Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two (5 page)

As if she read his mind, her head snapped up and those bedroom eyes met his. So tempting, surrounded by long lashes and smeared eye liner.

“Fuck, okay. We didn’t fuck.”

That was priceless. And seriously sexy
. He shifted his body to accommodate his growing erection. “Sad, but true. We did not fuck. But the day is still young.” He winked at her again.

“In your dreams,
pendejo
.”

She obviously didn’t believe him, not for one second.

“
Au contraire encore une fois
. From the look on your face, I would say it’s in your dreams.”

She reached over and threw a pillow at him.

He yanked his arm away to move the cigarette out of the line of fire. “Fiery, aren’t you? Be careful. You’ll set the boat on fire and I’m not up for a morning swim.”

“Then you shouldn’t smoke.”

“Once again, they’re your cigarettes.”

She let out a sigh. “I bought them last night. I don’t even smoke. I was just feeling sorry for myself and being stupid.”

The sudden sadness in her voice snapped him right out of his playful mood. “Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Do you want to talk about breakfast? I’m starved and I know the perfect remedy for a hangover.” He snuffed the cigarette and reached for the duvet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Her hand shot out to hold it down and her eyes practically popped out of her head.

“I’m getting up. We won’t get anything to eat if I lie here all day.”

He yanked the blanket back and stood, completely naked. He had a hard on, but he wasn’t shy. And he had a nice dick. All of this fighting with his fiery new girlfriend made him hot. He laughed when her mouth dropped open and strolled slowly toward the bathroom, giving her a nice long view of his bare backside.

Another pillow hit the door as he stepped through it.

*****

Isabella almost fell over. When she registered that she was alone, she did. Collapsed onto the end of the bed and stared straight up, stunned, blinking and trying to clear away the vision of Jacques Meszaros sauntering across the room
au natural
. When Craig said take a risk, she was pretty sure he didn’t mean this. She should leave right now, er, the minute they made port.

As soon as she had the thought, that naughty little voice in the back of her mind whispered, “But where’s the fun in that?”

So what if she got drunk and wandered off to another country with a guy she didn’t know. He didn’t look threatening. Well he did actually, but not in the psycho, murderer, kidnapper kind of way. And anyway, he was no ordinary guy.

A person didn’t have to know much about the corporate world to know the name Jacques Meszaros. A grant from the Meszaros Foundation provided funding to alleviate the financial burden on the families of several of her patients. She had referred people to this man for help many times even if she was only today seeing his face.

The guy was loaded and a big time philanthropist. He took care of her when she was sick and she wasn’t exactly in a prison. She was on a yacht sailing to Monaco for a party with a bunch of famous gazillionaires. Not exactly a hardship.

She relaxed a little and looked at the crumpled duvet that replaced that big lump of male seduction. The image of her sexy-as-sin kidnapper running his beautiful hand through his sinful hair had a flood of dirty thoughts running through her head.

Forget the hair, Isla. He was naked. Complete, wonderful, magnificent male naked. Desnudo. Nue. Nude!

She giggled, kicking her legs like a little girl, and rolled into the warm spot Jacques left on the bed, inhaling him again. Maybe she would stick around for a while and see what happened. Like Jacques said, it would be fun.

Not normal, Isla. Not normal at all.

*****

Words. Muttered words. Something about a dog named Fluffy and skyrockets.

Teo opened his eyes to a room he didn’t recognize, next to a woman he didn’t recognize. The last thing he remembered was Nati, a rubber dress and gin.

Lots of gin. Wild, wild night.

He pecked a kiss on the mumbler and rolled over looking for a clock. He found a pyramid of fluffy stuffed animals smiling from their perch on the night table instead.

Creepy
.

His eyes shot back to the woman - or at least he hoped she was a woman – lying next to him.
Gracias a Dios
. The room might look like it belonged to a teenager, but his naughty new friend from the Dungeon was definitely not a little girl.

Stuffed animals and rubber dresses. Who is this chick?

As he sat up, his stomach churned at the sickening-sweet smell of her perfume. She must have sprayed the shit around the room like air freshener. Even he smelled like a flower bed. Reaching for his pants, he plucked out his iPhone.
8:05 a.m. Looks like I'll be sporting the eau de sex and girly girl for another couple of hours
. Given the look of…
what’s her name?
... he could slip away unnoticed, but he wasn’t a complete pig.

“Hey, gorgeous. I have to go.” As he shook her shoulder, the guilt kicked in. No one deserved to be treated like this. Fucked in a drunken stupor by some jerk who couldn’t remember her name. Yet, he did it. Again.

Maybe I am a complete pig.

His fingers combed through his hair, pushing the long strands back from his forehead. Why couldn’t he just accept who he was instead of beating himself up every time he indulged?

Because you indulge all the wrong women instead of the only one who ever loved the real you.

He leaned over to press a tender kiss on last night’s lover and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby.” Shoving away another handful of hair, he moved to stand and his feet landed on a body.

“Get the fuck off me.” Nati’s strangled voice croaked from the floor.

“Get up, Sleeping Beauty. Maurice will kick our asses if we’re late.”

“I can’t with your feet planted on my chest. God, man, is that stink you?”

Teo shifted and Nati’s head rose over the side of the bed. The guy had the most innocent pretty-girl face, even hung over after crashing on the floor, but one gander at those dark eyes and you knew he was anything but.

“I think, um, she likes perfume.” Teo tilted his chin toward their sleeping friend.

Nati flashed eyes at him. “Forgot her name, didn’t you, lover boy?”

“Shut up and get a move on.”

“What about Maryann? Or was it Marie Clair? Fuck, I can’t remember her name either, but she was sure fun. Maybe we can get her to that thing with her legs again before we cut out.”

Teo groaned as memories of their night together started flashing though his mind.

“Oh, Jesus. Don’t go there, Teo. There are two kinds of women, man, and this kind loves this shit. She was barking like a dog, begging you for it. Remember?”

Unfortunately, he did.

“I feel sorry for her. I can’t help it, Nati. If she had someone to look out for her, this…” he waved a hand across the rumpled bed, “…wouldn’t happen.”

“If she had someone to look out for her, we’d be bruised and battered, my friend.”

The comment made him think of Isla and what he would do to any guy who treated his angel like he treated his lovers. He’d skin the bastard alive. But Isla wasn’t anything like the woman next to him. She was the other kind of woman and she did have someone to look out for her. Four someones actually.

“You’re a joy kill, Teo. Let’s get out of here before Mary-Rubber Dress wakes up and starts calling you Fluffy again.” Nati barked at him and started cracking up.

Teo raised a finger in salute. A thousand years and he would never live this one down.

As they left the apartment, he dialed his little sister.

4

Isla Paradisíaca

My, oh my. What do we have here?

Jacques watched a very different woman wander onto the deck with her hair wrapped in a towel and wearing his robe. If she thought she looked sexy last night, it was nothing compared to how sexy she looked right now. Her face was flawless, even without make-up. She had rose lips that begged to be kissed, the bottom one a bit more plump. And her eyes. They were dark chocolate seduction. No embellishment necessary to lure a man into those.

“I suppose ‘good morning’ is overdue. Sit and drink this.” He handed her a glass and no, it wasn’t a request. “This is my personal anti-hangover remedy. It will make you feel better. Our breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

“
Gracias
, Jacques.” His name sounded musical in her accented voice.

The benches along the stern were long, but she sat right next to him, which made him smile.
And no argument about the drink. Very interesting
.

“Ugh! This tastes awful. What’s in it?”

“You don’t want to know,” he said with a laugh. “Drink.”

She took another sip, her obvious trust remarkably appealing.

Good morning, protective instincts.

When she finished her drink, she held out her hand to him. “I’m Isabella Rey,” she said with a duck of her head, “and I don’t make it a habit to get drunk and come on to strangers. I’ve only ever had a few lovers and none that I picked up in a drunken stupor.”

That was very honest. And even more appealing.

"It’s nice to meet you, Isabella,” Jacques said, not releasing her hand.

It was soft, satiny soft, fine boned and lovely. He turned her wrist and traced a finger over the palm. She didn’t pull away.

Fascinating
. This woman was like a shifting tide, going one way one minute and another, the next.

“Or should I call you 'my morning Isabella?' The woman I met last night was very different from the one I am meeting now. You were pretending to be something you’re not. Why?”

He was many things. Indirect was not one of them.

“Do you always ask such personal questions of people you’ve just met?” She sounded offended, but that hand stayed put.

“Sometimes. Answer me.” He gave her
the look
. The one that said start talking.
Pronto
.

No fists, no cursing, his morning Isabella responded with a beautiful rush of words. “You’re right. I was pretending. I feel so stupid now. I got all gussied up only to get stone-drunk. I don’t know what I was thinking really. Just trying to escape for a little while, I guess.”

“You are not stupid,” he corrected. “Escape from what?”

A little tug.

Oh, no, Isabella, you’re not allowed to withdraw. Not now that you’ve made me curious
. He squeezed her hand tighter.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but sometimes it gets me down. I work at the Institut Gustave Roussy in Paris. I’m an oncology nurse. I see a lot of suffering. I do what I can to help, but it can be rough sometimes. I guess I was running away for a while.”

That may be the truth, but it was a half-truth and Jacques knew it.

“I’ll bet. You must have a compassionate nature to have chosen that profession. It takes a very special person to help others face the challenge of cancer. I admire you for it.”

“I try.”

He was pleased that she didn’t put herself down. Until she did it again.

“What I do is nothing compared to what someone like you does, Jacques.”

“No, Isabella. I just have a lot of money. It’s people like you who do the real good for other people. You actually touch them, care for them. As I said, that makes you a very special person. All I do is sign a check.”

“I don’t agree. What you do really helps these people. I know. I’ve seen it firsthand.” She laid her free hand atop their clasped hands. “Trust me on that.”

Uh-huh, a very compassionate nature
. “So, how did an oncology nurse who's only had a few lovers end up at Nicolai’s opening? Not that I assume you don’t have an appreciation for art, mind you, but my cousin’s is pretty extreme.”

“My roommate, Craig, is an artist. He volunteers at the Art Saves Center. Jerard Gagne invited him to the opening and he brought me. Craig was the source for the dress and the shoes too.” She let out an adorable giggle, obviously enjoying the memory of last night’s Isabella. “Craig’s a really good guy, always trying to pamper me. It was fun to wear that stuff, really fun. I usually wear pastel polyester and clogs.”

“Craig has excellent taste and he made you happy. That makes me happy.”

She shrugged uneasily and her pink tongue peeked out to swipe across that cushy bottom lip. “The Isabella you met last night wasn’t all pretend, Jacques. I like Nicolai’s art too.”

He practically choked on his coffee.
Did she just suggest what I think she did?
“Jerard is a close friend of mine. He’s a great...” He stopped the worthless chatter about Jerard. He had to know. “Are you a submissive?”

Her eyes flicked up and he was snared by the look. “Are you a Dom?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he snapped.

“From the way you say that, I’ll take it that the answer is yes.”

There was the fire again. No direct answer, but the body language. Gorgeous. She bowed her head, unconsciously, submissively, as she questioned him. Pretty Isabella might not know her own nature, but he sensed it. Tasted it. Smelled it. That’s why he’d been so fascinated by her last night. It wasn’t just her arousal at the film and forget running away for a while. She was running toward something. Something she didn’t acknowledge consciously, but something he knew all about.

“That doesn’t shock you, does it, my morning Isabella?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, rather looked over his shoulder to the water, and shook her head. Her curiosity was so strong he could feel it, but not as strong as her hesitation. He decided to move the conversation away from sex for the moment, wanting her to relax with him before he reintroduced the topic.

“You have a lovely accent, Isabella. You were not born in France.”

“I was born in Barcelona. I moved to Paris at seventeen and never left. I speak French and English, but Spanish is my first language. Were you born in France?”

“No.”

“You’re not comfortable talking about yourself.” There was no judgment in her voice. It was just a statement.

“I don’t like interviews and I prefer talking about you. Why did you come to France?”

She rolled her eyes and reached for her water glass. “Defensive much? I’m not interviewing you, Jacques. We’re just talking. Getting to know each other.” But when her gaze returned to his face, she answered his question. Quickly.

Much better.

“Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed of living in Paris. School gave me the chance. I'm the first in my family to attend University. Everyone is so proud, but all these years later and they’re still mad that I haven’t moved back to Spain. Why did you come to France?”

To find my destiny.

Jacques shook his head. That wasn’t the reason. He came to be close to Nicolai and to expand the family business. Fulfilling a foolish prophecy had nothing to do with it and hadn’t he just said he preferred talking about her. He opened his mouth to scold her for ignoring him and abruptly closed it. Those brown eyes were sincere. Genuinely interested and so sincere that he found himself talking.

“I’m an only child. Nicolai is my cousin, but I think of him as my brother. We grew up together. After Eton, I moved back to Greece to work in the family business and he moved to Paris. Back then, the business was limited to shipping. I’ve expanded things a lot since then. I moved the headquarters to Paris. Partially because I needed a more global city to expand, but mostly because I wanted to be close to my cousin. My turn. Do you have siblings?”

She smiled brightly and started chirping away. “Four brothers. One of them shows up on my doorstep every few weeks. They always have some lame excuse, but I know they’re checking up on me. I adore
mis cariños
, but,” she held two fingers close together, “let’s just say, my sweeties are the tiniest bit overprotective.” There was no missing the sarcasm in her voice.

“Nothing wrong with that,” he interjected.

“Once Joaquim showed up at six in the morning on a Sunday and Craig answered the door.” She rolled her eyes again, laughing at the memory. “It’s a good thing Craig is gay or Joaquim would have killed him. He’s the oldest and really scary. Poor Craig.”

Craig, the gay roommate. The one who likes to pamper Isabella. The one who makes her happy. The one who I suddenly like even more.

“I’m closest to Teo. He’s a musician. God, Jacques, you should hear him play. His music makes me cry. He’s in Paris a lot these days. His career is really taking off. I’m so proud of him and God knows he deserves some happiness.”

Jacques didn’t miss the mama bear in her voice when she spoke about her favorite brother. He was curious, but far more intrigued by the little sister. “What made you choose oncology?”

“Oh, no, you don’t. It’s my turn. You skipped from Eton to moving a multinational business to Paris. What happened in between?”

Something about that beautiful smile, those warm eyes, made him answer despite himself. He really liked this woman.

“The family business was mine to inherit, but my father made it perfectly clear that he expected me to earn it. That tough old Greek clawed his way up from nothing. After Eton, my peers went on with their privileged lives. I was sent to work on the docks. Tough job, but it made me appreciate real work.

“I never went to University. I studied remotely with professors from around the globe. I’ve probably got enough coursework for one or two, but no degree. By twenty-two, I was in the executive suite. At twenty-seven, I took over when my father had a stroke. He’s doing better now, but the experience changed him. He and my mother live in Greece. I don’t see them as often as I would like, but we talk almost every day. My father is my inspiration. I respect the hell out of that man.”

“My grandfather is mine. He died of cancer when I was eighteen.”

“So he’s the reason you chose to work in oncology?”

“Initially, but it’s more than that.
Mi abuelo
always said he was a rich man. He didn’t have money, but he said he had everything that mattered and that made him rich. I learned what he meant as an intern. There are so many poor souls, Jacques. People with no one to love them or hold their hand in a time of need. Charity is about sharing wealth and that doesn’t only mean money. I found my vocation in the people with no one to hold them up.”

“That’s a beautiful philosophy, Isabella,” he said, humbled and highly impressed.

They talked for a long time, the conversation intimate and easy. Isabella was an intelligent, compassionate woman and it felt as if he had known her for a very long time. As if he wanted to know her for a very long time.

And she was so damn pretty. Some women are tough, some glamorous, some cute. Isabella was pretty and everything a woman should be. Curvy, lush, sensuous. She was full of fire, but still gloriously submissive. He tested his suspicion a few times and her responses did not disappoint. She’d grown up surrounded by very loving, and very, very protective men. That background obviously molded her character. She was a person who cared for others, yet felt comfortable being cared for herself. Those deep roots bred strength yet still fostered a sublime femininity. And that was dangerously appealing to a man like him.

So much for not adding another complication to my life
. He slipped a more seductive tone into his voice and asked, “Do you have a boyfriend, Isabella?”

“My friends call me Isla.”

“I’m complimented that you would count me as a friend, Isla, but that does not mean I didn’t notice that you haven’t answered my question for the second time.”

She shifted in her seat, obviously recognizing the shift in him. “I don’t know and no. Satisfied now?” She crossed her arms over her chest as if she was annoyed, but those eyes shot down to the table.

He leaned over and took her hand back into both of his. “No, Isla. We are just getting started. Why do you say, ‘I don’t know’ to the question of whether you’re a submissive? It’s really a yes or no kind of question.”
And the fact that you remembered it after all this talk gives me the answer anyway.

“I say, ‘I don’t know,’ because I don’t know.”

That answer was one-hundred percent honest. Isabella's nature colored so many of her responses, but that special part of her was unexplored. He watched the pulse jump at her throat and knew she wanted to withdraw, but she didn’t pull away. Brave.

“Well then, answer this. Do you think you might be and don’t want to be, or have you never tried that type of relationship and think you might want to?”

He brushed a hand over her cheek and her voice became breathy. “How are we talking about this? I just met you. You could be some kind of psycho for all I know.”