One Month with the Magnate (10 page)

T
hough he wouldn't have believed it possible, Emilio was starting to think maybe his brother really had changed this time. Good to his word, he hadn't asked Emilio for a penny. Not even gas money. He'd spent no late nights out partying and, as far as Emilio could tell, had remained sober for the three days he'd been staying there. The animosity that had been a constant thread in their relationship for as many years as Emilio could remember was gradually dissolving.

When they were growing up, Estefan had always been jealous of Emilio, coveting whatever he had. The cool after-school jobs, the stellar grades and college scholarships. He just hadn't wanted the hard work that afforded Emilio those luxuries. But now it seemed that Estefan finally got it; he'd figured out what he needed to do, and he was making a valiant effort to change.

At least, Emilio hoped so.

Though things at Western Oil were still in upheaval, and
he had work he could be doing, Emilio had spent the last couple of evenings in the media room watching ESPN with his brother. He felt as if, for the first time in their lives, he and Estefan were bonding. Acting like real brothers. Besides, spending time with him was helping Emilio keep his mind off Isabelle.

Since he told her that he wanted to keep things professional, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. The way she tasted when he kissed her, the softness of her skin, the feel of her body pressed against his. She was as responsive to his touch, as hot for him now, as she had been all those years ago. And now that he knew he couldn't have her, he craved her that much more. This time it had nothing to do with revenge or retribution. He just plain wanted her, and he could tell by the way she looked at him, the loneliness and longing in her eyes, that she wanted him, too. And so, apparently, could Estefan.

“She wants you, bro,” Estefan said Tuesday evening after dinner, while they were watching a game Emilio had recorded over the weekend.

“Our relationship is professional,” he told his brother.

“Why? You could tap that, then kick her to the curb. It would be the ultimate revenge. Use her the way she used you.”

Which was exactly what Emilio had planned to do, but for some reason now, it just seemed…sleazy. Maybe he was ready to let go of the past. Maybe all this time he'd just been brooding. He wasn't the only man to ever get his heart broken. Maybe it was time he stopped making excuses, stopped attaching ulterior motives to her decision and face facts. She left him because she'd fallen in love with someone else, and it was time he stopped feeling sorry for himself and got on with his life.

“Honestly, Estefan, I think she's getting what she has
coming to her. She's widowed, broke and a month away from spending the rest of her life in prison. She's about as low as she can possibly sink, yet she's handling it with grace and dignity.”

“If I didn't know better, I might think you actually
like
her.”

That was part of the problem. Emilio wasn't sure how he felt about her. He didn't hate her, not anymore. But he couldn't see them ever being best pals. Or even close friends. As the saying went, fool me once, shame on you…

Once she was in prison, he doubted he would ever see her again. It wasn't as if he would be going to visit her, or sending care packages.

If she actually went to prison, that is. The new lead his brother had mentioned could prove her innocence. And if it did? Then what?

Then, nothing. Innocent or guilty, sexually compatible or not, there was nothing she could say or do that would make up for the past. Not for him, and not for his family. Even if he wanted to be with her, his family would never accept it. Especially his mother. And they came first, simple as that.

Estefan yawned and stretched. “I have an early start in the morning. I think I'll turn in.”

Emilio switched off the television. “Me, too.”

“By the way,” Estefan said, “I talked to my business associate today. He hit a snag and it's looking like I won't get that money until a few days after Thanksgiving. I know I said I would be out of here—”

“It's okay,” Emilio heard himself say. “You can stay a few extra days.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“Thanks, bro.”

They said good-night and Emilio walked to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of juice to take up to bed with him. By the light of the range hood he got a glass down from the cupboard and the orange juice from the fridge. He emptied the carton, but when he tried to put it in the trash under the sink, the bag was full.

He sighed. Mrs. Medina had specifically instructed Izzie to take the kitchen trash out nightly. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd forgotten on purpose, just to annoy him. If that was the case, he was annoyed.

He considered calling her out to change it, on principle, but it was after eleven and she was usually in bed by now. Instead he pulled the bag out, tied it and put a fresh one in. He carried the full bag to the trash can in the garage, noting on his way the dim sliver of light under Isabelle's door. Her lamp was on. Either she was still awake, or she'd fallen asleep with the light on again.

He dropped the bag in the can, glancing over at the Saab. Was that a
scratch
on the bumper?

He walked over to look, and on closer inspection saw that it was just something stuck to the paint. He rubbed it clean, made a mental note to tell Isabelle to take it to the car wash the next time she was out, then headed back inside. He expected to find the kitchen empty, but Isabelle was standing in front of the open refrigerator door. She was wearing a well worn plaid flannel robe and her hair was wet.

“Midnight snack?” he asked.

She let out a startled squeak and spun around, slamming the door shut. “You scared me half to death!”

He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic when his eyes were drawn to the front of her robe and whatever he'd been about to say melted somewhere into the recesses of his brain. The robe gaped open at the collar, revealing
the uppermost swell of her bare left breast. Not a huge deal normally, but in his present state of craving her, he was transfixed.

Look away,
he told himself, but his eyes felt glued. All he could think about was what it felt like to cup it in his palm, her soft whimpers as he took her in his mouth and how many years he had wondered what it would be like to make love to her.

Where was his self-control?

Isabelle followed his gaze down to the front of her robe. He expected her to pull the sides together, maybe get embarrassed.

She didn't. She lifted her eyes back to his and just stood there, daring him to make a move.

Nope, not gonna do it.

Then she completely stunned him by tugging the tie loose and letting the robe fall open. It was dark, but he could see that she wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Damn.

You are not going to touch her,
he told himself. But Isabelle clearly had other ideas. She walked over to him, took his hand and placed it on her breast.

Damn.

He could have pulled away, could have told her no. He
should
have. Unfortunately his hand seemed to develop a mind of its own. It cupped her breast, his thumb brushing back and forth over her nipple. Isabelle's eyes went dark with arousal.

She reached up and unfastened his belt.

If he was planning to stop her, now would be a good time, but as she undid the clasp on his slacks, he just stood there. She tugged the zipper down, slipped her hand inside…

He sucked in a breath as her hand closed around his
erection, and for the life of him he couldn't recall why he thought this was a bad idea. In fact, it seemed like a damned good idea, and if he was going to be totally honest with himself, it had been an inevitability.

But not here. Not with Estefan in the house. His bedroom wouldn't be a great idea, either.

“Your room,” he said, so she took his hand and led him there.

The desk lamp was on, and he half expected her to shut it off, the way she used to. Not only did she leave the light on, but the minute the door was closed, she dropped her robe. Standing there naked, in the soft light…
Damn.
He'd never seen anything so beautiful, and he'd only had to wait fifteen years.

“You have to promise me you won't stop this time,” she said, unfastening the buttons on his shirt.

Why stop? If they didn't do this now, it would just happen later. A day, or a week. But it would happen.

He took his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a condom and handed it to her. “I promise.”

Isabelle smiled and pushed his shirt off his shoulders. “You'll never know how many times I thought of you over the years.”

Did you think of me when you were with him?
He wanted to ask, but what if he didn't like the answer?

She pushed his pants and boxers down and he stepped out of them. “Do you know what I miss more than anything?” she said.

“What do you miss?”

“Lying in bed with you, under the covers, wrapped around each other, kissing and touching. Sometimes we were so close it was like we were one person. Do you remember?”

He did, and he missed it, too, more then she could
imagine. There had been a lot of women since Izzie, some who had lasted weeks, and a few who hung around for months, but he never felt that connection. He'd never developed the closeness with them that he'd felt with her.

She pulled back the covers on the bed and lay down. Emilio slipped in next to her, but when she tried to pull the covers up over them, he stopped her. “No covers this time. I want to look at you.”

She reached up to touch his face and he realized that her hands were shaking. Could she possibly be nervous? This woman who, a few minutes ago, seemed to know exactly what she wanted and wasn't the least bit afraid to go after it?

He put his hand over hers, pressing it to his cheek. “You're trembling.”

“I've just been waiting for this for a really long time.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Emilio, I have never been more sure of anything in my life.” She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down, wrapped herself around him, kissed him. It was like…coming home. Everything about her was familiar. The feel of her body, the scent of her skin, her soft, breathy whimpers as he touched her.

He felt as if he was twenty-one again, lying in his bed in his rental house on campus, with their entire lives ahead of them. He remembered exactly what to do to make her writhe in ecstasy. Slow and sweet, the way he knew she liked it. He brought her to the edge of bliss and back again, building the anticipation, until she couldn't take it anymore.

“Make love to me, Emilio.” She dug her fingers through his hair, kissed him hard. “I can't wait any longer.”

He grabbed the condom and she watched with lust-glazed eyes as he rolled it on. The second he was finished
she pulled him back down, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He centered himself over her, anticipating the blissful wet heat of that first thrust, but he was barely inside when he met with resistance. She must have been tense from the anticipation of finally making love. He couldn't deny he was a bit anxious himself. He put some weight into it and the barrier gave way. Isabelle gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders and she was
tight.
Tighter than any wife of fifteen years should be.

He eased back, looking down where their bodies were joined, stunned by what he saw. Exactly what he would have expected…if he'd just made love to a virgin.

No way.
“Isabelle?”

It was obvious by her expression that she had been hoping he wouldn't figure it out. How was this even possible?

“Don't stop,” she pleaded, pulling at his shoulders, trying to get him closer.

Hell no, he wasn't going to stop, but if he had known he could have at least been more gentle.

“I'm going to take it slow,” he told her. Which in theory was a great plan, but as she adjusted to the feel of him inside her, she relaxed. Then “slow” didn't seem to be enough for her. She began to writhe beneath him, meeting his downward slide with a thrust of her hips. He was so lost in the feel of her body, the clench of her muscles squeezing him into euphoria, that he was running on pure instinct. When she moaned and bucked against him, her body fisting around him as she climaxed, it did him in. His only clear thought as he groaned out his release was
perfect.
But as he slowly drifted back to earth, reality hit him square between the eyes.

He and Isabelle had finally made love, after all these years, and he was her first. Exactly as it was meant to be.

So why did he feel so damned…guilty?

“You know, I must have imagined what that would be like about a thousand times over the past fifteen years,” she said. “But the real thing is way better than the fantasy.”

Emilio tipped her face up to his. “Izzie, why didn't you tell me?”

She didn't have to ask what he meant. She lowered her eyes. “I was embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“You don't run across many thirty-four-year-old virgins.”

“How is this even possible? You're young and beautiful and sexy. Your husband never wanted to…?”

“Can we not talk about it?” She was closing down, shutting him out, but he wanted answers, damn it.

“I want to know how you can be married to a man for fifteen years and never have sex with him.”

She sat up and pulled the covers over her. “It's complicated.”

“I'm a reasonably intelligent man, Izzie. Try me.”

“We…we didn't have that kind of relationship.”

“What kind of relationship did you have?”

She drew her knees up and hugged them. “I really don't want to talk about this.”