The Hook Read online

  Izzie sank deeper into the kiss and he couldn’t move—couldn’t release her hips, couldn’t tear away from her mouth. God, her mouth. Lusciously warm. Irresistibly willing. Impossibly familiar. He felt as though he’d already fucked her…already had her mouth wrapped around his cock and crying out his name as he filled her pussy. When was the last time he’d been this hard?

  Damn it. Why couldn’t she be a stranger, or a standard gold-digging whore? Hell, hooked around him as she was now, she wasn’t even the woman who’d called herself his stepmother.

  She was, in some twisted way, paradise. A perfect fit. She licked him just right, yanked his hair so greedily that he wanted to strip her naked and return the favor. She tasted of whiskey and heat, her scent so crisp and clean it was fucking erotic.

  She sighed, the sound heavy with frustration and confusion, as though she were searching for something and wasn’t sure she’d like what she found.

  Because she was in this as deeply as he.

  And he was abso-freakin’-lutely fascinated.

  Izzie retreated from their kiss. But they remained tangled together in each other’s arms. “I can’t stand you.”

  So the old Izzie, the one who attacks when she feels cornered, resurfaces.

  He was thrown off-kilter with the new Izzie and didn’t know how to handle her. He didn’t know if he could handle her. “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah. Good that you could take your tongue out of my mouth long enough to say it. Now we can both think.” His senses were slowly coming home to him. This kiss, this closeness, was a bad idea. “You hate me. Say it.”

  Another half frustrated, half confused moan fled her sweet, swollen lips. The tea lights’ flames winked around them, but the regret in her pale blue eyes was too bright to mistake. “Why?”

  “Say you hate me and I can justify letting you go. Say the word that’ll stop me from fucking you right here, that’ll stop me from making you moan so goddamn loud that everyone inside that house will come out here to watch what I do to you. Unless that’s what you want. Is it?” He pushed her dress up over her ass, pressing against her with a roughness that he knew brought her pleasure and pain. “Want me to rip off your pretty little dress and fuck the life out of you right in front of your party?”

  “No.”

  “Then say the fucking word, Izzie.”

  “What about dislike?”

  “That’s damn near a compliment. Why can’t you say the word that’ll end this?”

  “Loathe,” she said, as if he hadn’t confronted her with a simple question. “Or detest. Yeah, detest. Go with that.”

  “Hate. Why won’t you say it?”

  “I never hated you.”

  A first-class lie. But lies came delicately easy to this woman, and after reading her history, it wasn’t hard to figure out why she had to take measured steps to get used to telling the truth. “Your legs are spread and your taste’s in my mouth, but let’s remember the facts.” He said it for his own sake as much as hers. “Marriage? A straight shot to Dad’s money? A reality TV show? C’mon…did you think I’d let that happen?”

  “Luca ended things.”

  “Saving me the effort.” Even if his father hadn’t strung Izzie along—keeping her in the Tarantino mansion while he wagered what he didn’t spend on high-caliber call girls—only to ultimately drop her, Milo would’ve crushed their wedding bells.

  Izzie had chased a prenup-free marriage, had plotted to become an instant celebrity as she exploited the Las Vegas Villains with a reality TV program.

  And while Milo was busy protecting his father from yet another fame-hungry bitch, Luca was making dirty deals, selling the team, and ushering them both into separate chambers of hell.

  “I got in your way. I blocked. I pushed.” Finally, he eased them into stillness, and no longer moving he simply cradled her. “I wasn’t going to let up until you were out of Dad’s life. You hated me for that.”

  “It’s safe to drop that mission now, Milo. I am out of Luca’s life. He hasn’t phoned or emailed or sent a message by pigeon.” Izzie uncurled her fingers from his hair, and he stupidly began to miss the needy force of her tugging. “And okay, I’m not going to deny it—I did hate you.”

  “You don’t now? What changed?”

  “The truth, as I saw it. And I changed. I’m not going to let myself feel anything for a Tarantino—even hate.”

  Another lie threaded into her words. She might not hate—or loathe or detest—him, but the tremble of her thighs whispered all kinds of secrets.

  Seeking what she wouldn’t admit, he slowly brought one hand forward, curving his fingers when they met the softness of her ass.

  Stop me, Izzie, because I can’t stop myself.

  But she didn’t.

  A bit of determined maneuvering, and he raked his index finger up and down the crotch of her thong. “I’m going to bury my tongue in your cunt. I’m going to lick the come out of your body and when I’m through with your pussy, I’m going to own your ass with my mouth and my dick. Just so we’re clear.”

  “Tarantino, you’re playing with me.”

  Drawing out her wetness, feeling it soak the fabric of the thong, he said, “Playing’s fun, Phillips. When you’re winning, I mean.”

  “Who says you’re winning?”

  “You.”

  She began to shake her head, but another deliberate brush of his knuckle to her clit had her blurting, “Okay. Damn it, okay. Just—”

  “What? Just what?”

  “Hating you would be less complicated than this.” Her face was so serious, her eyes so troubled. “Just touch me. Would you do that, Milo? I want to know what it’s like.”

  “You’ve been touched before.”

  “I’ve never asked. I’ve never had to ask.”

  “Don’t say you feel nothing, because I know it’s a lie,” he said, moving aside damp fabric to stroke into her. “You’re wet. Swollen. I wouldn’t call that feeling nothing.”

  Izzie swallowed, and he didn’t doubt she was silencing a pleasured sound he’d earned the right to hear. “Don’t. This isn’t okay. It’s crazy.”

  “Fuck crazy.” He withdrew only to push two fingers inside her deep.

  “We have to stop. Milo, please—”

  “Aw, you don’t have to beg.” He added a third finger and her tunnel was so tight around him that he thought she might break like glass if he tried another. “Mmm, listen to your pussy begging me to fuck it right.”

  “But we shouldn’t—”

  “Your cunt’s capable of telling me what it wants.” The wet sounds of his fingers knifing in and out almost unraveled him. “Shh, Izzie. Listen to your pussy take it.”

  Her stubborn lips continued to move, to shape words he didn’t hear. Her voice didn’t penetrate, only her body’s slick acceptance of him. Deeper. Harsher. Faster.

  And then, fuck yes, her body broke around him. He groaned as her orgasm quaked her entire body. She cried out as her pussy grasped his fingers. Her come coated his hand.

  “That orgasm,” he said, “that’s for me. That’s mine. You’re mine.”

  “I can’t be,” she whispered through shudders and moans.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Of me?”

  “Yes. And of me. And emotions. And real feelings. I can’t spare them, because if I do and you hurt me…” She closed her eyes as he played with her clit, coaxing her arousal to stir again. After his hand fucked her once more, proved his point once more, he unpinned her from the pillar and watched her struggle to stand on her own.

  “Maybe I should just put you on your back,” he suggested, grinning as he savored the taste of her on his fingers.

  “Asshole, you’re laughing at me?”

  “Still waiting for an answer.”

  “I’m going to the garden.”

  “We need to talk.”

>   “About Luca,” she allowed. “Not about that kiss. Not about the trouble this—” she thumped her silver lock necklace “—caused tonight.”

  “And your party?”

  Pulling her dress down to cover her magnificent ass, she scoffed. “We’re all adults, capable of being left to our own devices.” She waved a hand skyward. “A storm’s coming. Nothing to freak about, but if I was a gambler I’d place a bet on my guests clearing out before the rain starts.”

  “Think I’m going to follow their lead?”

  “It’d be smart if you did.”

  “And forfeit my reward for unlocking you?”

  “Isn’t a kiss enough?” She started to strut to the east end of the veranda. “Come on—really. We weren’t going to take this past flirting.”

  She didn’t know how damn wrong she was. And she’d saved them both by stopping their kiss when she had.

  Izzie went from strut to speed walking, and he didn’t get in her way this time. Now that he knew her dark hair and tempting shape, knew her delicate scent, knew that she was caught off guard, catching her again would be easy.

  He’d kind of liked playing with her.

  As the door swung open, noise flooded the veranda and people trickled outside. A man frowning at his smartphone paced back and forth before a woman summoned him to where she rested against a pillar.

  That damn pillar.

  Seeing Izzie Phillips wedged up against the wide column with her blue eyes fixed on him, Milo cursed cruelly and started walking.

  He didn’t seek her right away. First he had to remember that he was a near-forty man whose life had been express-mailed to an inferno and for Izzie sex was a bargaining chip.

  As far as he, his brother, and the mansion’s cast of household staff knew, Izzie had refused to let Luca fuck her. She’d accept his ring, live in his house, and dress herself in the revealing clothes the man preferred she wear, but there’d be no sex before the wedding night.

  With each other or anyone else.

  Milo had tuned out the household staff’s jokes about blue balls and worn out right hand and suggestions that Luca cheat on Izzie rather than marry her for a five-minute consummation. Even through the red haze of his own pain, he could recognize their engagement as a business transaction that’d end as Luca’s second and third marriages had—in expensive, intrusive courtroom proceedings.

  And sometimes he had his doubts about Luca and Izzie’s sexless engagement. Something didn’t ring true about Luca satisfying Izzie’s extravagant tastes without compensation.

  Milo didn’t want to care—regretted that he did. He needed it to feel depraved, perverse. Instead it felt right.

  Striding through the night, he heard sand-sprinkled grass crinkle under his shoes and he could sense the threat of rain. Villa Soleil’s garden was a stamp of land crowded with tropical trees, plants, bushes, and bursts of flowers he couldn’t begin to identify.

  Izzie, who’d built a topiarist hobby from her admiration for horticulture and freakish flair for cutting things, seemed at fragile peace in this garden.

  Her skin glimmered golden in the gentle landscape lamps that lit his path to the fountain where she sat on the edge, her fingers dancing through a slender stream of water. “Ever visited the Bellagio’s botanical gardens?”

  “Probably.” He’d lived in Las Vegas his entire life, maintaining an off-season condo that he’d shared with his girlfriend. The Bellagio was a popular spot for business meals, and Tabitha had dragged him there often enough for various celebrations.

  “Well, if you can’t picture the Bellagio’s gardens, my comparison will mean nothing.”

  “Compare anyway. I might surprise you.”

  “Surprise me again, you mean. Crashing my party, kissing me on the veranda—surprises.” She cleared her throat. “The Bellagio’s conservatory and the gardens are incredible. At Christmastime it’s all surreal. This garden’s not perfect—it’s not arranged very strategically, which is a shame, because these orchids should be showcased—but Cora Island’s not manicured. It’s more of a jungle. Rugged. Sort of how I imagine the Garden of Eden.” She shook droplets of water from her fingertips, shrugged. “Even this gorgeous garden, which was obvs designed more for privacy than out of consideration for these poor incense trees’ prosperity, is—”

  “Wild.”

  A gasp of laughter rang throughout the garden. Nodding, she said, “Wild, yes. Exactly what I was going to say.”

  “We shared the same thought?”

  “Weirder things have happened. It can be our secret. What we did earlier, getting carried away with locks and keys, can be a secret, too.”

  Keeping secrets with this woman sounded like trouble, but he craved it anyway.

  “I had this idea that what happened on this island would stay here,” she said. “But I don’t care left or right if anyone finds out about the kiss.”

  “You didn’t ask if I’m with somebody.”

  “Because I already know you’d never damage a relationship that way.”

  Tabitha had killed the version of Milo who’d bought into the relationship hype—and he should thank her for that. Not that he’d ever be okay with his girlfriend sabotaging their future together the minute she realized surgery and rehab wouldn’t be enough to get him back onto the field. But in the time since he’d read her SORRY, I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE text message in the recovery room, smashed his phone, and been restrained and doped up with sedatives to control his violence, he’d gotten used to complacency.

  Kissing Izzie had shocked his system.

  “Are you free?” he asked.

  “Indefinitely. Being single suits me.”

  “The fucker with the piercings. Who’s he?”

  “A stranger. I wanted time with him.” She watched him intently now. “Maybe I’ll get it, after the storm comes and goes and after you leave this island.”

  Milo didn’t intend to leave Cora Island without Izzie. Except telling her that would put them at odds—and him behind the damn eight ball. “Your guests are starting to clear out. Wanna get back in there?”

  Izzie frowned at him. “What, that’s it? I say I might spend time with someone else, and you have no reaction?”

  “What reaction do you want?”

  “Anything but this goddamn indifference. You kissed me. You were inside me.”

  “And you said you’re scared.”

  “I am. I’m afraid of what tomorrow will look like if we take things too far.” She quit toying with the water and her damp fingers were on his wrist, urging him close. “But passing up what could happen tonight? That terrifies me.”

  Izzie’s fingers moved to his abdomen, lower to drag down his zipper. Part of him considered backing away, but he wanted her to know why he couldn’t give her what she wanted from a man.

  After a few moments of stroking him, she put her hands in her lap. “What’s going on?”

  Swearing, Milo zipped his pants. “It’s not clear to you?”

  “That you don’t want me? Yeah, I can see that.”

  “Izzie, you know my father offered a bounty that killed my career.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “But you seem to be in great shape now, so…?”

  Milo had made rehabilitation an obsession, the effects of his damaged spinal cord something to conquer. A thirty-eight-year-old plagued with insomnia, weak erections, and random muscle spasms. He would’ve written himself off as a lost cause, except for the fact that somehow in the wake of hell he’d reset his body’s limits to achieve strength and muscle tone that were far superior to what they’d been during his fourteen years as a tight end.

  A few more active seasons should’ve been guaranteed. A first-round draft pick, he’d from the start considered victories as vital as oxygen. He’d deserved a chance to experience the twilight of his NFL career. Instead it’d been severed with an illegal hit that had crushed a spinal disc and could’ve paralyzed or killed him.


  Lucky S.O.B., his former teammates called him. To them, erectile dysfunction was the lesser of the evils when stacked against what he could’ve endured. Past a year post-injury, he was strong—as healed as he’d ever be—but he wasn’t whole. “Spinal damage,” he said. “Pulverized disc. Nicked cord.”

  “Does your back hurt?” she pressed. Those narrowed eyes suddenly popped open wide, searched his frantically. “Wait. Can you get an erection?”

  “I can’t sustain it without focus. There are times when I can’t get it up at all.”

  “What about cock rings? Drugs?”

  “Don’t always work, no matter how viciously I want to fuck. So the mistakes you might want to make tonight—they can’t be made with me.”

  Izzie brought her fingers back to the water. “Then you did come here to interrogate me about Luca.”

  “I need your help. I need you to come back to Las Vegas with me to find him.”

  “I can’t go deep into that world again. The truth is, there are times when I miss Luca’s money like crazy-cakes, but after a man hurts me the way he did, there are no do-overs. Half of me wants to leave Vegas altogether, start over fresh somewhere else…somewhere like this island where there are wild gardens.”

  “There are trees and orchids in Las Vegas.”

  “Not at my fingertips. Not anymore. I live downtown, on East Dune. My apartment building’s grounds are managed by an insecticide-happy company and a girl can expect only so much from windowsill plants and Chia Pets.”

  In less than a year she’d gone from sculpting topiaries in front of a Forbes-featured mega mansion to fussing over Chia Pets in a downtown Vegas apartment.

  Fact was, instability oughtn’t be new to her. According to the report he’d taken from Remy, her parents had pulled her out of a private elementary school following a tightly classified drug overdose incident. The barebones story was simple: prominent politician’s daughter mistakes prescription drugs for candy, overdoses at school, the school and local hospital receive prestigious awards and private donations, and the daughter’s quietly homeschooled until college. Then, she’d popped up on the radar again when she had been kicked off her Illinois congressman father’s campaign team after getting herself expelled from college and leaking proof of the United States’ “Boy Scout Politician” Senator Phillips’s affair with a staff member. She’d spent the years since scouting the country for elderly men wealthy enough to afford her pussy.