The Final Chapter: Enigma, #4

by Shandi Boyes

  I sigh. A kiss without tongue can be construed as a friendly peck. If tongue were involved, there's no denying it was a sexual act. Although I’m not happy about him kissing Regan, I don’t want to fight with him. I’m sick of fighting.

  “While we’re being honest and sharing…” my voice judders with nerves, “… Hugo and I may have cuddled a few times.”

  He stiffens as a furious growl roars from deep within his chest.

  “It was nothing like you're imagining,” I stumble out, using his words against him. “He was offering me comfort after a nightmare. It was nothing more than a friend offering another friend comfort.”

  Isaac remains quiet, his chest thrusting up and down with every inhale he takes. His eyes are staring into mine. Actually, they’re more glaring into mine. His gaze is hot and brimming with jealousy—one of the sexiest stares I’ve ever been given.

  “Show me.”

  When I peer at him, utterly confused, he stands from the sofa, taking me with him. “Show me how he touched you—”

  “Comforted,” I retort.

  When his lips thin, I roll my eyes before wrapping my arms around his torso in a similar manner to how Hugo comforted me. My heart thumps against my chest when his seductive scent filters through my nose.

  “Like that?”

  “If you were Hugo, your arms would be a lot higher.” I nudge his arms until they're at a more respectable level. In his current position, his arms are draped near my lower back, meaning his fingertips are brushing my backside.

  Once his arms are replicating the position Hugo held me in, high around my shoulders, I say, “Like that.”

  He steps away from my embrace. “Take your clothes off.”

  “What?”

  He strides over to close the double French doors. “Take your clothes off.”

  I hold his gaze as I strip out of my clothes as requested, taking my time, purposely antagonizing the domineering ego beaming out of his heavy-lidded gaze. My seductive strip-tease has the effect I'm aiming for when I catch sight of the large bulge in his jeans. I lick my lips, praying that my punishment will include him using some part of his body against me.

  When his darkened gaze locks and holds with mine, slickness pools between my legs. I can barely contain my breathing when he prowls toward me. It’s once again the tiger hunting his prey, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Chapter 16

  Isabelle

  “Seriously, if Isaac doesn’t touch me soon, I’m going to die.”

  Harlow smiles a broad grin while lifting a lace bustier from the rack to dangle in front of me. I screw up my nose and shake my head.

  “Darker,” I suggest, moving along the racks at the lingerie store we're shopping in.

  She returns the bustier to the rack before continuing our endeavor to find the perfect ensemble for me to wear under a dress for a cocktail party Cormack is hosting Christmas Eve.

  “Is it too rapey for me to jump on him and take myself for a ride?”

  Harlow’s boisterous chuckle echoes around the store, startling a handful of customers. She leans on the racks of the way-overpriced scraps of material before straying her mischief-filled eyes to face me. “If Isaac hasn’t touched you in days, why do you have a gigantic hickey on your shoulder?” Her brows waggle as her gaze zooms in on the love bite she's referring to.

  I balk before tugging up the shoulder of my loose sweater to hide one of the many hickeys on my skin. Isaac removed Hugo’s touch and replaced it with his own by marking any portion of my skin Hugo may have touched with love bites. I won’t lie, I love being claimed by him, but my joy soon turned to misery when I realized the love bites were the only form of sexual contact I’d get from him that night and the three that followed.

  Every time I try to provoke him into unleashing his dominance, I miserably fail. I haven’t worked out whether I lack in the art of seduction or if Isaac’s resolve is greater than I thought?

  A girlie squeal emits from Harlow’s lips as her hand darts into the rack of sale items in front of her. While biting on her bottom lip, she lifts a silk bustier with garters in front of me. My mouth gapes when my eyes lock in on the shiny material the shade of Isaac’s gray eyes.

  “It’s perfect. What size is it?” I silently pray it’s my size since it’s the only one left on the sale rack.

  Harlow doesn’t grace me with a reply. She merely grabs my hand, drags me into the dressing room, dumps my satchel onto the plastic chair in the corner of the room, then demands, “Strip.”

  “You sound just like Isaac.”

  After slipping into the satiny material, I spin around to face the full-length mirror. “Holy cupcakes.”

  The satin bustier is a perfect fit, although I could use a little more room in the chest department since my cleavage is dangerously close to spilling over, but the rest of the glimmering material hugs my curves in all the right places.

  “Holy shit,” Harlow mumbles, pacing closer. “If that doesn’t force Isaac out of his no-sex ban, nothing will. Izzy, you look… hot!”

  “Do you think it will be okay underneath a dress for the cocktail party?”

  “Yes, it’s strapless and hugging, so it will go under anything.” She screws her nose up. “Unless you’re planning on wearing a midriff gown?”

  Even if I were considering a midriff, I wouldn’t be now, not after the disgusted look that morphed on her face when she said it.

  “How much is it?” I swivel around so Harlow can check the price tag dangling halfway down my back.

  “Oh, look, it’s free.”

  When she snaps the price tag off and shoves it into her clutch bag, my breath hitches. “You can’t steal it.”

  She slaps my arm. “I didn’t mean I was going to steal it. I meant you weren’t paying for it.”

  I eye her curiously, requesting for her to spill the beans. She’s my best friend, but her bakery has a stranglehold on her finances, so there's no way she could afford, nor would I allow her to purchase this for me.

  Smiling, she digs her hands into her clutch to produce a platinum credit card with Holt Enterprises emblazoned on the front. “Isaac said you refused to take it, so I accepted it on your behalf.”

  I attempt to snatch the card out of her grasp, but she's too quick. “Do you want to have crazy hulk sex with Isaac?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, hiding the smile unwillingly tugging my lips higher. “Hulk sex?”

  She waggles her brows and nods. “Because the only way you're going to get his monster busting out of his pants like the Hulk is with that outfit.” Her eyes zoom in on the satin bustier. “And a pair of sexy stilettos.”

  I turn to face the mirror again. I really like this outfit, and I think Isaac will love it too. I still recall his excitement when I wore the strapless bra that was a similar gray to his eyes, but the darkness of this material matches his eyes to perfection.

  “All right. I’m going to buy it, but if I don’t get crazy hulk sex, I’m returning it Christmas morning.”

  We finalize our purchases at the lingerie store before making our way to the boutique dress shop where we have a six o’clock appointment. On Point Boutique is so exclusive, it only allows customers with an appointment to shop here. Due to its famous clientele, they have extended shopping hours. Cormack had to pull a lot of strings to get us an appointment so we could find dresses for his fancy party. Generally, they're booked out six months in advance.

  My hand runs along the racks of beautiful, luxurious clothing as our personal shopper guides us to the vast dressing room at the back of the store. This boutique not only sells formal dresses, but it also has jeans, cashmere sweaters, trousers, skirts, and a range of accessories. From the price tags my eyes watered over while walking past, my budget couldn’t even stretch for half a scarf in this establishment.

  “Mr. McGregor informed us that you'll be attending a cocktail party on Christmas Eve. Due to the short notice, we won’t have time to make alterations
to the dress you choose, so choose wisely,” our personal shopper, Melinda, advises. “I'll have my assistant bring in the first selection of dresses we have chosen from the measurements and color swatches you emailed us earlier today. If you don’t find anything to your taste from that selection, we’ll move onto the floor until we discover the perfect dress.”

  Melinda is smirking a pleasant smile, but her nose remains high in the air, and her tone is snobby and condescending.

  After filling two champagne flutes with chilled champagne, she attempts to leave with the bottle in her hand. “Leave the bottle.”

  Melinda’s lips thin at Harlow’s request, but she leaves the bottle as instructed before exiting the oversized dressing room with a huff.

  “Did you see the price tags on the dresses on the way in?” Harlow queries, her eyes bulging. “We need to drink at least ten bottles of champagne to recoup some of Cormack’s expenses.”

  A small giggle escapes my lips from her boldness.

  By the time Peta, Cormack’s personal assistant, joins Harlow and me, we’ve consumed one bottle of the expensive champagne and are well onto the second bottle. I’ve spent the last hour giggling like a school girl while Harlow tried on the range of dresses the personal shoppers selected for her. The variety is enormous, ranging from puffy 80’s bridesmaid-looking dresses to ones that look like she was going to stand on the corner to bring in some extra cash for Christmas, but no matter how many dresses she tried on, none of them matched her flamboyant demeanor.

  Harlow picks up one of the hideous accessories that came with a dress and throws it at my head. “Stop giggling,” she requests with a huff. “Not all of us strike gold with the very first dress we try on.”

  I scamper off the button-studded day chaise I’m sprawled on and pace toward Harlow, my footing unsteady in my inebriated state. “You have a personal shopper whose idea of a fun day would consist of having her poodle’s hair permed.” Harlow and Peta snicker softly. “So how can you trust her with finding the perfect dress that will have Cormack’s Hulk breaking out of his pants?”

  “That’s my cue to leave,” Peta says under her breath while pretending to gag.

  “You,” I say, slightly slurring when Melinda walks back into the dressing room with a hideous peach-colored silk dress draped over her arms. “Bring us every emerald green dress you have. Pronto!” I clap my hands, more brazen in my tipsy state. When she skedaddles away, I shift my focus back to Harlow. “With your beautiful auburn hair and green eyes, emerald green will have Cormack in a tizzy and his Hulk emerging.”

  Confident I have her on the right track, I shift my gaze to Peta. “Oh, no. I’m only here to pay the final bill.”

  “What do you think, Harlow? With her skin tone and unique eyes, I’m thinking… candy apple red?”

  Harlow gasps. “Yes, definitely.” She eyes Peta with as much enthusiasm as I am like we’re about to play Barbie dolls with a real-life Barbie.

  By the time another hour passes, we’ve narrowed down Peta and Harlow’s selection to two dresses each, and we’ve consumed another bottle of champagne. Both dresses are unique in their own right, but each has their own defining qualities that make it hard to choose between the two. Alas, at well over five thousand dollars a dress, they can only select one.

  My eyes bug when a light bulb switches on in my head. “Can I borrow your phone? I know the perfect person to ask.”

  Harlow tosses me her phone, her brow scrunched. I dial a number I have memorized before raising her phone to my face. Hugo’s broad grin fills the screen a few rings later.

  “Hey, Isabelle,” he greets me with his familiar drawl.

  He was only discharged from the hospital yesterday afternoon. Raquel and another nurse, Monica, have been assigned as his home-care nurses in Regan’s apartment until he recovers. Isaac and I have visited him every day since he was admitted. Thankfully, Isaac didn’t mention the ‘cuddling’ incident, although his jaw did tick when I greeted Hugo with a brief hug each day.

  “I need a favor.”

  Hugo chuckles. “Are you drunk?”

  I roll my eyes and poke out my tongue, stunned he could determine that from only hearing me speak four words.

  “You are drunk,” he chuckles. “Where the hell is Isaac?” His eyes shoot around the phone screen as if he's seeking Isaac in the background.

  “I’m not drunk-drunk. I’m just a little bit tipsy.” I impress myself by only slightly slurring.

  When Hugo’s vigorous assessment fails to find Isaac, his eyes return to the front of the screen. “Who are you trying to get fired this week, Izzy?”

  I screw up my nose. “Ha-ha.”

  “I know there's no way in hell Isaac would let you go out unattended, so who’s there with you?” His grin is so wide, my eyes hurt when I stare at it.

  “Roger is standing outside.”

  His boisterous chuckle barrels down the line. It’s so infectious, I’m soon giggling along with him. “He has as much personality as a wet blanket,” he says between fits of laughter.

  “Tell me about it. I swear the only two words he knows is ‘Ms. Brahn.’”

  My impersonation of Roger makes Hugo laugh so loud, his heart monitor sounds an alarm. There's nothing more sobering than remembering he's injured and lying in a bed because of me and my stupidity. Any warm fuzziness I was feeling from the alcohol simmers to a dull buzz.

  Once Hugo assures Raquel he's fine and not dying, his attention reverts back to the cell phone. “You better tell me what favor you need before Raquel confiscates my phone.”

  “I need your stellar fashion advice.”

  His vibrating growl rumbles through the phone. “Just in case you failed to get the memo, I got shot in the shoulder, Izzy, not in my cock.”

  I giggle rowdily. “Please,” I shamelessly beg. “You made such a good choice last time. It’ll only take five minutes of your time.”

  Hugo rolls his eyes as his jaw muscle tenses.

  “Harlow and Peta have their selections down to two dresses, but they can’t pick which one they like the most.”

  His eyes widen. “Peta is there with you?”

  Smiling, I nod.

  His pupils dilate. “I think I should come down there and give my opinion in person. I can’t make an informed decision by looking at distorted images on a phone screen. I have to see the dresses up close and personal.”

  Any reply I’m planning to give is halted when a box of tissues collides with Hugo’s chest.

  “What?” He peers at someone past his phone, his face altering from playful to looking like a child being reprimanded for misbehaving. He mouths a silent apology before his eyes return to the screen. “Tell them to pick the dress that shows the most leg. Guys love legs. The shorter the skirt, the better.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, my voice sugary sweet.

  He grins. “You’re welcome. Now return the favor. Send me some pictures—”

  Before his request can escape his lips, his phone is snatched out of his hand, and his deep, vivacious chuckle is the last thing I hear before our call is disconnected.

  Harlow and Peta adhere to Hugo’s advice and pick the dresses that show the most leg. Peta’s dress is a gorgeous one-shoulder silk, candy apple red dress with a slit that goes high on the thigh, and the back drapes dangerously low. Harlow’s dress is emerald green and is a fitted wrap design. When she put on her stiletto heels, her legs went for miles and miles.

  I gather our bags from the lingerie store and my Burberry trench coat from the dressing room before joining Harlow and Peta at the cashier’s desk to finalize our purchases. The air in my lungs is evicted when my eyes lock in on the person entering the boutique through the locked front doors.

  Clara is wearing a cream sheath dress with a black wool coat and cropped boots. Her shiny hair is loose and cascading down her back like a satin waterfall, and her make up is perfectly in place. When she notices me standing at the side, gawking at her, her mouth curls into a bit
chy snarl.

  Since I’ve been living in an Isaac buzz cloud the past five days, any thoughts on the ‘Clara incident’ have been in the background of my mind. But seeing her standing in front of me, smiling like the vicious cow she is, makes all that hurt come streaming back in.

  “I have to go,” I tell Harlow, my tone weak as the feeling of deceit places a stranglehold on my heart.

  Harlow nods before grabbing the bags off the glass countertop to follow me out. When I spin to walk toward the door, I nearly crash into Clara, who’s now standing beside me. “Isabelle, what a pleasure to see you again.” Her tone doesn’t attempt to hide the snarl on her over-glossed lips.

  “Pity we can’t say the same about you.”

  Clara’s narrowed eyes snap to Harlow. The angry scowl she’s wearing intensifies when her eyes lock in on the boutique bags in Harlow’s hands. “I see you're once again spending money you didn’t earn, draining my brother’s bank balance one slutty dress at a time.”

  When Harlow steps up to Clara, I place my hand on Harlow’s forearm. “She isn’t worth it. Class and dignity aren’t things that can be purchased. They’re ingrained in you. So even someone with an impressive bank balance like Clara’s will become a bitter, lonely old lady. Because not even the most expensive dress and a perfectly made-up face can conceal ugly insides.”

  A grin that beams of victory stretches across my face when Clara can’t form a comeback to my taunt. You can’t deny the truth.

  I loop my arm around Harlow’s and amble toward the door with my head held high, my brisk pace only halting when Clara sneers, “Save your self-righteousness for someone who hasn’t slept with your boyfriend.”

  This time, it’s Harlow holding me back from Clara. After giving me her I’ve-got-your-back, Harlow saunters toward Clara. “Can I ask you something, Clara?” Her tone is void of her earlier bitterness.

  Clara rolls her eyes before gesturing for Harlow to go ahead like a queen permitting the pauper to kiss her feet.