Page 11

Isabel watched the events unfolding in the Sentinel Hotel ballroom. She’d been in the kitchen preparing a ton of food, happily humming. Three guys, two and maybe three women. Lunch and afternoon snacks and then dinner. Her head swirled with recipes and that gear she had, the one that told her unerringly what food paired well with what, had finally cranked to life after being dead for so long.

“Honey!” Joe’d called from the living room. “Come see this.”

Isabel had walked into the living room, drying her hands on her apron, looking with indifference at the screen. Some kind of political rally. She couldn’t care less.

Then she saw the chyron on the bottom, big red letters scrolling across the bottom of the screen. HECTOR BLAKE STEPS DOWN, APPOINTS JOHN LONDON AS PARTY STANDARD-BEARER.

What? She stood stock-still, shocked to the core.

John London was a joke! Those handsome looks hid a mediocre mind and dubious morals. Dad had hated him.

Joe put an arm around her. “I’m sorry, honey. That should have been your father.”

“Yes, it should have been. Uncle Hector was a miserable replacement. But John London? He’s not worthy in any way of this. He’s a moron and a lech. I’m ashamed to have him mentioned in the same breath as Dad.”

Joe looked at her curiously. “Yeah. I wasn’t able to follow US politics too closely in the field, but London’s been around a long time. No one has ever praised him for his smarts. But a lech?”

“Pinched me once so hard I was sore for days,” Isabel said. “Tried to fondle my breasts when I was sixteen. He’s a total creep. And he doesn’t give a shit about the environment. How dare Uncle Hector choose him as if he were a natural successor to Dad!” She frowned up at him. “What?”

He’d gone all stiff, his hand biting into her shoulder.

“He pinched you? Fondled you?” Joe’s voice sounded choked.

“Yes. He’s a creep. What was Uncle Hector thinking?”

“I want to tear his throat out,” Joe said.

So did she.

“I like your thinking, Joe.” She sighed. “But it’s not possible. He’s going to be surrounded by Secret Service agents from now on. And I don’t think pinching and fondling, however awful, are crimes that warrant having your throat torn out.”

Though the idea was appealing.

John London as president of the United States was so wrong on so many different levels she felt sick. But he’d make it probably, if he could keep it in his pants and if they didn’t let him talk too much. Other morons had made it. And there could never be a candidate like her dad. Certainly not Hector and certainly not London.

Her father had been smart and good and capable of fighting for what he believed in. He’d had solid old-fashioned values while being open and tolerant. And he truly believed in protecting the environment and would have fought—and fought hard—special interests. There was no one else like him on the political horizon.

And her mother’s nightmare, the reason they’d fought so bitterly over his candidacy, had actually come true. He’d been assassinated.

And so had she.

“This must be disturbing for you.” Joe kissed the top of her head. “Knowing your father and knowing him.”

She looked up at him and for the first time saw something she should have seen before. He shared characteristics with her father, which hadn’t occurred to her before. She’d thought they were polar opposites.

Her father had loved living large. He always dressed in expensive clothes, wore expensive shoes and had expensive tastes. She rarely saw Joe in anything but jeans and T-shirts. A jacket when he was really dressing up. Track shoes and boots. He didn’t have three-hundred-dollar haircuts and manicured nails.

But he said what he meant and he meant what he said and there didn’t seem to be any bullshit in him at all, exactly like her father.

“It is. I hate the thought of a man like that representing my father in any way.” She snaked her arm around Joe’s lean waist and rested her head against his shoulder. “Nothing I can do about it, though.”

Joe kissed her head again. “Nope. Maybe he’ll lose. Then I rip his throat out when there aren’t Secret Service agents around. How’s that sound?”

Isabel smiled. “Perfect. So, who’s coming today to turn my house into a fortress?”

“Jacko and Metal and maybe the Senior. One of my bosses. He didn’t know if he could make it, but he’ll try.”

“The Senior? Is that his name?”

“No. His ranking. Former ranking, but we all just call him the Senior. He was a Senior Chief.”

“Sounds serious.”

“Man, that guy defines serious. You did not want to get on the wrong side of the Senior. Talk about ripping your throat out. He’d do worse when we were in the military, like ordering us to drop onto the grinder and pump out an extra hundred and fifty.” Joe shook his head, smiling faintly though Isabel didn’t see how pumping out a hundred and fifty push-ups could be a fond memory. “Then go for a ten-mile run in the freezing surf. That’s if he found a wrinkle in your bed. If you missed a target on the range, then he’d get creative.”

Isabel blinked. “He sounds—he sounds cruel.” Did she want someone like that in her home?

“No, not cruel.” Joe took her hands in his. His face had turned sober. “Not cruel at all. The Senior’s job was to train us to complete the mission while staying alive. He was our worst nightmare, until we actually went into battle. Being kind and soft to us in training was the very best way to get us killed in the field. If you sweat in training you don’t bleed in the field. That’s what we lived by. Man, we sweated a lot.”

“You bled,” Isabel said softly. She’d felt his scars. He was covered in them.

“I did. And my training saved my life. We were given intense lessons on explosive devices and I recognized a detonator in a pile of old junk in the Sandbox. I jumped and that saved my life, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, eating your food, holding your hand. The Senior designed the ED lessons and he was thorough. I missed two detonators in the classroom lessons and I ran an extra twenty miles that week and I got assigned a couple of circuses. Next time I identified every single detonator. Ten out of ten.”

“Circuses?” Isabel was fascinated. It was a look into what made an elite warrior.

“Circuses are an extra two hours of calisthenics a day. And trust me when I say that the vanilla version is already pretty extreme. Or we’d be turned into sugar cookies. Made to roll in the sand on the beach at sunrise and stay sandy and uncomfortable all day.”

“I don’t think I’d make a Navy SEAL,” she said primly. “I don’t like that sandy feeling.”

Joe laughed. “Maybe not. We were kept cold and exhausted and sandy but we were expected to keep up in class. But in the field I was hot and exhausted and still noticed the detonator and jumped and that saved my life. So the Senior is more than okay in my book. And everyone says he’s a great boss.” He fidgeted. “I’ve been on the payroll for three months. I can’t wait to get to work.”

“That’s generous of the company. To keep you on the payroll while you’re recovering.”

He was visibly uncomfortable. He clenched his jaw. “I begged them not to put me on payroll. It feels… wrong to be paid for doing nothing.”

“Maybe they think they are assuring your loyalty.”

He looked down at her and shook his head. “They have that already. These are former teammates. They’ve built a great company and I’m honored to be part of it. They have my loyalty regardless.”

“That’s why you trained so hard to get back on your feet,” Isabel said on a sudden insight. “You wanted to get to work as fast as you could.”

It had been amazing, and humbling, to watch. She’d never seen anyone put themselves through the paces like Joe. She sure hadn’t been able to do what Joe had done.

Shame filled her.

She’d been grieving. She’d been lost and lonely. But probably Joe had been grieving too. A lot of men died in war and he’d surely lost friends. And perhaps he’d felt lost and lonely too. It hadn’t stopped him the way it had stopped her.

Just knowing Joe made her feel better. And after sleeping with him, she felt way better.

Joe’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “Some complicated thoughts are going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

“First you hear smiles, now you read thoughts?”

He didn’t say anything, but the smile was full-blown and smug now.

“Don’t answer that. Now.” She stepped away and clapped her hands. “If I’m going to be feeding hordes I’d better get going, don’t you think? And I’ll start with feeding us breakfast.”

Isabel was hungry. Hungry . She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt hungry. Her appetite had fled from her world, together with desire and joy and hope. For the first time in forever she was looking forward to eating.

She made to turn away but Joe caught her hands in his huge, callused ones. He searched her eyes. “Is it too much? Too much work today? You’re going to be feeding a lot of people. The guys have learned to come hungry if you’re cooking so they’re going to inhale the food. And then you’re going to have Lauren and Felicity and maybe Suzanne?—”

Isabel reached up to smooth away the frown lines on his forehead. He already had a lot of them, she didn’t want to add any.

“I love cooking,” she said simply. “Or at least I used to. Enjoying cooking is just one of the many things that was taken from me. I feel a little excited at the thought of cooking for people, seeing their reactions to what I’ve prepared. I know everyone is going to be friendly and if I don’t burn things or add a ton of salt, they’re predisposed to like it. I can’t go wrong. I really want to do this, Joe. Trust me.”

“I do.” A crafty look stole over his face. “But before they come over, what’s for breakfast?”

* * *

Breakfast was amazing. Fresh-made croissants—Joe didn’t think he’d ever met anyone who could actually make them from scratch. Homemade bread, too, chewy and delicious. Three kinds of red jams she’d made.

She hadn’t churned the butter. He asked.

And he could see that she was telling the truth when she said that cooking made her happy. Made him happy, too, in a major way.

But for Isabel it was clearly satisfying on some deep level. Joe was grateful without understanding it. Cooking was something he had to do once in a while because even he knew eating breakfast, lunch and supper in diners or ordering takeout wasn’t good for you. But he hated it. He could never figure out timing. The steaks were done while the baked potatoes were still raw. And though he tried, he couldn’t like salad or sliced tomatoes. At least he hadn’t until he’d tasted Isabel’s salads. They were light and fresh. And she seemed to find something that was called a tomato but wasn’t a mealy pink thing, but dark red and small and luscious.

She looked happy as she moved around in the kitchen. No, more than happy. She glowed. He hadn’t seen her like this and it was a world away from the trembling, paper-white woman he’d met that first day.

She’d been beautiful back then, too, she’d still knocked him on his ass but this Isabel? She rocked his world. Last night had been a different kind of sex than he was used to. Sex had always been great. He’d started young and he’d bedded a lot of women and he’d never turned anyone down. But sex sure hadn’t been world altering. He’d set himself on a course when he’d enrolled in the navy and he hadn’t deviated one step. He hadn’t been tempted by any woman to change the trajectory of his life.

One night with Isabel and he’d throw everything overboard to be with her.

Man was he lucky that he didn’t have to do that. He wasn’t going to have to sacrifice anything. She already lived close by and was fine with his job and—God! It felt like he’d rolled heavenly dice and thrown a midnight.

Joe had always relied on his instincts. In the Teams, he’d studied damned hard, he’d played everything by the book but on the streets and in the field, he trusted his instincts. Right now, it felt like something huge had come into his life. If some blood had been left in his head last night instead of pooling in his dick, he’d have recognized it. He recognized it now.

Homecoming, for a man who’d never had a home.

He watched her moving around in her kitchen. She knew it the way he knew his kit. Perfectly. Everything positioned just so. Well-organized and in perfect condition, ready for use.

Of course his kit was for whacking his country’s enemies and hers was to stun people’s taste buds, but still.

Imagine having this every day.

Imagine her in his house, every single fucking day. In his bed, every night. This beautiful creature, all grace and light, his.

He was getting ahead of himself. Down boy.

She was beautiful and smart and classy. And she was a Delvaux. No getting around that. No way would Joe ever be in a position to replicate for her what her family had given her. He loved his teammates, his bosses, his job. Or he would when he could finally do it.

But he couldn’t pretend for a second that they were this country’s elite. They were solid guys, none better. Men he’d trust with his life. But they’d never be bestselling authors or Supreme Court Justices or presidential candidates.

So what?—

Joe stopped thinking when Isabel slid a plate in front of him. Pointless thinking, really, when everything looked and smelled so amazing.

He glanced up at a smiling Isabel. “Waffles? Really? You made me waffles?”

“With baked raspberry jam. One of my specialties. And I make my waffles really light. Try them.”

He cut into the stack of waffles, slightly crusty on the outside, soft on the inside and oh God, the smell. If there were awards for food smells, she’d nail it.

He kept himself from moaning by sheer grit because it wasn’t like any waffle he’d ever eaten. Light as air, with the tangy taste of that incredible raspberry jam…did she say she’d baked the jam?

Never mind. He didn’t want to analyze the magic. He finished in record time.

“That was fast,” Isabel observed. She was barefoot, in pale blue sweats that reflected her eyes, dark honey hair a little messy, no makeup. She looked more delicious than the waffles. His heart kicked once beneath his ribs, hard. “Do you want any more?”

God yes.

“Come here.” His voice sounded thick and strange even to his own ears.

She was carrying her own plate to the table when she stopped at the odd note in his voice. Then she looked him in the face, glanced down at his lap, looked up again and blushed. What he wanted was clear on his face, not to mention the huge boner nicely outlined by his thin sweats.

She walked slowly over to him. No hesitation whatsoever. If she’d hesitated, if he felt he was forcing her in any way, he’d stop.

He hoped.

She stood by his side, legs brushing his where he sat.

Sometimes Joe initiated sex like he went into battle. Deliberately, planning every move beforehand. Mapping out which items of clothing had to go first, deciding where to touch the woman and when.

Not now, oh fuck no.

Now he felt out of control, an unusual feeling and one he’d reject in any other context. Control was gone. Right now, all he wanted was to be inside Isabel, to feel her naked body against his. There was no planning, no mapping of his actions, he acted out of pure instinct and he moved as fast as he could.

First her. “These have to go,” he whispered, clutching the hem of the sweatshirt. “Up with your hands.” She stuck her hands up in the air as if he was a bank robber. He pulled the sweatshirt up and threw it off, so quickly her hair crackled with static electricity. No bra. Fantastic. His hands were shaking so he didn’t know if he could deal with little hooks and things.

She was so incredibly beautiful in the light of day. All that smooth pale skin, the large breasts on her narrow rib cage. The real deal. He’d felt every inch of them last night.

Trying to be smooth and failing at it, Joe pulled down the sweatpants, taking an incredibly lacy pair of panties down with it. She was barefoot, so all she had to do was step out of the sweats and voilà.

Gorgeous, naked woman.

Now him.

He was easy. All he had on was the sweats. Joe lifted his ass, pulled the sweats down and he was naked too.

He cleared the table with his forearm and settled Isabel on the edge, stepping between her legs.

He kissed her neck and murmured, “Eating your waffles got me hot.”

She laughed and her breasts shivered across his chest. He smoothed his hand up her long, slim thigh to her sex and touched her. She shivered. “Did watching me eat your waffles make you hot?” he asked.

Isabel’s back arched and her head fell to one side. Her neck was an erogenous zone. Joe had figured that out last night. Gotcha. He nuzzled against her neck, waves of soft hair caressing his skin. God.

“Find out,” she whispered.

He was so taken with the taste of her skin, with the feel of her hair against his face it took him a minute to understand what she meant.

Find out if I’m turned on , was what she meant.

Oh yeah.

He licked the skin behind her ear while stroking her and… yes. Watching him eat her waffles got her very hot. She was like a little furnace there, hot and juicy. He stroked her gently, slowly, pulling back to watch her face in the early morning sunlight. She glowed, like a pearl.

Joe read her face like it was a book, a book he really needed to learn, like a survivor’s manual. As he touched her, entered her with his finger, he studied her expression to see what she liked.

Her head was tilted back, eyes closed, absurdly thick eyelashes fluttering. When her face tightened he knew he was getting it right. She liked to be touched here. And here. And here.

Isabel gasped.

And there, too.

“Joe,” she whispered.

“Right here,” he whispered back.

So slick and hot, he entered her like a dream, lifting his lips from her neck to kiss her mouth, another source of warmth he could enter. Everything about her was purest magic, the feel of her smooth slim back against his hands, her soft thighs clutching his.

He moved forward, into her, kissing her deeply, his tongue imitating what he was doing to her lower body, soft and gentle.

They were making noises in the quiet of the kitchen, their bodies kissing everywhere. For a second Joe tore his mouth away from hers and looked down at where they were joined, watched himself as he pulled out then slid back into her. She looked down too. His skin was darker, rougher. Watching their bodies writhe together was the most erotic sight he’d ever seen.

They both looked up, eyes meeting, faces sober. It felt like an incredibly solemn moment, as if the very air was hesitant, expectant.

This was serious stuff. Joe felt like it was not only his dick in her, but his heart, too, beating right next to hers.

She smiled, lifted a hand to his jaw, leaned forward to kiss him with a tenderness he’d never received from anyone. His chest hurt and the only thing that could help was kissing her again, moving more deeply in her, faster, until he erupted inside her and felt her clinging to him with her arms and her mouth and her legs and her sex. Clenching hard around him as he emptied himself inside her and held her tightly afterward, almost afraid to let her go.

She was his.

* * *