Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (21 page)

“I choose you,” he repeated like a vow.

In the past, he had spoken to her like a submissive and treated her like his possession.  Now, with only the palpitating beat of his heart against her breasts, she heard the distinct change within in his enigmatic voice, and that difference was tenderness.

Yeeesss
, she sighed with an exhale, signaling her acceptance of his next penetration—chafing deeper.  His heavy bare chest pinned against her body, forcing out her apprehension like air from a balloon.  He shifted his pelvis against her pubic bone and plunged through her final barrier of resistance.  She opened, slick and shuddering, and as the full prowess of his powerful body smothered her own.  His smooth tapered chest, muscular thighs, and grinding pelvis all sought to build her up with the intensity of his accelerating pace.

“Tell me how much you want this…” he hushed into her ear, as if he would not be satisfied until he fully satisfied her.

But no words could escape her lips, only an inaudible cry, choked with unbearable need—he filled her so completely, so intimately, that she could not contain the sensations that raged inside her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and dug her fingernails into the hard bones of shoulder blades, allowing the swelling waves of stimulation to ebb and flow throughout her body without siphoning them off or repressing them from flourishing like she had always done in the past.  Even with Aidan’s father, it had always been impossible for her release herself completely—there had always been a hint of distrust, a wisp of immaturity within their intimacy that prevented her from experiencing what she was experiencing now.  Now, she only concentrated on how he cradled her in his arms and penetrated her with unrelenting devotion. 

She shuddered again, the uncompromising veil of darkness allowing her to focus completely on her own liberation.  She passed her nose along his smooth cheek, inhaling the intoxicating masculine scent of his noir cologne.  She exhaled her groan, enduring the smothering constriction of his embrace, and the uncompromising drive of his cock, eliminating all her defenses. She lifted her chin, gasping under the crushing weight of his chest and the uncontrollable quivers within her pelvis, protesting one final time against his resolve to unleash her scream.

But she was no longer able to contain herself. 

Drawing back her head, she begged for him not to stop until the indomitable vibrations rose up from within her core.  He thrust his cock harder, faster, deeper until her plea harmonized into the repetitive chanting of her breaths. Finally, like a kindling flare, his penetrations sparked a seizure of ecstasy that threatened to shatter her into a thousand unrecognizable pieces unless she grounded its shuddering quake and accepted its flushing heat.

In that moment, he covered her mouth and kissed her with fulfillment, bracing her wrists above her head as she submitted herself to the fury of their simultaneous climax.  They traded panting breaths in the darkness like lovers desperately exchanging the last bit of oxygen in the room. Then, with slow languishing reluctance, he pulled out from her without untangling his body from her own.  Warmed by the heat of their passion and soothed by the sound of their own exhaustive exhales, Isabel tried one futile time to search out his eyes within the smothering darkness before finally surrendering herself to the certainty of her own intuition, perhaps whispering his name, or perhaps simply echoing it within her mind like a secret within her own heavy heart.  Then, aided by his respirations against the nape of her neck, she slipped away into the undertow of slumber, tethered only the security of his embracing hand.

Chapter Twelve

Isabel bounded through the open corridor of the office while carrying her coffee and briefcase.  Earlier that morning, she had awoken at dawn to the streaming rays of sunlight on her naked body.  He had left her alone, sleeping and undisturbed, in the Emperor canopy bed—just as he always had in the past—only this time, there was no jewelry box left behind on the mantelpiece as a gesture of reassurance.  There was only the meticulous way he had folded her clothes and draped them over the claw-footed arm chair and paired them with a torn leaflet from an unknown book.  At the top of the page, inscribed in mid-century typeset, was the first stanza of a poem:

Lady, i will touch you with my mind/

Touch you and touch and touch/

until you give me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene
.

And beneath it, Isabel saw his personalized note in his familiar sweeping cursive:
Tonight, the gala…

She studied the massive French Empire bookcase and opened its glass cabinets, immediately spotting the lone spine disrupting the uniformity of all the other books on the shelf.  She drew it out—a poetry anthology by E.E. Cummings—and easily flipped to its missing page, marked by a dried pink rose bud nestled within its center crease.  The haunting remainder of the poem was still there for her view.

She dressed herself and slipped the anthology into her purse before leaving the chamber.  She noted the eerie silence within the mansion, as if it had been completely abandoned.  Then, she shuttled down the grand foyer staircase and exited through the main entrance to return home, just as the rising sun glittered through the fog like a misty dream.

Yes, the gala
.  She understood.  Everything would be different after the gala.

Now, Isabel breezed into the office with a bounce in her pace that caught the attention of Lucy, the receptionist.

“Somebody’s got that good ol’ lovin’ feeling.”

“Good morning,” Isabel said with a smile, pulling back the glass door of the lobby entrance and gliding through it.

“Don’t go being too chipper—” Lucy called after her.

But Isabel didn’t wait to hear the rest.  Instead, armed with the confidence that today was going to be a good day, she strode towards her desk.  With the taste of his tongue still lingering in her mouth and the burning sensation of his lust between her legs, she felt like a different woman—a woman who was rushing towards her new life instead of slowing to a halt in the middle of her current one.  She rounded the corner of Phillip’s office, fully willing to endure his reprimanding glare for entering it without invitation or announcement.  But she halted in the doorway and noted his barren, untouched desk while absorbing the eerie atmosphere of frozen time clinging in the air. 

Then, like a haunting phantom, she felt a whispering breath behind her ear. “I’m still waiting…”

Isabel whirled around to see Jett’s mischievous eyes, glistening at her. 

“Waiting for what?” Isabel awkwardly pushed past him towards her desk. 

“Waiting for you to thank me for last night.”

She turned and narrowed her gaze onto his playboy smile.
Play it cool, play it cool
.  Meanwhile, her heart raced with a rush of paranoia. “Excuse me?”

“Go ahead… Thank me first.” Jett edged closer, lowering his voice.

Isabel glared at him, attempting to unravel the riddle behind his cocky smirk.

“Last night, I had dinner with one of the most elusive public figures in all of Chicago,” he finally explained, “and scored you one of the most preeminent tenants for The Old Main Post Office, which means you’ll have a sensational publicity announcement for your grand gala tonight.”

Jett downed his coffee and waited for the news to relax Isabel’s glare.  But she was more focused on his basketball star build and the fragrance of his flowery sandalwood cologne—and the fact that neither of them matched her memories from last night. Slowly, she exhaled, releasing the pang of anxiety from her chest.

“Who?” she asked, feigning interest, because the truth was, in that moment, nothing else mattered except for the fact that she had not mistakenly had heart-stopping sex with Jett last night.

“Guess,” he prodded her.

Isabel frowned.
Why couldn’t Jett ever have a conversation without turning it into a trivia game?

“Oh, for fricks sake, Jett.  Just tell her…or I will.”

Isabel turned and sighed, relieved to see Tami sweeping in to her rescue. “Good morning.”

“Apparently, it’s Jett
Jeopardy
hour this morning at Spears & Associates,” Tami snarked.

“More like
Wheel of Fortune
,” he corrected her. “Especially since the correct answer is: Augustina van der Meer’s Royal Jewel collection.”

Isabel gazed at Jett in disbelief. “What?”

“I told you I was waiting for you to thank me.”

“But how?” Isabel glanced at Tami for confirmation, but Jett was determined to capture the spotlight.  “Because Yours Truly got wind that the loan of her entire collection to the Field Museum was up at the end of this month without any plans to renew it.  So I made some phone calls—”

“
I
made some phones,” Tami overrode him. “You just sat in your swivel chair, eavesdropping on me while pounding down your Doritos.”

“My mom always told me it was rude to talk with food in my mouth.”

Tami rolled her eyes. “Anyway,
I
confirmed that Madame van der Meer was indeed seeking a new permanent home to display her private jewelry collection—one of the most infamous jewelry collections in the world.”

“Infamous?  How is it infamous?” Isabel asked.

“Because it’s been the target of more attempted thefts than even the
Mona Lisa
in Paris.” Tami slurped down to the end of her Frappuccino.

“And because Madame van der Meer’s own mother smuggled the collection out of Nazi Europe by stuffing it inside her cat who had died from starvation,” Jett added, looking to provoke both women with the gory imagery.

Containing her shiver, Tami ignored him and turned to Isabel. “Her mother escaped their Amsterdam estate with all thirty-five pieces of jewelry, just days before it was raided and pillaged by the invading Germans—”

“Poor little Fluffy,” Jett cried out with dramatic despair.

“Including the diamond choker necklace that King Henry the Eighth gave his second wife, Anne Boleyn—before he divorced her and sent her to the guillotine.”

“Well, at least he had the good sense to keep the necklace before cutting off her head,” Jett sniped.

Tami glared at him with disdain. “You
do
realize the reason why you’re still single is because you’re disgusting. You understand that, right?”

“But I’m also amazing in every way,” he flung back, “It’s called a paradox.”

“It’s called stunted puberty,” Tami coughed back.

Isabel slipped between them. “Does Phillip know?”

Jett relented and smoothed down his silk tie. “Phillip is the one who arranged the dinner last night and convinced Madame van der Meer to permanently display her collection in the renovated Old Main.”

Last night?…
Isabel gazed down at her phone, quickly thumbing through her texts and emails, wondering why she had been kept out of the loop on such an important development.  Then, a slow burn of dread seeped into her soul as she reflected on Phillip’s arrival at her house early in the evening and his agitation when he saw the flowers from Eliot Watercross. 

“Apparently, Norton and Madame van der Meer are old friends.  I’m just the bloodhound sniffing out the leads and collecting the six figure commission.” He grinned with pride, baring his bleached teeth at Tami.

“And purchasing your ridiculously dedicated executive assistant a new car lease as her bonus for working a hundred and fifty hours this week,” Tami reminded him before seeking out advice from Isabel. “I’m still trying to decide between the MINI Cooper—hot pink convertible—or the sassy sexy silver
I have arrived
Mercedes Benz with leather interior.”

“MINI Cooper, hot pink convertible. No question,” Isabel confirmed.

“It is more me.”

“Once the deal is
signed
,” Jett reminded her.

“So nothing’s been signed yet?” Isabel pressed him.

“It’s all with the lawyers now, but Madame van der Meer herself gave us the green light to make the announcement tonight—at your precious gala.  In fact, she’s even letting us showcase several of her jewelry cases as artistic centerpieces within the Grand Atrium.”

“What?” Isabel exclaimed with alarm. “Who’s setting it up?  When are they arriving?  Does Mario know about this?” She couldn’t help reveal her exasperation and annoyance that she was hearing this all second-hand.

“Chill, Duchess, chill…” Jett sighed, stretching his long, basketball player arms behind his head. “It’s all been arranged.  Apparently, that hot little intern of yours is good for more than just being delicious eye candy.”

The women followed his lascivious gaze across the office to Giselle, who was typing with fury on her computer’s keyboard.  The high slit of her cigarette skirt exposed her fishnet stockings and the sensual black seam running up the back of her calves of her crossed legs.

“Neanderthal.” Tami jabbed Jett with her elbow. “Go away.  You’re worse than dried-out expired chocolate.  Except we can actually
tolerate
dried-out expired chocolate when we’re really desperate.”

Jett handed off his coffee mug to Tami, just to prove who was really in-charge, and headed towards his office. “Try not to miss me too much.  Going out for breakfast with the Mayor’s daughter-in-law—her treat. She’s got a fundraising project and she’s looking for donations. I told her we’re looking to accelerate our building permits.  Nothing like doing business in Chicago.”

“Please, Jett,” Tami called after him. “Don’t do or say anything that could be recorded and get you arrested.”

He disappeared into his office and returned with his suit coat, slipping it on before returning to Tami for a final appearance check.

“How ’bout do or say something that could be recorded and break up a marriage?” He snickered, like he was the funniest person in the world.

Tami tightened his tie like a punishing noose before brushing powdered sugar and donut crumbs off his suit lapels. “I’ve decided—MINI Cooper. Hot pink convertible.  And an upgrade: turbocharged engine.”

“
Vrrroooooom
,” he confirmed, pulling away with a wink and heading down the corridor towards the elevators. “Tell Phillip I’ll see him tonight at the cocktail bar,” he called back to Isabel. “I’ll be schmoozing with Fifi Litzker to sign up her new luxury boutique hotel chain as our next tenant in The Old Main.  It’s a tough life being so desirable with the ladies.  A tough, tough life.”

Tami chewed on her straw, watching him stroll through the glass lobby doors before disappearing out of the office. “Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly be so desperate to stay working for such a juvenile beefcake?  And then I imagine myself in my new hot pink turbocharged convertible MINI Cooper and I remember why I secretly love him so much.”

“How long have you known about the van der Meer jewelry collection?” Isabel suddenly asked, betraying the insecurity in her voice. “How could Phillip not tell me about it?”

“Only since this morning despite the fact that’s all this gala-gaga garbage is the only thing I’ve been working on this week.  No offense.”

“None taken.”

“And then there was this mad flurry to get Madame van der Meer to dinner last night.  I just assumed you already knew because you were already there with them.”

“No, I wasn’t there,” Isabel acknowledged, quietly, reflecting on the visceral reminders of last night. “I didn’t know anything about it.”

“So typical,” Tami snipped. “Should we really be so surprised?  These are
our
bosses, we’re talking about.  They expect us to be mind-readers and make everything perfect at the eleventh hour.  By the way, do you have any idea how hard it was to secure a last minute seven o’clock dinner reservation at Tru? I can’t remember the details, but I’m pretty sure I bartered away my ninth virginity to Boris, the general manager, for an all-inclusive one-night fling.” Tami bit her nails in reflection. “God, I hope he’s at least a 3 on the hottie scale. And not short.  I hate short.”

Tami adjusted her glasses and suddenly focused onto Isabel’s ashen face. “What’s wrong with you?”

Isabel gazed gravely at Tami. “I think Phillip is stonewalling me.”

“Stonewalling you?  What?  What do you mean?  Why?”

“Because…he came to my house early last night, I guess to tell me about the dinner with Madame van der Meer, but then he didn’t tell me anything.  I think because he saw the flowers.”

“What flowers?”

“The flowers…from Eliot Watercross.”