Her head jerked up, but that sometimes sweet, sometimes sinful, always dangerous smile of hers was nowhere in evidence. “Do you like strawberry chocolates?” she asked when he reached her, a mulish expression on her face.
“Not really my thing, but my mom’s into fruit chocolates.” Sailor took in the lines of strain around her lush mouth, the tension in her shoulders. “I used to buy her a box as a teen when I was in trouble.” He still got them for his mom, but now it was just to make her happy.
“Here.” ísa shoved a flat box at his chest. “Please, take it. I hope your mom enjoys them.”
Sailor closed his hand around the box, took a quick glance at the black label with gold-foil writing. “Why would a box of fancy chocolates make you mad?” He scowled. “Is some guy stalking you? Aside from me, I mean.”
Her lips twitched just enough to ease the fist that had closed around his heart. He didn’t like it when she was sad. “I hate strawberries,” she muttered. “Always have. Fresh ones, the flavor, everything.”
“Ah.” Since they’d reached her blue compact, he put the box on the roof so he could focus on her. “Someone should’ve known that and they didn’t?” he guessed, because no corporate gift would incite this kind of fury.
“Yes.” She unlocked her car using the remote. “Though honestly, I don’t know why I’m surprised. My father still thinks I love going to his weddings when I’d rather chew nails.”
“Hold up. Weddings? Plural?”
“Number eight is coming up later this year.” A frown. “No wait, it’s number nine. I keep forgetting the one-month lovefest that ended in a face-slapping breakup in the middle of a charity ball attended by royalty.”
Feeling like a country bumpkin he was so shocked, Sailor nonetheless jerked a thumb back at the box on the roof of the car. His curiosity about ísa’s father could wait; ísa came first. “Were the chocolates for a special occasion?”
“My birthday,” she said, grumpily opening her car door and thrusting her satchel inside. “I don’t know what possessed him to send me a gift. He usually just throws shares at me. Probably his new fiancée’s influence. He always listens to them at the start.”
Sailor only heard part of that. “It’s your birthday?” he asked, stunned. Despite the nights they’d spent together, she hadn’t so much as hinted at it. “Happy birthday, redhead-who-drives-me-crazy.”
“Thank you.” Appearing oddly embarrassed, she said, “It’s not a big deal.”
Sailor wasn’t the most intuitive guy—he preferred the practical—but he had an instant of crystal clear understanding right then. What were the chances that two people as self-absorbed as ísa’s parents had thrown their baby girl a birthday party or made any kind of a fuss over her?
The likely answer made him want to strangle them all over again.
“It’s a big deal to me.” Deciding he’d damn well make a fuss, he put his hands on her hips. “It’s the first birthday we’ve had together.” Stealing a kiss, keeping it sweet and romantic until she softened against him, he said, “How was the rest of your day?”
She fiddled with the top button of his shirt. “I snuck out for brunch with Nayna, and Harlow and Catie and I are going out for a belated birthday dinner in the new year.” Her smile lit up her eyes. “Do you know what those two got me for a present? One of those dancing hula dolls that you put on your desk. It’s incredibly tacky, and I know it’ll drive Jacqueline crazy.”
“Let me guess, you put it right at the front of your desk?”
Laughing, ísa nodded. “I can’t wait to see her face the first time she spots it.”
No mention of Jacqueline in connection with any kind of a birthday wish, but then, that was hardly surprising. “How about we have a party for two tonight?” Sailor wanted to cuddle her in his lap and kiss her silly. “We can go to the cookie bar and have a birthday cookie cake.”
Bristling like the cacti he kept sending her—he was now up to four—she poked him in the chest. “You’re exhausted. You’re going home, having dinner, and getting to bed. I’m going to do the same.”
“We could go to bed together.”
“We don’t sleep when we’re together.”
No, they didn’t, both of them desperate to drink each other in.
Scowling, Sailor considered his options. But he already knew his ísa far too well to think he could budge her—when it came to the people who mattered to her, ísa was a stone wall. “Tomorrow then,” he said, becoming a stone wall himself. “We’re going to have a birthday celebration.”
A wary scowl. “Why?”
“Because I said so.” He kissed her on the nose.
Eyebrows drawing even more heavily over her eyes, she said, “What are you planning?”
29
Watch out for the Deadly Face-Eating Fish
íSA WOKE, STILL NOT KNOWING what Sailor was planning. He’d teased her unmercifully last night, told her to wear a swimsuit and something over the top to protect herself from the sun, but wouldn’t tell her which beach he intended for them to visit.
Not that it mattered.
ísa was already beyond charmed at the idea that he was throwing her a private birthday celebration. He could have no idea how much that meant to her. She was waiting for him in the lobby of her apartment building when he drove his truck into the parking lot. Having missed waking up to his kiss, she immediately headed out with her beach-ready tote bag.
He threw open the passenger door from the inside, all gorgeous male appreciation of her—though she was wearing a tankini over which she’d pulled on a pair of shorts and a floaty white garment that covered her arms.
Her legs were a matching flash-fire white.
But where she saw a wraith, he saw a woman who made his eyes glint with sexual heat. “I love your skin,” he murmured as she got in, placing one big hand on her thigh and stroking as he leaned in for a kiss.
How was ísa supposed to resist him when he said things like that? And then he touched her as if she were some precious Rubens painting, his own breath turning uneven by the time the kiss ended.
“Hold that thought,” he ordered before putting the truck in gear and pulling out.
It took ísa a few minutes to find her brain cells again. “What’s in that odd-looking duffel bag on the back seat?” It was tubular in shape and seemed to be made of waterproof fabric.
“My beach gear, plus I made us a picnic.”
Grinning at his open pride, she said, “Which beach are we going to hang out at?”
His chuckle sent all her instincts prickling. “A very nice one.”
ísa narrowed her eyes. “Sailor, we are going to go lie on a beach and read books and drink champagne right?”
“Sure. After.”
“After what?”
“You’ll see.”
No matter what ísa threatened, he wouldn’t tell her his plans. And then, a half hour later, they were obvious. He parked his truck in a spot not far from Mission Bay. But the actual bay closest to where they’d stopped—Okahu—was the hub of a kayak-rental business.
“Tell me we’re not going kayaking,” she asked, making no effort to hide her horror.