I’ve played poker with these guys for a few years, so I know their tells like I know the symptoms of hyperthyroidism.
In Jon Bracelyn’s case, they’re similar: A slight flush, a bit of twitchiness. It’s the opposite of his brother, Sean, who slumps in his chair looking deliberately bored when he has a kickass hand he doesn’t want anyone to know about.
“Call.” James Bracelyn tosses a handful of chips into the pot, a master at hiding his thoughts.
I watch Austin study him, using his cop mojo to get a read on the unflappable eldest Bracelyn. My guess is Chief Dugan sees the same thing I do—the faintest furrow in James’s brow, the way he rests his elbows on the table when he’d never normally be so casual.
“I’m in.” Mark is harder to read, with his bushy beard and perpetual scowl. His tell? “Anyone want this last cupcake, or can I have it?”
There it is. I resist the urge to smile, pleased with my ability to gauge the table. Everyone except—
“In.” Dan pushes a pile of chips across the table, his scowl never wavering. For the last hour, I’ve tried to get a read on the guy. Nada. Zip. Nothing.
The only thing I picked up on is the slight bulge at his ankle when he stood to use the restroom. I learned to wear an ankle holster during tactical training, so my money’s on that. From the slight flicker in Chief Dugan’s eyes, he caught the same thing. Does Austin have his service weapon somewhere close?
We go a few more rounds, with Dante winning two more hands and amassing a small fortune in poker chips. James normally dominates the table, but he’s distracted by his phone, scowling down at the screen periodically before typing out hurried responses.
“So, Dan.” Sean leans back in his seat and studies the other man across the table. “What is it you do for a living?”
Dante looks up, his expression unreadable. “I’m in the service industry.”
Austin cocks his head. “What sort of service?”
“Whatever needs doing.”
“Huh.” Sean lays his cards on the table and shakes his head. “I’m out. Anyone want another beer?”
A couple guys nod, but not me. I’m trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back to Dante’s job. Back to whatever the hell brought him here to the resort.
Dante’s watching me, too, and the result is a couple guys weirdly staring at each other instead of their cards.
He’s first to break the silence. “What branch of the military were you in?”
I push aside my discarded cards and work to keep my expression cool. “Army.” I clear my throat. “Izzy mentioned it?”
“Nope.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Just goes back to petting Long Long Peter, one scarred hand stroking the bunny’s soft back. I’m not sure if it’s comfort or terror keeping the creature glued to his lap, but I’m trusting Mark to jump in if his pet seems distressed.
“How about you, Dan?” Austin leans forward and gives Dante his congenial, good-cop stare. “You seem like someone who spent time in the armed forces.”
“Yep.”
This time, the one-word answer won’t cut it. All the brothers stare him down, along with their cousin, Brandon Brown. He’s married to Jade, the reindeer rancher next door, and he’s also a decorated Marine. Jon leans forward, too, and I remember he spent time in the Coast Guard. That’s three of us representing the American military, and all of us fixed on Dante.
“Which arm of the service?” Brandon folded earlier in this hand, so he’s got all the time in the world to grill Dante. “I learned a little bit about Dovlano’s military, though I can’t say I know all the branches.”
“Red Blade.” His voice is gravelly, but even. “Retired.”
Brandon whistles low under his breath. “Special Forces.”
I’m familiar with the Red Blades. A bit like America’s Navy SEALS on steroids or Green Berets bred with wolverines. “Those guys are pretty badass,” I remark mildly. “How long did you serve?”
Dan looks at me a long time, like he’s deciding something. I hold his gaze, not willing to blink first.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” he says stiffly.
“Fair enough.” Not like I’m a huge fan of rehashing my years of active duty, or the reasons I left.
I’m deciding whether to probe again when Sean stands up. “I’m putting in another round of bourbon-glazed wings,” he says. “Who wants more?”
A few hands are raised, Dan’s included. He’s careful not to jostle the bunny on his lap. I consider what Izzy made me promise about not telling her brothers Dante’s a hitman. I kept my word, but it’s clear they’ve done some sleuthing on their own. Probably a background check, courtesy of Austin, and maybe some voodoo lawyer shit from James. How much do they know?
Beside me, Mark shoves half a cupcake in his mouth and stares at Dan as he chews. “You paid through the end of the month.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Dan doesn’t respond. “You here working on something in particular?”
Dante takes his time answering, stroking a hand down the bunny’s back. “More of a recon mission.”
I’m trying to decide how to read that when James responds. “We’d certainly never dissuade a guest from an extended stay,” he says. “But this place isn’t exactly budget-friendly.”
“I’m aware.” Dan looks down at his lap. “What kind of rabbit is this?”
Mark frowns. “Bunny mutt.”
“That’s a breed?”
He shrugs. “Got him at the Humane Society. He has a litterbox and everything.”
Dan’s face shows the first real flicker of emotion I’ve seen all night. “No kidding?” He shakes his head slowly. “Pigs and rabbits living in the house. The rest of you have odd pets, too?”
Sean shrugs. “Three-legged cat.”
“Cats here, too.” Jon grins. “Five of them. Don’t judge.”
“We’re the dog guys.” Austin jerks a thumb at James. “And Brandon has his hands full of reindeer, though I’m pretty sure they don’t go in the house.”
“Reindeer?” Dan’s eyes widen. “Real ones?”
I don’t know whether to be charmed or freaked out by this guy’s interest in animals. If it weren’t for the fact that he kills people for a living, I could see us being pals.
“So you’re an animal guy,” I say. “Usually the mark of a decent human.”
Dante looks at me a long time. “Is that so?”
I shrug. “In my experience.”
“Huh.” He frowns, looking thoughtful. “Can’t say that’s true,” he says slowly. “But I sure like ‘em. Pigs especially.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, but Brandon pipes up. “We’ve got pigs and goats and some sheep out at the reindeer ranch,” he says. “Come over sometime. We’ll give you a tour.”
Sean laughs. “If you’re real nice, maybe Brandon’ll put on his Santa suit.”
There’s some jostling between the two, which is par for the course between two guys who married sisters. They couldn’t be more different, Sean and Brandon, which makes sense. The King sisters aren’t much alike either, though the bond between them is one I’ve admired my whole life.
What was Izzy’s life like, growing up an only child? I can’t imagine it, being raised without a sibling. Just having someone to share experiences, to go through life together—it makes me want to go home and call Julia just to check on her.
“I think I’m gonna take off.” Dan stands up cautiously, cradling Long Long Peter like a delicate loaf of bread. “Is it okay to just put him on the ground?”
Mark gives a gruff nod. “Probably has to take a dump.”
I watch Dan’s face as he eases the animal onto the floor, then looks on as Peter bunny-hops into the family room where his litter box is. I might be imagining things, but there’s a wistful look on Dante’s face. “Pets are the best.”
No one says anything to that because it’s kind of a weird thing for a hitman to volunteer. Also, it’s getting late.
“I should go, too.” Sean lays his cards down and stands up with a sheepish look. “Gotta work on that baby thing.”
James frowns. “There’s a level of detail I definitely did not need.”
Laughing, Jon gets up as well. “That’s my cue. We’ve got wedding shit to do. Can’t believe it’s coming up so fast.”
It dawns on me Dante is the only one in this room who’s not attending the wedding. Is it weird to worry about hurting a hitman’s feelings? He looks like he’s just read my mind and holds eye contact for an uncomfortably long time. “Thanks for inviting me to poker night,” he says at last. “I had a good time.”
Despite the fact that he has yet to smile or laugh or resemble a human with a pulse, I kinda believe him.
“No problem.” I stand at the same time he does and wonder if I should shake his hand. “Glad you could join us.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Waving one meaty paw, he strides toward the door, pausing to pull on his black jacket. I watch him walk out the door, then pause at the bottom of the steps.
“Hey, doc?” Mark’s voice jerks my attention off Dante, and I turn to see him frowning. “You mind if I ask you a medical question?”
“Fire away.” I sit back down, glancing quickly out the door. Did Dante go left toward his own cabin, or right toward Izzy’s?
I catch Austin’s eye, doing my best to telegraph concern. The chief stands up and tosses his cards on the table. “I’m out,” he says as everyone else around the table gets to their feet. “Better go grab the kiddo.”
Brandon claps Mark on the shoulder. “Thanks for hosting again.”
I watch through the window as Austin heads toward Izzy’s place. Picking up his son, or checking on Izzy? Either way, it lets me relax, so I turn back to Mark. “What can I help with?”
“It’s Chelsea.” He scrubs a hand over his beard, Mark’s universal sign for discomfort. “I want to bring her things to make her stomach feel better, but she says all the usual stuff makes her queasy.”
“Yeah, pregnancy can mess with that, especially early on.”
“Right, so…I know it’s supposed to be about pickles and ice cream, but Chelsea doesn’t like pickles. You think capers would work?”
I love that food is Mark’s love language, or that he’s trying to use it to speak to his pregnant wife. “There’s no real medical science behind what women crave during pregnancy,” I say. “I had a patient who craved rubber.”
“Rubber?”
“Like tire rubber. Her wife found her chewing on a hunk of old tire and called me all concerned.”
“What’d you do?”
I shrug. “As long as she’s not actually swallowing it, I don’t see the harm. There are far worse things you could put in your mouth.”
“Huh.” Mark spends way too long considering that. “Guess I could just take her to the grocery store and let her point out things that sound good.”
“That sounds like a plan. She’s got an OB/GYN already?”
“Yeah. And lots of those prenatal vitamins.”
“Perfect. Sounds like you’ve got it covered.”
He scratches his beard again. “Yeah, I just—I want to do my part, you know? Besides knocking her up in the first place.”
“I wish I knew more patient spouses like you.” I clap Mark on the shoulder. “Seriously, man. You’re already a great dad to Libby, and you’re going to be an amazing one to the new baby.”
“Yeah?” There’s a hopefulness in his voice that surprises me. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”
“You’re gonna do great.” I’m dying to get next door to check on Izzy, but I’m not a total asshole, so I take a few minutes to help gather plates. “Can I help you get these in the dishwasher?”
“Nah, it needs to be emptied.” Mark lumbers over to the counter with an armload of beer steins. “Go on, get out of here. Austin’s checking on her, but you’ll feel like shit until you do it yourself.”
“Thanks, man.” Not just for the dismissal, but for not minding that I’m hustling to his sister’s place. As I reach the door, I turn and face him. “Did you have Austin run a check on the guy?”
“Yeah.” Mark’s brow furrows. “Couldn’t find much, but it wasn’t tough to connect him to Izzy’s family. Guess he’s some kind of bodyguard or something?”
Or something rings in my mind as I nod. “Yeah. Jury’s still out on whether he’s dangerous.”
Mark nods. “I’m glad you’re looking out for her.”
It’s the closest thing I could get to brotherly approval of my relationship with Iz, and I can’t help feeling warm all over. “Thanks, man.”
I’m out the door in an instant, trudging through a thin crust of snow to reach Izzy’s front door. Austin’s car is gone, which means he already collected Brian and left. A thrill ripples through me at the thought of spending an evening alone with Iz.
But as I step up to the front door, I see two figures inside. Dante stands facing Izzy, hands clenched at his side. She’s staring him down, not fearful, but definitely not happy.
When he takes a step forward, I don’t stop to think. I just shove through the door, banging it against the wall as I storm through in time to hear the words that make Iz blanch.
“…better watch your back.”
I clench my fists and shout at him. “Get away from her, Dante.”
He turns, eyes flashing surprise. Maybe it’s my dramatic entrance, or maybe the use of his real name. Glaring at me, he holds his hands up with palms facing out. “We’re just talking, Parker.”
I ignore him and face Izzy. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. We really were just talking.”
Dante lowers his hands but doesn’t make a grab for the gun strapped to his ankle. I’m unarmed, but Izzy’s block of kitchen knives sits two feet away with the gleaming chef’s blade on the end. I could grab it if I had to, but I don’t get the sense that’s necessary.
I keep my eyes on Izzy. “You want me to let you get back to your conversation?” I watch her face, gauging her level of discomfort. If she’s in trouble, I’ll know.
She shakes her head slowly and turns back to him. “Dante was just leaving. Weren’t you, Dante?”
He looks at me and scowls. “Deadeye.”
I blink. “What?”
Dante clears his throat. “Your nickname in the Army. How’d you get that?”
Holy fuck. “Haven’t heard that in years.”
The fact that Dante has means he’s dug deeply into my background. He’s still staring at me, waiting for a response. There’s no reason not to share, and maybe a good reason I should.
“Military physicians learn basic Army marksmanship, but I took it a step beyond that.” Way beyond. Anytime I wasn’t with patients, I was practicing at the range. “Got pretty good with a pistol.”
Dante looks at Izzy, gauging her expression. “He mastered rifles, too. Even a Mk-19.”
“Automatic grenade launcher,” I say for Izzy’s benefit. “How the hell do you—”
“You were an expert shot.” The nod he gives is completely unreadable. “Not normal for an Army doc.”
“It is if you’re hoping to get assigned to a Ranger unit.” That was the plan, a more combat-based experience than most military physicians get.
But it was what I wanted. I stare at Dante, willing myself not to blink. “Is there a reason you know all this?”
Shrugging, Dante takes a step back. “Have a good night.”
And with that, he strolls out the door. I watch to make sure he’s really gone before I step to Izzy’s side. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I—” She stops herself and swallows. “Thank you for coming.”
“He threatened you?”
She nibbles the edge of her lip. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? He told you to watch your back.”
She winces like it stings to hear the words again. “It wasn’t a threat, exactly. I don’t think.”
I don’t know what to make of that answer, but Iz looks small and cold and my urge to pull her into my arms wipes out all my other urges for the moment. I step forward and open my arms, giving her the choice. She leans into me, burrowing her face against my chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too.” I stroke her hair, wondering what I’m missing here. If there’s something Iz wants to say to me. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
Her head moves against my chest as she nods. “Yes. What’s Deadeye?”
I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her hair. “A nickname,” I tell her. “Passing basic Army weapons training earns you a badge. Most Army docs call it good with that.”
“But not you?”
I pause, then shake my head. “You’ve gotta hit at least 23 targets out of 40 to earn the marksmanship badge. Thirty of ‘em gets you one level better—the sharpshooter badge.”
“What’s after that?”
I swallow hard, remembering the buck of the rifle. The dream of where that skill might take me. “Expert. You have to hit 36 out of 40.”
Izzy draws back to study my face. “How many did you hit?”
I hesitate. I’ve never liked to brag.
But once upon a time, I took pride in this. “Forty,” I tell her. “Every year, four years running. Guys started calling me Deadeye after that. It’s—a compliment, I guess.”
“I see.” The way she looks deep into my eyes, I think maybe she does. “This was part of your plan. A military career.”
I nod, arms still wrapped around her. Her heart thuds against my chest, and lamplight flickers in her eyes. “I planned to do a couple tours,” I admit. “To eventually be assigned to Ranger Regiment.” How fucking proud my dad would have been.
Realization flashes in Izzy’s eyes. “But you came home when your dad died.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, conscious of the lump in my throat. “I was ready to sign on for a second tour, but my mom needed me, and my sister—well, her marriage fell apart within a few months of the wedding.”
She nods as her green gaze holds mine. “So you know what it’s like to make sacrifices for family.”
“Yeah. I do.” I’m not sure why she’s dwelling on this, but it seems to matter to her. “I had a plan once. A set of goals that I worked really hard to hit.” I take a breath, trying to think of how to phrase this. “Plans change. The future you think you’re destined for—it can become something different in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, that’s tragic. But sometimes—sometimes it’s the best thing that could happen.”
Izzy watches my face. I wonder if she hears what I’m telling her. Never in a million years did I see myself falling for a Southern European duchess who’s bound to return to her home country.
But here we are and maybe—if we’re really fucking lucky—plans could change again.
“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.
Izzy takes a breath. “I think we both understand duty.”
It’s an odd thing to say, and I’m not sure how to take it. “You mean military service or family?”
“Both.”
I shake my head slowly. “Family’s about love, not duty.”
Iz gives me the tiniest of smiles and tightens her hold around my waist. “Could you do something for me?”
“Anything.” It’s a normal turn of phrase, but I swear I’d walk naked through the produce aisle if she asked. “What do you need?”
Izzy bites her lip, green eyes locking with mine. “Make me forget, Bradley.”
My brain takes an embarrassingly long time to process the request. “I just want to be clear about where the comma was in that sentence,” I say slowly. “Was that ‘make me forget Bradley,’ or ‘make me—'”
Her kiss smothers the rest of my words as Iz pulls me down so my mouth meets hers. She pushes against my chest, backing me toward her bedroom as her tongue brushes mine. I resist the urge to scoop her into my arms, recognizing another need in her. She needs to call the shots. She wants to be in charge, at least this time.
Sliding my fingers through her hair, I let her back me down the hall and through her bedroom door. She doesn’t break the kiss as her fingers fumble with the buttons on the front of my shirt. I let her undress me, aching to do the same to her. But something tells me that’s not the void she needs to fill. Not yet, anyway. I lift my arms to let her drag the shirt off my shoulders, then return my hands to the perfect curve of her waist.
“You’re so soft.”
She smiles, green eyes flashing heat. “It’s the sweater. It’s cashmere.”
I shake my head and smile. “It’s you. It’s all you, Iz.”
With a smile, she drags her hands down my bare chest. “I want you,” she says. “Not just your fingers and tongue, but all of you, buried deep inside me.”
That’s about as clear as it gets on the consent scale, but I still hesitate. “You’re sure? We don’t need to rush things if—”
“We do, actually.” The smile she gives me is full of heat, but there’s something else. Sadness, maybe? But it’s gone in a flash, and maybe I imagined it because she pushes me back on the bed and climbs on top of me, fingers tugging at my fly.
“I don’t want to wait, Bradley.” She frees my cock, dragging my jeans and boxers down my legs in one smooth motion. “Please. Make me forget.”
Her lips graze the head of my cock before I can ask what it is I’m wiping from her memory. Then my own mind goes blank because hello, Izzy’s drawing me into her mouth and sucking and teasing and Jesus Christ, I can’t take much more of this.
“Izzy.” Her name snags in my throat as I wriggle her jeans off while her mouth works magic on my dick. “Slow down if you want this to last.”
She sits up and smiles, moving to straddle me again with only a thin strip of satin between her thighs. “I need you inside me first.” Tugging off her sweater, she reaches behind her to unhook her bra and holy Christ—
“You have the most beautiful breasts.” I reach up to cup them in my hands, tracing my thumbs over her tightened areola. “Like the perfect sketch in a medical text.”
She quirks one eyebrow. “That’s—weirdly sexy.” She laughs and drags a palm down my chest. “Or maybe just weird.”
I run my hands down her sides, making her laugh as I graze something ticklish. “Let me try again,” I offer as my palms move to cup her perfect backside. “The curvature of your gluteus maximus is a perfect specimen of superlative musculature.”
“Thanks.” She laughs, then moans as she circles her hips to rub herself against me. I know enough about reproductive health to recognize we’re playing with fire here, so I grab for my jeans. “Hang on,” I breathe. “Condom.”
“Say something else.” She circles her hips again, groaning as her heat seeps through the thin satin at her center. “Talk doctor to me.”
Call me crazy, but I don’t think she wants me to describe gallbladder surgery. “Right here.” I stroke my thumb over her clit through the damp slip of satin. “Did you know you have more than eight thousand nerve endings in the clitoris? That’s more than double what the penis has.”
She shudders and tilts her head in something close to a nod. “Yes,” she breathes. “More.”
I don’t know if she means the words or the friction, so I go with both. “Only about a quarter of the clitoris is outside the body,” I murmur as I stroke hers again. “Three-fourths of it is located inside.”
Her eyes flutter open, and she smiles. “That’s where I want you. Inside me. Now.”
“I think that can be arranged.” I roll my hips, tilting her onto her back as I drag my wallet out of my back pocket. As I fumble to rip open the condom wrapper, Izzy’s clever fingers curl around me, stroking until I’m nearly mindless. “You’re more than making up for any nerve endings I might be lacking,” I choke out.
“I was raised to be a lady.” There’s an edge to the words, and I sense there’s more to them than playful flirtation. “A lady employs good taste at all times.” She licks her lips and grins. “Right now, I can still taste you on the back of my tongue. I want more.”
“That’s hot.” I roll on the prophylactic and reach for her. “I never knew I had a thing for royal-speak.”
“Just like I never knew I had a thing for doctors.”
“Plural?” I move between her thighs, grazing her slick center. “Should I notify my colleagues you’ll be wanting to make the rounds?”
Izzy groans as her eyes flutter shut. “Not if you do your job, Dr. Parker.”
The challenge is a tease, just like what she’s doing with her hips to move her slickness against me. But the competitive nature that drove me into the Army, that spurred me to finish at the top of my med school class, sparks to life at her words. I know it makes me a caveman, but damn if I don’t find myself dying to leave an impression.
I’m not douchey enough to think the phrase “ruin her for other men,” or maybe I am, because the words creep unbidden into my brain.
“Izzy.” I whisper her name as I sink into her, just an inch or two to start. “Look at me, Iz.”
Her lashes flutter open and her green eyes lock with mine. I move into her slowly, never breaking eye contact as I slide in deeper. This connection, this bone-deep sense of being one with Izzy, it’s not like anything I’ve felt before. She’s snug and warm around me, but my brain spins with other sensations.
The tickle of her hair against my wrist. The soft whimper as I draw out almost completely before sliding back in again. The scent of roses and fresh snow that fills my senses as I drive in as deep as I can get.
“Bradley.” She groans my name as her lashes start to flutter, but she doesn’t close them. She’s getting off on this eye contact, just like I am. “You feel so good.”
She draws me in, using her heels to press the backs of my thighs. With a moan, she arches up beneath me as she tilts her hips. I can feel that tight nub of nerves pressing into me, and I tip my pelvis give her the friction she’s seeking.
“Oh,” she gasps, and I know enough to keep moving like that. “Bradley, God—please.”
I feel her squeezing around me, her body quivering like she’s right on the brink of something. I know what it is, so I drive in again, dotting tiny kisses along her earlobe. “Izzy,” I murmur in her ear. “I’ve got you.”
It’s not a phrase I’ve ever used in bed, and I’m not sure what spurs me to say it now. But as I draw back and watch her face, I see the impact they’ve had. A tension I never knew she was holding falls away like a discarded shell. With a gasp, she comes apart beneath me, raking her nails down my back as she cries out.
“Yes. Oh Christ, yes.” She squeezes her eyes shut, arching up tight.
I want to keep watching her, memorizing every crease in her forehead and her soft, hungry cry. But my own pleasure chases hers, hurtling me over the edge.
“Izzy, God.” I drive into her as stars explode behind my eyes. An avalanche of feeling tumbles through my center as she spasms around me, squeezing every last ounce of pleasure from my body.
When the orgasm ebbs, I open my eyes again to look at her. The smile she gives takes my breath away.
“Hi.” She breathes the word on an exhale, cheeks flushing. “How are you?”
“Excellent.” I dot a kiss on her forehead, then another along her cheekbone. “You?”
She nods and the rosy flush in her cheeks spreads to the rest of her face. “Amazing. That was—I don’t even have words for what that was.”
Relief courses through me. I half expected her to have regrets, but there’s no trace of remorse in her eyes. “Thank you.” The words slip out before I realize it sounds like I’m thanking her for sex. Like it’s some favor she’s done through some sense of duty. “For trusting me, I mean. Thank you for letting me in.”
Tears spring to her eyes, and she blinks them back. I replay the words I’ve just said, struggling to pinpoint what I said wrong.
Iz feigns intense interest in the pillow beneath her head. “I wonder where Bree bought these,” she says. “They’re truly the most comfortable pillows I’ve ever—”
“Izzy.” I say her name gently, urging her to meet my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Her gaze shifts back to mine, and she takes a deep breath. “Nothing. Just—emotional, I guess.”
Not unheard of after sex, but I get the sense there’s more than that. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
She nods and gives me a shaky smile. “Certainly.”
I stroke a hand over her hip, doing my best to soothe her with my touch. If she doesn’t want to talk, I’ll respect that. “Just know I’m here to listen if there’s anything you want to tell me, okay? This is a judgment-free zone.”
She smiles and meets my eyes at last. “You’re dictating the rules of my bed now?”
Laughing, I trace my thumb over her hip bone. “You’d prefer a judgey bed?”
“Perhaps.” Her tone shifts to flirtation, so I move with her as I keep stroking her hip.
“Well, in that case.” I touch the seam at the edge of her pillowcase. “This feels like American Pima cotton, but I’ve always felt American Upland is far superior.”
She laughs and swats my hand away from the fabric. “It’s Egyptian Cotton, actually.”
“Of course it is.” I could have guessed, but I’m grateful to get a laugh out of her, so I keep going. “How about this headboard? Surely there’s something judgmental we can say about it.”
She traces a fingertip over the pale blonde wood. “I suppose you’re right.” Her eyes flicker with mischief that shoots straight to my groin. “Iron would be sturdier for tying up a lover.”
I go a little dizzy as I fight to keep from lunging for her. “Is that the plan?”
Her gaze skirts away as a flush pinkens her cheeks. “It’s on my fantasy list.”
“I’d very much like to hear about this list.”
She smiles and shifts her hand from the headboard to my chest, locking me in with those bright green eyes. “Having sex with a man who’s an expert on female anatomy wasn’t on there,” she says slowly. “But it should have been.”
“I’m flattered.” I dip my chin to kiss the tips of her fingers. “What else?”
“Well, there’s the fantasy where I can fly, of course,” she says. “Not in a plane, but with wings. Maybe feathered, or maybe bright, beautiful butterfly wings.”
“That’s pretty specific.” I slide my hand from her hip to the hollow in her waist. “What else?”
Her gaze shifts to the ceiling as she considers it. “I’ve always wanted to eat my body weight in cotton candy.” Laughing, she trails her fingers over my pecs. “Which would be quite the feat, considering what cotton candy weighs.”
“I would pay good money to see that.” I flip through my own mental list of fantasies, skipping quickly past the filthy ones. That’s not where we’re at in this moment. “I always wanted to be a superhero,” I admit. “Not Superman or Batman, but something unique. A niche that’s not filled yet.”
“You mean like Pig Man?” She grins. “I read that Alexander the Great used pigs for counterattacks on elephants. They’re quite fierce warriors.”
“No kidding?”
She shrugs. “Apparently, elephants are terrified of pig squeals.”
I laugh, so charmed my heart nearly bursts. “Maybe not what I had in mind for my superhero self. How about something more practical? Maybe Racial Injustice Man or something like that.”
Iz quirks an eyebrow. “Able to eradicate white supremacy in a single bound?”
“Exactly.” I tuck a curl behind her ear. “Or Medical Marvel Man—something where I can snap my fingers and instantly diagnose and cure whatever’s making someone sick.”
“Very altruistic. Much more so than the cotton candy.”
“Oh, I’ve got frivolous fantasies, too.” I roll onto my back, and Iz rolls with me, still stroking my chest. “Stuff about jumping out of airplanes or maybe holding a koala.”
“That’s smart, choosing fantasies that could really come true.” Izzy’s brow furrows. “I need more of those. Maybe riding a camel or learning to turn a cartwheel.”
“I like it.” And I swear I’m not picturing Iz turning that cartwheel in a floaty little skirt. “How about silly fantasies? I had a friend once who wanted to buy a devil costume and ride the elevator all day asking everyone who got on if they’re going down.”
Izzy laughs, dark curls tumbling over her face. “I had a friend who did something similar,” she says. “A marchioness from Illingheim. If we were out together drawing undue attention, she’d stare at someone with this evil look and say, ‘I must find a new host body. Yours looks suitable.’ It never failed to send them running.”
“I love it.” I might also love Izzy, but no way in hell is this the time to spring that on her. “My sister used to get laughs by dashing into public places and asking the first person she saw what year it was. When they answered, she’d shout, ‘It worked! The time machine worked!’ and run out whooping and pumping a fist.”
“Oh, I love that. I’d like to meet your sister.” She blinks. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m not implying this is the sort of relationship where we’re meeting each other’s families.”
“Technically, I knew your Bracelyn family before you did.” I keep my voice light, trying to clear the worry flickering in her eyes. “And you’ve already met my mom. I’d say we’re halfway to getting married already.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. A stupid joke, but one that sends her bolting upright with the sheets clutched to her breasts. “Was that my phone? I left it in the other room, but I’m expecting a call from my moth—”
“Iz, I’m sorry.” I sit up, too, dragging a hand through my hair. “It was a joke. A dumb one, I’ll admit that.” I put a hand on her arm and feel she’s trembling. “I know we’re not getting married, okay? You’ve made it clear you’re not here long-term.”
Maybe my heart hasn’t gotten the message, but the rest of me has. I know this thing between Iz and me can’t go anywhere, and I accept that.
I’m trying to accept it.
She bites her lip and holds my gaze. “I care about you a lot, Bradley. So much.”
“And I care about you.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Our time together—it’s been amazing. And this, what happened between us just now—” Color floods her face again, but she doesn’t drop eye contact. “It’s amazing. You’re amazing. But my time here is ending soon, and I don’t want it to hurt too much.”
“It’s okay, Izzy.” I cover her hand with mine, not sure if she means her or me. Which of us is more likely to get hurt? “I understand you can’t stay. I’m happy with the limited time I’ll have with you.”
It’s not a lie, but also not the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway.
“Good,” Izzy says softly. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“We are.”
We’re not. Because if we were, my heart wouldn’t tick up to tachycardic rhythms, rattling my ribs as Iz pulls me in for a slow kiss. My head wouldn’t swim as my whole body moves toward her like we’re drawn by magnets.
It’s then that I know for sure a finite time with Izzy isn’t enough.
It could never be enough.