by Shandi Boyes
“I’ve got you, baby,” I repeat. And I’m never going to let you go.
An hour later, we're sitting in Isabelle’s private suite in Ravenshoe Private Hospital. The only time Isabelle wasn’t cradled in my arms was when Jae finalized a set of observations on her. The instant Jae left the room, I gathered Isabelle back into my torso.
We’ve spent the last hour in silence. It hasn’t been uncomfortable. We just don’t require words to articulate our thoughts. The intimacy that forever surges between us still crackles in the air, but there's something stronger, more tangible, expressing what our words have failed to communicate.
Isabelle inhales a sharp, quick breath before her head pops off my shoulder. “I remember what happened. Col knew who I was. He said he recognized me the instant he saw me as I’m the spitting image of my mom.” Her nose screws up as she battles to hold in her tears. “He killed her, Isaac. Col murdered my mother because she wouldn’t give herself to him.”
My lungs feel heavy, making it hard for me to breathe. I knew the type of man Col was—heartless and foreboding. That’s why I strived so hard to keep Isabelle away from him. My plan only altered when he produced his gun. Even though I wanted to look in his eyes while I made him suffer as he did me seven years ago, my virulent desire to protect Isabelle overwhelmed me.
Before I could comprehend what was happening, I charged for her, sheltering her body with mine. My desire to keep her safe annulled my toxic need for revenge. That, in itself, shows her importance to me. Even revenge I craved for years doesn’t come close to my yearning for her safety.
I gather Isabelle back into my chest to settle her tears. Although the stories Isabelle shared of her family revealed she didn’t have a close bond with her mother, she’d still be pained to know she was murdered.
“I only realized who Enrique was when his eyes filled with fear. It was the same look he had any time our father came to visit us.” Her words flutter my dress shirt. “I should have taken him with me, Isaac. I should have saved him from that lifestyle.”
I place my hand under her chin and raise her downcast head. “You were only a child. You aren’t to blame for the man he grew up to be.”
“I know that, but he never had the chance to grow up to be a respected member of society with Vladimir as his father.” Her eyes dart between mine. “If he came with us, he would’ve at least stood a chance of a normal upbringing.”
I don’t attempt to rebut her statement as everything she said is true. It’s the reason Henry ensured his son wasn’t raised in this lifestyle. It’s the sole reason he sacrificed everything so his son wouldn’t be tarnished with the same brush that painted his life.
“I know you think he's a terrible man, Isaac, but I honestly don’t believe Enrique set out to hurt me.”
I stiffen as my jaw sets into a hard line. “You were gagged and bound to a chair, Isabelle.”
She cups my cheek with her hand that’s still wet from her tears, quelling some of the anger surging through my blood. “I know, but he gave me water, and he took care of me—”
“After drugging you twice!”
“He wasn’t the person who drugged me.” Her tone is remarkably stable for how fast her chest is heaving.
“It doesn’t change the particulars of the case. He kidnapped you and held you against your will. I know he's your brother, but you're looking at him as if he's the little boy you left behind. He's not that boy anymore. He's a man who was raised by a monster. He’ll be lucky to even have a heart in his chest.”
I instantly regret my outburst when Isabelle loses her battle to hold in her tears. Hot, salty liquid spills from her eyes as her pain stabs me right in my heart. A crying Isabelle is more than I can handle. Multi-million-dollar takeovers, ruthless mobsters, and dodging bullets are a walk in the park compared to dealing with her when she's crying. Every tear cuts me raw.
I scoot down the bed, keeping my grip tight, before rolling onto my side. Isabelle mimics my position but on her opposite hip. Guilt seeps into my veins when I peer at her tear-soaked face. I’d do anything in my power to protect my little brother, but I expect Isabelle to react differently when it’s her blood she's fighting to protect.
I use the pad of my thumb to remove her tears while my eyes issue silent apologies for my cruel words. After a few hiccups and too many tears to count, her cries lessen, and the weight on my chest eases.
“I’ll make a few calls and see what I can find out about your brother.”
She drags the cuff of her long-sleeve shirt under her nose before nodding. “Thank you.”
“But I can’t guarantee anything, Isabelle. I have to tread carefully, or I’ll run the risk that people will learn your secret. If I’m not cautious, they may find out who your father is.” My tone relays my genuine concern. If her secret is exposed, it will make her a target, just like it did for Henry, Jr.
“I can handle that.” Her tone is surprisingly firm. “With you by my side, I can handle anything.”
My first thought is gratitude, thankful she's planning on having me at her side, but that relief is short-lived, soon overtaken by apprehension. Just Isabelle being with me already places a bull’s eye on her back, not to mention when my competitors find out who her father is, but I'm a selfish man, and even though it would have been safer for Isabelle to have never met me, I have no intentions of giving her up.
Isabelle is mine, and I protect what is mine. If anyone tries to seek their revenge on her father against her, they’ll have to get through me first, and that is one fight they’ll never win.
Chapter 7
Isabelle
Warmth blooms across my chest when my eyes flutter open. Isaac and I are still lying in the hospital bed in the position we were last night. My head is buried in his chest, relishing his delicious scent, and his broad arms are wrapped around my torso, cocooning me with protectiveness.
This is the first time I’ve woken before him. Our body clocks were wired so differently, Isaac had to adjust to sleeping while the moon was still in the sky for the month I lived with him. But no matter how late he came to bed, he was awake and working in his office by the time I rose.
I glance out the window. The sun is beaming through the cracks of the plush curtains covering the large window. At a guess, I'd say it’s after eight. My eyes drop to scan Isaac’s handsome face. Even with us sleeping for nearly ten hours, he still appears tired. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one who lacked sleep during our separation.
Not wanting to wake him, I snuggle back into his chest where the soothing rhythm of his heart soon has me drifting back to sleep.
When I wake the second time, Isaac is no longer in bed. The smell of coffee is lingering in the air along with his manly scent. My eyes flutter open to discover him standing in the corner of the room, talking on his cell phone. He's dressed in his regular attire—a well-tailored three-piece suit. His hair is wet, and the stubble on his jaw has been trimmed into a neat, well-kept beard. I’ve been meaning to ask him about his new facial hair. Ever since we left the cabin, his freshly-shaven look has become null and void.
When I notice a giant Styrofoam coffee cup in his spare hand, I’m torn on which appetizing product to sample first.
Who am I kidding? I’d choose Isaac over caffeine any day of the week.
When I sit up to rub the sleep from my eyes, Isaac pivots around to face me. My pussy clenches when his eyes rake my body. Once he finalizes his call, he places his phone into his pocket before strolling my way. The smell of luxurious body wash and shampoo overpowers coffee the closer he gets.
“Good morning, Isabelle.”
“M-morning,” I stammer as heat imposes my cheeks.
He said his greeting in the manner he did when we were on his yacht, and he woke me in the most glorious way. From the sparkle in his eyes and the curve of his scrumptious mouth, I'd say he's well aware of that fact.
“Do you have one of those for me?” I ask after regaining some of the shrewdness th
at always disappears whenever he’s in my vicinity.
He jingles the Styrofoam cup in his hand. “One of these?”
“Uh-huh.”
After locking my gaze on the epitome of an alpha male, I’ll need something strong to suppress my urge to feast on him for breakfast.
“This is yours,” he says, holding out the coffee.
Just as I'm about to reach for it, he pulls it out of my grasp. My bottom lip drops into a pout as my inner vixen stomps her feet.
“What are you going to give me for it?” The sexy deepness of his voice has my womb coiling tight.
Happy to return his tease, I raise myself to a kneeling position before dragging my tongue along my hungry lips. His pupils widen when he watches my tongue’s travels. As my teeth skim my lower lips, I drink in the very essence of the man, only pausing when I reach the impressive bulge his trousers are failing to conceal. Now, a caffeinated brew is the last thing on my mind.
Growling, Isaac hands me the cup of coffee. “You play dirty.”
I smile. “Says the guy who wakes up every morning looking like sex-on-a-stick.” I take a sip of the coffee, burning my tongue with its scorching heat. The twinge of pain subdues the roaring chant of my inner vixen who’s loving our flirty banter.
“Sex-on-a-stick?” Isaac asks, muffling a chuckle.
“Uh-huh.” I place the boiling coffee on a wheeled table to cool before adjusting my position so we come face to face. “Regina called you sex-on-a-stick a few weeks ago. The nickname stuck,” I say with a shrug. “Even she couldn’t deny your sex appeal, and her idea of a perfect man is a tall, balding Russian with a heart bigger than his ginormous head.”
My Uncle Tobias was the very essence of a giant Russian teddy bear. His shoulders were nearly as wide as he was tall. He was thick, tall, and as bald as a badger, but he had the largest grin I’d ever seen and the softest pair of eyes. It was his nurturing eyes that secured my trust. Even though most men feared him, I craved his attention because under his rough appearance, he had the eyes of a gentle man. Just like Isaac.
“But there was no other druzhok for her.”
“Druzhok?” Isaac questions, puzzled
“It means boyfriend in Russian.”
I press my lips to his before licking the seam of his mouth, requesting him to accept my kiss. His lips taste minty with a slight hint of the chocolate powder they sprinkle on freshly brewed coffee, but they fail to open. He’d rather talk—dammit!
“You speak Russian?”
I scrunch up my nose. “Not really. My Uncle Tobias and his Dedushka spoke fluent Russian, so I learned a handful of phrases, but nothing overly useful. My uncle always said I wasn’t allowed to have a druzhok until I was thirty, so that word is easy for me to remember.”
Isaac smirks a delicious smile that has my pussy throbbing. “Does that mean I have to wait another five years before I can become your druzhok?” His tone is serious even though his eyes are glistening with lust.
I smile over his hideous pronunciation of the word before nodding. “Well, four years and eight months, give or take a few days, but who’s counting?”
My playful banter immediately dissipates when he asks, “What’s the word for husband in Russian?”
I swallow, eradicating the large lump suddenly lodged in my throat. “Muzh.”
“Muzh?” When I timidly nod, Isaac cups my cheeks with his large hands then stares into my eyes. “Did your uncle instill any rules on when you were allowed to have a muzh?”
My breathing stills as my mouth becomes ajar. “No, but you normally have a druzhok before you have a muzh.”
Isaac shrugs as his lips twist. “Minor details.”
I arch my brow. “Are you asking me something?”
His lips curl into a panty-moistening smile. “No, Isabelle.”
I release the breath I'm holding in as my normal heart rhythm returns. I love Isaac, but talking marriage this soon is beyond ridiculous.
“Yet,” he continues.
My eyes snap to his.
“You’ll have no doubt when I ask you to become my wife.” He presses his lips to the shell of my ear. “Just like you had no doubt the first time I fucked you.”
Oh god.
His teeth tug on my earlobe, sparking a cluster of pleasure to race through my body. When his tongue lashes the wound, soothing the sting of his bite, a noise erupts from my throat I’ve never heard before. It’s a cross between a meow and a purr. It’s deep, throaty, and brimming with yearning like a female version of Isaac’s sexy-as-sin growl.
He places a trail of nips and kisses along my jawline before searing my lips with a heated kiss. If he asks me to marry him after kissing me like he just did, I won’t have a chance in hell of denying his request.
Our make-out session—which to my dismay, never goes over a PG rating—is interrupted when my hospital door creaks open. I peer toward the door, expecting to see Dr. Jae since she said I'd be discharged this morning. I'm surprised, but happy when I notice Hunter and Regan.
Regan, as always, looks stunning in a pleated black pencil skirt and fitted fire-engine red jacket. The only thing tainting her remarkable beauty are the tears staining her cheeks. Hunter is dressed in his regular attire—jeans and a plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He looks tired, but a smile is sneaking out from behind his thick beard.
“How’s Hugo?” Isaac queries, intuiting the reason for Regan’s tears without needing to ask her.
Regan smiles. “He's good, already nagging to get out of here.”
Isaac jerks up his chin. “I talked to Jae. If he maintains good vitals and the wound doesn’t show any signs of an infection, she may discharge him on homecare by tomorrow afternoon or the following day.”
Regan’s brows furrow. “He can’t go back to his apartment by himself.”
Isaac shakes his head. “No, he can’t. I’ll arrange a room in my house, and a dedicated team of nurses to look after him.”
Regan’s lips thin as a stern disposition morphs over her face. “Have them set it up in the spare room in my penthouse. Then I can keep a close eye on him.”
My heart rate hastens as my suspicious eyes bounce between Isaac and Regan. Does Regan want Hugo close because he's her frosting companion? Or is she genuinely concerned about his well-being?
I stare into her evocative eyes, but just like Isaac, she keeps her emotions locked up so tight, it’s hard for me to read her true intentions. Thankfully, Hunter doesn’t have any tact. “Are you keeping an eye on Hugo or Raquel?”
He chuckles when Regan slaps him on the chest. “Shut up.”
Isaac’s snickers stop when my confused eyes dart to his. “Raquel, the nurse who came into Hugo’s room last night, is Regan’s sister—”
“She isn’t a nurse,” Regan interjects, glaring at Isaac.
When Isaac shrugs, my eyes shoot back to Regan. Raquel and Regan do have the same hair and eye coloring, but they seem at complete opposite ends of the stratosphere regarding their personalities. Regan is high-strung and headstrong, where Raquel looks like a little ball of mischief who’s all about having fun.
“She's a thorn in my backside,” Regan says to my curious glance.
“Only because she's following her big sister’s footsteps,” says Isaac, smiling. His eyes turn down to me. “Don’t let Regan’s polished exterior fool you. It took a lot of spit to get her that shiny.”
My lips curve. I love seeing this side of him. It’s rare to see him out of his element. Other than Cormack, this is the first time I’ve seen him amongst friends. I know Hunter and Regan are technically his staff, but you can see how much he cares for them. They’re his family.
“Anyway.” Regan claps her hands together. “We didn’t come here to discuss the particulars of my teenage rebellion.” Her eyes narrow at Isaac when she says ‘teenage rebellion.’ “I’m here to see if you're ready to go?”
“Me? Where are we going?” I drift my eyes between three pairs staring at me like I h
ave two heads on my shoulders instead of one daft one.
When Isaac leans in intimately close to my side, I wish we were alone. “Is it the concussion that's making you forgetful?”
I shake my head. Although I’m still a little dizzy and off-balance, I don’t have any other side effects from my concussion.
The heat of his breath tickles my earlobe when he murmurs, “It must be from me kissing you senseless then.”
I try to muffle my moan when he licks my earlobe, but it must be audible as Hunter excuses himself from the room, and Regan looks like she's about to be sick.
Eager to move our conversation along, Regan hands me an overnight bag. “I didn’t want to go through your belongings, so I packed you some of my clothes to wear today. We leave in ten minutes, so chop-chop.” She claps her hands again. “We can’t be late. We don’t want to give the judge any excuse to be mad at us.”
My mouth drops open. I completely forgot I'm due in court today. After pressing a quick peck to Isaac’s mouth, I dash into the bathroom. The thrashing of my heart matches the thumping of my head from my quick movements.
Five minutes later, I nervously walk back out. My hands are fisted in tiny balls at my side, and sweat is beading on my top lip. It isn’t my court appearance that has my insides juddering like a teenage girl who kissed the quarterback at the kissing booth, it’s the fact I’m wearing a black, studded Valentino shift dress and a pair of Jimmy Choo Romy pumps. Both items are gorgeous, but well over my budget if I get the teeniest stain on them. Even the dry-cleaning bill would cost a mint. Regan also included a black wool coat, but I'm perspiring so much with nerves, I’m overheated and don’t require a jacket.
Isaac’s head lifts when he senses my presence. The smirk carving onto his plump lips falters halfway when his eyes roam over my attire. I adjust the jacket over my arm, internally battling not to fidget from his vigorous assessment. I freeze, seared in place when his heavy-lidded gaze lifts to my face. His eyes are fiery, sparked by desire. He looks like a tiger about to go on the hunt, and he has his prey locked and loaded.