Sweet Distraction ✔︎

[14] 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒕

He woke to everything Isabelle. Her sandalwood scent, her long hair sliding on his chest, her breasts pressed against his side. A loose, comfortable sensation streamed through him, a feeling of rightness as unnerving as it was welcome.

For a few minutes he lay there absorbing the feel of her before climbing out of bed. He pulled on his shorts and went into the living room. He opened all the curtains to let in the view of the sun-drenched valley.

He checked his phone, ignoring a message from Josh. Tomorrow he'd be back in the business of Candy King , but until then he intended to focus on Isabelle.

Room service attendants arrived, pushing a cart laden with croissants, muffins, and fruit. Evan poured a cup of coffee and returned to the bedroom where Isabelle still slept.

He rested his hand on her hair, brushing the dark strands away from her face. A fierce, tender possessiveness rose in him. He tried to suppress the feeling. He was careful to keep his emotions guarded and cautious with women, but if he let her, Isabelle could breach his guard. She might be the only woman in the world who could.

She shifted. Her thick eyelashes fluttered open.

"Oh, hi," she murmured huskily, pushing to one elbow. The sheet slipped down to reveal her naked breasts, the sight of them sending a jolt of heat straight to Evan's dick.

He held out the coffee. "Morning."

Isabelle took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes on a groan of bliss. "Oh my God. What is this?"

"French Roast, I think. Some exclusive blend." He ran his hand over her warm, smooth shoulder to her hip.

Isabelle scooted to sit up and lean against the headboard, unselfconscious in her gorgeous nudity. It was like finally surrendering to their attraction had unlocked something in her, as if she could now revel in the freedom to indulge in the time they had together.

He stroked his hand through her hair, watching the thick strands slide through his fingers.

"Cafuné," he said.

"Is that the brand of this coffee?" She took another sip.

"It's a Brazilian verb. It means to run your fingers through a lover's hair."

"Really?" Her mouth curved with a smile. "That's lovely."

"So are you." He brushed his lips across hers. "Now I'm going to walk out of here before I climb back into bed and do things to your body that have no words in any language."

"Promises, promises." Isabelle winked at him as she set her cup down and climbed out of bed, sauntering to the bathroom.

Before he followed the hypnotic sway of her ass, Evan returned to his own room to shower and dress. When he came out again, Isabelle was eating at the table, picking apart a croissant with her fingers and popping strawberries into her mouth. Her green tank top revealed her smooth, tanned shoulders and arms, and her ponytail draped down her back. She was so damned sensual-everything she did, from taking photographs to sipping coffee, set his blood on fire.

She glanced at him as he stopped beside the table. "You're spoiling me with all this food."

He liked spoiling her. He wanted to do it more, partly because of her and partly because she didn't seem to expect it. Most women, knowing his family business and wealth, had a set of expectations that he'd become accustomed to fulfilling. Not Isabelle. Her unaffected nature intensified his desire.