Enigma, #1, page 1
Enigma of Life
Isaac’s Story
Shandi Boyes
Edited by Mountains Wanted Publishing
Edited by Swish Design and Editing
Illustrated by SSB Design
Contents
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Also by Shandi Boyes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Also by Shandi Boyes
Want to stay in touch?
Facebook: facebook.com/authorshandi
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Instagram: instagram.com/authorshandi
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Email: authorshandi@gmail.com
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Reader’s Group: bit.ly/ShandiBookBabes
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Website: authorshandi.com
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Newsletter: https://www.subscribepage.com/AuthorShandi
Also by Shandi Boyes
Perception Series
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Saving Noah (Noah & Emily)
Fighting Jacob (Jacob & Lola)
Taming Nick (Nick & Jenni)
Redeeming Slater (Slater and Kylie)
Saving Emily (Noah & Emily - Novella)
Wrapped Up with Rise Up (Perception Novella - should be read after the Bound Series)
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Enigma
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Enigma (Isaac & Isabelle #1)
Unraveling an Enigma (Isaac & Isabelle #2)
Enigma The Mystery Unmasked (Isaac & Isabelle #3)
Enigma: The Final Chapter (Isaac & Isabelle #4)
Beneath The Secrets (Hugo & Ava #1)
Beneath The Sheets(Hugo & Ava #2)
Spy Thy Neighbor (Hunter & Paige)
The Opposite Effect (Brax & Clara)
I Married a Mob Boss(Rico & Blaire)
Second Shot(Hawke & Gemma)
The Way We Are(Ryan & Savannah #1)
The Way We Were(Ryan & Savannah #2)
Sugar and Spice (Cormack & Harlow)
Lady In Waiting (Regan & Alex #1)
Man in Queue (Regan & Alex #2)
Couple on Hold(Regan & Alex #3)
Enigma: The Wedding (Isaac and Isabelle)
Silent Vigilante (Brandon and Melody #1)
Hushed Guardian (Brandon & Melody #2)
Quiet Protector (Brandon & Melody #3)
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Bound Series
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Chains (Marcus & Cleo #1)
Links(Marcus & Cleo #2)
Bound(Marcus & Cleo #3)
Restrain(Marcus & Cleo #4)
Psycho (Dexter & ??)
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Russian Mob Chronicles
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Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance (Nikolai & Justine #1)
Nikolai: Taking Back What’s Mine (Nikolai & Justine #2)
Nikolai: What’s Left of Me(Nikolai & Justine #3)
Nikolai: Mine to Protect(Nikolai & Justine #4)
Asher: My Russian Revenge (Asher & Zariah)
Nikolai: Through the Devil's Eyes(Nikolai & Justine #5)
Trey (Trey & K)
K: A Trey Sequel
The Italian Cartel
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Dimitri
Roxanne
Reign
Mafia Ties (Novella)
Maddox
Demi
Rocco
Clover
Smith
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RomCom Standalones
Just Playin’ (Elvis & Willow)
Ain't Happenin' (Lorenzo & Skylar)
The Drop Zone (Colby & Jamie)
Very Unlikely (Brand New Couple)
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Short Stories
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Christmas Trio (Wesley, Andrew & Mallory -- short story)
Falling For A Stranger (Short Story)
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Coming Soon
Skitzo
Copyright
© Shandi Boyes 2016
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No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
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This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Dedication
My dedicated fans who inspire me to continue writing.
I hope you enjoy Isaac’s story.
Our enigma.
Chapter 1
A frigid breeze causes the hairs on my arms to bristle and goosebumps to form on my nape. It isn’t just the plummeting evening temperatures causing this reaction to my body. It’s fear.
When I press my hands against the railing, I relish the coolness of the stainless steel on my sweat-drenched palms.
Snapping my eyes shut, I take in a lung-filling gulp of air. “You can do this, Isabelle,” I chant to myself.
Millions of people do it every day.
I’ve spent the majority of my time today at airports. To say I’m fearful of flying would be an understatement. I’m petrified. My flight this morning was on a Boeing 777 from San Francisco to New York. I gripped the armchair so tight for the entire eight-hour trip, my French-tipped nail nearly snapped off.
There’s no logical reason for my fear of flying. I’ve never been on a plane that plunged from the sky or lost loved ones during a disastrous flight. My fear is just something embedded deep inside me. I want to say I’m generally fearless, an adventurous person who regularly takes calculated risks, but when it comes to flying, I’m a quivering bundle of nerves.
Gritting my teeth, I push off the railing before I lose my nerve and collide straight into a wall of hardness that sends me sprawling onto my ass. I wince in pain when my right wrist jars hard on the rigid gray marble-tiled floor.
“I’m used to people falling at my feet, but not quite as undignified as that,” says a deep, thick voice from above. Although his tone is stern, it also has a hint of amusement behind it.
Mortified, I raise my eyes, drinking in black polished dress shoes, a well-filled, impeccably tailored three-piece suit, and one pair of the most exquisite eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. The pain zinging my wrist no longer exists as my eyes roam over the magnificent creature in front of me.
More features come into focus—plump lips, powerful jawline, thick, luxurious hair long enough to run your fingers through, but not too long to be unkempt, and an ideally placed dimple in a chiseled chin. The very definition of a man is standing in front of me, and the visual is riveting.
Shifting his head to the side, he arches a brow. He assesses me as vigorously as I perused him. His penetrating glare has my heart rate quickening. Now I wished I had taken my roommate’s advice and dressed more professionally instead of for comfort, but when your backside is going to be planted in a seat for a minimum of sixteen hours, you want it encased in comfort, and there’s nothing more comfortable than my black Juicy Couture sweatsuit.
No, I didn’t pay two hundred dollars for a pair of sweatpants. I found these beauties at the thrift shop in San Francisco nearly two years ago. They have faded a little, now more a charcoal gray than their original black, but they still get the job done. I’ve removed my jacket and am wearing a white, fitted cotton shirt that has risen to my stomach during my tumble.
After yanking down my shirt to a more respectable level, I return my eyes to the mysterious stranger. Once he has finished his perusal of my body, his mouth etches into a firm line, and his eyes narrow.
Clearly, he’s a man who prefers class over comfort. His apparel does scream wealth and superiority, not to mention his composure, which exudes importance and authority. Grimacing with embarrassment, I scamper from the floor. My heart leaps when he grips my elbow to assist me with steadying my footing.
“Thank you.”
I glance down at the contents of my satchel strewn on the floor from our collision. My bag is full of the necessities a girl needs for traveling—lip gloss, a Snickers chocolate bar, loose change for snacks, a Kindle loaded with my favorite books, and tampons. Oh God.
In a scurry to grab my possessions, I bob, he dips, and we headbutt.
“Fuck,” he curses.
I manage to keep my curse word inside my head, even though it feels like I’ve suffered a grueling left swing from
My hand shoots up to rub the sting as I move toward the hard, plastic chairs lining the hallway of the airport. My vision blurs, and my footing becomes unsteady as the first signs of a headache form.
Plopping down on the chair, my eyes lift to discover the suit-clad gentleman gathering my satchel contents from the floor. Tampons included. Great!
Once he has collected my items, he places my bag on the chair next to me. His masculine scent engulfs the air when he crouches down in front of me. Seeing him displayed directly in front of me has the depths of his eyes hitting me full force. It’s not just their unique gray coloring that has my brows scrunching, it’s their intensity.
“Are you okay?” The rasp of his voice sends an exciting thrill through my body and causes butterflies to flutter in my stomach.
Unable to establish words through my dry, gaped mouth, I nod. He removes my hand covering my eye to run his index finger along the area pulsing with pain. Now, instead of feeling the sting of pain, I’m feeling the zap of his touch.
He raises two fingers in the air. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two.”
A mouth-watering smirk forms on his face. “What’s your name?”
I smile. “Isabelle.”
His handsome face is contorted with strictness, but his remorseful eyes give away his genuine concern. “I don’t think you have a concussion, but you need to ice it as a bump is already forming.” His minty breath fans my hungry mouth.
I lick my dry lips before replying, “I’m fine, really.” Totally embarrassed, but fine, nonetheless.
A gold cufflink becomes exposed on the crisp white sleeve of his business shirt when he stands, then holds out his hand. His brow cocks, wordlessly requesting me to accept his gesture. I swallow a lump in my throat before accepting his well-manicured, yet manly hand.
After curling his hand around mine, his other snatches my satchel from the chair. He grips my hand firm enough to indicate his superiority, but not tight enough to cause pain to my wrist still throbbing from my tumble.
When he arrives at the frosted door of the first-class business lounge, I dig my heels into the carpet, lessening his quick pace. When he stops and turns, the air sucks from my lungs from the sheer closeness of his striking face. Most people would feel threatened by his complex gaze, but my body heightens with anticipation.
He tilts his head, his brow cocking again. If I hadn’t heard him talk earlier, I’d assume he’s a mute.
I gesture my free hand to the luxurious business lounge. “I can’t go in there.”
My voice sounds so weak, and I almost roll my eyes at my naïveté. Yes, this guy standing before me is entrancing, but I’ve had plenty of eye-catching men in my life, and my composure is usually more composed. However, this mysterious stranger has me flabbergasted like a teenage girl meeting a member of One Direction.
“I’m underdressed.”
My eyes dart down to my Juicy Couture-covered thighs. This time, I sound how I usually do—friendly, but not a total pushover.
I suck in my stomach when he scans my body. When his eyes return to my face, he smirks. “You look perfectly fine.”
Unsure of a reply, I return his smile. His eyes snap to my lips for the quickest second before he again quickly strides to the business class lounge.
“Mr. Holt,” the doorman greets him without so much of a sideways glance in my direction.
My mysterious companion’s surname is Holt. I like it. It’s direct and stern but edgy—just like its owner.
When we arrive at a countertop bar that’s so well polished I can see my reflection in it, Mr. Holt lifts me to sit on a high-backed barstool. His effortless lift makes it seem as if I’m as light as a feather. After snagging a midnight-black napkin from the countertop, he leans over the bar. His suit strains against his back, allowing me a glimpse of a spectacularly firm backside.
Flipping open a cooler flap nestled in the bar, he removes a handful of ice. My eyes shoot to the bartender, who isn’t batting an eyelid at Mr. Holt assisting himself to their supplies. He wraps the cubes of ice in the napkin, then raises it to my throbbing eye. “Hold that.”
Arching back over the counter, he snags two crystal glasses from a wired rack before signaling for the bartender. He must be a regular at this establishment because the bartender doesn’t ask what drink he’d like. He just grabs a bottle of whiskey from the glass shelves behind the bar and sets it in front of him without a word escaping his lips.
Mr. Holt dips his chin in thanks before pouring two generous nips of whiskey into the glasses. He then hands one to me. “It will help with your headache,” he explains to my shocked expression.
When he downs the shot without a shred of hesitation, my mouth becomes parched from the sensual way he swallows the flaming liquid so effortlessly. Desire surges through my body when his tongue darts out to remove the remnants of liquor from his lips. Needing something to soothe the dryness in my mouth, I grab my glass off the countertop to drink the generous helping in one hit.
I grimace, hating the burn that sets my throat on fire. I slam the glass onto the countertop as my watering eyes lift to Mr. Holt.
“Another?”
Not giving me the chance of a reply, he fills my glass again before sliding it across the ebony counter. Due to the overgenerous serving, whiskey splashes over the rim to puddle the glistening countertop.
I lift my eyes to his, which are glaring into mine, but his expression is neutral, even with his lips curved. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Holt?”
“Would it make it easier to get into your panties?”
The veins in my neck strum as my pulse quickens.
He winks, cockiness oozing out of him. “I’m joking.”
I sigh a disappointed sigh. Hearing my shameless response, Mr. Holt’s eyes lock with mine. His gaze is primal, commanding, and strong. It freezes me in place and heats my face. My brazenness surprises even me. I’m not usually so bold, but with his self-assuredness and grace, I have no doubt he’d be extraordinary in bed—sheet-clenching, multi-orgasms, can’t-walk-straight-for-days sex.
My hand holding the ice trembles as I turn my gaze to anything but Mr. Holt’s sinfully handsome face. Even without looking at him, my pulse still quickens. I can feel him studying my profile.
We sit in silence for several minutes, but my awareness of his closeness is still paramount.
Once the ice has melted, I dump the napkin onto the countertop, then drag my hand down my thigh to remove the inky stains smeared on my fingers. I gulp when, in the corner of my eye, I spot Mr. Holt’s tongue delving out to lick his thumb. I stop breathing when he lifts the same spit-covered thumb to my right eye.
Suddenly, he stiffens as his nostrils flare. His eyes are darker now, even more demanding. It appears as if he’s unearthed my body’s response to his briefest touch. I’m about to assure him everything isn’t as it seems when the shrill of a cell phone saves me from making a fool out of myself for the third time this evening.
