Chapter Four
“As sure as time will fly today,
Beautiful flowers will fade away.”
~Emily Patras
The events of the last hour settled over her like a cool wind creeping in after a hot summer rain. Her fingers shook as she managed to lift the zipper of her skirt. Buttoning her blouse was not as simple.
“Allow me,” Sawyer’s gravelly voice spoke softly behind her as the heat of his tall body seeped through the thin material covering her shoulders.
With choppy breaths, she lowered her hands and turned to face him. Sliding each little button through its hole, his gaze remained focused on the task. His fingers gathered her long hair and lifted it over one shoulder, as he pressed a kiss to her neck—apparently over his regret.
“Your pulse is racing.”
Maybe she should have another drink. Her gaze skated to the bottle of scotch on the floor, thousands of dollars seeping into the priceless Oriental carpet. No, she’d definitely had enough to drink.
Taking her hand, he guided her to the small settee, righting the coffee table on his way. As they sat, she smothered the urge to fidget, and folded her palms neatly on her lap, waiting for him to make whatever silly apology he felt she was due.
“You’re quiet,” he announced.
“I’m not sure what people say in situations like this.”
“This was your first time.”
It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer.
With a delicate touch, he raised her chin until their gazes met. “Isadora?”
Why was he so hung up on this? It wasn’t like she was a teenager. Most girls lost their virginity around sixteen. “I told you it was.”
“But you’re twenty-three.”
“And while my friends were dating I was mourning my mother and waiting for my dad to step in so I could be a kid again. You know how that ended.”
Those sharp aristocratic eyes stared into her and he sighed. “There are twenty years between us—practically another lifetime, by your age.”
She supposed forty-three wasn’t too much older. His features were young and their polite friendship was several years old. Time had marked his face, leaving soft lines around his temples and mouth, but there was nothing haggard or tired in his visage. He was a good-looking man—distinguished by age, not diminished.
Sawyer was old er, not old.
Above all, she trusted him. “Your age doesn’t bother me.”
“Your father’s been a friend of mine since I was a young man, Isadora. He trusts me to look out for you while he’s … away.”
“I know.”
Although her father treated him as his protégé, entrusting him with personal matters he wouldn’t typically trust to anyone but himself, they weren’t necessarily close friends anymore. But Sawyer relied on her father and that might be what his concerns were about.
Without her dad, the Bishops never would have become what they were today. Sawyer was now an active partner at Leningrad, one of her father’s many companies. But Leningrad was Sawyer’s only company. Was he worried about his job security?
There was more than just a business association between the Patras and Bishop names. Their families shared a trust generations old. Lucian and Slade were best friends. The Bishops were always popping up at social events. There was no reason to assume relationships like that could be jeopardized by what they’d done here tonight.
He was being paranoid. She didn’t see why they were even discussing her dad. They knew each other well enough to leave her father out of this conversation.
“Why even bring my father up?” she asked. “This doesn’t concern him.”
“He would kill me if he knew what happened here.” There wasn’t fear in his voice, only absolute certainty.
Isadora found it difficult to imagine her father conjuring any level of passion on her behalf. Part of her wished he’d find out, just to see if he would react. But a bigger part, a lonely part, didn’t want him or anyone to know, sure that if people found out they’d somehow spoil everything.
If their association remained a secret it had a greater chance of continuing—unpolluted by outsider’s unwanted opinions. That was what she wanted. This was her chance to do something solely for herself, something no one else could touch. “So we won’t tell him.”
His smile was sad. “If something has to be kept a secret it’s something you shouldn’t have.”
His gaze turned to her hands and he closed his fingers over hers. Though his touch was meant to comfort, there was an implication in the gesture she didn’t like, a level of apology she wasn’t ready to accept.
“We can’t do this again, Isadora. It’s not right.”
Tightness formed in her chest as her mouth hardened. “Why?”
“Because people will eventually find out and I don’t ever want to cause you regret. Plus , you’re young, bella. You have your whole life ahead of you. Tying yourself to an older man isn’t right. It would be wrong for me to distract you from all the things you should be doing.”
Things she didn’t do. Things she had no time or experience doing. “I don’t mind.”
“You should. You’re a beautiful young woman. I’d be taking advantage of you. I can’t let that happen.”
“You’re not. You didn’t.” Who was to say that they couldn’t make this work? Maybe he was exactly who she’d been waiting for. “You haven’t even given this a chance.”
His gaze remained apologetic. “I lost my wife when Slade was only five. She was the love of my life and I don’t want to love someone like that ever again. I had my time and you’ll have yours—when you meet the right man. But I’ll never be that man for you, Isadora, and you don’t want me to take his place in your life.”
Discarding all his talk about destiny and some soulmate she might someday crash into out of nowhere, she only listened to his proclamations about his deceased wife. Even if she had covered her ears, the love he still held for Chelsea was evident. It was written in his eyes and in the turned down corners of his mouth.
Her chest tightened as something akin to jealousy coiled in her belly. Perhaps it was envy. What must it feel like to have such loyal love from a man like Sawyer Bishop?
She recalled a time shortly after Chelsea passed away. Slade had slept over at their house the night of the funeral, though he didn’t say much. The following day, when Sawyer came to pick him up, Isadora watched from the steps. She’d been about Toni’s age and unable to comprehend what could make a man look so devastated.
Love.
She’d never been in love and she didn’t believe anyone had ever loved her. Her mother had loved her, of course, but that was different. Toni loved her—in a different way. Lucian… There was so much she didn’t understand about her brother, or men for that matter. Despite always having a firm grasp on reality, love was a foreign concept. Yet she wanted it as much as any other woman.
She didn’t need to take anyone’s place. If her situation changed she’d adapt, but right now she wanted him— regardless of his warnings. Who could say if stronger emotions would develop? She was only thinking about the present. He was the one who brought up all this love talk.
“I don’t expect you to love me, Sawyer.”
Yes, that sounded mature, something a woman of the world might say. And, sadly, it was true. She didn’t expect him to love her. But, oh, she hoped someone would eventually love her.
“But you deserve love, Isadora. Someday, you’ll want your own family. I could never offer such things—not to you or anyone. This … would be a distraction. You’d be missing out on better opportunities.”
He was acting like one night had to decide the rest of their lives. How could anyone make such commitments after sleeping together once?
Maybe she did want a family of her own. She was so busy raising her brother and sister she never gave the subject much thought. But what if by the time Toni was an adult Isadora was too burnt out to do it all over again? Then they would’ve missed out on whatever this could have been because of some shortsighted assumption. It was simply impossible to see that far into the future.
“I’m not sure that’s what I want,” she confessed. And that was the truth.
Her life was too complicated right now to think that far ahead. Her plate was full and her appetite wasn’t complicated. What she and Sawyer could possibly share seemed the perfect portion for her life at the moment.
“Isadora, you have to recognize that children of your own are likely in your future. There’s a maternal grace about you that many women work their entire lives to achieve.”
His words were flattering, but also frustrating. It seemed like she was being punished for doing the right thing. When she thought of motherhood she thought of her mother, alone, tired, always begging for her father’s attention and never receiving it. A bird lost in a great big sky—alone.
Motherhood, as she saw it, was a lonesome labor of love. Sisterhood was satisfying, but her own experiences muddled that, too. She initially wanted kids, but then she unofficially adopted her siblings. And somehow that good deed was being punished by Sawyer dumping her after two hours. That had to be some sort of a record.
Her temples pounded with pressure. This was not the night to make big decisions. Her sex-addled brain was diluted in scotch and now she felt like kicking something.
The truth was, it didn’t matter whether she wanted children someday or not. All the wanting in the world wouldn’t make that happen for her without a man—or some decent sperm donors at least. Always an option…
Once again, she felt trapped, cornered by the bigger players of the world. This was always the way of things. She was living her life here in this house, doing everything a good sister would do, but it was never her turn to choose the next move. Everything seemed out of reach and she wasn’t sure how or if that might change.
Toni wouldn’t be an adult for eight more years. By then she’d be thirty-one. Women of her social status typically married in their early twenties. She couldn’t imagine falling in love that late in life, taking the time to get married, and then the additional time it would take to start a family. She’d be forty-something by the time she got her romantic life in order.
And if she couldn’t imagine falling in love in her thirties and going through all those relationship stages, it seemed perfectly rational to accept Sawyer not falling in love in his forties.
This was her best option. Yet. So far. Maybe ever.
“I don’t need you to love me,” she explained honestly, her hand closing over his.
She only wanted to see him again, have him the way she had tonight so he could ease some of her loneliness, but she also didn’t want to beg. She was simply offering.
There was nothing wrong with a woman seeing that her physical and emotional needs were occasionally met. If they moved forward with open eyes and called their relationship exactly what it was then there would be no misunderstandings or misconceptions about the future. She was pretty sure adults did this sort of thing all the time—consensual affairs with no strings attached.
She continued to push her position. “I don’t want to pretend this never happened, Sawyer. I’m glad it did. I needed this more than you probably realize, but I think you needed it just as much. Let’s not cut it down before it has a chance to bloom.”
“Sweetheart,” he said slowly, his gaze troubled. “We can’t have a normal relationship. Not a long term one or even a fleeting one. There’s a lot at stake here that we have to consider. Those aren’t just words. And I’m not going to change my position. Another night would be misleading.”
Ignoring the sense that her worth might have just been cheapened, she focused only on the things that made her feel valuable. “I didn’t ask for your future or a commitment. I’m merely suggesting that you not remove the possibility of us … meeting again. I’m not a little girl, Sawyer, and I’m not going to make this into something it’s not. ”
His fingers ghosted over her jaw as he studied her, eyes appraising. “You say that now but…”
Her soft laughter was devoid of cheer. “Don’t expect too much, Sawyer.” How come men were never short on self-worth? “My life’s here, with Toni. Sometimes I don’t even have time for myself. I’m not a high maintenance person and I never expect anyone else to answer for my own actions. I’ve also become quite competent at relying on myself.”
“I know that and I’d love to be with you again, bella, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“ I’m responsible for me.”
He studied her for several silent seconds. “This is really what you want? You’d be able to live with my conditions?”
“I think it would be nice if you visited again, like this, nothing more. If my feelings on the subject change, you’ll be the first to know.”
As his eyes shifted she sensed his mind working, though he remained silent for a moment. “I hate having to ask you this, but—”
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” she assured, saving him the discomfort of asking. “It can be our secret, no one’s business but ours.”
“That should bother you.”
Perhaps over time it would, but there were no rules saying she couldn’t walk away. All she knew was that she wanted him. Tonight he’d shown her sides of herself she’d never expected, sides that were exclusively hers and no one else’s.
It was the first selfish thing she’d done for herself in—she couldn’t remember a time she’d last done something only to serve her needs and no one else’s. And with her limited experience, it was probably wise to practice with a man like Sawyer. They could explore. Then if she did move on, she wouldn’t be a bumbling idiot with the next guy. And if no one knew what they were doing, no one could judge her for experimenting with a man twice her age. But the age thing really was a non-issue.
Meeting his gaze, she gave him a confident smile. “Discretion doesn’t bother me.” In a way, she favored it, and in this case it suited them.
Tracing a gentle finger along her jaw, he looked into her eyes and brushed his mouth over hers. Warm fingers swept under her hair, holding her to him as he deepened the kiss.
Her body awoke with the now familiar twinges of desire, longing rekindling inside of her. He pulled her over his legs and she giggled, feeling awkward yet delicate on his lap, and giddy that he was no longer trying to push her away.
As his hand gripped her hip, massaging firmly, the press of his arousal surprised her and she broke the kiss, staring down at where their bodies touched.
“Ignore it,” he said, pulling her mouth back to his.
But she couldn’t ignore it. When his fingers flexed into her hips, a sensual, almost feline part of her came alive, begging to be touched, greedy for every caress. As much as she respected his desire to do the right thing, she was determined to prove she was not a little girl needing to be coddled. She was a grown woman who could decide for herself.
It didn’t take much to convince him once her hands were under his clothes, yet he never truly surrendered his control. The urgent need to touch him was bolstered by familiarity, but every time she rushed to expose his skin, he slowed her motions.
Capturing her wrists, he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. “Slow, bella. Feel.”
She had absolutely no reservations about sex. And while she had no grounds for comparison, she believed Sawyer was an excellent lover.
It seemed this time he intended to make it meaningful. He lifted her and turned her to her back, cupping her face as he slowly fed his length into her, his stare penetrating any shield that lie between them. There was a level of intimacy so intense she sometimes needed to close her eyes, but Sawyer was inescapable.
He was everywhere, in the air she breathed, on her lips, against her chest, deep in her body. She loved it.
Every time he touched her she desired more, became less inhibited, and caressed his body as brazenly as he explored hers. The longer she tasted and teased the more he unveiled. And then he was the one shutting his eyes and she saw the raw, exposed intimacy for all that it was. Making love.
Watching him lose himself in that moment of completion was perhaps her favorite part. Seeing him so vulnerable and open had an empowering affect. To think, she—an inexperienced woman—could draw that response from a man like Sawyer Bishop. Yes, she liked sex very much.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen again,” Sawyer murmured, bare limbs tangled with hers as they slowly caught their breath.
Isadora giggled, feeling quite daring. Men thought they knew everything. He seemed pretty happy with her decision—despite his earlier objections. And regardless of what was supposed to happen , she was more than certain this wouldn’t be the last time they made love.
She snuggled into his side and kissed his chest. “Maybe next time we can use a bed. I think you gave me rug burn.”
His laugh was gruff, his lips teasing over her bare shoulder. “We definitely need to find a bed.”
The side of her mouth pulled into a smirk. Yes, they would definitely be doing this again.