He caught her hand and held it in his bigger, harder, warmer one. “What’s the problem, Isabelle?”
Ah, Jesus. Was she really going to have to go here? A glance at his pained expression confirmed it for her. “Look, it’s no big thing. It’s just the fringe benefits issue, really. After Chuck assigned me this deal, I sort of vented to my friend Danny about Captivity’s lack of certain basic amenities I’m used to, like my morning blonde roast with almond milk from Starbucks. Danny helpfully pointed out Captivity has something…stronger on tap than caffeine.”
“Do we?”
The concern on his face remained, joined now with some doubt.
Screw it, Izzy. Just spit it out so you can both move on. “Yes, Trace, you do. Namely, testosterone.” She shot off the sofa to pace in front of the fireplace. “I’m about to spend three, maybe four weeks in a place where the ratio of men to women is three-to-one. Danny promised me I could go wild in Captivity. He even snuck that little surprise into my luggage to make sure I had the essentials covered. But now, thanks to you, I can’t go wild.”
She came to an abrupt halt in front of the low table. The recessed ceiling lights threw a blue halo off his dark, slightly disarrayed hair. “Want know why?”
“Um…” He fought the grin off his face, but she saw it and her temper flared.
She stomped one bare foot ineffectively into the thick rug. “Exactly. I just got cock-blocked by my client. It is not funny,” she added when he lost his battle with amusement. “Don’t you dare laugh.” She resumed pacing, all revved up with nowhere to go. Instead, words just kept tumbling from her mouth. “Do you know how long it’s been since I got laid?”
He had the decency to discipline his entirely too talented lips into a neutral line before replying, “I’m going to take a stab here and say a while?”
“A long while,” she muttered, and swung toward the window. “I’ve put in my time working like a dog, accepting every special project with a smile.” She shook her head at her own pathetic life. “Who can juggle three deals at once and cancel her vacation when one doesn’t close on time? Izzy, of course. Who can find the bandwidth to plan the picnic for the summer associates? Izzy. Who can co-chair the firm’s Diversity board in all her spare time? Izzy. Who hasn’t had so much as a date in over a year?” She stopped and stomped her foot again, which again didn’t make a very satisfying thump thanks to the rug. “Izzy, that’s who!”
“Izzy?”
She winced at the sound of his voice. Had she really let all that leak out of her, including the sorry truth that she hadn’t had sex in over a year? She looked over at him.
He stood, stepped around the table. “This is not a problem.”
“It is to me.” She dropped her fists from her hips and hung her head. “Five years of hard-charging toward my partnership, with just one last assignment. So, yes, I hoped for a little personal fringe benefit this time. I didn’t expect candlelight and roses. I didn’t want a grand romance. All I wanted was a bear daddy fuck buddy. Was that too much to ask?”
“Izzy?”
She stared up at him and realized he’d closed the distance between them. He notched his finger under her chin and ran his thumb over her lower lip in a way that made her want to cry.
“I don’t know what a bear daddy is, but I’ll be your fuck buddy.”
Hard as it was to say, she said it. “You can’t.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “It’s been a while for me, too, but I’m reasonably confident I can.” He brushed his thumb over her lip again. “You seemed pretty eager to sample the goods when I had this mouth under mine at the airfield.” He bent his knees a little and dropped his head to reconnect their gazes. “There’s some serious chemistry between us.”
Those blue eyes sucked her in for a second—okay, a long second—but ultimately, she snapped her eyes shut and took a decisive step back. “Be that as it may, I can’t become sexually involved with a client. It’s prohibited under California’s code of professional conduct, not to mention by my firm. Professional responsibility trumps chemistry.” With that pronouncement issued, she turned to stare out the window at the snowstorm and wrapped her arms around herself.
His low, reasonable voice flowed over her. “I’m Chuck’s client, not yours.”
It helped her ego, knowing he refused to give in without a fight. Even if it probably meant she was the only available, age-appropriate woman within a hundred-mile radius. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Sorry, no. As soon as Chuck appointed me the senior associate to spearhead this deal, you became my client for all intents and purposes.”
“Really, Captivity Air is the client.”
“You’re the CEO of Captivity Air. It’s not a valid distinction. Look, I have an itch. I can’t deny that, but I’ll just have to scratch it myself.” She sighed. “As usual.”
She watched in the glass as he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned close to her ear.
“I’d never tell.”
Those low, rumbly words sent a shiver down her spine. Sadly, they also unfurled a red flag in her brain, where it waved like a warning. He was asking for trust. Trust him with something extremely valuable to her—her career—in exchange for…fringe benefits.
And they would be thrilling benefits, she acknowledged. Everything about him worked her hormones on a primitive level. Just to torture herself, she took a quick inventory in the glass. The mass of black hair he wore on the longish side. The dark beard. Not a Moses beard—a Chris Evans beard, and who didn’t love a bearded Captain America? And then there was his size. His stature. His…ahem…stature. The memory of it burned like a brand against her stomach.
As much as it frustrated her libido to face them, certain cold, hard facts remained undeniable. Fact number one? People sometimes made promises they didn’t keep. She didn’t know much about Trace Shanahan—CEO of Captivity Air, bush pilot of sufficient skill to have avoided an untimely death by plane crash this evening, and a man not above resorting to deceit if the need arose. But if something went wrong with the deal, could she trust him not to break his promise, out of disappointment, or spite, or simple carelessness? She truly didn’t know.
All of which brought her to fact number two. Fringe benefits, no matter how thrilling, were not worth risking her career. She’d gone a year without sex. A few more weeks wouldn’t kill her. Probably.
Rather than brush him off with a bald-faced, “Sorry, I can’t,” she turned it back to him. “This is ridiculous. You don’t even like me.”
That brought his head up. Their eyes met in the glass. His brows disappeared behind the wing of dark hair across his forehead. “What makes you say that?”