She pauses at the door for a long instant, standing there unmoving. Then, I watch as she twists the lock and the latch clicks shut. My cock jumps. Hopeful sucker. She turns around, licking her lips nervously. Then, she’s standing in front of me, desire radiating from her eyes.
My blood roars hotly in my veins as she pinches the hem of her tank top and slowly brings it over her head, revealing a tight stomach and miles of pale skin. Tea candles glow all around us and a string instrumental diffuses the air.
She peels off her yoga bra and pants next. When she steps out of her white cotton panties and bares those soft, red curls, I can hardly contain the grumble pouring out of my chest.
“Take off your clothes,” she commands in a low, firm voice.
I don't mean to come across as an overeager bastard but I'm on my feet in 0.0067 seconds flat, whipping off my shirt and tearing my pants off my body. We stand in front of each other, completely naked, absolutely bare. It's a powerful moment. Like nothing I've experienced before. She hesitates for a beat before reaching up and pulling my face to hers. And she kisses me. It's cinnamon-sweet with a dash of something spicy and something reckless.
I've never felt so much raw energy buzzing through my body.
And when I enter her slippery channel with my rock hard erection and I lose my fingers in her hair and I hear her moans echoing off the walls of the cavernous yoga studio with pure abandon, I know that things have changed.
I know that she’s finally ready to be mine.
Chapter 23
Isla
Everything is different now.
I glance over at Reuben. He's lying on the floor next to me, staring up at the ceiling with a smile like the cat that ate the canary. I'm grinning, too. The sex was that good.
And everything is different now.
Because I can't honestly look him in the eye and tell him I don't want him. I can't tell him that I want to keep it professional. Now, I need all of him. The physical, the emotional and most definitely, the sexual.
I spent so long telling myself that he wasn't right for me, that I wasn't ready for a relationship. But Reuben Barre has me reconsidering everything.
He reaches over and puts his arm around me. "Are you cold?"
I give him a small smile. "No."
Even though I'm still completely naked and the mist of perspiration on my skin has begun to dry, I'm still heated from the exertion of making love to him. I lay my head on his shoulder and snuggle close.
"What are you thinking about?" I lean back and take in the amused look on his face. His eyes are so beautiful in the flickering candlelight. This feels so right. I could lie here on this yoga mat with him for all of eternity.
He kisses the top of my head. "I'm just coming to grips with the fact that you've got me completely wrapped around your little finger." He chuckles, kissing me again. "And I like it."
Anxiety threatens to crawl into my stomach, but this time I chase it off. I don't want to live in fear of my desires anymore. I want to have a conversation about it. I want him to understand where I'm coming from. And I want to know exactly what he wants out of this.
"This is all really new to me," I confess in a small voice.
He pushes away a little to look at me. "What is?"
"Having a man want me the way you do."
He brushes my hair away from my eye. "Your ex-husband – he didn't let you know how amazing you are, did he?"
I laugh bitterly. "Zayn was a boy. He still is. He didn't appreciate me. Our relationship centered around him and his agenda. He needed a woman in his life to keep him from self-destructing because he just couldn't manage to keep his shit together. But I never really felt like he needed me."
I chase a tear away with my fingertips, feeling silly for crying. Poor Reuben’s going to realize that I'm a basket case sooner or later. But talking about this has me feeling emotional. With Zayn, I had to take care of everything. I was his cook, his repairman, his cleaner, his financier. I’ve had to be strong and reliable and independent for so long. But with Reuben, I feel like a woman, soft and feminine, open and vulnerable. I feel like he understands me better than my ex-husband ever did.
And I understand him.
Reuben seems curious now. "How long were you married to him?"
"Almost eight years."
He's silent then he asks, "And how long did you feel that disconnect from him?"
"Pretty much from the beginning. I feel like I was always trying to get him to notice me. Like 'look at me, your wife. Look how fantastic I am. I opened a business. And I lost fifteen pounds. And I'm holding us together all on my own. Why can't you see me?'."
By now, the tears are pouring out of me and if Reuben held me any tighter, he'd snap me in two. "Isla..." he breathes. "If it was so bad, why did you stay?"
I sigh. His hand clasps around mine. My chest rises on a deep inhale and a shiver runs across my skin. “I just didn’t want to be that girl.”
“What girl?” He kisses each of my fingertips in turn.
“The divorced girl. The girl who failed. The girl who couldn’t even get her husband to keep loving her.”
I’ve never admitted this to anyone, not even my friends. Philosophers far and wide preach about women’s self-esteem in vague and impersonal terms. We’re told to love our bodies and accept our flaws. We’re told to be warrior goddesses. Of course, those are laudable ideals. But it’s hard for a woman to admit that she doubts her own worth. It’s hard to admit that I look into the mirror every day and wonder if my marriage fell apart because I just wasn’t a woman worth fighting for.
Reuben runs a thumb along my bottom lip and stares into my eyes. “Oh, Isla. He’s the one who failed.”
My heart is full enough to burst right open. This man makes me feel like maybe all my broken pieces might fit back together again and maybe he's the man for the job.
I lean in and his lips are there waiting for mine, soft and full as always. He kisses me softly in that way that makes me feel beautiful and safe, like the world isn't spinning off its axis.
Fuck it – I want this. I want him.
I want to be kissed like this every day, by a man who cares about me. I'm done with the excuses and the justifications. I don't want to be alone when this man wants to love me.
I cradle his face in my palms, feeling his soft stubble under my fingertips. I kiss him and his fingers curl in my hair. He groans against my lips. "Be mine, Isla. I need you."
I pull away to watch him. There's nothing but honesty and vulnerability in his brilliant eyes. The way he's looking at me, I've always wanted a man to look at me like that. It's raw desire and unencumbered intimacy. Much deeper than mere lust. It's almost spiritual.
"I need you, too." I whisper.
He pulls me on top of him, kissing me deeper as I guide his erection through my opening. I move my body against his and he lets me take everything that I need from this moment. Nothing else matters. It feels like we’ve been sucked up into a vortex of spinning energy and the rest of the world has fallen away.
And when I come long and hard, clenching around his cock, I know that I have no choice in the matter.
I belong to him.
Chapter 24
Reuben
I'm sitting in the middle of the bed with Isla in my lap. She flips through a spa decor magazine as an old black and white movie plays on the TV. Empty dishes litter the room service cart beside the bed. Clothes are scattered about the floor.
I'm not even sure how long we've been here. All I know is that we fucked until it turned into lovemaking. Then we made love until it turned into petting. Eventually, we were so worn out that all we could do was kiss and whisper sweet words before falling asleep in each other's arms.
When we woke up, I called downstairs for sustenance because a man can't live on eating sweet pussy alone. Eventually, he needs some meat and vegetables to rebuild the good old energy reserves.
"Wow, I love the way the recessed lighting colors th
e water. And those canopy chaises...My god," Isla sighs as she admires a photo of an indoor pool surrounded by all-white, cushioned lounge chairs. "Must be so relaxing." Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, lustrous and red against the white fabric of my button down shirt. I love that she's wearing my clothes.
I drop a dollop of chocolate vanilla sauce at the base of her long neck and take my time licking it clean. She's momentarily distracted, moaning and keening against me. I'm happy to report that the hotel's cooking has gotten better. Or maybe the exquisite taste of my dessert is due to the fact that I'm eating it off of Isla's delicious skin.
"Save the page," I say to her as she continues to admire the photo in the magazine. "I'll have the architect and the interior designer incorporate it into the plans.
She glances back at me with furrowed brows. "Reuben, I wasn't subliminally trying to convince you to get recessed lighting and canopy loungers. I was just expressing my admiration for the design. They’re cute. That's all."
"You like it. So give me one good reason why you shouldn't have it." I dot chocolate onto her cheek and then kiss it off. She giggles.
"It's outside of the budget. That's a good enough reason."
"The budget is an arbitrary benchmark. It's not set in stone. Budgets are meant to be broken."
She gives me a scolding stare. "Reuben..."
She still doesn't seem to get it. I plan on making her every dream come true. When this renovation phase is all over and she walks into Prasanna, I want her to recognize her vision come to life. What's the point of having money in the bank if you aren't using it to make the woman you love happy?
Yes, I said it.
I'm falling in love with Isla Hamilton. And I think she's falling for me, too.
I know it’s premature. And it’s fast. There are so many things about myself that I haven’t told her. Hopefully, none of it will matter because we’re falling in love.
With a cocked brow, I hold her stare. She looks at me like she'll fight me. Like she'll argue with me to be reasonable. But eventually, she exhales in defeat. "Thank you," she whispers instead.
I chew down my victorious smirk. I don't want to rub my win in her face. But I'm grateful that she'll let me do this without battling me every step of the way.
She's quiet for a while before she climbs out of my lap and faces me, a solemn expression on her face. Uh oh, maybe I spoke too soon.
"What is it, Isla?" I question apprehensively.
She twists her hands in her lap. "I know that guys don't like having these conversations but I've got to ask because I just don't have the strength to get hurt right now...What are your plans, Reuben? You're in Reyfield on business but what happens when you're all done? What happens next?"
I've been trying to avoid this question even in my own mind. The truth is I don't know. I bounce around from place to place. I stay in a town for a little while, rehabbing broken businesses and then I move on. But this time is different. I want Isla. I've found a reason to stay here in Reyfield. I shove my hand through my hair. "I don't know."
Her eyes drop to the duvet.
My fingers go to her chin and I tip her head so she's watching me. "But I know one thing, Cinnamon…Distance won't be the thing that breaks us up."
She smiles softly. "So, maybe we should just focus on this." She gestures to the space around us. "Maybe we should just focus on now."
I smile back. "Maybe we should."
She shifts onto her knees and crawls towards me. "As long as I know I can trust you, as long as I know there are no secrets between us, I'm all in."
For a second, my mind flashes to Delia and our inconvenient, little legal situation and I'm tempted to tell Isla all about it. But what good would that do? Especially when my lawyers are just about to square the whole thing away once and for all. I'll tell her about it once the situation is resolved. No need to upset her now when she's finally happy.
I ignore the guilt scalding my lungs as I lift her knuckles to my lips, kissing them softly. "You have nothing to worry about. I promise." She can trust me. I won't let my past hurt her. I'm so close to turning the page on that chapter once and for all. Everything will turn out okay…At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
She looks at me with hesitant eyes. "Hey, in a few days, my friend Faith is throwing a little get together at Flynn and Murray's. You know that little Irish Pub across the street from the yoga studio?"
I nod.
"Well, all my friends will be there and I want you to meet them..." She hunches up her shoulders near her ears as she leaves the unspoken question hanging in the wind. The hopefulness in her eyes is endearing.
I stay quiet for a beat, just to see her sweat. Her expression drops and puppy-dog disappointment fills her face.
I drop back against the headboard, laughing. "You're cute as fuck, Isla Hamilton."
She harrumphs. "I'm a 27-year-old divorcee. Cute isn't something I get called often and it definitely is not something I feel."
I pull her to me. "Well, you are cute...And I'd love to meet your friends."
She sighs with relief. "Yes! I'm excited!"
I whisper into her hair. "Good. We'll give them something to talk about."
"Just don't embarrass me," she says with a laugh, playfully slapping my shoulder.
I flip her onto her back and climb on top of her, slipping my hands under the hem of her shirt. "Sorry…Not making any promises."
"Asshole." She giggles, pulling me close. "Sammie's gonna love you." Her lips seal over mine and her fingers lock behind my neck.
Damn, I worked so hard to get to this point. I kiss her hard, hoping that she doesn't soon regret letting me into her life.
Chapter 25
Isla
With her trusty martini in hand, Faith hobbles up to the microphone, unsteady in her tall, tall heels. "Okay," she announces, clapping her hands clumsily to get the attention of the crowd. Of course, the alcohol spills over the side of the glass and down her arm. And of course, she nonchalantly sticks out her tongue and laps it off her wrist, giggling the whole time.
I shake my head. Drunk Faith is making another memorable appearance tonight.
"We're gonna have a couples' karaoke showdown."
Did I mention that Drunk Faith is Fun Faith?
A collective groan resonates through the room, the accumulation of all the male voices. Her husband, Maxwell, complains. "Come on, Doll Face. It's bad enough that you conned us into coming here on karaoke night. Now, you're gonna force us to sing in couples, too?"
"Shush!" she wags a scolding finger at him. "We're up first so you’d better get ready."
Maxwell motions over to the bar. "I'm gonna need another pitcher of beer." A chorus of low chuckles breaks out throughout the room. The two of them are wild for each other and annoying each other seems to be part of their modus operandi.
Faith just rolls her eyes with a grin as she continues to wrangle unwilling participants for her impromptu singing competition. "Do you guys think we should go in alphabetical order?" she says staring off into space, "or should we draw numbers from a hat? I just want to make sure that every couple in here gets a turn," she adds beneficently.
Unfortunately for her, no one else in the room seems to share her enthusiasm. Almost everybody looks like they're about to slip under their table and hide.
Daniel sits on a barstool next to some guys we went to high school with. I see him glance at Grace just as she peeps over his way. They exchange cutting glares before both looking away. He yanks his tie away from his neck and takes a long, angry gulp of his beer as she swirls the ice in her empty tumbler around.
God, it sucks to see them like this. They used to be so in love.
"Well, I'm up for it!" Sammie says as her hand shoots up in the air. She nudges her husband in the shoulder. "Come on, babe. Let's show 'em what we're made of."
Keeland groans in his seat next to her. "I thought you had morning sickness or something," he mutters.
Sh
e laughs. "Nice try. Now come on." She turns to Faith. "Hun, we’re on after you and Maxwell. Cue up Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong." Keeland looks like he's struggling to keep it together.
Still, when his wife wraps her fingers around his wrist and gives him those big, brown puppy dog eyes, he's putty in her hands. "Fine," he mutters, fighting back a smile before Sammie pulls him in for a sloppy kiss.
Reuben leans against the bar and wraps his arms tighter around my waist, laughing into the bend of my neck. "Your friends are crazy," he whispers so only I can hear.
Dirty Stranger (The Dirty Suburbs Book 3) Page 14