Monday morning when Isa strode into Eli’s warehouse loft, she expected three things: no greeting, the muted sound of shuffling papers or tapping of the keyboard coming from Eli’s office, and a clean dining room table for her to spread out her laptop and planner.
She closed the elevator door behind her, humming the last song she heard on the radio as she drove here, and stopped dead in her tracks. Eli wasn’t in his office. He was on his back on a mat in the workout area, arms behind his head, earbuds in, doing sit-ups.
Shirtless, slightly sweaty, totally distracting sit-ups.
He hadn’t heard her come in, as evidenced by his grunts as he pushed through another curl, eyes closed, strain in the pull of his lips.
Isa…stared.
Stared at the bumps of his abs, the flex of his biceps, the very short black running shorts climbing high over a pair of the most muscular thighs she’d ever seen.
She had opened her mouth to announce herself, honest, but Eli with his eyes closed, dark lashes shadowing his cheeks was mesmerizing. His hair had fallen in damp tendrils over his forehead, his lips peeled back, parting a full, thick beard and revealing stunningly white teeth. Had she ever seen his teeth?
It wasn’t like he made it a habit to grin at her. Him grinning wasn’t easy to imagine.
So lost in that thought, her eyes wandering the length of his body, over his bare chest and down to his legs, it took her a beat too long to realize he’d caught her gawking, her mouth agape. When her gaze reached his face, his eyes were open—deep, dark, seaworthy blue beneath two angry eyebrows.
On a final sit-up, he adjusted his leg and his prosthesis, then rested his forearms on his knees and caught his breath.
“Good morning,” she croaked, then cleared her throat as she tore her eyes away from what might be the most gorgeous male specimen she’d ever laid eyes on. “I, um, didn’t expect you to be”—mostly naked, this sexy, utterly distracting—“out here. Slow day in the office?” She capped the question with a nervous titter of a laugh, an obvious ploy to change the subject.
She hastily set up her laptop and pulled out a folder with a few forms Reese had sent over to her office. Items that needed Eli’s immediate attention. Well, maybe not immediate. She would require him to get dressed before she could remove her dry tongue from the roof of her mouth.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him push to standing, rub his taut abs with one palm, and reach for his water bottle. His every movement was fluid, even when he put weight on his prosthesis and walked to the kitchen.
She sneaked a peek over her shoulder to admire his chiseled ass moving in those shorts.
Blinking to reset her brain, she turned back to the business of unpacking her tote, which took all of ten seconds. She logged onto her computer and sat, then stood, deciding maybe a cup of coffee would help.
Of course to get said coffee she’d have to go into the kitchen, where her grouchy, hot-as-hell employer was now guzzling the contents of a sports drink.
So she sat back down and glued her eyes to the laptop’s screen. She checked e-mail and jotted appointments into her planner for Sable Concierge while she waited for Hot Marine in Short Shorts to evacuate the premises.
A few minutes into her work, a mug of coffee appeared at her right wrist, steam curling, creamed to the perfect tan hue. Gaping, she turned to slowly look up at a shirtless Eli, who stood over her and was still frowning.
He’d brought her…coffee?
“I guess you think it’s indecent of me to expose you to my workout routine,” he grumbled. “If I were you, I’d quit.”
Granted, his delivery could use some work. Then again, she thought as he turned and walked to the bathroom, his gorgeously muscled back shifting, the delivery around here was top-notch.
“Getting a shower while you’re here. Also indecent,” he called without turning to face her. He shut the bathroom door behind him. Isa grasped her coffee mug and listened as the water started, imagining Eli stripping off those shorts and sliding under the spray completely naked.
All those long, strong limbs drenched in water and masculine hairy legs and arms and beard…
Goodness.
It was so much of a distraction that she didn’t get any work done in the twenty minutes Eli was in there. Simply sipped her coffee and let her imagination run amuck.
* * *
Isa had refused to look at him, had barely spoken to him when she’d walked in. He’d opened his eyes and met hers and hadn’t missed that her gaze was pinned to his leg, before snapping back to his face.
He made her uncomfortable if he had to guess. His thoughts went to Crystal, evidently not the only woman who didn’t want to “sign up” for what Eli had going on.
This morning had been an interesting experiment as to what reaction he’d get from the opposite sex if he decided to leap into the dating pool again.
Not good, as it turned out.
Eli used to be the guy with the swagger—one he’d traded for a measured stride since the leg incident—and that swagger had drawn many a woman to his lap and then to his bed.
Of all the adjustments he’d made in his life, he’d saved women for last. Learning to walk, getting back into peak shape, working on building the charity was child’s play compared to the hurdle of dating.
He shook his head as he leaned the prosthesis against the wall, peeling the sock off his stump and resting it on the edge of the sink. What would she have done if she’d seen him without the leg?
Much as he wished he didn’t care, he did. The idea of her mortification at seeing him as less than one hundred percent man registered in an ugly, dark part of him.
“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself, pushing off the closed toilet lid to step into the shower. He’d outfitted it with a shower chair, which is why he chose to use this one rather than the tub in the master bath attached to his bedroom. He needed to replace the damn thing with a bench so it wasn’t glaringly obvious that he had to sit down to take care of one of life’s most basic duties.
It never bothered him before, but having Isa here…
He soaped his hands and started cleaning his body, smoothing his palms over the part of his remaining leg. She knew about it, obviously, so she hadn’t been shocked to see that a part of him wasn’t there. But today, there was something about her seeing so much of it that caused typically bold Isa to blanch.
Most days, he was in his office, legs hidden beneath his desk. Maybe seeing him had driven home the idea that he was different than what she was used to.
What is she used to?
He didn’t know. On the phone last week, she’d been desperately hunting for a date. It didn’t add up. Isa didn’t seem the type to desperately do anything. She was as sure as she was ballsy. Except for today when she couldn’t look at him. To her credit, he hadn’t been the least bit warm to her since she’d started working for him. That cup of delivered coffee a few minutes ago might be the first nice thing he’d done for her. He’d even made sure to douse it with the creamer she kept in his fridge.
Hazelnut.
He’d poured a splash in his coffee yesterday, surprised at how good it was. Sounded like a sissy thing to him, but a few nutty, sweet sips later, he was hooked. He’d added some to his grocery delivery service so she’d have plenty on hand since he’d been pilfering hers.
He doubted one delivered cup of coffee could make up for his being the belligerent, insulting, handicapped billionaire who was content to wall himself in his private warehouse.
What he couldn’t get over was that it bothered him. He’d found himself wanting to be seen by her as…well, as old Eli. The Eli who had swaggered on both legs. The Eli who used to be quick to smile. His dad used to joke that he was a sensitive Marine “like your old man.” But Eli’s sensitivity had been buried in favor of hardening. Crystal had accused him of growing hard, distant. She had never understood that war required a hardness unlike anything else. He’d done what he needed to be a good soldier.
Now that he wasn’t a soldier, he wasn’t sure what it took to be a good man.
He pictured the guys in his unit and squeezed his eyes closed. The pain that had lanced his foot and seared up his calf when the grenade blew part of him to kingdom come was nothing compared to the pain he felt when his friends took their final breaths that day on the scorching hot earth.
And here he sat feeling sorry for himself like a pussy. Another reason he didn’t indulge the rooftop view. Moments like this one unveiled a broken part of him and he feared he’d hurl himself over the edge.
“Whatever.” He stood from the chair to finish washing and rinsing, balancing by holding on to the bar attached to the shower wall. Soapsuds swirled around his foot. A strong foot leading to a strong leg. Even his injured leg was strong. Thick, corded muscles leading up to thighs he’d worked through multiple pains to get that way.
He didn’t need Isabella Sawyer to approve of him. He didn’t need anyone’s approval, and never had.
He turned off the water and climbed out, gripping bars on the wall to aid him as he sat on the toilet seat and dried off.
“No more of this shit, Eli,” he muttered to himself as he rolled on the sock and attached his carbon-fiber leg. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.”
He stood and wiped the mirror with the towel, looking long and hard at his face. Lines marred his forehead from frowning. He was sick of himself, sick of feeling trapped in his own broken body and filled with unjustified anger. He needed a change.
He ran a hand through his beard, which had grown thick and was now borderline unkempt. He scrubbed the towel over it to get the water out and pulled the trimmers from the closet.
About time he started looking like the man he used to know instead of the one he’d devolved into.
* * *
Eli was quieter than usual the rest of the morning and afternoon. Isa ordered lunch—Mexican—and opted to deliver it to him and let him eat in private. Plastic to-go container in hand, she stepped into the shadowed room, the only light sifting in through the windows courtesy of an overcast day. Eli didn’t have his desk light on, only the computer screen. He was hunched, squinting, his posture abysmal.
She told him as much followed by, “If you can unkink yourself, I have your lunch.”
He blinked over at her, frowning as per his usual, only now she could see more of his face and neck than she’d ever seen before. She’d heard the razor whirring away and she’d imagined a big reveal when he finally stepped out. He’d ducked into his room, then the office without stopping to show her. She’d resisted curiosity until now, when she had a justifiable excuse to come in here and face him. Because, seriously, could she have acted more like a hormone-fueled teenager staring at him the way she had earlier?
Eli sat up straight and pulled his shoulders back. His T-shirt molded over a chest and torso she could easily envision bare.
Purr.
“When is the last time you stood and stretched?” She handed over the container, a plastic fork, and a stack of napkins. She was determined to focus on her job, on anything other than the attraction vibrating in the air between them.
Did he feel it too?
His eyes went to his lunch, back to her, and then he asked in a low, rumbling voice she felt in her tummy, “When was the last time you stood and stretched?”
“I stretch once an hour.” Sort of. When she remembered. “I move around a lot, as you noticed the other day when you lodged a complaint about my heels.”
His deep blue eyes ran down her legs like a caress, lingering at the red heels she’d worn today. Red heels and a slouchy pair of army-green pants paired with a white button-down shirt. Casual and cool was what she’d been going for. Even dressed slightly down and less professionally than usual, with the way he looked at her she felt like she wore a tiny scrap of a dress instead.
“You trimmed your beard,” she said to get his eyes off her body.
His hand went to his face, blunt, wide fingers stroking his remaining facial hair. The back of his neck had a good trim as well, but he’d left his hair longish—the front falling rakishly over his forehead. The full beard and ruffled hair suited him, but this slightly cleaned-up version suited him as well. It was a weird thought to have since she didn’t know him.
Okay. This one-sided conversation was fun.
She was turning to leave when he said her name—his name for her.
“Sable.”
Anticipation bloomed in her chest at the rough sound of his voice. “Yes?”
She threaded her fingers together in front of her, waiting anxiously for what, she didn’t know. Just having his attention was its own reward.
Eli’s brows bent, sadness eking into his expression. His lips parted but no words fell out. His eyes flicked away, then to hers—holding her gaze with fierce intention.
“Did you order lunch for yourself?” he finally asked.
“No,” she answered, a bit stunned by the question. “I was going to go out.”
“Fine,” he growled. His features morphed, anger chasing away the sadness. He pried the lid off his food and fisted the fork, digging in for a bite while she stood idly by. Had he wanted her to join him? She was about to offer when he lifted his face, swallowed the bite he took, and said, “Take off the rest of the day while you’re at it.”
There was that mile-wide mean streak she knew too well.
“Fine.” She left his office, making sure her heels clopped as loudly and as much as possible while she gathered her things and left.
* * *
“That’s not the worst of it!” Isa said as she palmed her margarita. She’d planned to meet Chloe for a much-needed girls’ lunch at the same Mexican restaurant where she’d ordered Eli’s takeout today. “I’ve been fired at least five times.”
Chloe lifted her glass of sangria. “I think you secretly love that he’s a challenge.”
“At first, yes.” Isa held up a finger. “Now it’s less about the challenge and more of a concern. Will I be able to replace myself with another assistant? Who would put up with him?”
Isa had a company to run and Chloe filling in during the daytime hours and Isa working all weekend and most evenings until midnight wasn’t a good long-term plan.
“I don’t know, Isa.” Chloe grew serious, her nose crinkling. “If he’s not going to cooperate, maybe you should give up on the Cranes altogether. They may have wealthy contacts in Chicago, but they’re not the only rich people who live here.”
True. Her own parents were rich people, but they preferred to keep what Isa did quiet rather than share that their daughter was an indentured servant. Which was exactly why she’d opted to go to a most uncomfortable banquet. If she could introduce herself around, make a few high-end acquaintances, she might be able to let the Cranes go.
“You’re right,” Isa confirmed, her voice strong. “I can overcome adversity. I can’t let myself believe that Elijah Crane could single-handedly tank my reputation.”
“’Scuse me.” A velvet male drawl sounded over Isa’s ear. If Chloe’s gobsmacked expression was anything to go by, the guy speaking wasn’t unattractive.
Isa turned and was pegged with two very green eyes, shaggy, sandy-blond hair, and a full-lipped smile.
“Did I hear you mention Eli Crane?” he asked.
Oh no, oh crap. She was griping about a client in public, which was a huge no-no. And had been overheard by…Chicago’s own Chris Hemsworth, evidently.
She blinked at the muscular blond. Who was this gorgeous creature? Wait…she’d seen him before. Her eyes narrowed at the same time his did.
“You. You’re his PA.” The dashing guy with the decidedly Southern accent shook his finger, his smile staying in place. “You let me in when I swung by to visit Eli. I thought you looked familiar.”
Chloe shifted her attention from the man to Isa and back again like she was watching a slow-mo Ping-Pong match.
“Yes, right. It’s nice to officially meet you.” She called up her hard-won professionalism, put down her margarita, and extended a hand. “Isabella Sawyer.”
“Zach Ferguson.” He shook her hand. “Commercial builder.”
She could tell. He had rough palms, a firm grip. He was sexy as hell to boot. And working with Eli, part of her wailed. She could only hope he hadn’t heard her disparaging her wealthiest client.
“You know, it’s funny, I wouldn’t think of Chicago as being a small town,” he said with a casual smile. “Yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” Chloe interjected.
“Do you know the Cranes well?” Isa asked, being conversational. Which was decidedly smarter than ogling the golden god in faded jeans and a plaid shirt.
“I have done some work for them in the past, yeah.” A close-lipped smile popped one of his dimples and Isa swore she heard Chloe moan into her sangria. Isa sent her a warning look and Chloe snapped out of it midswoon.
“Thanks for saying hello,” she said, then fished for intel. “I assume if you’ll be working with Eli I’ll see more of you?”
“I’d like that.” His top teeth closed over his bottom lip, and this time it was Isa who had to work hard not to whimper. “Too bad you’re taken, doll. Not to be overly forward but I’d have asked you out today if not.”
“Taken?” Chloe squawked.
Zach sent her a confused look. “Uh, dating? Betrothed? Wed? Not sure what y’all say up here.”
Wow. The “aw shucks” thing really worked for him.
“Eli broke the news to me. But, hey”—he held up his hands in a disarming, adorable way—“I know how to work with a lady I find distractingly attractive.”
Isa felt her cheeks warm. She’d just bet. This guy emitted charm like a poisonous gas. She opened her mouth to say that either Eli was mistaken or Eli was a horse’s ass, but no words came out.
“Eli has my contact info,” he said. “He and I are just getting started on the project, so I’m sure he’ll loop you in soon enough.”
Project? Isa knew everything about Crane Hotels as it involved Eli. She didn’t remember a project. At once, the fascination with coincidence and Zach faded into anger, and Elijah Crane was front and center.
“Yes, I’m sure he will,” she said, her words clipped.
“Nice to meet you, Isabella Sawyer.” With a wink for Isa and a wave goodbye for Chloe, Zach swaggered back to the bar in—yep—cowboy boots.
“Urban cowboy,” Chloe whispered as her eyes snapped back to Isa’s. “Good Lord, the testosterone…I’m not used to that much packed into one person.”
Isa took a hearty drink of her margarita. She sure as hell was.
Zach may be everything Eli wasn’t: charming, smiley, and suave, but the one thing he couldn’t do was out-testosterone Eli Crane. Regardless of how attractive and tantalizing Zach seemed, Isa’s thoughts returned to Eli and her outrage hit apocalyptic levels.
“What did Eli mean by you being taken?” Chloe asked belatedly. It was understandable, as her pistons were likely misfiring after Zach’s brief visit.
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” Isa stood and shouldered her purse, eating another chip with salsa for the road. “Use the company credit card for lunch.”
“Wait! Don’t leave me here! What if he comes back?” Chloe stole a glance over at Zach, who had already sidled up to a blond woman at the bar. Chloe’s mouth twisted. “Never mind.”
Isa would have finished her margarita and dished about how men suck for a while longer, but at current, she had a bone to pick with Eli. Who gave him the right to tell anyone she was “taken”?
She bid Chloe adieu and clipped out of the restaurant to the parking garage. After she shut the door on her white Lexus, she made a beeline for Eli’s house, though she could have walked and made good time. The fumes from her anger would have propelled her every bit as fast as her V-6.
She parked, rode up the elevator, and popped open the door with a clang.
Eli strode out of the kitchen, red apple and knife in hand. “Thought I told you to take the day off.”
She threw her purse on the dining room table and swept over to him in a huff so quickly, a breeze lifted her hair. He cut a thin piece of apple with the oversized knife and laid the slice on his tongue, the slow sensuality of the action causing her steps to falter.
Why…was that sexy?
Focus, Isa.
She forced her attention back to the run-in with Eli’s…whatever Zach was to him…and propped her hands on her hips. “Zach Ferguson.”
Eli paused, the knife piercing the skin of the apple.
“I ran into him at Elsa’s just now. Or, rather, he ran into me. He let me know he would have asked me out if I wasn’t—and I quote—‘taken.’”
“He shouldn’t be asking you out.” Eli’s voice was calm but his expression turned to granite.
“That’s not my problem.” She offered an impatient smirk. “My problem is that someone told him I was taken.”
Eli sucked his tongue against his teeth with a tst, a sure sign he was irritated. Well, too bad. She was irritated.
“You’re not to date Crane employees while you’re working for me,” Eli growled.
“I’m not aware of any Crane business Mr. Ferguson is doing.” She crossed her arms over her breasts in challenge.
“The answer is no, Sable.”
“You don’t have any right to tell me who I can and can’t date.”
“You’re not dating Zach.”
“I might!”
“You won’t!” He took a step closer, his top lip curled. “Not while you work for me.”
She had no interest in going out with Zach. He was good-looking, but he had trouble written all over him. But she was equally pissed that Eli thought he could control her personal life in the same way he held her business’s reputation hostage.
“I can wait you out,” she said. “Given our track record, it shouldn’t be too much longer before you fire me again.” She snatched the apple from his hand and took a bite.
He took another imposing step closer and Isa, mouth still chewing, set the fruit on the table behind her and stood her ground. Eli might like others to believe he was a bear, but she knew better. She held those deep blue eyes, seeing in their depths a flash of something she didn’t like: hurt.
She recognized it instantly, having seen it enough in her own reflection after she left her parents’ company and her former life. She’d defied them, and as justified as she was by doing it, sometimes felt badly for going against their wishes. As fast as her temper spiked, it fizzled.
“Why?” she asked, taking a step closer to him.
“Why what?”
“Why did you tell Zach I’m taken?”
He was as silent as an Easter Island statue. Looked like one, too, come to think of it.
“Eli.”
He skimmed his fingers over the open placket of her shirt, the warmth from his skin radiating through the material. He flipped his hand over, keeping his eyes trained on hers and running the backs of his fingers over her breast.
She didn’t dare breathe.
He lifted the knife and in one quick motion, sliced, and a startled exhale left her lungs.
“String.” He held up a white thread, then let it flutter to the floor. His eyes danced over her face before lingering on her lips, then to the pearl button he was brushing with his thumb.
Isa tried to regulate her breathing, but it was hard to inhale when the air between them hung thick with longing.
Another swirl of his thumb over the button and Eli’s eyes flicked to hers again. “Am I scaring you?”
He made her feel lots of things, but scared wasn’t one of them. Isa was often in control. Of everyone. Of everything. Rarely was there a part of her world she didn’t own one hundred percent. Until Eli. He’d challenged her every step of the way. And like he knew she could handle him, she knew he could handle her.
“Are you trying to scare me?” she asked.
Uncertainty flooded his eyes. Until now, she was certain she was someone Eli tolerated. Now she felt like someone Eli wanted. As much as she wanted him.
He continued rolling the button between his forefinger and thumb, the corners of his mouth turned down in thought. The pendulum hung in the balance between them and Isa was determined to let it swing.
“Do it.” She whispered the challenge, her eyes on his. “I won’t run.”
The frown left, his eyes narrowing as he raised the knife. Isa lifted her chin, giving him space. With the flick of a wrist, the blade of the knife moved and another thread snapped. The pearl button hit the concrete floor of the warehouse with a plink and the gasp of air Isa sucked in now was laced with desire.
She offered an encouraging half-smile.
Eli sliced another thread. Then another. And another. Until her buttons were scattered on the floor and her shirt sagged open. Her breasts lifted and fell as she drew in ragged breaths, as shocked as she was confused. As turned on as she was intrigued.
“Eli,” was the only word that made it from her parted lips as one repetitive thought banged against the front of her skull, an incantation she couldn’t deny.
Kiss me.
Kiss me.
Kiss me…
* * *
He hadn’t been trying to scare her. Then he found himself hovering over her, knife in hand, and had scared himself. But Isa wasn’t afraid. She didn’t see him as a monster but as a man. And right now, a woman he wanted stood before him.
He brushed his fingers along Isa’s satin-soft skin, between her breasts rising and falling in a white lace bra, down her flat, smooth stomach, and along the waistband of her pants.
Whiskey-colored eyes locked on his. Her full lips parted as she pulled in a breath, and every ounce of man in him wanted to sample every drop of woman in her.
He leaned closer, satisfaction coating his chest when Isa’s eyelids slid shut and she leaned closer to him. He captured her waiting lips, gently, and heat engulfed him like the entire warehouse had caught fire. Desire singed his torso, scorched his spine, incinerated his brain. Her pillowy lips gave and took until a high mewl came from her throat.
She smelled like spice cake and tasted better, her own brand of fire and smoke and sex. It’d been too long since he’d had a woman in his arms and this woman was all woman. From her high, high heels to her long, long legs hiding beneath a pair of inconvenient pants, to the delicate blouse he cut every last button off of and still longed to see what was underneath.
He dropped the knife to the table behind her and locked his free arm around her waist. She dipped with him, allowing him to tip her back, her long hair tickling his forearm. When he righted them both, his hand went to her jaw and he held her lips to his.
She didn’t balk.
She advanced one step, two, until her knees bumped his leg…and his prosthesis. Her lips disconnected from his with a subtle pop, her eyes going wide. The fire licking between them smothered in the hanging silence.
She’d touched the part of him that wasn’t him and now those dark lust-filled eyes were filled with alarm. Like she’d forgotten she was kissing a man who wasn’t complete.
“I thought you weren’t scared,” he said between clenched teeth.
He let her go, frustrated with himself for getting this far, for taking what he wanted when jealousy roared to life over Zachary Ferguson, for God’s sake. Isa wasn’t Eli’s to have. Up until two seconds ago, he would’ve bet she didn’t even like him.
He started away from her, feeling pissed or confused or maybe both in equal measure.
“Where are you going?” She snatched a palmful of his T-shirt and tugged, her eyes going to his legs as he shifted on his weight. This time the heat that lit within him was his temper.
He turned, not the least bit smoothly, and leaned in. “Why’d you kiss me?”
“You kissed me!”
“You kissed me back.” He came so close his nose practically touched hers, to test if she’d back away. To see if the reminder of all he was—of all he wasn’t—would scare her for good. She only moved enough to elevate her proud chin.
“So?”
“So?” he repeated, backing up to focus on her face. “Did you forget for a second I had a handicap? Is that why you kissed me back?”
“By handicap, I assume you mean your horrible attitude.” She held his eyes with hers. “And don’t do that teeth-sucking thing just because you’re pissed.”
“The what?”
“It’s your tic when you don’t know what to say.”
His tongue was pressed to the back of his front teeth, poised to do just that. He wedged his jaw tight and Isa hoisted a triumphant eyebrow.
“You don’t want me to date Zach because you want me for yourself. Is that it?”
Because she was right and he didn’t want to admit it, he chuffed a dry laugh and looked to the windows. “Yeah, right.”
She lifted her hand to his cheek. Her soft touch, her smell…there wasn’t a thing about Isabella Sawyer he didn’t want. He wanted her lips on his, her hands on him, her truncated sounds of steep pleasure saturating the air after an all-day marathon between the sheets.
He wanted to be the man to put a smile on her face, hear that moan of pleasure coming from her throat like when he kissed her a moment ago.
There was one piece of equipment standing between him and taking Isa to heaven and back again. The leg. Isa, with her to-die-for perfect body…God. He felt his shoulders wilt, his anger fade into a muted sadness.
What in the hell had he been thinking? The Eli he’d been looking for was gone. The only one left standing was in front of Isa, whose shirt gaped because he’d cut the buttons off it. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“I overstepped a boundary. It won’t happen again.” He lifted his hand and placed it over hers on his cheek. As much as he wanted to turn his face, kiss her palm, and enjoy her comfort, he resisted and brushed her aside instead. “I’ll replace your shirt.”
“You’ll replace my shirt,” she repeated, her tone flat.
“Yeah.” He walked away and this time she let him. He went to his office, determined to wrestle back two things he had no right to have: the burgeoning erection pressing his fly and an image of naked Isabella in his bed, legs spread, his face buried between her shapely thighs.
Jesus, that sounded fantastic.
“You can leave,” he called through a throat thick with lust. He wouldn’t ask her to compromise. Isa should never be asked to compromise.