Together, we make our way across the room, and to the middle bar station. The bartender is a woman, attractive, sure, but Isabel is a whole different league. We’re talking a mortal compared to a goddess. No less than that.
I order a Paris 75 for Isabel and a single-malt Scotch for me.
The bartender hands over our drinks and I tip her a ten.
“Thank you, sir,” the bartender says, adding a little wink, then a side-eye toward Isabel.
Isabel clears her throat and takes her drink. “Your eye is twitching, sweets,” she says in a low, confidential voice, like she’s offering friendly support. “Probably a stray eyelash. Might be you need to be careful where you aim those winks.”
She draws herself up tight against my arm, pushing her pussy against my knuckle, letting me feel her nipples through her dress.
And just like that, my cock is rock-hard and throbbing.
Again.
We get comfortable back at our table, her leg pressing against mine, her chair close enough that I can smell her perfume. Good Girl by Carolina Herrera. Perfect scent for my perfect girl.
I know because I picked it out.
“That’s the perfume I bought you.”
She takes a sip of her Paris 75, running her tongue over her lips. “My new favorite.”
She slips her hand into mine again and her hair is pulled over to one side, revealing the curve of her neck and throat, the beautiful dip of her collarbone, the barest hint of a bikini tan line from last summer.
I’m fucking overcome with desire for her. We’ve toyed with our usual uncrossed lines and my patience is non-existent. Without thinking, without stopping, I pull her into me and kiss her, long and deep.
And she tastes like fucking heaven itself.
She kisses me back. I feel her body tip into mine. I pull her closer, and the harder I kiss her, the quieter the world around us becomes. Until it’s just her, and me, and this fucking lust that is exploding inside me like a fucking atom bomb.
But no sooner has she eased into the kiss than she pulls back.
I open my eyes to find hers wide open as well. She’s not looking at me, but somewhere across the room, and the expression on her face isn’t what I expected. Not at all. She looks shocked, embarrassed even.
Then, desperate.
And before I have time to ask her what’s wrong, she’s standing. “I have to go, Hale. I’m so sorry.”
Fuck. Fuck. She told me no kissing. She did.
I broke the rules.
Fuck the rules.
“I couldn’t help myself, Baby.”
“It’s not the kiss, Hale. It’s…” She trails off, lips trembling, eyes darting away from me again across the room and then back.
Whatever the fuck is going on, she’s upset. And I don’t like that at all. Because I want her a lot of ways, but upset isn’t one of them. She’s grabbing her purse and I’m not having whatever this is.
“Wait, hang on. I’ll drive you. We can leave, I don’t fucking need to be here if you don’t want to stay. You’re not just leaving, Isabel.”
But her eyes are full of tears. Not joyful tears either. “I’m just… I’m not feeling like myself. Maybe it’s something I ate. You stay. I gotta go.”
“Isabel, stop…” I grunt, an anger brewing inside me because something is hurting her and I need to fix it.
She holds up her hand. “No. I’m leaving. I have the right to leave.” She lowers her voice, each word cutting into me like a hot knife, a stark reminder of the clause in the Cherry on Top contract.
The ‘provider’ has the irrefutable right to end the session at any time without cause.
Her lips tremble as she steps back. “Please, if you care about me, I have to go. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
And just like that, she turns on her stiletto, and walks away. Without looking back. And I fight every urge to run after her and carry her out of here, demanding she tell me exactly what’s going on in that beautiful head of hers.
You fucking asshole. She told you not to kiss her. She fucking told you that.
Too fucking bad. She’s not getting away.
I push my chair back so hard it topples over and everyone around the table is staring. Before I take my first step to follow her, I raise my eyes and see Flint, standing across the ballroom, standing where her eyes kept darting, with this look on his face.
It’s not just anger. It’s rage.
The look in his eyes brings back what he said earlier when I asked him if he brought a date…
The only girl in the world I want was busy.
Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
CHAPTER 3
Isabel
I sink down into an extra hot, bubbly bubble bath and count one, two, three, four, five, six, seven days since I’ve heard from either Hale or Flint. Flint even cancelled our scheduled date for the day after the gala.