The annual fund-raiser was winding down but had gone better than Isabel had hoped. The elevator had been fixed earlier that afternoon. Canapés were being served and chilled champagne flowed all evening. Her uncle Emilio had purchased a painting over the phone, showing his support as always even though he couldn’t attend. They’d exceeded their mark, raising twenty thousand over their goal, and still had two paintings left.
The one thing that’d make the night better was seeing Dutch.
Isabel checked the door again, hoping he might show. Not that he had any reason to. She’d run out on him at lunch yesterday without a legitimate explanation, hadn’t called him to say thank you for dropping off the food despite his laid-back way of giving her his number and she’d neglected to extend him a formal invite to the event.
He must think she was a total basket case. Why would he come tonight unless he was a glutton for punishment?
“It’s haunting,” the mayor said about the abstract expressionist painting, yanking her from her thoughts. “This artist has the depth and passion of Jackson Pollock. I’ll take it.”
“Fantastic.” She plastered on a hollow smile. Pulling off her biggest event of the year with such a resounding success should’ve made her happy. But there was a gaping hole in her life. If only she knew how to fill it. “Thank you so much for your support.”
The mayor shook her hand and they held the pose for a photo op in front of the painting. With any luck, the picture would make the front of the Art and Entertainment section of the Sunday newspaper.
Isabel directed the mayor’s assistant to Brenda to complete the purchase.
One painting left.
The phone rang. Isabel made her way through the milling crowd to the front desk and answered. “Kismet art gallery.” She pressed her opposite ear closed so she could hear over the murmur of conversations in the background. “Isabel Vargas speaking. How may I help you?”
Heavy breathing rasped through the phone. Isabel’s stomach plummeted, her muscles tightening. Long breaths in and out over the line in her ear, deep, slow grunting.
Her hand fluttered to her neck and she fiddled with the string of pearls she wore.
“I hate your lipstick,” an altered male voice groaned, and the cold lump in her throat swelled to the size of a bowling ball. “That shade of red makes you look like a harlot. But I love the dress.”
First, he’d shown up at the restaurant and now he was making harassing phone calls again. No matter how he disguised his voice, she knew it was him. Chad Ellis.
“Sophisticated, yet, enticing. A second skin against your body, showcasing your curves.” He grunted, his breath growing heavier, deeper, viler. “You look beautiful tonight. Nice touch with the pearls. Such a tease.”
Bile burned up the back of Isabel’s throat as she dropped her hand from her neck and looked around out the front window. He wouldn’t be easy to spot. That maniac was hiding in the darkness, where no one else would be able to see him.
No witnesses.
“I bet you smell even better,” he said, dragging out each syllable in an eerie way that raised goose bumps on her skin, but she swallowed the bitter taste filling her mouth. “Maybe I’ll come closer to take a whiff. I miss you. Can you feel my eyes on you? Like a physical touch you crave. Watching you makes me so hot—”
“Get a life, you sick pervert, and stay out of mine!” Isabel slammed the phone down and caught the shocked glances of those around her.
Embarrassment heated her face, her heart fluttering. “Sorry.” She raised a trembling hand in apology. “Excuse me.”
She was done. No more hanging up in silence. No more running away. No more living half a life because she thought there was something wrong with her. She wasn’t the problem.
He was.
“Everything all right?”
Isabel turned around, freezing midspin. Dutch stood beside her, dressed in a slate-gray shirt buttoned almost all the way to the top and dark slacks. His face was tense, concern stamped across his features. The surprise was so pleasant and shocking she threw herself against his chest, hugging him.
An immediate spark of heat rushed over her skin at the contact, but she dismissed it as a histrionic reaction after the disturbing phone call from Chad. Still, Dutch’s warmth and strength engulfing her took the chill away from her bones, nonetheless.
He held her, his arms banding tight around her in a comforting embrace.
“You came,” she gasped.
Stroking her hair, he said, “All the work and worry you were putting into this event, how could I not come?”
She pulled back, regaining her composure, and looked up at him.
The relief in seeing his face and beaming smile was like a gift she’d prayed for but had given up hope on ever getting.
“When I walked in, you sounded upset on the phone. Who were you talking to?”
Isabel dropped her gaze to her peep-toed shoes. “No one worth discussing.”
Brenda shimmied through the crowd and slid up next to her. “We just sold the last painting to that Hollywood producer.”
“That’s great,” Isabel said, her voice flat and devoid of excitement.
“What’s wrong?” Brenda asked.
“She just got an upsetting phone call from a sick pervert,” Dutch said to Brenda while putting a comforting arm around Isabel.
Brenda’s jaw unhinged and her eyes went wide. “The nerve of him.”
“Him who?” Dutch asked.
“Chad Ellis,” Brenda said. “Her ex.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Isabel rolled her pearls through her fingers and remembered the disgusting things Chad had said to her. Was he still watching her? She lowered her hand, smoothing down the bottom of her Herve Leger crisscross bandage dress. “I think I need to get out of here. Would you mind if I cut out early?” she asked Brenda, hating to abandon her friend, but she needed to leave the gallery, needed air.
“Not at all. This soiree is almost over. I’ve already roped the gorgeous party planner into helping me close and we’re going to have drinks after. Go somewhere with Dutch.” Brenda shifted her gaze to him. “Do you promise to take her somewhere fun and make sure she gets home safely?”
“I can handle that.”
“You don’t have to,” Isabel said. “Really. I can just go home.”
“It’d be my pleasure to take you out,” he said.
“There. It’s settled.” Brenda kissed her cheek. “You deserve a break. You did awesome tonight, working the room and convincing people to open their wallets. Get out of here.”
“Are you up for dancing?” Dutch asked.
“Sure.” It might be a good distraction. “My uncle owns a nightclub in downtown LA. We could get a VIP table and a bottle of whatever you want.”
He shrugged, not looking the least bit impressed. “Sounds like a lot of unnecessary fancy stuff if you ask me. All I need is you and some good music. You game?”
She was so accustomed to using the perks of her lifestyle to ingratiate herself with other people that she didn’t know how to respond when Dutch shot down her offer.
He frowned. “If going to your uncle’s club makes you more comfortable, then we—”
“No. It’s just surprising. Most people jump at the chance to have VIP treatment.”
“I’m not most people.”
No, he wasn’t. He was a beautiful anomaly.
“I’m game,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”
After saying a few quick goodbyes, she grabbed her clutch from the bottom drawer of the desk. Since she hadn’t realized the Pacifier required twelve hours to charge, all five were plugged in at home, juicing up. Rather than needing to lug a tote-size bag, she opted for something small and sparkly to match her shoes. It was only big enough to hold her driver’s license, credit card, lipstick, pepper spray and EpiPen.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise.” Dutch took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers, and hauled her out of the gallery.
“Do I need to call for my car?”
“Nope.”
Being led off into the unknown by a man she’d met two days ago should’ve felt reckless and risky, but it didn’t. She didn’t know Dutch well. His body was lethal, his face hard and rugged, but she was certain of two things. He was kind and considerate, and that made him exactly what she needed.
“Dutch, you’re so right,” she said, swallowing the words almost perfect, “that there must be something wrong with you. What is it? You don’t have split-personality disorder or any other type of condition, do you?”
“I assure you, I’m as sane as you and Brenda.”
Well, that wasn’t saying much. Some days she was insane-asylum-batty, and Brenda was far from normal, in a wacky sort of way, but neither of them were psycho. Like Chad.
Something had been off about her ex, in his core makeup. He had probably tortured animals as a child. She’d sensed it in his eyes, in his touch, without being able to pinpoint what it was until he’d let his maniac flag fly.
Dutch was turning out to be everything she wanted in a guy, her wish list made into flesh and bone. If she were looking for a perfect partner.
“And you’ve never stalked anyone, have you?” she asked.
“Never. But in freshman year of high school, I had a crush on a cheerleader and went to every football game. Fortunately, she was a senior and when she graduated, my obsession ended.”
She chuckled.
“You’re safe with me, Isabel.” He leaned in and put their joined hands over his heart. “I promise, no harm will come to you while you’re with me.” He spoke the words like a vow.
She always picked the wrong guy, but Dutch was different and had given her plenty of reasons through his actions to take a chance on him.
They walked four blocks down Santa Monica Boulevard and over to the Third Street Promenade—a posh outdoor shopping center with luxury boutiques, restaurants and lively events. Between Wilshire and Arizona Avenue was a festive public party with a diverse crowd. Salsa dancing on the promenade, from the young to the old, beginners and talented dancers displaying expert footwork and head rolls and dips she could only dream of doing.
It was unpretentious. A stark contrast to the vibe at any club. No one cared about how they were dressed or was concerned with appearances only. Everyone simply wanted to have a good time.
Isabel had no idea that this was going on a short five-minute walk from her gallery.
Dutch whisked her into his arms. “Disappointed?”
“Not at all,” she said, her feet already moving to the music.
Placing his hands in the right places, holding her in a firm yet gentle grip, he made it so damned easy with his caliente salsa moves. Their bodies pressed close, hips rolling in fluid sync.
She listened to the rhythm, surrendered to Dutch’s lead and let go. He was a human live wire made of muscle.
Dancing. Who would’ve guessed it would feel so good?
Laughter, fun and romance were in the warm air as he held her closer, spinning away her worries to the energizing Latin beats.
Her blood heated. The provocative moves reminded her how sexual and carefree she used to be. Dutch’s magnetism, the upbeat tempo, the sound of the trumpets in the music, the open-air environment, sparked life back in her veins and weaved a sort of magic around her.
She’d needed this. Needed him.
Dutch twirled her away from him. Smiling, she whirled with her arms extended. She did a two-count step, backing up to him, showing off a little.
Facing the large fountain topped with a dinosaur topiary, she spotted Chad watching her.
His jaw clenched hard. His eyes narrowed, his stare blistering. She could feel his fury like scalding lava on her skin.
If looks could kill, she would’ve been reduced to scorched earth.
Taking her wrist, Dutch spun her back into his arms. The unexpected touch made her catch her breath and sent her pulse hammering for good reasons. He smiled at her as if no one else in the world existed. Something in her chest lightened as fear evaporated.
God, she liked touching this delectable man, dancing with him, being near him. The way she felt safe with him. And nothing, absolutely nothing was going to spoil this moment.
Cupping his face in both her hands, Isabel rose on her toes and brought Dutch’s mouth to hers. She didn’t know if it was the adrenaline, her attraction to Dutch or her refusal to act as a victim that caused her to do it.
But he pulled her into the kiss, his lips hot and urgent, his tongue exploring deep.
And she didn’t hold back. Nothing denied. Everything on public display for all to see.
Her body moved against his, sinuous and desperate for sweetness, for sanctuary.
Not that long ago, someone cruel had made her doubt herself and tried to convince her that love had to hurt.
But it didn’t.
Dutch’s hands were gentle and persuasive on her body. Each long, sensual stroke of his tongue stole her breath along with the ugly memories. Transcended her to the clouds, where she was floating. She moaned in his mouth and he held her tighter with those granite arms, flattening her against his rock-hard chest. They tasted one another again and again, sharing breath, fueling the mutual fire crackling between them.
In that moment, she was fearless and passionate, and had never felt more like her true self. A believer in happiness and romance. All from the most empowering kiss of her life with a man she was falling for. Against her self-imposed rules.
Dutch eased back and looked into her eyes. His hand came up to cradle her jaw. A smile spread across his face, brimming with heat that melted her. To heck with the rules.
“That’s one hell of a way to ask a guy to kiss you.”
She laughed, free and loud. The heartfelt sound emanating from deep inside her belly. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked at the fountain.
The demon was gone, banished back to hell.
For now.
DUTCH FOLLOWED ISABEL’S directions as he drove her home in her Maserati. A fine piece of machinery that handled tight curves with smooth precision.
Her dog was curled up on the back seat, asleep. A soft smile rested on Isabel’s face, filling him with a sense of joy the likes of which he’d never known. With her tension gone, she looked younger than twenty-eight, vulnerable, adorable. He hadn’t thought making someone else happy could bring him such gratification.
No one deserved a fun evening more than her. The dancing had done the trick. She came out of her shell and had blossomed in front of him. As soon as he’d read about the Third Street Promenade free salsa dancing in a local magazine, he’d thought of Isabel.
Not as a manipulative ploy. She’d popped into his head and he’d imagined her dancing and letting loose. And she had.
But that kiss had been unexpected. Instead of his reaction being one of professional restraint, it had been visceral, instinctual, taking the chemistry kindling between them from sparks to a brush fire.
Remembering it had adrenaline pumping in his veins akin to standing on the edge of a cliff preparing to jump into the deep blue below. He was into extreme sports. Cliff diving. Rock climbing. BASE jumping. Snowboarding. You name it, he’d tried it, but none of it compared to kissing Isabel.
A hunger for more was growing inside him. More kisses and salsa and smiles, like the one on her face now.
Dancing had led to dinner at an Italian place with good vibes, where they’d split a Neapolitan-style pizza while he kept one eye on the door. Waiting, hoping that cretin Chad dared set a foot inside, but he hadn’t shown his face.
Isabel had eaten with a hearty appetite that he appreciated and laughed with no shadows in her eyes. They had chatted about their childhoods and the importance of family and their respective difficulties making friends when they were younger. About the places they’d both traveled to for fun and deployments. His time in the Sandbox and the mountains of Afghanistan. Even the gut-wrenching reality of what it had been like in spec ops.
He’d told her things he’d never shared with another soul, and she didn’t diminish it with platitudes. She’d taken his hand in hers and showed her understanding through her eyes, through her touch.
Somewhere along the way he’d forgotten this was business and not pleasure, and the weight she carried seemed to lift from her shoulders, as well.
They’d only called it a night because she had to pick up her dog from day care before the place closed.
“Turn left here,” she said. “That’s my building.” She pointed to a small modern complex with only six floors.
Dutch turned and she hit the remote, opening the gate to her garage. It was well lit and had plenty of security cameras, not leaving any blind spots.
Still, it was possible for someone on foot to slip in behind her car. Good thing she’d gotten the dog.
“Thanks for driving. I’ll order an Uber for you,” she said, as they had planned earlier, but he’d hoped to have a little more time with her.
They got out of the car and walked toward the door that led inside to the lobby. The well-trained dog stayed at her side without a leash.
“The app says it’ll take twenty minutes.” Her tone was disappointed, but he couldn’t tell if it was because he wasn’t staying longer or not leaving sooner.
“I can wait outside for it.” The night had been the best date he’d had in a long time, but he didn’t want to put any unnecessary pressure on her.
“No, please don’t. I’ve got to take McQueen out one last time. Join us? The app will send an alert when the car gets here.”
“Sure.”
They strolled past the elevator and headed for the back deck.
“Since the gallery is closed tomorrow, if you don’t have plans, I’d love to help you mark something off your bucket list.”
“If you’re talking about sex, I’m sure you’re fantastic in bed, but—”
Dutch laughed. “I meant surfing. I’d love to teach you, but it’s nice to know you have such confidence in my bedroom skills.”
Cheeks turning berry red, she lowered her head and pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. I’d love to learn. Text me a time and a place and what I need to bring or wear.”
He held the door open for her. Motion lights came on as they went outside. The dog ran past the swimming pool to a patch of fake grass on the far side of the large communal deck that had a locked gate.
“McQueen is such a kick-butt name,” Dutch said, following Isabel to the railing, overlooking the beach. “I’m surprised you named him after the actor.”
“Which actor?” She looked up at the stars.
“Steve McQueen. The king of cool. The Thomas Crown Affair, the original. The Getaway, once again the original. The Magnificent Seven.”
Her gaze found his. “Let me guess. The original.”
“Yes. And let’s not forget Bullitt.”
“Well, I named him after Alexander McQueen.”
“Who?”
“The fashion designer.”
After a beat of silence, they laughed in unison.
“Sounds like we’ll have to have a movie marathon,” she said. “I’ll cook dinner and you’ll...”
He brushed the hair from her face, caressing her cheek. Standing there, staring at her, he hid nothing, letting her see the cutting edge driving him, the genuine attraction drawing him closer to her. He was the kind of man who owned who he was and told the world to go take a flying leap if they didn’t like it. But this was the best he could do, the most he could give in the moment. “Do the dishes and then rub your feet?”
She smiled, unguarded and bright. “You better stop, or I’ll have to kiss you again.”
“If that’s your idea of a deterrent, you’re going to have to work on that.” He pulled her to him. But caught himself and lightened his grip, easing back.
“Do I still have to ask?” She tilted her head, wetting her lips.
“I want to respect your wishes and take this slowly.” He had an important job to do and touching her was testing his willpower, but he had no intention of seducing her or using sex as a manipulation tactic. That was a line he wouldn’t cross. “I want you to get to know me. To be comfortable around me. I want to understand what troubles you, keeps you up at night just like I know you want to see the northern lights.” And he did, so damn badly. Not for his job, but for himself. “I get the sense this might scare you and I don’t want to rush you.”
“You don’t scare me, Dutch. So stop talking and kiss me.”
Lowering his lips to hers, he slipped an arm around her waist and gently touched her mouth, his tongue skating over hers. She leaned into the kiss, circling her arms around his neck. He threaded his fingers in her silky mass of loose curls cascading around her shoulders, breathing her in, molding her to him and savoring this.
He drank her in, the heady, delicate taste of her that was somehow wild and sweet at the same time. An enticing floral scent mixed with spice came from her hair and skin.
The soft heat of her, the way she smelled, how she tasted, the responding hunger in her touch, everything culminated in that moment of pure perfection.
No woman had felt better. So right.
Then her phone chimed, and he cursed the promptness of the Uber driver.
A PALL OF RED fell over the world as Chad seethed. Violent thoughts, gruesome cravings danced in his head the same way she had danced with that man.
Isabel.
He beat his fist against the boulder as he watched that man touching his woman. Kissing his precious doll, turning her into a wanton trollop.
Isabel!
The darkness around him on the beach seeped into his soul. His mouth tasted of ashes.
If that thug went up to her apartment, if she took him to her bed...
Chad squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what he’d have to do. Kill the interloper.
And cleanse Isabel of her sin.
On the deck, the two separated and Isabel pulled out her phone, then glanced at the screen. Her dog dashed out of the grass and ran around the pool, doing laps like it was racing around a track.
She snapped her fingers. The canine came to her and licked the man’s hand. He bent down, rubbing its head. Even the damn dog liked him.
They traipsed back inside the building with her arm linked around his.
Chad’s gaze slid to the third floor, to her apartment. He waited, growing still, the blood in his veins boiling, the leash slipping on the rage prowling inside him.
Finally, her lights came on and she entered her apartment. Alone. The inconvenient dog didn’t count.
She’d come to her senses and sent that piece of garbage on his way for the night.
But she had put Chad in a difficult position. Now he had to save Isabel from herself before she violated the sanctity of their union.
He had no choice but to punish her.
Because I love you, Isabel.
Necessary preparations had been made. He’d anticipated this day might come, and he was ready to remind her who was in charge.