Hideo shut the door behind them, flipped the locks as he swept an arm around her waist and steered her into the stunning living room. His apartment was a lushly furnished three-bedroom space with elegant wainscoting, high ceilings and large windows on one of the most expensive condominiums in Manhattan hitched to the Park Hyatt hotel. Isobel's eyes danced over the cream upholstered couch and Aubusson rug. She'd worked for a couple of years after high school as an assistant for an interior designer in Toronto who worked with rich clients and had her own reality TV show.

Isobel knew how to pick out and recognize quality, and an apartment like this would have cost well over a million dollars in décor alone. Whomever he worked for, to say they were generous was putting it mildly.

She checked her phone quickly, and smiled at Priya's text message, confirming she received all information Isobel had sent on the brief cab ride over.

Hideo flicked on a side-table lamp with a mosaic mother of pearl base, lighting the space enough so give warmth but still allowing for the private intimacy of shadows. She felt more confident in the dark, where the heat of the blush and glimmer of nerves in her eyes would go unseen. Shucking off his blazer, Hideo tossed it over the arm of the couch and reached for her. Even in her heels he was tall, but without them the top of her head brushed as far as his chin, smooth and angular, her eyes fixated on the fullness of his lips. Lips she had sampled and now craved to fully explore.

"Don't be shy. Here," he said, linking his fingers with hers, drawing her closer. "I'll go as far as you need me to. As slow as you want me to." Kissing the sensitive curve of her wrist, Hideo set her hand on his chest. Inches above his heart. She felt the steady rhythm rising to greet her in soothing, calming pulses.

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"No. No, I think you need this. And that scares you. Needing something for yourself, something...as simple and honest as basic physical connection."

Isobel breathed in slow, panting breaths, the kind that made her head hazy and light. "And you think I shouldn't be scared?"

"No. Not of this." His hands stroked up her arms. Slow. Easy. "Not of me."

With the light spilling over her shoulder, his face came in clear and honest. Hand still weighing over his heart, she held his gaze, searched it. And saw only truth. No games or pretenses. No thinly veiled lies. The beat of his heart remained steady. Strong. Consistent. Whatever her hesitations, Isobel could see he stood by every word. Every syllable. And she knew, down to the deepest corners of intuition, she could trust him.

The last vestiges of her hesitation bled into desire, was swallowed up in the rush of thrill. "Okay."

His smile broke, swift and bright with a kind of joy that transformed him beyond handsome into something truly breathtaking. His lips descended to hers and he drank in her gasp of surprise, her moan of surrender. Firm, demanding but without urgency. This was the controlled seduction of a man who preferred to sip and savour. Not gulp. She tasted scotch and something entirely him. Rich. Heady.

That hand around her neck urged her closer with the slightest application of pressure guiding her to him and with each new point of contact her body sparked to life. Like lightning striking the ground in a storm.

Dazzling. Terrifying. Powerful.

Her fingers curled in his shirt before her hands moved of their own volition, sliding over the capped muscles of his chest, around wide shoulders, squeezing over strong biceps as his mouth worked miracles. God, his mouth. His touch. Head spinning, she clung to him. And a smile crept in around the edges of his kiss as she surrendered. A nip of teeth and glide of tongue. The vibrant potency of his allure was compelling. She could kiss him, just like this, for hours. Lost in endless waves of pleasure. Masterful. Each stroke and glide left her a little more dazed and breathless. As if he wove a sensual spell with lips and tongue. A siren, calling her deeper.

And deeper she went until she drowned.

Willingly.

Easing him back and onto the couch, straddling his lap, Isobel's hands dove in his hair. Her fingers found anchor and she pushed him a little faster, a little deeper, until his own hands knotted in the fabric around her waist, dragging her harder against where desire swelled, hard and hot between them. Teeth joined lips and tongue as a shock rippled through his body. Peeling away the first layer of control to show the barest hint of primitive desire beneath. The animal within the man.

His hands scored up from hips to waist to the sensitive underside of her breasts, the heat of his palms searing through silk, fusing to skin. And that first wanton touch unravelled what remained of her barriers as those hands squeezed, kneaded—a hard brush of thumbs over taut nipples shielded behind too many hindering layers. She wanted skin. Skin and heat and nothing else.

"More," she breathed into him. Moaned. "I need more."

Strong arms stole around her, answering her demand, as his hard body levered up and out of the couch. With her weight secured against him, Hideo crossed from the couch to bedroom in a series of long strides. Her heart kicked with excitement. His body vibrated with restraint. Both of them lost to anticipation and pure, unadulterated desire.

Such was his power. And hers.

"Open your eyes," he said, shutting the bedroom door with a sweep of his foot. Isobel did as he asked, her feet planting to the floor as he set her down on weakened legs. Thank god his arms were still around her otherwise she might have slid into a puddle at his feet. Guiding her back, Hideo lowered Isobel to the edge of the bed, kissed her firmly before straightening to stand.

"Get back on the bed," he said, nodding towards the center were pillows were laid out, white against grey bedding. Doing as she was told, Isobel slid back until she felt the padded backing of the tufted headboard—distressed, dark leather studded with bronze nails.

A wicked gleam glowed in his dark brown eyes as his fingers worked over his shirt. Carefully, he peeled it off, pulling it up and off, one sleeve at a time, leaving his torso and chest bare to her appreciative gaze. His fingers dropped to his belt next, pulling the buckle open, peeling down the zipper and denim slid to the carpeted floor, leaving strong legs encased in black, fitted boxers that didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination.

As he stalked forward, his movements languid and prowling, muscles rippling, Isobel's mouth went dry as he circled around and set a knee to the edge.

"I like this," he said, brushed a finger down the side of her face. "That look you get as you watch me." Holding that same finger between them, he crooked it beckoningly. Turning her body to fall in line with his, Hideo's hands closed around her ankles, guiding her legs on either side of him and his body folded over top but left a sweltering space of needy heat between them.

"Now," he whispered, "I want to watch you." Hideo claimed her with a hot mouth, hotter hands. Isobel moaned, arching against him as her dress and whatever else she had on seemingly melted away. And every inch his hands uncovered his lips followed. Wet, searing. Breasts and belly and below where he teased and tormented her beyond reason. Beyond breath.

"Let me..." he whispered against her thigh, fingers filling and stirring deep. "Let me watch you."

Helpless, she could do nothing but as pleasure swam, took over. But underneath it, a thought sliced through, dulling the delicious tremors coiling where she so desperately needed release. Why wasn't this difficult and terrifying? Why wasn't this hard and awkward? This wasn't Kyle's body. This wasn't his mouth or his hands or even his bed. She was naked with a stranger. Making love with a stranger. A small, dark part of her screamed from the deepest corner of her heart that still yearned for what had been so recently stripped away. Rallied in resentful defiance of her newfound freedom.

In the fog of doubt, she heard the shut of a drawer, the crinkle of plastic, the glide of latex.

"Only me," he whispered hot against her mouth and slid into another drugging kiss that stripped her mind bare. Overcome, overwhelmed she clutched at him, blind to anything else but him. Those eyes. That mouth. That body, as something harder and hotter filled her, stretched her. He drank in her gasps and sighs. "That's it. Forget, Isobel. Feel. Feel me. Only me. Only us."

Mouth to mouth, they moved, hips rising and rolling. Sinuous. Lost, lost to feeling, lost to potent climb of pleasure, the wild spin. Their moans twined, their bodies moved and her hands slid over his back, gripped his hips, her thighs locking tighter. Urging for more. For all he had. For all she could take. And he answered. Teeth, lips and breath at war.

Gathering her hands, Hideo pinned them over her head and levered up, sliding deep and hard where she was overcome with the most exquisite agony. Pressure, so much delicious pressure. Rocking back, he dragged her against him, guiding her arms around his neck and her legs on either side of his hips as his mouth dipped, sucking hard and fast on her breast, tongue gliding over her nipple and his teeth. God, his teeth.

And came!—A hard peak followed by a quiver, a tremble and delicious glide. She floated back into her body with a silken sigh and opened dazed eyes to gaze into his smiling ones as he stroked harder, faster and tumbled headlong into his own release.

#

"Here," he held out a clean t-shirt he'd dragged out from a bottom drawer, himself already dressed in low slung bottoms and face damp from the sweat of effort.

Sheets hugged to her deliciously loose body, she pulled the shirt over her head and threaded her arms through the sleeves before letting the sheet fall. The shirt brushed the top of her thighs, barely covered the parts that mattered but she felt oddly comfortable and at ease in his presence and company. Padding lightly, she ventured with him, hand in hand, from the bedroom to the living room and across to the gorgeous kitchen.

Granite counters, chrome fixtures and lacquered cabinetry in ash grey.

She'd taken in small details of the space earlier, but now truly admired and appreciated the space, even if open concept had never been to her personal preference, the large, unobstructed windows truly were a thing of beauty given the sight lines he had this high up.

New York was a concrete giant and at night-time the lights flickered and glowed like stars. Captivating.

"How do you feel about an omelette?" he asked, upper half hidden behind the paneled door of a large double fridge.

"I'm vegan" she said with an apologetic sigh that she couldn't help whenever someone offered to cook.

"Cool, I've got bread," he said, without pause, "I could fix up a couple Croque-monsieur--veggie friendly for you, if you don't mind me having meat?"

"Oh, absolutely. My Da eats meat, so I don't mind being around those while their eating, it's just a personal lifestyle choice that I don't expect others to adhere to." Sidling around the fridge door, she brushed up at his side. "Need a hand?"

"Nope. Guest's don't cook." She gasped through a laugh as he plucked her up and set her down on the edge of the counter then returned with a collection of ingredients.

Provolone, Gorgonzola cheese and ham--for him, tomatoes and basil--for her. While she sliced bread, he warmed a skillet with olive oil (instead of butter) and prepped the other ingredients, layering them over the thick slices then set them to fry, flipping quickly while the outsides crusted and went deliciously golden brown.

As her teeth sank into the bread, Isobel forgot about modesty and inhaled. Everything was fresh and flavourful and she hadn't realized how hungry she'd been until that first, salivating bite. Grateful, she licked a bit of warm tomato juice dusted with crumbs from her thumb.

Then frowned down at herself. In her haste she'd dotted the white shirt with splatters of red. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry."

Hideo dumped their empty plates in the sink and returned to her, a devious smirk lighting his face. "Let me," he said, hooking his hands behind her knees and dragging her closer. "You look great in my shirt. I'm going to enjoy taking it off you."

Isobel blinked up at him as gathered the hem of the shirt in his hands and edged it higher in slow, breathless increments. "I...Again?"

"Yes. I want you again. And again." Gathering her face in one, strong hand, Hideo kissed her. His lips both firm and yielding. "Don't you?"

As the shirt flashed over her head, baring her body and breasts for his hands and mouth, warmth flashed in her belly at the wicked stroke of his tongue over her nipple. And brought with it a fresh surge of desire. Of lust. Stronger than before, because she knew just what he was capable of.

What she was capable of. And every inch of her screamed again.

#

Sleep called with the drugging allure but Isobel couldn't succumb. There in the quiet dark, she lay curdled up against his warmth and yet a sort of chill crept into her. Slow at first, starting with her feet. But it rose, steady and incremental in it's approach, up her calves, her thighs, spilling into her belly and rising further still.

"It's getting late. I should go," she said, and gave in to the momentary temptation of brushing her fingers through his hair. Soft, wispy strands. So different and unfamiliar. Just like his body. Kyle, though fit, was stocky and thick where Hideo was lithe and slim, but still powerfully built. She'd seen and experienced enough in the last couple of hours for the contrasts to rise up and clash in her head as they battered up against the other from opposing sides of the field.

Arm draped around her waist, he dragged her closer, his face nuzzling between her neck and shoulder. "And if I wanted you to stay?" he asked, voice low and husky with fatigue. He hadn't over exaggerated when he'd said he'd wanted her again. And again.

After the third round she'd stopped counting. Stopped caring. But now that it was over, and the heat of passion had cooled, there was nothing to stop the chill of her doubt and demons. Nothing to keep them from cutting their teeth into all the parts that ached so miserably and drawing fresh blood.

"I shouldn't."

His face lifted a notch and even in the dark she could see his eyes, the glowing and glimmering facets that had struck her speechless earlier that night still dazzled. She'd never seen anyone so beautiful, so compelling in all her life. For a moment he only regarded her in careful, scrutinizing silence, as if seeing beyond her to the chasm of emotional turmoil she kept buried deep within.

He kissed her, a slow, lingering press of lips that made her insides ache as much as it soothed.

"You can do whatever is in your heart to do, Isobel," he said gently. "Stay. Leave. You know where I fall on the subject."

Stay. Every part of her screamed stay. But that was precisely why I can't stay. Why I must go. Because I'm not ready to feel something like this just yet. Not again.

Isobel drew in a bracing breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Shadows fell across his face that had nothing to do with the dark as he nodded. Though unreadable, his features were kind. Patient. "I understand."

Pulling away from him, she rose from the bed, dressed quickly and without stopping to look back at him once. With her back still to him, she faltered for a moment, wondering what to say or do next but fell short. No goodbyes. No more words. There was nothing more to say because what could you possibly say when walking away from perfection?

When she was fully dressed, Isobel hugged her arms to her chest, smiled softly. "Thank you."

Hideo had rolled onto his back but otherwise hadn't made a move to rise and come to her though she could see he grappled with the urge to do just that and more. "Take care of yourself, Isobel."

"I will." Leaving the bedroom, she shut the door behind her.

I could love someone like you, she thought. And it would be so easy. So beautiful if she wasn't already damaged, broken and still healing.

Right guy. Horrible timing.

#

Isobel unlocked the door to Priya's town home with the rising sun hanging low on the horizon and pushing pale tendrils of light through the blue shroud of pre-dawn. She closed the door gently behind her and slumped back against it with a sigh before toeing off her heels and climbing up the polished wood steps. Leveled to perfection with a single creak or groan all the way up. At the top of the second landing, she followed down to the left and nudged open Priya's bedroom door.

Her dark head popped up, hair a messy tumble around her face. "Morning," she mumbled, pushing dark locks away from her eyes and into a sleepy stretch. "How was it?"

Isobel closed the door and a watery smile split her face.

"Perfect," she said after a moment of reflection. Crossing the room, she sat down on the edge of the bed and hooked a leg underneath her. Shoulders heavy as a needling pain blistered behind her eyes. "So perfect. He was sweet and seemed to know exactly what I needed. Tenderness. Patience. Very, very thorough. I couldn't have asked for a better lover. So why am I crying?"

But even without Priya having to say a word she already knew the answer. The sex was great she felt wonderful afterwards but her heart hurts because this is the first guy to touch her other than Kyle. Corners of her heart she hadn't known were still intact, suddenly broke and she felt each jagged crack and fracture.

God, she was so tired of hurting.

"I think," Priya offered as she sat up, resting a hand over Isobel's she squeezed gently, "you didn't want to like it as much as you did. I think part of you hoped it would be terrible...a reason to justify to yourself why Kyle is the one."

"I'm so mad at him, Priya." Isobel swiped at her face, pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes before dragging them away. "I'm so angry I hate it. Why do I still love him?"

Priya's expression flashed with an understanding smile. "Because you're the purest soul I know. Because you did have something special once and it hurts to know it's gone. It's okay to be sad and mad and everything else now that it's over." She stroked her fingers over Isobel's cheeks, cleaning up the fresh trail of tears but more rolled down. "You've never had your heart broken before."

"But I have," Isobel whispered, the words slipping out of her before she truly understood how or why. A honest slip of the tongue that startled her into silence.

She had felt this devastating loss a long time ago, when she'd been too young to know or understand why, to process the gravity of what was happening around her the day her mother walked out the door and out of their lives for good.

Losing someone you love to disease or circumstance was brutal, but to lose someone you loved by choice? Their choice? How did you ever pull all the pieces of your heart and soul together again? And if you did--how could you hope to be the same? Was such a thing possible?

Priya's strong and supportive arms gathered Isobel close, and held her as tears turned to sobs and sobs turned to wet, heaving breaths. She held her until she was spent. And there, in pale gold light of dawn, they clung to one another in sleep.