The Muscle Part One (4 page)

I
sabel turned over in bed
, trying to get into a position where the maximum amount of air would hit her body from the ceiling fan overhead, the little bit of breeze blowing in from the open doors. It was hot and humid, unseasonably so for this early in the year.

But she knew that wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t sleep.

It was him. Luca. Her bodyguard, babysitter, and the star of every recent fantasy.

Against her wishes, of course. Because there was nothing she wanted less than to fantasize about the man tasked with keeping her under Diego’s thumb.

And yet she did. All the time.

In the shower, in bed when she was drifting off to sleep, in her dreams, even while she painted. It was his blue eyes she saw in the cobalt paint she was working with on her new piece. His strong body she felt when she dreamed at night. His mouth she imagined on hers when he spoke.

All of which was very, very bad.

She sat up with an exasperated sigh and threw on a light sundress, then crept into the hallway. For once, it was quiet. No laughing or loud music from Diego’s room. He’d been gone a lot lately, and when he was home, he’d been especially brooding. Isabel couldn’t help wondering if something was going on with the business, but she knew better than to ask. In Diego’s mind, he was king and the business was his kingdom. Isabel was nothing more than a lowly courtesan, nanny to Sofia, figurative punching bag to Diego.

She continued to the stairs and made her way to the kitchen. After pulling a glass down from the cupboard, she opened the fridge and poured herself some iced tea. She had just shut the door to the fridge when she caught sight of the figure lurking in the shadows. She jumped, clamping a hand over her mouth before she had time to scream.

“It’s just me,” Luca said, stepping from the shadows.

“Jesus,” she said. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you follow me down here?”

He hesitated. “Not really.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“Kind of,” he admitted. “I heard you leave your room.” He shrugged. “It’s my ass if you disappear on my watch.”

“And how does that feel?” she asked bitterly. “Knowing you’re keeping me prisoner.”

“Like shit,” he said.

She took a drink of her iced tea to hide her surprise. It wasn’t the answer she was expecting. “Do you want some iced tea?” she asked him.

“Sure.”

She poured him a glass and handed it to him, watched his mouth close around the rim. A shudder ran through her body. She knew exactly how his lips would feel if she kissed him right now — cold and soft.

“If it feels like shit,” she said, “why do you do it?”

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it mussed enough that she wanted to reach out and smooth it down. He was wearing his jeans and another black T-shirt, and she knew she would be able to feel every hard edge of his body through the thin fabric of her dress if she were to press herself against him. A rush of wetness made its way between her legs, and she tried to clench her thighs together without being too obvious.

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” he finally said.

“Like what?”

He looked around, like he wanted to make sure no one was listening. “I thought I’d be watching a kid. Keeping an eye on someone who might be kidnapped.”

“They didn’t tell you it was me?” She wasn’t all that surprised. Diego liked to fuck with people’s minds. He must have gotten a good laugh out of Luca’s surprise when he realized he would be babysitting a grown woman.

“They told me it was one of Diego’s sisters. I assumed it was Sofia. I’m sorry. I should have clarified.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else.”

And I’d rather it be you.

She left the words unsaid. There was no good place for them to go. But it was true. They’d been careful around each other in the week that he’d been on the job, careful not to get too close, not to say too much. But he’d been respectful, even nice, which was more than she could say for most of the men who worked for her brother. The truth is: she liked him. Probably more than she should have.

Definitely more than she should have.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he said softly. And then, even quieter, “You could leave.”

She set her glass down too hard on the counter. “You shouldn’t say that.”

Diego might kill Luca if he overheard him talking like that, and Isabel suddenly found that she couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him.

“I’m just saying… Why do you stay?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“That sounds like a cop-out,” he said.

Her cheeks grew hot, although she didn’t know if it was from shame or anger. What did he know about the situation? About her problems? “It’s not.”

“Is it money?” he asked.

She laughed softly, shook her head. “No. It’s not money. Not a lack of it anyway.”

“Than what?”

She set her glass inside the sink. “It’s none of your business,” she said. “Think what you want.”

She felt his hand on her bare arm. It was gentle, as light as the breezes that rolled in off the Atlantic in early summer. A seed of desire burrowed into her belly.

“I’m trying to help,” he said.

She didn’t turn around. “Thank you. But there’s nothing you can do.”

She slid away from him before he could say anything else. Before she said something — did something — they would both regret.

L
uca watched
her disappear into the darkness. He’d pushed too hard, but what else was he supposed to do? She was in danger. He would bet his life on it. She had to know it, too. So why didn’t she leave? If money wasn’t a problem, why didn’t she take Sofia and go?

He didn’t understand it, but he sensed there was more to the story than he was being told. He put his glass in the sink and made his way back up the stairs. When he got there, he hesitated, his eyes on the door to Isabel’s bedroom next to his. He could imagine her, angry and upset, pacing the floor, her legs sculpted and lean under the little nightgown she’d been wearing in the kitchen. Was she wearing anything underneath it? He could imagine running his hands up her smooth thighs, lifting the fabric of the dress inch by inch while he kneeled in front of her. And then, the final revelation of the mound between her legs. It would be wet for him. Ready. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did.

His cock stirred to life, and he hurried into his room, trying to focus on something — anything — else. Anything but the lushness of Isabel’s body, her wild eyes and secretive heart, in the bedroom next to his.

Finally he went into the adjoining bathroom and turned the shower on cold. He seriously needed to get laid — and not by the boss’s sister. This was all kinds of bad news. His attraction to Isabel. The volatile atmosphere in the house. The secrets that seemed to be lurking in all its corners.

All of it.

He got in the shower and tipped his head back into the stream. The water did nothing to ease the ache in his cock, and he finally took it in his hand, closing his eyes while he thought about Isabel.

He stroked slowly at first, imagining her stretched out before him, her creamy skin against crisp white sheets. She would be naked, and he would lean over her, his cock brushing up against the inside of one soft thigh as he lowered his mouth to hers, slipped his tongue inside her pillowy lips. She would moan — he could almost hear it — and move under him, arching her hips, wanting him inside her as much as he needed to be there. His cock responded, pulsing in his hand like sinking into her was actually a possibility.

He imagined kissing his way down her body, stopping at the luscious breasts, cupping and squeezing them with one hand while he teased them with his tongue. Her nipples would be dusty pink, and he would take them in his mouth, sucking until she arched her back, pushing them further into his mouth.

He stroked himself faster as he imagined spreading her thighs, revealing the Eden of her pussy. Neither of them would be able to wait then. She would be glistening, slick with her own desire, and she would reach down, grab his cock, stroke him while she told him to fuck her. Then he would give her what she wanted — what they both wanted — hesitating at her entrance just long enough to make her beg before he sunk into her.

It was the final image that sent him over the edge, and he pumped his hand a couple more times before he came, spilling the hot semen into the cool water, the image of Isabel still fresh in his mind.

When he was done, he leaned his head against the cool tile of the shower to catch his breath. Then he pounded the flat of his palm against the wall.

Fuck.

I
sabel paced her room
, thinking about the conversation with Luca in the kitchen. He thought he knew her. Thought she was some kind of spoiled brat who stuck around because she was too scared — too weak — to try and make it off the payroll of her family’s wealth.

She hated that he thought that about her. Hated that he saw her that way. For one crazy instance, she considered telling him the truth. Imagined walking to his bedroom and telling him everything. Showing him how clueless he really was about her and the whole situation.

But she would never do that. Could never do that. Because what she would tell him, the truth he didn’t know, was infinitely worse than the lie.

She wanted to sleep. She needed to get up with Isabel, make her breakfast, get her to school. They had a cook and a housekeeper, but Isabel liked to do these things for Sofia herself. They were things their mother had done for Isabel before her death, and Sofia deserved the very same.

But her mind was racing, adrenaline flooding her body like she’d been running for her life. Then again maybe she had. She looked at the clock, It had been almost an hour since she’d left Luca in the kitchen. With any luck, he’d be asleep by now.

She walked to the door and opened it a crack, listening for the sounds of Diego or one of the guards moving around in the middle of the night. But the house was quiet, and she slipped from the room and made her way down the back staircase to the downstairs hall. She continued to the kitchen and opened the terrace doors as quietly as she could, then slipped outside.

The swimming pool lights were still on — the timer hadn’t yet shut them off — and she stood in the shadows of the palazzo and pulled the little nightgown over her head. Then she walked naked to the pool and slipped into the water as quietly as she could, sighing as the water opened its arms to her.

She immediately felt more relaxed, and she lifted her arms, let herself sink to the bottom of the deep end. She opened her eyes, taking in the blurry underwater landscape. She wondered how long she could hold her breath before she passed out. It would be so easy. No wild antics, no drama. Just a quiet drift into the next place. She would go to sleep, that’s all. Then her body would float to the top and she would would be free.

She opened her eyes and pushed herself to the surface. She could never, ever do that to Sofia. Isabel was all she had. What would happen to Sofia if she wasn’t there to protect her? Besides, Isabel didn’t want to die. She just wanted to be free.

She swam a few laps, letting the water ease the kinks in her body as she thought about her new painting, the piece she’d started working on the day Luca came to work for them. It had the same look as her other pieces, but there was something different about it, something she couldn’t yet put her finger on.

When her body started to grow weary, she swam to the shallow end and stepped out of the pool, her naked body dripping. She hadn’t thought to get a towel, and she bent to pick her dress up off the floor. She was preparing to pull it over her head when Luca stepped into the light cast from the pool.

She froze, holding the dress against her body, half covering her bare chest. She knew she should say something. Ask Luca how long he’d been there. Ask him why he was there at all (a stupid question given his job title). But she couldn’t find the words. Her gaze was locked with his, his eyes glowing through the darkness as he started to walk toward her.

H
e should have announced himself
. He’d heard Isabel’s door open, then the soft patter of her bare feet past his bedroom. He’d worried their conversation in the kitchen had prompted one of her nighttime adventures, a need to escape the confines of the house and her brother. By the time he’d thrown on a pair of jeans and stepped into the hall, she was gone, and he’d followed in the direction of her steps, hoping she wasn’t going to try and leave the house. He didn’t want to be the one to catch her. Didn’t want to be the one to bring her back to Diego.

But he didn’t want anyone else to do it either.

He’d heard the terrace doors open in the kitchen and had followed the sound, reaching the pool area just in time to watch her strip off her dress. Her body was glorious in its nakedness, her hips flaring softly in the light of the pool, waist impossibly tiny under her full breasts. He’d stepped into the shadows, torn between announcing himself and keeping quiet, wanting to drink in every inch of her while he had the chance.

He watched her walk to the deep end, bare ass swaying as her long dark hair brushed the top of it, and slip into the water. He should have been able to breathe then, but he’d been mesmerized when she sunk to the bottom, then terrified when she stayed down too long. This is why he was here, he reminded himself. To keep an eye on Isabel. To make sure she was safe. It wasn’t his fault she’d decided to strip bare ass naked when anyone could be watching.

His gut tightened at the thought. He didn’t want Robert or Hector or either of the other two guards who seemed to be on duty most of the time to see Isabel naked. They didn’t look at her with kindness. They didn’t deserve to look at her at all.

He’d been about to go in after her when she’d finally come to the surface, hair slicked back from her face, shoulders beading with water. She’d swam then. Back and forth across the pool. Slow and methodical. Like she was trying to work something out, trying to put something to rest.

He felt like an asshole, watching her like this, and something slimy crawled up his spine. His job was forcing him to play the part of the voyeur and he didn’t like it at all. Keeping an eye on a little girl while she played with her dolls was one thing. Watching Isabel swim naked when she thought she was alone was another.

But now that she was out of the house, he had no choice but to watch, make sure she didn’t try to leave. It would be worse for her if he went back to his room and she did something stupid. He would be fired, and he hated to think about what Diego would do to her then.

He tried to keep his desire in check while he watched her swim the length of the pool, her naked body glowing in the soft blue lights.

But then she’d stepped out of the water.

He’d had a moment’s indecision. He could turn and leave, allow her privacy to dress. But she might still decide to leave the house, to do something foolish.

He’d watched as she walked toward her discarded dress, bending over to pick it up, giving him a perfect view of her long legs, her soft round ass, a glimpse of the beautiful pussy between her legs. He imagined stepping behind her, turning her head so he could kiss her before he grabbed hold of her hips and entered her from behind. His cock lurched inside his jeans, and he’d had to stifle a groan.

Then she stood, and he knew right then that he was lost. She was so lovely, so unguarded. So unaffected by her nakedness. He knew the exact moment she spotted him, felt the air change between them, like the planet shifting on its axis.

He thought she might scream, protest, at least try to cover herself more thoroughly. Instead she looked into his eyes, her chest rising and falling so rapidly he could see it in the half-darkness. And then she dropped the dress, let her arms fall to her sides, and he knew they would both pay a terrible price for what would come next.