Page 36 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
“You won’t be laughing when you get lost, and no one finds you for days.”
“I don’t understand the problem, Harlow. If you like him, and he likes you, why does it matter if he’s rich?”
“He isn’t just rich, Izzy. He’s filthy rich, never-needs-to-work-a-day-in-his-life rich, and I own a bakery with books that spend more in the red than in the black,” she responds forlornly. “I don’t belong here.”
“Harlow.” I seek her gaze. “I saw you with Cormack yesterday before the limo and the private jet. You like him, so don’t judge him on his wealth. Judge him on the man he is, the same man you greeted with jubilation yesterday.”
“I do like him.”
“Then that’s all that matters. Ignore everything else because it doesn’t matter. It’s just static noise in the background,” I encourage her. “If you like someone, throw everything else aside and worry about it later.”
She nods as her lips tug high. I return her smile, happy I eased her uncertainty. She thrusts her hand in front of my body, startling me. I eye her curiously before accepting her offer of a handshake.
“Hi, Pot, I’m Kettle. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she introduces herself, her tone cheeky.
Her loud, boisterous laugh booms around the room when I dive at her and knock her onto the bed to relentlessly tickle her ribs until she begs for me to stop. Our immature banter halts when the main entrance door opens with a creak. The pulse in my neck thrums when Isaac strolls into the room looking ravishing in two parts of a three-piece suit.
His eyes rigorously study my face before wandering over my exposed body since my shirt has risen while I was tackling Harlow. Pulling my shirt down to a more respectable level, I scoot up the bed to lean against the headboard. I’m so entranced by Isaac, I don’t notice Harlow sneaking out of the room until Isaac takes her place on the bed.
“How are you feeling?”
I smile. “I’m good.”
“Did you take the tablets I left on the bedside table?”
He smirks when I nod. We sit across from each other in silence for several minutes. It’s not awkward, it just feels right. He runs his hand over his head before his concerned eyes lock with mine.
“Do I need to be concerned that you have a problem with drinking?”
I smile, pleased he cares enough about me to be worried about my well-being.
“No, I don’t have a problem with drinking. That champagne was the first drink I’ve had since the last time you took me home,” I reply. “I knew we were flying, and I accidentally mixed medication with alcohol. My thumping head alone will ensure it will never happen again.”
Trying to lessen the concerned scowl marring his handsome face, I ask, “Do I need to be concerned that you have a problem with taking inebriated women into your room and undressing them?”
He chuckles a scrumptious laugh that rumbles through to my core. I smile, loving that I can witness a side of him his FBI file fails to show.
“At least this time you let me keep my panties,” I quip.
His chuckles stop as his eyes lift to mine. My pulse races when his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. Our kiss was weeks ago, but I can still recall how delectably sinful he tasted.
“I didn’t take your panties last time, Isabelle,” he corrects me.
Just my name rolling off his tongue has me chasing climax.
“You gave them to me.”
That secures my fall into orgasmic bliss and places it safely back onto the ledge.
My confused eyes dart between his. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” he interrupts. “When you found my…trophiesother women had left behind, you removed your panties before shoving them into the drawer with the explicit remark it would be the only way I’d add your panties to my collection.”
“Oh.”
That does sound like something I’d do in a moment of drunken angriness.So, my panties were in that drawer all along?Yuck!
“No, Isabelle, your panties aren’t in that drawer.”
