But then Walker was close enough for her to breathe in the dark, spicy scent of his skin. With a swift advance, he pressed her back against the vanity, dropping his hands to either side of the edge of the countertop and caging her body with his own.
“Laugh.”
He placed the word just behind her earlobe in the barest of whispers. Isabella pulled back in shock, attempting to gain some space between them to figure out what the hell he was up to.
But again, he leaned in to put his mouth to her ear. “Trust me, just laugh. Out loud. Right now.”
It might’ve been her adrenaline, which had been free-flowing long enough to shred even the calmest composure. Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation—of being stuck in one of the most luxurious bathrooms in all of Remington with a ridiculously hot firefighter and a Hail Mary exit plan. But something prompted Isabella to do what Walker had asked. While her performance wouldn’t win her any Academy Awards, she pushed out a laugh that seemed to do the trick. As good as he smelled all pressed up against her (and damn, he smelled good enough to eat with a spoon), Isabella wasn’t about to just comply without getting a little information.
She slipped her hands into her clutch to produce her phone, pressing both against the front of his crisp black dress shirt as she keyed in, Why laugh?
Walker eased back, but only a fraction as he took the phone to answer. Because there’s no video in this room.
Her brows shot upward in a silent so? and he continued to thumb-type in the tight space between their bodies. So that gives us an advantage.
Isabella paused, rolling through the tactics in her head until…
A bolt of heat arrowed down her spine, landing directly between her hips. You want whoever’s on the other side of that door to think we’re having a bathroom quickie?
The smile hooking over Walker’s mouth was all the confirmation she needed, although he typed in an answer anyway. It’s a solid explanation for me following you in here in case DuPree is watching. Plus, when in Rome…
Ah, hell. Isabella had to admit, he had not just one point, but two.
She shifted, her lower back still pressed against the cool marble of the countertop. So how much longer is our quickie going to take? Because no offense, but I’d really like to get out of here.
Wasn’t it you who said patience is a virtue? Walker typed, but she had his number, big time.
Yes. And you said you weren’t virtuous.
Clearly. Since I’m having sex with you in a bathroom.
Isabella couldn’t help it. A laugh that came suspiciously close to a giggle barged out of her mouth. Touché. What do you say we go at it for five more minutes then get gone?
Walker nodded. His step back allowed her the room to replace her phone in her purse and muss her hair just enough to look appropriately sex-tousled. The five-minute wait-time eased her adrenaline and set her determination in bedrock, and as soon as it was up, she pointed to the heavily paneled mahogany door.
“Shall we?” Isabella purred, throwing her persona back into place.
Faking a sexed-up flush wasn’t tough as Walker fixed her with a slow stare. “After you, sweetheart.”
Unlocking the latch with a flick of his wrist, he pulled the door quietly inward. The hallway beyond was shadowed but empty, and nothing about the party seemed to have changed. Although it took all the effort Isabella could muster, she kept her eyes far from the side of the room where they’d left Angel—God, had it really been less than ten minutes ago? She followed Walker’s lead as he aimed himself toward the exit, but they’d barely made it past the piano in the living room before a man with white-blond hair and the world’s most calculating smile stepped smoothly into their path.
“Pardon me. I don’t mean to interrupt your evening,” he said, his platinum cufflinks winking coldly in the overhead light as he extended a well-manicured hand in her direction. “My name is Julian DuPree. I’m hosting tonight’s party.”
Isabella’s stomach pitched like a rowboat on the open sea. “How lovely to finally meet you, Mr. DuPree.” She sweetened the bitter-burnt taste of the lie with a splash of truth and a smile she had to work for. The guy’s stare alone made her skin crawl. “We’ve heard all about you and your gatherings. You certainly don’t disappoint.”
“That’s very kind, Miss…?”
“Isabella,” she said, biting past the urge to gag—or worse yet, punch him directly in the perfect white teeth—as DuPree lifted her hand to his mouth.
A move Kellan cut short with an unsubtle clearing of his throat. “Walker.”
DuPree’s clean-shaven jaw tightened just enough to be visible, hardening the edges of his smile. “Yes, well.” He lowered Isabella’s hand. “My security specialist has told me you’re quite the jealous type. It’s good to see I haven’t been misinformed.”