Page 57 of With All My Heart, Joy

He wasn’t sure why his question had set her off. While he was pretty much an expert on mental health, he wasn’t a mind reader. But he wouldn’t let her rejection stop him this time. After the closeness they had just shared, he wasn’t about to let her go easily.

He looked around wildly and caught sight of her slipping out the ballroom door. Swift, sure strides took him in that direction, and he found her in the hotel lobby, huddled next to an enormous Christmas tree by the multi-paned front window. She stood with arms hugged around herself, her shoulders shaking, the picture of sorrow.

“Joy.” He put his hands on both shoulders with as much gentleness as he possessed. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, wrenching away from him. “Nothing. Everything.” A sniff choked off the word, but she plowed ahead. “I’m tired of being sad, and I’m tired of being a drag to others, and I’m tired of being a source of worry to my family who didn’t want me in the first place, and I’m tired of feeling like I don’t matter to anyone but an invisible audience of strangers who practically dictate my life!”

When she flung herself around, her eyes were red, tears streaking down her cheeks in a river of foundation and mascara. Isaac fished a tissue from his pocket and began carefully dabbing at her face, holding her head steady with one hand. His fingers slid into the silken hair at the nape of her neck, his thumb under her chin against the tender skin of her throat.

“You matter to me, Joy. And I’m not an invisible audience. I’m real, and I want you very much.” He tried his hardest with the makeup, but he was no better as a makeup artist than as a chef. “There. I did my best to repair the damage. Now, what else can I do to make you happy? I’d do just about anything.”

It wasn’t the clinical way to treat depression, to be sure. But he didn’t care just now. Whatever Joy asked, he would do, even if it lightened her darkness only for minutes, even seconds.

Joy gazed up at him, her eyes glassy. Her pink lips were closer to his than ever before, and he kept looking at them, then tearing his gaze away, over and over.

“I want to kiss you so bad,” he breathed the words out, clenching his fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her.

“Then why don’t you?” Her look could only be described as inviting, and Isaac nearly lost his balance.

“Is that what you want? I was just thinking out loud. I didn’t think you’d…” He clamped his mouth shut, then tried again. “If you really want that, Joy, I’m going to need explicit consent.”

She pressed her palms flat against his chest and slid them upward, setting off an explosion inside him. Then she grabbed his lapels, pulled him down, and pressed her lips to his. The soft flesh upon his lips gave him such a heady sensation, he grabbed her with both hands around the waist to keep from falling over. He hadn’t kissed a woman in more than ten years. He had to be crazy to be doing so now—and with Joy Halverson, of all women—but he refused to think of that right now.

“There,” she said against his lips. “How’s that for consent?”

* * * * *

Joy had no idea what she was doing, but she wasn’t going to stop. A moan sounded from Isaac’s throat as his hands tightened still more on her hips, a deliciously possessive feeling. He kissed her back with breathtaking tenderness, slowly, fully, keeping to her lips before deepening the kiss.

Gently, he asked for more than mere lips, and Joy let him in, trusting herself to this man. His beard was soft against her face. One of his hands traveled up her back, achingly slow and tender, leaving a trail of fire on the skin exposed above the neckline of her dress until it burrowed into her hair, cradling her head. The other arm encircled her back, pulling her in until her chest met his.

“Joy,” he murmured in the briefest lull. “You matterso muchto me.” Then he came down again on her lips, harder this time. As his touch grew more passionate, Joy tried to keep up, but the constant, unstoppable rush of emotions was making her dizzy. As a buzz of something pleasant began inside her, she eased back, putting both hands on Isaac’s suit coat to slow him down. He broke contact, his chest heaving beneath her hands.

He released her waist and took half a step back. “I should have gone slower. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind.” Even if she should. Shivers shimmied across the surface of her entire body. Being kissed by Isaac was like nothing she had experienced before. Oh, she’d kissed enough boys. But that was just it. They were boys. Isaac was a man. A mature, experienced, highly masculineman.

Was she really doing this? She let her eyes take in Isaac. He was who he was because of the life he had lived, the lessons he had learned, the growth he had experienced. She would never want to undo that. Who said age had to be a deal breaker? Not her.Shesaid—right now—that it didn’t.

She reached for his face, combing his beard with her fingers. “It’s so soft.”

“I’m glad you like it.” His voice was low, thick with myriad emotions. “I wear it to cover the scars.”

“I don’t think a few scars would mar your appeal. But you look good with the beard.”

They stared at one another, only inches apart, before Isaac reached for her once more. He dipped his head, aiming for her lips.

“Joy. Joy. Joy.” Her name washed over her again and again in a reverent sigh before he made contact, kissing her deliberately, patiently, and with exquisite comfort.

That’s what Isaac was. The living, breathing embodiment of comfort.

“I like kissing you,” Joy whispered, framing his face with both hands. She’d never had a first kiss that lasted this long and showed no signs of stopping. And she was glad. “I don’t want to stop.”

His throaty chuckle assured her he was happy to comply. He kissed her until her lips were swollen, her jaw aching. She drank in the smell of him, the feel of him.

Strength and spice.

Isaac.

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