ONE

Isabella Jordan stumbled from her overstuffed chair when the doorbell trilled a third time. “I’m coming,” she growled. “If you hit that damn doorbell—“ Again, it blew through the house like a gong. What had possessed her to install the stupid thing?

Jerking the tie of her robe, she tripped over the cord to her laptop and landed on her arm and shoulder. Stars, spots and a rush of adrenaline kicked hard. If she wasn’t awake before, she was—

“No!” The roar in her head made her little world go silent as her laptop slid off the bed. She threw her arm out to catch it and winced when it crashed into the palm of her hand, but thankfully not the floor.

I should really just crawl back into bed.

The only thing she knew for sure—she needed to backup her system tonight. She didn’t even remember going to sleep last night. If she lost dozens of pages of work because she rolled over the delete key or the plug, she’d be pissed.

She flopped onto her back and rolled her shoulder. Pride was the bigger bruise thanks to ridiculously expensive carpeting. A quick flick of keys to save her work and she snapped the laptop shut on her equally plush chair.

One more gong for good measure and she flipped open the door. Her growl dissolved into a muffled squeal. She raised a hand against the streaming sun and the quick flood of pleasure at the blooms. A tuneless whistle came from somewhere in the middle of the greens and deep red rosebuds.

“Holy Hanna! Come in, come in.” If it was just roses she would have rolled her eyes, but mixed within the buds and full boom roses, nestled in flakey tufts of baby’s breath, were the most perfect white daisies she’d ever seen.

“Ma’am where would you like me to put these?”

Too distracted by the gift, she laughed. “You can put them right,” she broke off as a face finally materialized behind the bouquet of flowers. “Oh!” The base wobbled, barely made it onto her entry table when she leaped into his arms.

Jon caught her close, lifting her off the floor. “I missed you,” he said against her mouth. Talking wasn’t really an option, with their mouths smashed together. It had been a long few weeks in Australia without her. It surprised him just how much he’d missed her. They’d spent every spare moment of the holidays together until he’d gone back on tour. He was pretty sure his solitary days were over.

She couldn’t get close enough to him. It had been ages since he’d touched her. Three weeks, six days and a handful of hours, thanks. After all the non-stop laughter, sex and breakfast in bed through the last two weeks of December and into January, it sure as hell felt like forever. “I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.” She punctuated each word with a kiss.

Her spiced scent seeped into him, around him and reminded him that there was more to the damn tour. Hugging her tighter, he hooked the door closed with his foot. He filled his hands with the shimmering fall of gold curls, groaning when they wound around his fingers and wrists. Deeper, longer and more—it’s all he could think about. Striving to find the heart of Izzy there in her kiss, in the taste that haunted his nights, he tangled his tongue with hers.

He backed her into the newel post, lifting her against the banister. He climbed two steps, hoisting her ass onto the smooth wood. “I need you,” he said against her throat. The vanilla scent of her fisted inside of him until he was as hard as the damn post. He was tired, achy and didn’t even know what time it was. Trans-Atlantic flights always fucked with him for days. All that mattered was here and now. Her knees hooked around his hips, tipping her back a little until her robe fell open.

Taking full advantage, he lifted her, filling his hands with her generous ass. His Bella wasn’t a stick, she was rounded and firm. She was made to sink into—to stay. His fingers dug into the naked flesh, jerking at the robe to free more skin. It wasn’t enough to feel, he wanted to see.

With shaking fingers, she shoved at his jacket until it dropped to the stairs in a muffled thump. The wide, thick belt was next, the buckle tight to his flat belly. Her eyes slid shut for a moment as he roamed up her back. God, she missed his touch. The clink of the pin loosening kicked her grin up a notch. Too impatient to get it through the loops, she jerked the zipper down. Her heart was racing. Nothing could have stopped her from getting her hands on him. Nothing.

The tip of him bumped her wrist, the silky soft head calling to her. Instead of twining her fingers around his cock, she reached around to loosen his jeans. The pads of her fingers plowed into the muscles of his ass and squeezed until he laughed into her mouth. “Hurry.”

He yanked at the well worn, robe covering her. He buried his nose into a faded blue shirt, loose at her neck. The banister held firm as he pinned her tight. God, he loved old houses sometimes. Built to fuck. The creamy smooth curve of her shoulder glowed against the light blue shirt. He noticed the rough edges of the collar and stopped all together. “Is this mine?”

“What?” She couldn’t hear with the ringing in her ears and the lust banging around her insides like a ping-pong ball. His stormy blue eyes locked on hers.

He gathered a handful. “Mine?”

She blushed from forehead to chest. “You left it here before...” she trailed off.

He nosed his way into the collar of the shirt, smelled sleepy cinnamon and vanilla. His cock hardened even more. The bunched cotton of her robe blocked him from the release he sought. “You’ve been wearing me all day?”

The heat in his eyes swirled with pride and possession, knocking the breath right out of her. “Every night,” she said roughly.

Heat bubbled up, his fingers frantic for skin. “Off. Get it off,” he growled, pushing it all up and over her head. The idea that she wanted him close every night fed into his tired, into his need for her. It wasn’t spoken, wasn’t even hinted at in conversations between them before he left, but he didn’t want anyone else—didn’t want to lose himself in anyone else. Just her.

She fought to get her arms out of the robe sleeves and get the shirt off. It made it to the middle of her chest and his lips found her breast. He sucked hard on the heavy underside of her breast. Air met her back and she snatched at his shoulders for balance. He held on, one hand at her lower back until she arched up against his mouth, the other gripped her knee, holding her tight against him. Trust and lust grappled inside of her. Her chin fell back, willing to take whatever he gave.

Her hair tickled over his forearm, her skin as soft as water. He curled the tip of his tongue around the tight center of her nipple. The air was cool, pebbling it even harder. She shivered against his hot mouth. He drew her in, sucked hard. Her rumbling moan drove him into madness. The robe finally fell away and she was open to him.

His fingers slid around to the front of her. The curve of her hips flowed into the flat line of her lower belly. Twin cherries glinted from her belly button, leading to the darker blonde strip of hair slick with heat. “Fuck, Izzy.”

“I’m waiting rather impatiently for you to do just that,” she groaned. She hissed as he tweaked the charm at her belly button. Not quite able to hide the impish grin, she laughed. “Present from Joanie.”

He drew his knuckle down the downy soft skin, just above her center. “Not sure I want to know why Joanie is giving you cherries.”

“More like giving you cherries, Slick. She found out we were dating.” She shuddered as that knuckle dipped lower, pressing into the soft tissues so wet for him. “Fuck!” she shouted, her turn to vibrate. The thick curve of his joint sat there, teasing her.

“So she bought them for me?”

She could hear the laughter in his voice. “To know her is to love her,” she hissed as he buried the knuckle just a little bit deeper. “Jon!” she gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulder. This is what she missed. This—heat, for lack of a better word, as soon as he touched her, it took control of her.

Whether it was words or skin, there was never any lack of heat. “For the love of…” she trailed off, straightening up until she could curl her fingers into his hair. She was going to scream out her first orgasm before she could drag him up the damn stairs. Their mouths fused even as she pushed at his jeans. Her fingernails scraped through the rough hair that followed the dangerous dip of muscle until she reached the base of his cock. “Now,” she drew him out.

He hissed. Her cool hands, the blinding need for her, the aching tired that dragged at him, all of it wound him so tight he couldn’t think. “Wait.”

Her dark eyes were near black with wanting him. He could see it, feel it soak into him. Direct, impassioned, her voice brooked no argument. “No waiting. Inside me—Now!”

As if her orders pushed his hips forward, he buried himself inside her. Finesse was lost in the deluge of emotions that tangled inside of him. Pleased to find her slick and ready for him, he caught her mouth in a rough kiss.

The initial shock of him, stretching her after so many weeks alone, had her clenching down tight. His fingers gripped her hips, the undeniable loss of control was awesome to behold. Always so careful, so controlled, when he let go it never ceased to surprise her and it always excited her.

She twisted her fingers into the flapping denim, his buckle and zipper dug into her thigh, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was him, so deep inside of her. Each thrust pushed her past the pain and into that release that was never far away from them. Impatient fingers moved to scour through his hair, bunching the dark waves into fists as she held on. The jackhammer beat of his hips, the matching parry of his tongue, all of it—she gloried in all of him.

She arched, his mouth fastened on her throat, onto the little spot beyond her ear. He knew the sounds to look for, holding back the maddening climb into release. Sucking hard, she felt her clasp around him, heard the keening cry of her release. Riding it, he shouted her name through the hot perfection of her body.