Page 29 of High-Priority Asset

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...