Rescuing Isabelle Page 2

  Angie and I stand, then police our picnic spot, making sure we leave nothing behind. As we do, my phone rings. I pull out my cellphone and glance at the screen.

  “Ugh! Will they ever stop?”

  “Your brothers?” Angie’s eyes flash with mirth. “Which one?”

  “Elder Dingleberry.” That’s what I call my oldest brother.

  He’s a decade older than me and likes to think that gives him parental privilege over my life, and my life choices.

  He was the loudest when it came to expressing concern when I first joined up with Doctors Without Borders.

  I loved that job.

  Absolutely loved it.

  My first nine-month contract found me in the Caribbean where I worked with my team to stamp out parasitic infection, provide live-saving immunizations, and dole out anti-malarials and antibiotics like they were going out of style.

  Talk about a dream job.

  My life’s been blessed. I’ve never wanted for anything. To give something back to those less fortunate than myself is the golden goose of selfless acts.

  My second contract brought me to Nicaragua, and while the first two months were amazing, the abduction thing was less than stellar.

  Elder Dingleberry feels that proves his point about how dangerous my work with Doctors Without Borders was. He wants me close to home where he, and the other Dingleberries, can watch over me.

  I’m one of those people who believe every cloud has a silver lining. As horrific, and terrifying as that might have been, it brought Angie and me together. Before that event, we were cordial colleagues. We worked side-by-side, but never connected. Now, we’re practically inseparable.

  We’ll still be together when we’re old and gray. It’s one of those life-ships. That’s what my mother calls a lifetime friendship. Angie’s definitely my life-ship.

  Even when she’s being a pain in the ass when it comes to Booker.

  The hissing of rope running through carabiners snaps my head up in time to see the six Guardians rappelling down that sixty-foot rock face. I don’t know how they do it, but they all kick off the wall at the same time, swing out, then gently arc back inward. Their feet touch the wall one time, then they kick off and drop to the ground.

  It’s like watching water ballet. They’re so in synch with each other, it’s like they’re a living, breathing, machine working in unison.

  Since I’m currently holding my breath, I’m going to call it breathtaking, because I’m certainly amazed, impressed, overwhelmed, and a little bit tingly down there. More so when Booker looks my direction and gives one of his devastating winks.

  Dear lord, just shoot me now. Because now he knows I’ve been watching him.

  Angie clutches the ring tied around her neckless. Like me, she’s breathless and overtaken by these strange emotions.

  The ring on that necklace belongs to her late husband. On her finger, however, the diamond engagement ring Brady gave her glitters in the light.

  I envy my best friend. She found, not just one, but two soulmates to love. Whereas I’ve never dated. Never experienced young love—thank you Dingleberries.

  No man stands a chance against my brothers.

  My phone rings…again.

  “Aren’t you going to answer?” Angie looks down at my phone.

  I swipe away the incoming call with a growl forming in the back of my throat.

  “No.”

  “They’ll just keep calling.”

  Angie’s not wrong about that. After our Nicaraguan jungle adventure, we both moved to California. We share a small two bedroom townhouse while we figure out our lives.

  In this case, figure out means however long Angie’s going to make Brady wait to tie the knot for real.

  He’s always at our place, and where Brady goes, Booker follows. Those two are tight.

  All that’s to say, Angie hears my phone go off day and night. My brothers are persistent bastards.

  “You know…” she gives me a sideways glance. “If you don’t talk to them, one of them, if not all four, are going to come out here and drag you home.”

  “They’d like to think they could.” I shove the phone deep into my back pocket.

  “All I’m saying is what they’ve told me.”

  I forget my brothers text Angie as well. It’s a two pronged attack. Annoy me, and my bestie, and one of us will cave.

  “You’re not answering those texts, are you?” I narrow my eyes with suspicion.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you.” She gives me a look, almost offended, but smoothes it out with a smile. “But I will tell you the texts are getting more and more insistent.”

  “I’ll go home when I go home, and not a minute sooner.”

  “Hey, I’m on your side. Just telling you what they’re saying to me.”

  I stop and pivot. Grasping her hands, I give them a little squeeze. “And that’s what I love about you.”

  “What?”

  “That you put up with my family drama. I regret ever giving them your number. You’re a saint for putting up with them.”

  “It’s not that hard to ignore a text.”

  She gives me a look like I’m over reacting and am overly grateful, but Angie doesn’t know my brothers. They’re not ones to stop at a text.

  “Well, how about we get through the rest of the afternoon. I’ll text them when we get home.”

  “Um, Izzy…” She gives me a look. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

  “Forget about what?”

  “Brady and…”

  “Oh shit.” I cover my mouth. “I did.”

  It’s Friday night, which means Brady and Booker are coming over for dinner. Since Angie can’t cook worth a damn, I volunteered to whip up one of my amazing dishes.

  “But that’s perfect.” My step lightens. “I can talk while I’m cooking. It’s a natural kicking them off the phone stopping point.”

  “Okay, but please no drama with Booker tonight. Will you promise to behave?”

  “I always behave.” With a shake of my head, I skip a step or two ahead of her. “He’s the one who’s always putting his foot in his mouth.”

  “Great…” Angie rolls her eyes. She almost looks disappointed, but she loves me. “You’re not going to behave.”

  “I will if he does.”

  “Just shoot me now.”

  There it is. Angie’s eyes do a double flip and triple twist with that eye roll.

  “What do you care? The moment the food’s done, you and Brady are going to get all lovey-dovey, leaving Booker and me to…”

  “You could get cozy with him.”

  “Not happening.”

  “I’m telling you. The two of you make a nice couple.”

  “I don’t want nice.” Nope. That’s not what I want at all.

  And I’m not wrong about Booker. He’s over the top, moving from tolerable to unbearable Alpha asshole in a split second.

  Unfortunately, he’s exactly the kind of man I’m attracted to.

  Two

  Booker

  “You ready yet?” Brady calls out from inside his gear locker.

  Each Guardian team has their own space within the building we claim as our own. Four teams, with four bullpens, and a gear locker for each man. This all surrounds a briefing room where we plan and debrief all our missions; both active and training.

  “Almost.” I turn off the shower and shake the water from my hair.

  All the sweat, grit, and grime is gone from our training exercise, leaving me smelling my best for another night with the most infuriating woman in the world.

  I should’ve gone out with the guys.

  Rafe, Zeb, Alec, and Hayes showered, changed into civies, and left Brady and myself behind. They’re hitting the bars, while I hang with Brady, his fiancée Angie, and Isabelle LaCroix; aka the most infuriating woman in the world.

  I hang with Brady because he’s going to see Angie. Nine times out of ten, Izzy is with Angie, and since I want Izzy, I’m there too.

  “I should’ve gone with them.” The wet tile draws my eyes. My toes wriggle in the water while my chin lifts.

  But I can’t see my reflection in the mirrors.

  Steam fills the room, forming a dense fog. Moisture coats the mirrors, not that I need them. I’m well aware of how I look.

  Which is why my frustration with Izzy grows with each passing day.

  She’s not getting the hint.

  Or, she’s messing with me.

  I’ll have to resort to hitting her over the head to knock some sense into the woman if she doesn’t get it soon. Not that I ever would—hit a woman—but I’ve never had to work this hard to get a woman.

  My balls are getting bluer by the day.

  “I seem to remember telling you to go with them.” Brady rattles the wire fence of his personal locker, stowing his weapons and gear until tomorrow. “Maybe then you’d get laid and stop being a bitch.”

  “Asshole.” My teeth clench with irritation, but Brady’s right.

  As for getting laid, I’m in a major dry spell, and it’s all because of Izzy.

  Since the moment I laid eyes on her, I haven’t wanted any other woman. It’s been just me, my hand, and an endless wealth of dirty fantasies about the raven-headed vixen with cornflower blue eyes.

  “I didn’t want to leave you alone with Angie and Izzy.” I act like I’m doing him a favor, which is total bullshit.

  Since Brady doesn’t take shit from anyone, he calls me out

  “You don’t think I can’t handle the two of them alone?” Brady snickers. The scarring on his face turns that grin into a bit of a sneer. “Are you forgetting the day and a half I spent alone with them in Nicaragua?”

  I’m well aware of the day and a half he spent w
ith Izzy.

  “That doesn’t count.” There’s a possessive rumble in the back of my throat I tamp down before Brady calls me out about it.

  “And why is that?”

  “That was work and this is—”

  “Play?” There’s that tone again. “Maybe Iz isn’t into you?”

  “She is.”

  Or will be.

  I just need to lay on the charm and convince her that she’s mine.

  “You should go out with the guys. I’m sure they haven’t gotten far. Call a car and have it drop your ass off at whatever bar they’re terrorizing for the night.”

  “Not interested in drinking.”

  “Right, I forgot. Your body is your temple.” There’s that low chuckle again. “And I’m not talking about drinking. You need to get laid.”

  “Just because I watch what I put in my body, doesn’t mean…”

  “Relax, dude. Geez. You’re grouchy as fuck.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too, and speaking of…make a move on Izzy already. I’m tired of watching the two of you prowl around each other.”

  “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not her number one fan.”

  “Only because you’re a dick to her.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “You’re full of unwanted insight tonight.”

  “That woman’s got you twisted around her pinky finger and you’re too blind to notice. You’re playing right into her hand.”

  “I’m not twisted around her finger.” My ego takes extreme offense to that comment, but I say nothing to Brady about it.

  The thing is…I keep stepping wrong with Izzy. Don’t know why that is, but she’s not interested, or impressed.

  So why are you still chasing her?

  I’m not chasing her.

  That little voice inside my head can go fuck itself. I don’t chase women. They fall at my feet. And that’s not arrogance speaking.

  It’s simple fact; backed up by a lifetime of experience.

  Women have been falling at my feet from the day my voice deepened and muscle packed on my scrawny frame.

  When I turned eighteen, and could legally work in Vegas…Well, let’s just say, I’ve never had to work for it.

  As for the gig on the Strip, someone needed to feed my four little sisters and keep a roof over their heads. That sure as shit wasn’t my deadbeat dad, or my mom who scraped by on minimum wage and crappy tips at the diner she worked at all night. That woman worked her ass off for her kids.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  It was never enough.

  “I’m not arguing with you.” Brady secures his gear locker and tugs on the lock, making sure it’s fully engaged. “You and Iz need to figure shit out, or stop breathing the same air. You don’t have to come over for dinner.”

  I want to go to dinner.

  It’s the only time I can be alone with Isabelle.

  Such a pretty name, I prefer it over the jarring Izzy she prefers, or Brady’s annoying nickname—Iz.

  Izzy hates it when I call her Isabelle.

  Absolutely hates it.

  Which is probably why I use her full name. There’s just something about getting her fired up that drives me crazy and heats my blood.

  Maybe tonight, I’ll get to…

  Naw, that girl is driving me fucking crazy and I’m not going to go all Alpha-male on her. I have a feeling that’s the surest path to a permanent DIS-invitation to dinners at her place.

  “I’m coming for dinner.”

  “I know. You can’t not show up.” Brady shakes his head. “I don’t know why you don’t just take her to bed already.”

  “She’s not that kind of girl. Have you noticed how that kind of shit totally turns her off?”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed. I’ve also noticed how that totally throws you off your game. Either step up to the plate, or move on.”

  “I’ll step up once I know she’s not going to chew me up and spit me out.” I rub at the back of my neck. “Women are supposed to be easy.”

  “What man has ever said women are easy?”

  “Me.” I give him a look. “I’ve never had a problem getting a woman in my bed before. Not like this.”

  “That’s because you don’t want Izzy in your bed.”

  “Sure as shit I do.” I give him another look, like he’s a crazy man.

  “Not saying you don’t want that with Iz, but for the first time in your life, you want her standing beside you, too.” Brady crosses his arms over his chest and gives me the look. “That’s why you’re off your game. The girl stumped you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know I’m right.” He shrugs. “Which is why you’re struggling.”

  He knows what’s going on in my head better than I do, and he’s right about all of it.

  I’m tired of fucking for the sake of fucking.

  It bores me.

  Not that I’d refuse.

  But seeing how Brady and Angie look at each other, the way they watch out for the other, makes me want something like that too.

  Hate to say it, but I’m ready to settle down.

  I’ve sown enough wild oats to feed an army. It’s time to plant roots and look to the future. At thirty-one, I’m ready for the next step.

  “Hurry up and get dressed.” Brady shakes his head, laughing at me under his breath. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest while I tug on street clothes.

  “Dinner’s at their place tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why? We have the better view.”

  “Dunno. Angie said Izzy wanted to cook and the kitchen at my place isn’t up to snuff.”

  Izzy’s a great cook. Fabulous comes to mind. If she’s cooking, that’s one boat I’m not rocking.

  “Dinner at the girl’s place it is then.”

  “If you’d ever get dressed.” He gives me a look that says shut up and hurry up.

  I get it. He’s eager to get home to Angie.

  As for me, I’ve got the entire evening open. Kitchen issues aside, I kind of wish we were going to our place. Brady and I bought a duplex several years back. He lives in one half and I live in the other. It was the only way we could afford the million dollar view that came with the duplex.

  Izzy and Angie live in a complex of luxury townhomes. They’re a skip and a jump from where Brady and I claim dual bachelor pads.

  But there’s no view of the ocean. No romantic sunsets to woo a girl into my bed.

  While our townhomes are separate, they do share a common wall and are mirror images of each other. When we built the decking out back, however, we opted to take full advantage of the space we shared.

  The deck goes from one side of the duplex all the way to the other. It’s massive and shows off my woodworking skills with multiple levels and intricate carvings. The deck is perfect for outdoor grilling, with a state-of-the-art smoker and grill combo. But we’re headed to the girl’s condo instead.

  Which puts me on enemy soil. Not that Izzy’s my enemy, but she is my adversary for now.

  I change clothes and head out with Brady. After a short drive down PCH we pull into their gated townhome complex.

  “Behave.” Brady shoots a warning volley as we exit the vehicle.

  “Always.” I say it with a snicker, knowing that’ll be impossible.

  Whenever Izzy and I are together, sparks fly.

  Three

  Booker

  “Hey Booker, you clean up pretty nice.” Angie opens the door and smiles, then she practically throws herself at me.

  The woman is a hugger.

  I return the hug, holding her close, then release her so she can climb Brady’s body and smother him in kisses.

  While the love birds kiss and grope, I head inside gritting my teeth and make a promise to myself to behave. The moment Izzy comes into view, however, my heart takes off like it’s at the goddamn races.

  She’s done something new to her hair, curled it or something. The loose, full-bodied curls bounce around her shoulders and coil like springs down her back, where the tips brush against the rise of her ass.

  Nearly a foot shorter than me, the top of her head comes up to my shoulders, but she doesn’t let her size stop her. The woman is intelligent and driven.

  And gorgeous.

  With her back to me, I take a moment to admire her from behind. She’s petite. Narrow shoulders curve down to a tiny waist, then flare out again over hips I wouldn’t mind grabbing for more vigorous activities. Her ass is tight and toned like her legs, all perfectly proportioned on a body created to delight and amaze.