Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two (8 page)

The huff may have been beautiful, but he wasn’t deterred. “I am not what you want, Isla. The sex I like isn’t romantic or sweet. It’s raw, often painful. I demand total submission and that requires a spine of steel and a hell of a lot of stamina.”

“But beating women into submission isn’t all that you are, Jacques. You told me about your cousin, your parents. I see how much you care about Jerard. I know how generous you are with complete strangers. There’s a lot of love in you. Why do you hide it?”

Part of him was tempted to lie just to keep this special lady in Monaco, but he wasn’t a liar and there was no point in sugarcoating the truth. Isabella needed to know what she would be in for if she got involved with him.

“None of those people are my lovers, Isla. Don’t deny what I am. I don’t. I’m different with the women who submit to me.”

“Then you’re with the wrong women,” she said softly and dropped her gaze to the finger tracing little circles over the duvet. “It seems to me that if you were with the right lover, the dominance might, well, it might be different. It might be more expressive of the man you are with everyone else.” She raised her eyes again. “More like the man you are with me.” She punctuated her obvious sincerity by sucking her bottom lip.

When he saw the provocative and subconscious invitation, he went deadly still, holding his breath until it burned in demand for release.

She went on. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to teach me, Jacques? That sexuality shouldn’t be out of sync with the person you truly are? You say I’m special, well you’re exceptional.” A flick of her eyes shut down any chance to dispel the compliment. “You deserve to have someone love the whole you, not just one part.”

Isabella wasn’t stupid or naïve. How could she have that kind of faith in his character after such a short time? And how could a novice cut right to the heart of the lifestyle and understand the difference between his bullshit version and the ideal?

Her fingers moved up and over the back of his hand. “If I was your lover, Jacques, how far would you go with me?” Curiosity swirled with desire in those chocolate eyes, weakening his resolve to push her away.

“How far would you let me?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you, but I honestly don’t know.”

That answer and the look of innocence in those imploring eyes snuffed the momentary seduction. Of course she didn’t know. She was a novice and he didn’t do novices. He really didn’t want to do this, but it was for her own good.

“Then let me tell you how far I would want it to go. First, I would spank your backside until it was as red as that sunburn to punish you for not listening to me about the tanning oil. Then, I would savor the delicious color I leave on your ass while I fuck you on all fours.

“If things weren’t so messed up with Jerard, he would probably be with us. The first thing I would have him do is turn on all of the lights in this room so I could watch while he suckled every exquisite inch of you until you believed, down to your marrow, in your own magnificence. Whether he tied you up while he did it would depend on how much you struggled with being exposed like that. Make no mistake about it, Isla. I am a dangerous man. A very kinky, dangerous man. You do not want anything to do with a man like me. Trust me.”

Sitting abruptly, she grabbed both of his hands and looked him directly in the eye. “I do trust you. I’ve never met anyone like you, Jacques, I know that, but for some weird reason, I know you won’t hurt me. I feel connected to you.”

Connected?
She shouldn’t feel connected. She should be freaked. He certainly was.

Emotion rose in her and it wasn’t disgust or fear or judgment as she went on. “I’ve spent my entire adult life waiting for lightning to strike and it never has. At first, I blamed my Catholic guilt, then claimed that I couldn’t find the right guy. But that’s a lie. A huge fucking lie.

“My love life stinks. I spend half my time baffled by all the fuss about sex. It’s just not that great. I don’t know how you knew it, but you’re right. I had one small taste of dominance at seventeen and that moment made me feel more than anything I’ve felt since. I’ve spent the last eight years masturbating to that memory without having the courage to try to find it again.

“So here I am at twenty-five, a woman with straight toes. I mean not just straight, Jacques, gun scope straight. I don’t want to die, um, I mean, while I’m still young, I want to understand who I am. I want to feel what I felt at seventeen. You said you were fire. Well I want to burn. So I guess the answer to your question is yes. We are negotiating. I can’t promise that I can be everything you want, but I will try. And I can’t promise you more than a week, but I would like the comfort of you for while too. And I would definitely like my toes to curl.”

Hello, hurricane.

He was stunned. Isabella certainly had a fire in her soul. She cursed like a man, she didn’t listen to him when he told her to do something as simple as putting tanning oil on her skin, she wanted to take care of everyone around her, including him, and she had flat out rejected his very sage suggestion that she run from him.

This was definitely not the kind of woman he went for. Definitely not what he needed. Especially right now. No way this relationship would work even for a short time and he really had to focus on Jerard. So he gave her the only response he had.

“One week, Isabella. And I promise your toes will curl.”

*****

The sun was shining, but you’d never know it. Not here. No windows, electric blue light and shadows. No day. No night. Only high class decadence.

Jerard sat alone in the casino bar, waiting in the appointed seat. He twisted his hand in the glow of the uplight in the counter. He’d been told as a kid that God touched that talented hand. There’d been times when he looked at its work and almost believed. Now the skin looked eerily pale, like a corpse’s, and that seemed morbidly appropriate given his purpose here.

An older man took the seat next to him. Silk suit aside, his meaty, calloused hands told his tale. He ordered Bundaberg straight as he lit his cigarette and his diamond pinky ring flashed in the bar light.

“Hello, mate.” The accent was crude like the man beneath the fine clothes. “You a gambler?”

“I’ve been known to put a little money down.” Jerard tapped a finger on the cocktail napkin in front of him. “I like horses.”
Yeah, right. Horses
.

“Ace. I might be able to help with that.”

Jerard slid the cocktail napkin along the bar. The man downed his drink as a hand disappeared into his jacket. He dropped a twenty onto the bar, picked up the napkin and the money underneath, then disappeared into the shadows.

Jerard sipped his drink. After a few minutes, the man returned and spoke to the bartender. When he stepped away again, a cigarette box lay on the bar. For a fleeting second, Jerard thought about leaving it. Instead he picked it up, gave it a little shake and enjoyed the calm of feeling the small bottle moving inside.

He stood to leave the club, but he wasn’t headed into the sunshine.

7

You Ain’t Never Met A Man Like Me

One mistake.

He made one mistake. Let himself get seduced into the fantasy of the sexy novice who dropped into his life, but he didn’t act on it and it wasn’t too late to change course. This thing with Isabella wasn’t going to happen. He would take her to the party and then send her home.

Last night was...well, he didn’t really know what the hell that was. Isabella fell asleep. Even after their conversation, she was comfortable enough to fall asleep with him sitting on the bed next to her rubbing her back. She hadn’t lied when she said she trusted him and that blew him away.

That and the vision of her half-naked body lazing across his bed. The curve of her full breasts peeking out from under her ribs was an exquisite tease and when she rolled to her side, the vibrant reality of her figure burned into his mind indelibly.

One of the keys to mastering a woman was making her feel confident enough to be at ease in front of him. It usually took weeks, maybe even months, to undo the societal head trip that inhibited most women. Sometimes even he failed. He knew exposing her body to a man was not her norm, but Isabella was at ease with him in what? Less than twenty-four hours. Trust and confidence like that was a powerful aphrodisiac.

He spent half the night watching her sleep instead of sleeping himself. Even when he turned off the light, he lay in the dark breathing her in and suffering. He wanted to roll over and sink into the oasis next to him. Wanted it so badly, it hurt.

But with sunlight came reason. He wasn’t right for someone like her. And she certainly was not right for someone like him.

Jacques stormed down the hallway, all business with an assistant on each elbow, alternately chattering on a cell phone or hurling questions at him. Politely, of course.

“Sir, the caterer needs approval to substitute...”

“Sir, the final seating chart is waiting for your review.”

“Sir, the auctioneer needs your decision on...”

His schedule was absolutely jammed today, just like every other, and he didn’t have time for Isabella. He would just go into the room, wake her up and leave.

“Sir, we have to be at the Casino in thirty minutes.”

“Sir, I need a signature in the office before we go.”

“Sir, I need...”

“Stop. Wait here,” he said to his overeager helpers.

He twisted the nob. As soon as Isabella's lovely scent hit his nostrils, he inhaled her again. Closing the door, he leaned against it and breathed deeply. The room was quiet and still. So peaceful. So far away from the demands on the other side of the door. Isabella was curled up on his bed like a kitten, wearing his shirt.

She looks so pretty wearing my clothes.
Before the vision of his hand slipping beneath that shirt became any more real, he stopped himself
.
No. No. No. No playing with your new toy today
.

Wait, she wasn’t his toy. She wasn’t going to be his toy. He was taking her to the party and that was it. Jacques shook his head to snap himself back into the plan.

What is it about this woman with her beautiful body and her beautiful spirit and her beautiful round bottom peeking out from beneath the...Stop it!

“Isabella, wake up,” he barked.

No, not Isabella. Isla. Isla. ‘We are just friends’ Isla
.

“
¡Vete!
” She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her ears.

What the...Did she just tell ME to go away?
He had half a mind to spank that sumptuous bottom, feel her squirm against his erection until he slipped his fingers between her...
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!

“Isla, wake up. Right now!” he roared.

A mass of black hair appeared from under the pillow. Two pretty hands brushed it away to reveal the finest pair of bedroom eyes he had ever seen.

“Who’s grumpy in the morning?” she cooed at him and he felt his lips curling up before he could stop them.

“I am not grumpy. I don’t like people ignoring me.”

My God, now he sounded like he was pouting.
Earth to Jacques. Are you there, Jacques?

“I have a lot on my agenda today and I don’t have time for games.”

“Not even one itty-bitty little good morning kiss?” she said, rolling onto her back and stretching her body across the bed.

Bye, bye, kitten. Hello, kitty
. A mad rush of blood shot straight to his cock.

“I brought you something.” He turned sharply and pointed to a rolling rack in the corner that was filled with dresses. Every single one was red. “Pick one for tonight. The tailor will be here in an hour for alterations.”

‘
No way we're just friends
’ Isabella padded across the room to the rack, stopping to peck a kiss on his cheek as she passed.

“Why are they all red?” she asked in a husky, low morning voice.

Actually, it was a sultry, sexy midnight voice.
Is she doing that on purpose?

She circled the rack letting her hand run over the sea of red and snared him with those bedroom eyes.

Forget the wild hair, the legs, the lips, what will those eyes look like when I...

“Red is my favorite color,” he grit out through ground teeth.

What in the hell is wrong with me?
Losing focus?
This woman definitely has to go.

“Which one do you want me to wear, Jacques?” she purred in that voice again.

The husky sound only made him harder. She bit her cushy lower lip and forget the agenda, all he could think about was watching the traitor in his pants slide over that lip into the wet silk of her mouth as she stared up at him with those chocolate eyes.

Okay, she definitely did that on purpose.
Isabella lit his fire and now she was playing with it.
If she wants to burn...

He started toward her, then abruptly stopped. Turning toward the door without a backward glance, he spoke over his shoulder. “My favorite is the beaded one in the front, but it’s a very daring dress. Without confidence, a woman cannot be truly beautiful. Pick whichever you would feel most confident in. I’m sure you will be lovely in any of them. I’m tied up most of the day. Andre will be here at six to do your hair and make-up. My driver will pick you up at eight. Be ready.”

Without another look, he jacked his chin high and marched out the door.

*****

As soon as the door slammed, Isabella flopped onto the bed in a fit of self-satisfied giggles. Her compassion for people allowed her read them fairly easily and she’d read Jacques Meszaros perfectly. Thirty-six hours and she knew he was a man who led with his head, but who wanted to follow his heart. He wanted, maybe even needed, the comfort of a woman to help him deal with the demands of his world, but he kept people at arm’s length. Even lovers and that word probably wasn’t appropriate for the type of relationships he had.

She would never claim to understand what it felt like to walk in Jacques's shoes - they were very big shoes - but she was sure that someone in his position had learned to be callous to the users and the takers who surely sought him out. His circle of trust was very small. He mentioned a few men, but no women.

If she only listened with her ears, she would have taken him up on his offer to stay in Monaco with no strings attached. But she didn’t only listen with her ears. Even though she wasn’t his lover, the connection between them was shockingly intimate. The intensity of it scared her and she wasn’t afraid of intimacy.

He was.

But the tone of his voice, his body language and the way his eyes absorbed her told her very clearly that his heart was drawn to her. Judging by the bulge in his pants as he stormed out of the room just now, so was his body. But as expected, that strict, analytical mind was telling him to walk away.

This morning, he tried, but she wasn’t about to let him. He would fight, but he wouldn’t win. She wanted him and it was high time that someone took care of
Señor
Meszaros Enterprises.

At least for a little while.

*****

“
Sa sa’ a ye
? What’d you do to this gorgeous hair?” Andre rolled his eyes in the mirror behind her and Isabella had to laugh at the drama.

Andre, as it turned out, was a genuine diva from Haiti. Flawless black skin, huge gold hoops and sparkling red lips sat atop six and a half feet of cut muscle, although stilettos provided the last six inches. She adored queens and Andre was marvelous. Finally someone she fit with.

“It’s not that bad.” She scowled at him in the mirror.

“
Sa’a pa bon
! It’s awful, sugar. Who did this to you?” he asked with sympathetic disapproval.

“My roommate. We were going to a party.”

“Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. What kind? Night of the livin’ dead.”

“Can you change it back? My natural color is red and well, Jacques likes red.”

“
M regrét
. I can, but you won’t be ready by eight.” He shook his head as those big hands pulled up on the long black strands, letting them fall one by one back onto her shoulders. “Nine maybe, but not eight.”

“Then we’ll be late,” she declared.

Andre shook his head again. “
Ou fou
? Jacques say eight.”

“So.”

“Sew buttons. Are you his sister?”

“His date.”

Something crossed Andre’s face.

“What?”

“You’re gorgeous, Isla, don’t get me wrong, but you and that man, not an easy match.”

“Explain.”

Andre ran his hands through her hair, twisting it this way and that to figure out what to do with it. “You’re strong willed. Maybe too much for a man like Jacques. Hmm.”

“Am not.” She frowned, then lit with excitement. “You know about him, Andre. Tell me everything. Right now.”

“You’re makin’ my point for me, sugar.”

Andre began to trim her hair and she glowered at him in the mirror.

“
Oke
. Our boy likes to get his way and he does. In everything. He’s sexy-as-sin and rich as a bitch. There’s no challengin’ a man like that.”

“You forgot to mention that he’s a Dom,” she shot back, annoyed with Andre’s attempt to be vague.

“
Sus pan
! That’s hush, hush, sugar. Don’t fit the public image.” Andre shook one long manicured finger in the mirror and brought it to his lips.

“But in private?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow at him.

He laughed out loud and the hearty sound boomed around the bathroom. “That naughty, naughty boy makes me blush. You know about the Order too?” Those long fingers fanned in front of his exposed chest.

She shook her head.

Andre’s voice suddenly became very animated. “They’re all like Jacques. Gorgeous, loaded and kinky as the night is long. Some kinda secret club for masters of the universe, comin’ from all around the globe to party in Monaco.

“Jacques called his last party, 'The Painted Lady Parade.' Guess who did the paintin’?” He blew her kiss in the mirror. “My, oh my, I have never, I mean never in all my life, sugar, seen anything like that. Those boys party like rock stars. Kinky rock stars.”

*****

Joe Lee was losing his patience and he didn’t have much to begin with. He’d shelled out reams of cash and still, the incompetents who passed as his lawyers hadn’t done their damn job. He supposed the old adage was true. If you want something done right, do it yourself. But it would be stupid to escalate until the less risky options failed so he kept listening.

“The judge has refused our request to postpone. If the hearing happens on schedule and Timonen prevails in lifting the temporary restraining order, they could be back under construction in about ten days. We’ve thrown every legal road block into their path, but you should prepare yourself. We are going to lose at that hearing.”

Every
legal
road block. Well there was the problem right there.

Meeting over.

As his secretary ushered his legal pussies out of his office, Blake walked in. “Nothing?”

“Not a damn thing.” Joe Lee crushed his cigar in the crystal ashtray on his desk, imagining it was his nemesis’s head and his anger surged. “Every man has an Achilles heel. Find it.”

Blake nodded. No explanation needed. His son understood.

Sabin Timonen would rue the day that he fucked with the Hartnells.

*****

Isabella had seen pictures, but they didn’t come close.

As she stepped out of the limousine, Jacques stood above her like a prince on the red carpet covering the stairs to the Grand Casino. Behind him, an iconic piece of architecture. Around him, hundreds of elegantly dressed people. Flashing lights popped everywhere. But none of it compared to the perfection of Jacques Meszaros in a tuxedo.

It felt surreal, somehow symbolic, as she climbed the stairs to take his outstretched hand. Like she was a red phoenix rising. As soon as he touched her, that familiar connection sparked between them and a gentle pull guided her up the rest of the way. The awe in those intense eyes said everything even before he spoke.