He couldn’t move.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” she said as she strolled toward him.

“Anything,” he teased as he stood, trying to look cool.
Since when do I have to try to look cool?

“Do you like it?” She shook her head throwing a gorgeous spray of red over her shoulders.

He’d seen beauty before. Beautiful women, beautiful landscapes, beautiful architecture, beautiful art, but nothing he had ever seen in all his travels compared to the sight of this beautiful piece of paradise gliding across the terrace into his waiting arms.

He thrust both hands into the proof of his destiny, dumbfounded by the sight of Isabella’s thick loose hair filled with golden sunlight.

What an incredible color.

He’d never seen a color like that. Not coral or candy apply or bronze. Her hair was a deep, rich, glossy garnet. Like blood or wine. In certain light, it might look brown, almost black, but here in the setting sun, it shimmered with the most miraculous, unmistakable shade of red.

The old gypsy’s words blended with Nicolai’s laughter in his mind as he was consumed with the need to possess this woman. Wholly. Completely. Irrevocably. He wanted to get so deep inside of her soul that she existed for no one but him. That her heart beat for no one but him. He wanted to know her, inside and out, build her trust and seduce her until she belonged him in a way no other person ever had. He was long past tumbling down that hill into “we’ll see.” He was looking at his destiny and he was head over heels in love.

“Jacques, are you alright?” Isabella bit her cushy bottom lip as she looked at him, a little crinkle of worry on her brow. “If you don’t feel well, we can skip dinner.”

“If you could see yourself as I see you,
Paradis
, you would already know that we are skipping dinner. We’re starting with dessert.”

As his body followed hers down into the pillows on the chaise, the megawatt smile on her face slayed him.

*****

Well, this isn’t exactly the Dom’s dungeon. This is romantic.

Ridiculously romantic.

A double chaise smothered in a mountain of fluffy white pillows sat at the end of the terrace overlooking the sea. Sheer white curtains created a dancing canopy as the light fabric blew in the ocean breeze. There were lit torches, a table for two and champagne over ice. All set against a view that could stop the heart.

But the real heart-stopper was Jacques. Elegant, gorgeous, sex god Jacques. He looked like one of those jet set models in an advertisement that lured you to flee your ordinary life for some island paradise. Loose black hair tousled by the sea air framed a face lit with invitation. Leather sandals. Pale grey linen pants. A loose white shirt, open at the chest to offer a perfect hint of a perfect boy body. All capped off by smoldering copper eyes to match the setting sun.

One look into those piercing eyes and Isabella’s mind fell into the bliss of being desired by an exotic creature like him. One touch on the hand and her body remembered him. What he did. How he made her feel exquisitely female. The power he wielded. Strong hands guided her onto her back and she fell into his possession with the most profound sense of peace.

Orchestrated peace.

Controlled peace.

Jacques’s peace.

Earlier, she’d woken up alone to find a note next to a single yellow rose on the pillow. Jacques left her with an apology and a promise to make love to her beneath the stars. At first she’d thought the gesture was sweet, but as the hours wore on, she recognized a more sinister intent. She spent the day feeling incomplete, needing her wicked lover to fill her like she’d never needed anything ever before. The sucking emptiness built a cruel anticipation that made the seduction of walking into this moment sublime.

“I’ve waited too long for you,
Paradis
.”

He may have been referring to the fact that she was late finishing up with Andre, but nothing with Jacques was that simple.

“Why do you call me that, Jacques? Why paradise?”

“Because that’s what you are to me. Make love to me,
Paradis
.”

His lips pressed over hers in firm entreaty and she opened to him, giving herself over to whatever he desired. This time, she wasn’t scared or shy. There were no questions or demands. No moral debate raged through her mind. With Jacques, everything about her finally made sense. She was simply his. Time with him did feel like paradise.

The surrender was instantaneous.

Jacques’s kiss intensified, making her grow warm and needy. His weight pinned her into the mound of softness as he moved lower to brush his lips down her neck and over her shoulders. Deft fingers freed the tiny buttons on the front of her dress from their moorings, then drew the straps down and guided the fabric away. The air caressed her skin and she arched her back, moving her hands into his hair to guide his head lower.

He didn’t resist. Rather took her breasts into his mouth with long, wet, pulling kisses. Every touch to her chest slipped through her core to make her body swell and throb in secret places far away from that decadent mouth. Jacques didn’t have to tell her with words what he thought about her breasts. He made her feel it in the way he literally worshiped them. By the time he eased away, they were swollen and achy and she was frighteningly close to orgasm.

“I have never seen a woman more beautiful,” he said, his fingertips playing over her nakedness as he stared at his handiwork.

She’d never been particularly shy about her girls - she quite liked them, thank you - and the awe in Jacques’s face made her downright proud to display them.

“Look at the sunlight glisten on your skin,
Paradis
. You are incredible.” He leaned to the side and reached over the edge of the chaise. “But those hands, my fiery angel. What are we going to do about those naughty hands?”

He lifted a satin rope that matched the color of her dress and she watched her arms rise above her torso as if in a trance. Jacques began to wrap her wrists. Around one, through a knot in between, around the other, and again. She’d never been bound and although the idea of it intimidated her, the reality was exhilarating. Each twist removed more of her control, carrying her away from the restrictions of her world and into the freedom of his.

Jacques smiled and she caught a glimmer of something knowing in his eyes. He tied off the knot in the middle and slipped a finger into each loop. Not too tight, but tight enough.

She may be a novice; Jacques Meszaros was anything but.

“I’ve got you now, pretty Isabella, and I’m not letting you go for a long, long time. You’re mine to touch and take in any way I please. Isn’t that right?”

Being at his mercy ramped up the seduction. As if this man needed any ramping. Jacques had her imagination so titillated that she could barely breathe, let alone talk.

But he wanted her to talk. “Tsk, tsk.” He squeezed her bound wrists in silent warning.

“Yes, Jacques. I am yours,” she answered quickly.

“Mine to what, Isabella?”

She closed her eyes. “To touch and take in any way you please, Jacques.”

His warm masculine voice whispered in her ear, “There’s my good girl. Lie still and enjoy.”

Holding her bound hands against her belly, he returned his attention to her breasts, licking, sucking and nipping every peak and curve, driving her mad with the challenge to be still. A challenge that she was determined to meet despite the temptation pressed between her legs. The tiniest friction against that hard arousal would send her hurtling into sweet oblivion, but she didn’t move.

“
Por favor
, Jacques.
Por favor
.” She hadn’t meant to break the silence, but,
Dios mío
, the man had a wicked tongue.

“You want something, Isabella?” he asked as if he’d been expecting her plea.

“Yes, Jacques.” The pleading tone of her voice echoed louder.

His tongue laved over the underside of her breast, across her cleavage and over the swell of the other. “What do you want?”

Oh, she knew. She knew exactly what she wanted, could picture every delectable, sinful thing she wanted, but her lips remained closed.

Sex out loud. Still not possible.

He leaned up with reprimand in his eyes. “I asked you a question, Isabella.”

She threw her head back and thrust her hips into his groin, forcing the hard press of his erection against her mons.

He eased back and spoke in a low measured tone. “No taking what I’m not ready to give, Isabella. Now look at me and tell me what you want.”

She wanted to give him what he asked, recognized the threat in his voice if she didn’t, but guilt clogged the words in her throat.

“You want me to stop then?”

Oh, God, no!
“I want you inside of me, Jacques,” she whispered in a voice barely louder than the distant roar of the waves.

He rose up to push the fabric of her skirt aside and brushed his hand over her burning sex. “No panties, my naughty girl. I like that.” He pushed two fingers deep into her ready heat. “You want my fingers inside of your tight little cunt?”

She gasped at the decadence of this man and shook her head.

“My tongue then, shy girl?”

“No, Jacques.”

He flipped onto his back, pulling her into a straddle over his body, and rubbed exactly what she wanted against her core.

“I like your potty mouth, Isabella. Talk dirty for me. Tell me you want my cock in your sweet, wet pussy. Beg me for it.”

She wanted to, really she did, but she couldn’t find her voice. She arched her hips to move against him, but firm hands held her away. That made her want to cry out, but her lips wouldn’t open.

“Now, Isabella, or I’ll add to the punishment you’ve already earned with your little joke at the ball.”

The threat snapped the restraint right off her voice. “I want your cock, Jacques.”

He smiled the satisfied smile of a man who held a woman in his control and challenged her to give more. “Where, Isabella?”

“In my sweet, wet pussy,” she managed.

He pressed his hips up to reward her with his hard male body, then sank back away. “Say it again, all of it, and be polite.”

“I want your cock in my sweet, wet pussy, Jacques. Please.” The voice was weak, guilt-laden.

His hands snaked around to grip her ass and hoist her higher. He gathered the fabric of her skirt and pressed it into her bound hands before releasing himself from his pants.

“There is no guilt with me, Isabella. Say it over and over again until I tell you to stop.”

As she repeated his words back to him, his fingers began to move, flicking the one spot on her body that demanded his attention the most. Already swollen and hard, the relentless stimulation was superbly unbearable; the mounting awareness of how desperately she needed him to satisfy her pleas, metamorphic. Each time she repeated the words, her voice grew stronger, louder, more secure in the demand. Her pulse quickened, her senses sharpened, as she begged him to fill her, to fulfill her, until she could barely breathe.

“Doesn’t that feel better, Isabella? To say what you really want.”

“Yes, Jacques. Please, I can’t stand the emptiness,” she cried out on a panting breath, “I need your cock in my sweet, wet pussy.”

“How can I refuse such a lovely voice?” She felt the head of him press against her entrance. “I want you to look at my face. Look right at me. Don’t look away.”

Her dazed eyes met his and he thrust up hard, kissing her, so deep, banishing the emptiness and replacing it with his completion. She moaned with the triumph. When he withdrew, she mewled her unhappiness at the loss, recognizing immediately the purely submissive response he’d awakened in her and savoring the sheer delight in those copper eyes at it.

“Hold your body still, Isabella. Feel everything, but move nothing.”

He ran the head of his penis over and around her silky flesh, scorching her with his velvet heat, then thrust in hard again. Her body shuddered, so tantalizingly close to the brink.

“Your voice, Isabella. I didn’t tell you to stop,” he purred and she began to chant again.

The sensuous, tortuous pattern repeated. Over, around, in. Over, around, in. Blending in time with her words as she stared into her Dominant’s eyes.