Page 71 of High-Priority Asset

Her heart wanted him, and her brain longed for an escape, but her body needed a release. “Dutch,” she said, her voice hoarse and low, “make love to me. Help me forget every horrible thing that’s happened for a little while.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I don’t want you to regret this later.”

“I’d only regret it if the way you say you feel about me is a lie.”

“It’s not. I swear. But your emotions are running high. This might be a bad idea.”

“I’m an adult. I know what’s best for me, what I need, what I want.” Tugging his hand, she urged him up from the floor.

No resistance given, he slipped into the bed. “If you change your mind at any time and want me to stop, I will. No matter how difficult that might be. Just say the word.”

This was why she trusted him in that moment, sought refuge and comfort in his arms. Even though he was strong and powerful, to the point of imposing in a scary way, and could be violent when necessary, she was safe with him, wasn’t afraid of him.

There was no doubt in her mind that if she asked him to stop, he would. Every woman deserved that kind of sound assurance from the person they were with, but this was the first time she had it.

“I can just hold you if you want,” he said, offering her another out, and it was another first.

She cupped the back of his head and brought his mouth to hers. In an instant, he covered her with his body, the contact lighting up her nerve endings.

Raising her hips to meet his, she telegraphed her urgency. He looked into her eyes, and she saw passion and heat and a similar plea for connection, for communion, that they were both powerless to deny.

Her whole body screamed for friction, for the need to have their bodies joined, for a release that could only be found in his arms.

He removed the little remaining physical barriers between them. There was heat and need in his gaze. He ran his hands over her body and moaned as if he’d been longing for this, too. Her nipples peaked and tightened beneath his tongue, and she was amazed by how quickly her body responded to him, growing soft and pliant and wet.

Moving his hand down to the welcoming spot between her legs, he slid his fingers between her folds. He watched her face, reading her responses for what she liked and didn’t. His thumb circled her tight bundle of nerves and she gasped with pleasure.

He kissed his way down her body, diving beneath the sheet, his face settling between her thighs, treating her yet again to another first.

The sensation of his tongue, his fingers and lips all converged, swelling, cresting. It was devastating in the best way possible as an orgasm tore through her. She clutched at his hair, wishing the strands were longer, the backs of her knees over his shoulders, her heels digging into his back, and screamed his name.

Once she settled, he crawled up and hugged her to him. Her breath slowly steadied, and she remembered her name.

Brushing the hair out of her face, he looked down at her. “Should we stop? Or should I grab a condom?”

An ache drilled deep into her heart. She’d never been with anyone so generous and kind. Who’d disregard their own needs for the sake of hers.

Never had she felt more connected to another. Cherished. This was what she wanted, someone who saw through the superficial and desired her despite her flaws. Someone who’d put her ahead of anything else.

If only she could get over the humiliation of being used, the betrayal that gutted her.

Hope welled inside her but didn’t scare her. Quite the opposite. In a way, it was setting her free from her past and opening the door to possibilities she’d never dared entertain before.

She caressed his cheek and kissed him, hot and needy for more. For everything he had to give. At least for tonight. “Condom.”

Chapter Nineteen

Dutch awoke the next morning with Isabel in his arms, her head nuzzled between his neck and shoulder, her breath warm on his cheek, their legs tangled.

By nightfall last night, they’d both been famished. He’d whipped up spaghetti carbonara with the ingredients he had handy in the fridge. They’d eaten, made love again and went back to sleep.

Without a doubt, he knew in his heart he wanted to make her happy, give her everything she needed and asked of him and more. She deserved that and nothing less. It was staggering to realize how long he’d lived without ever knowing this feeling of rightness, completeness with another person. He never wanted to be without her again.

There were no presumptions on his part. She’d needed comfort and it didn’t have to mean anything more to her. She was entitled to stay angry, but he hoped she’d agree to the trip he’d promised and then they could take it from there. No pressure. No stress. Give her time to sort through everything, and when she was ready, figure out her feelings for him. He’d be patient and wait, no matter how long it took.

First, he needed to keep her safe and get them both through the next couple of days unscathed.

Isabel roused, stretching. “I feel like I’ve been drugged. What time is it?”