Two Week Turnaround (4 page)

He waited with her until the Mercedes-Benz pulled in front of them. Opening the door, he leaned down as she ducked inside. “Good night. I'll see you in the morning, Fia.”

Her head tilted and he braced himself for a lecture about how she was Ms. King now and that this was an appointment. Instead, she brushed a kiss swiftly across his mouth before plopping down in the seat and shutting the door behind her.

He stepped back, his teeth sinking into the spot her lips had touched. Sofia King. Fia Maxx. Whoever she was now—she could still surprise him.

Chapter Five

The wound on Isaac's head throbbed, reminding him that this time it was real. The problem with doing your own stunts was that if your head wasn't in the game, you were likely to bust it open. He was pressing a bag of ice to exhibit A of this phenomenon the next morning as he waited for room service—and Sofia, the reason he was in pain in the first place. At least his spectacular fall had had the benefit of closing down the set for nearly thirty-six hours even if it had been three o'clock in the morning.

Not that he had slept. One of the many reasons he was waiting impatiently for his coffee to be delivered. Nope, he'd been awake all night like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. Trouble was Isaac had been on the naughty list this year, and he knew it. There was only one present he wanted to unwrap.

Fia.

Something had changed last night when she kissed him. It hadn't been the victory he'd anticipated. There was no sense of triumph. No urge to mouth off to his mates about her. What he had felt was so subtle he didn't recognize it at first. Anticipation. Sweet, torturous anticipation. Isaac could walk down the block, pick out a woman and have her in bed without more than five words passing between them. He used to think of it as a perk. For a while, it had been. But now that Fia was back, he'd remembered something he'd completely forgotten in the course of their time apart: what it was like to want.

He hadn't wanted for much in the intervening years. Cars, money, women, the best clothes, the hottest parties—that was all part of the benefits package. He hadn't had to even ask in years and he certainly hadn't wanted for anything either.

The lock to the penthouse suite clicked open. Leave it to Fia to wrangle a key without his permission. She paused in the doorway, her eyes falling on him. He hadn't bothered to get dressed. Instead, he was lounging in a thick, black robe, left untied, and boxer briefs. She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I have your breakfast.”

“The hospitality around here has certainly improved.” He motioned her inside, still clutching the ice to his temple although he didn't notice the pain anymore.

“Don't tell me Isaac Blue doesn't get the best treatment everywhere he stays?” Sofia pushed the room service cart inside the door and left it waiting near the kitchenette. Today she was wearing red. If he didn't know better Isaac would have sworn she'd discovered a secret store that only sold clothing designed to remind every guy in a five-mile radius what they were missing out on. The dress was silky and short, skimming her pale thighs at just the right spot to show off her assets while covering her treasure.

“There's the best and then there's you,” he said softly.

Sofia allowed him a smile. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Isaac.”

“What about honesty?”

“That would be a change.” This time she didn't smile. “What happened to your head?”

“I ran in the wrong direction,” he said with a shrug and tossed the bag of ice onto the couch.

“You shouldn't be so careless.”

“I'll keep that in mind. So what's your plan to fix me?” He might as well get this over with. Whatever had possessed Fia to kiss him last night had obviously passed. He couldn't blame her for that. Nailing Fia—charming her into bed—wasn't going to change anything. It was clear she wasn't interested in an encore.

Fia crossed her arms over her perfect breasts, drumming her nails dramatically before she answered. “Let me tell you how this
usually
works,” she began. “Normally I spend the first forty-eight hours observing a new client. I like to see what I'm up against.”

He wanted to see her up against him, but he nodded. “Twelve steps. Right those I've wronged?”

“That's not how I operate, Isaac.” She shook her head. “I don't have the time to sponsor someone. Most of my clients aren't really addicts. They're just lost.”

“And I'm lost.” It wasn't a question. Isaac had known it was true. He just hadn't found the right word to describe it before. Suddenly he realized this wasn't a game. Fia hadn't sought him out for a second chance. She'd been sent to handle him.

“Are you?” she asked softly.

He looked her in the eyes. She knew. She'd seen through him since the moment she'd walked back through his door. Why hide it anymore? “I have been—for about six years.”

* * *

Sofia didn't stop to let his words sink in. She'd dealt with her fair share of macho tough guys, and she knew that deep down they were all running from something. Isaac wasn't any different. Most of her clients could have been diagnosed by a freshman-year psych student with a Freud textbook, though. Daddy issues. Mommy issues. Projection. Too much money and not enough IQ points. That's where Isaac differed. She might have a plan for fixing him, but she still didn't know the root cause. She was treating the symptoms without knowing how to cure him. It was risky, but something about Isaac—something that still caused flutters in her belly—made him worth it.

“After the initial observation I create a plan that addresses three crucial components for setting my client straight.” She'd never explained this to one of her clients before. Normally all she cared about was getting the job done and no one ever complained. Once Sofia King had a plan, people stuck to it. If they didn't, she had no problem walking out. None of her clients had let her get past the front door before they were begging her to come back.

“Denial? Anger? Bargaining?” he prompted with a lazy grin.

“You're thinking of the stages of grief. No one dies in this scenario.”

“I'm going to guess this plan includes no parties and no strip clubs, which is pretty much as close to death as I've gotten,” he said dryly.

She ignored his glib comment and continued. “First, we focus on vice replacement. For instance, I usually recommend exercise or a hobby.”

“I've been meaning to take up knitting.”

He was trying to rile her up by making everything a joke. Defensive behavior was common with a client at this stage. He was right on track. “This helps us to achieve component number two: reduction of free time. If you're busy, you can't get your face smashed in at a pub.”

Isaac shrugged. “You have a point.”

“And the last, and most important, part: we take it one day at a time.”

“That I've heard at a meeting,” he interrupted her.

Sofia cocked an eyebrow. This was news. None of her research indicated that Isaac had ever been to rehab. “AA?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I thought I might have a problem, so I went. Turns out, according to them, I don't have a drinking problem. I'm just a douche bag.”

He wasn't, but she wasn't going to tell him that. “No support groups here. It won't work for you.”

“Then how are you going to fix me, Fia?” He sat back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head. “What's your plan?”

She hesitated. “It's unorthodox.”

“You haven't done this with other clients?”

“No.” She didn't add that she never would again either. Instead, she slipped her hands up to the straps of her dress and slid them off her shoulders. It fluttered to the ground and pooled around her feet.

Isaac leaned forward, running his tongue over his lower lip. “You have my undivided attention.”

“You need to replace your vices,” she explained, stepping carefully out of the dress. “And you need something real in your life.”

Sofia wasn't the self-conscious type. A man didn't watch a woman undress and start pinpointing her flaws. He was too busy thinking he'd just won the lottery. Judging from Isaac's reaction, this wasn't far from the truth. But he wasn't most men, and the sudden wave of awareness that tickled across her skin had nothing to do with her body.

“I'm really glad you've never tried this with other clients,” he said finally.

She crooked her index finger and beckoned him to her. “So am I.”

Isaac stood and dropped his robe in the chair.

“Not yet,” she teased. The words were lighthearted, but she couldn't quite ignore the growing ache in her core. With each step he took in her direction, her body tightened, coiling into a ball of nerves and anticipation. When he finally reached her, he ran a finger lightly down her cheek. One simple touch and she went from simmering to boiling.

Isaac's head tilted down, but he paused before he met her lips. “Is it strange that I'm nervous?”

“Don't you do this in front of the camera all the time?” He probably did it offscreen all the time, too.

“Yeah, but that's pretend, remember? You're real, Fia.” His arm wrapped around her waist and he drew her toward him in one smooth motion. “So very real.”

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

“I've thought about this a lot since you walked in that door with those fuck-me pumps on.” His lips traced up her jawline and found the spot behind her ear that had been neglected for the past six years. “Don't you want to make it last?”

She was about to climax on the spot. Screw making it last. “Nope.”

“Anyone ever tell you ‘patience is a virtue'?” He chuckled softly, but his hands slid down to cup her ass.

“That sounds like some proverbial Southern bullshit to me.”

“Southern boys aren't so bad, Fia.” His fingers kneaded her backside until she was pretty sure there was a puddle on the floor beneath her. “We're gentlemen, remember?”

Sofia laughed, tossing her head back so far that her hair came loose. Isaac placed his index finger under her chin and drew her face up to his. Her loose locks tumbled over her shoulders and her breath caught in her throat when her eyes met his searing gaze. “For instance, ladies first, Fia.”

With one smooth motion he hoisted her in the air and she wrapped her legs around his hips instinctively, grinding against the rock-hard erection held captive in his boxer briefs. Isaac held her firmly as he carried her to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Thames. Sofia was barely conscious of the London Eye spinning in the background as he pinned her against the glass and kissed her senseless. Isaac's lips dipped to her collarbone and he planted a single kiss in the hollow of her neck before he placed her gently on her feet. His thumbs hooked the band of the skimpy excuse for a thong she'd worn for the occasion. A little lacy courage never hurt a girl when her daily plans included seducing a man, especially a man like Isaac.

“I hope you won't be needing these,” he whispered into her ear, sending a rush of goose bumps traveling down across her flesh. Then he ripped them off and tossed them to the ground. A second later, he dropped to the floor beside the ruined panties. Pushing her legs apart, he growled appreciatively and settled between her thighs.

Yes
, Sofia thought as her eyes closed from pleasure,
Isaac always puts ladies first.

* * *

So this was happening, Isaac thought.

It was a goddamned beautiful sight—Fia's graceful body pressed against the window, surrounded by the London skyline. Normally the view was impressive, but framed by her milky thighs, it was fucking spectacular.

He knew some guys weren't into an oral homage unless their dicks were in the starring role. Isaac had never understood that. Screw five-star restaurants. The right woman was fine dining, and Sofia had a Michelin star.

His lips trailed along her soft inner thigh, pausing to appreciate the whimper that escaped from her mouth. Her scent filled his nostrils, and he breathed in deeply. In a word, her pussy smelled mouthwatering. It tugged at his memory, and he smiled as he traced her seam with the tip of his finger. Spreading her delicate, swollen lips open, he lowered his mouth until his lips closed over her clit. Fia's thighs squeezed against his head in response, and he smiled, pushing them back open before twirling his tongue along the obviously sensitive bud. There might not be anything better than a woman's reaction to oral sex. He could spend all day here because all he cared about was tasting Fia as she came.

Fia's hands searched for something to hold on to, but all she could do was press them hard against the glass of the window. It was the stuff wet dreams were made of.

He ran his tongue down her slit and was rewarded with another whimper. The whimpers were fantastic, but he wasn't going to be happy until she was screaming loud enough to disturb the guests unfortunate enough to be staying below them. Isaac pulled back. “You're so wet, Fia. I could do this all day.”

“Then feel free to get back to it.” Even with her bare ass pressed to the window, she was bossy. But if her demands included getting back to business, he was more than happy to comply.

He slipped a finger inside her and then another, massaging the velvety softness of her G-spot before he returned to her clit. It pulsed in his mouth and he sucked hungrily. He had a one—track mind: make Fia come. Make Fia come. Make Fia come. Had anything else ever mattered?

His cock throbbed with anticipation. She was so ready for him, but he wasn't done with her yet. He plunged his fingers in and out relentlessly as her breathing increased. Then nothing. It was if she'd stopped breathing entirely and then a throaty cry escaped her mouth as she shattered against him. Her orgasm exploded against his tongue. But he didn't stop until her thighs snapped shut and she weakly begged for mercy.

“I hope you're ready for me,” he said huskily.

“That was a top ten,” she breathed. Her words were barely audible. Her eyes were shut tightly in post-orgasm reverence.

“Oh, princess.” Isaac pushed himself to his feet and admired the sight of her naked body limp against the glass, still shaking with bliss. It didn't seem possible, but she actually looked even better. “I'm going to own your top-ten list.”

Couch. Chair. Counter. Rug. Table. Dresser. Vanity. Bathtub. Shower. Bed. The sheer number of locations available for screwing in the penthouse was mind-blowing, Sofia thought. As had been the orgasm Isaac had just given her while braced against the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was sure they would get to every horizontal—and for that matter vertical—surface in here during the next week, but where to start? She wanted Isaac everywhere—and she wanted him now.