íSA HAD A QUICK SHOWER after she got home in order to wash off the sunscreen and the salt from their swims. Sailor had driven to his own place after dropping her off in order to do the same. It would’ve been much easier if he had some clothes at her place, but ísa couldn’t bring herself to make that invitation. If she kept a few walls between them, she told herself, the pain wouldn’t be so bad when it ended.
And knew she was lying.
After drying her hair, then dressing in a simple blue scoop-necked tee and soft gray velour pants that would’ve horrified Jacqueline’s fashion sense but that felt soft and good around her body, she pulled her hair into ponytail.
Her phone rang with a Bollywood dance number seconds later. “Nayna! How was the day?” She knew her friend was taking part in—in Nayna’s words—“a big, fat, OTT Indian wedding” this weekend.
It was scheduled to carry on into the following week since a lot of people were now on Christmas vacation. ísa knew Nayna had the next three weeks off, her accounting firm having closed for the holidays.
“It’s not even the actual ceremony yet,” her best friend replied, “and already ten thousand aunties have squeezed my cheeks and told me I was a pretty girl and why wasn’t I married?” Nayna muttered. “Youth won’t last forever, Nayna beta. Tut, tut. Then they turn around and compliment me for being a strong career woman.”
“Have you heard from Raj?” Nayna had been suspiciously quiet on that topic over the past few days.
“Yes. But we’re not talking about him today.” The words came out a near-growl.
“Nayna.”
Her best friend cracked like an egg. “I kissed him, okay! I didn’t meant to, but it’s like I see his mouth and my lips become magnetized in his direction.”
Biting back a grin, ísa said, “I’ve had that problem. I understand.”
“Oh, shut up,” Nayna said with the ease of old friendship before there was a rustling sound down the line. “Thank God. I thought I’d never finish putting on this sari,” she muttered. “Give me a minute to put on the bling—you know too much is never enough for an Indian wedding.” Gentle metallic tinkling sounds as Nayna put on her bangles. “How was the belated birthday celebration with the hot gardener?”
A deep warmth uncurling in her stomach, ísa said, “Wonderful. He’s wonderful.”
Her own words rang around in her skull after she hung up from her conversation with Nayna. Sailor was wonderful, and he’d been there for her whenever she needed him. Maybe it was time she let go of her fear and went all in.
Cold hands snatched at her gut, chilling the warmth.
She knew Sailor was nothing like her father, but she couldn’t help remembering how Stefán was at the start of his relationships—so accommodating, so generous with his attention. All the women who’d married him thought that was who he was. They didn’t see the workaholic with his eye constantly on the financial markets until he’d put the ring on their finger and no longer had to extend any effort to capture them.
To be ruthlessly fair, Sailor had never done anything to hide his goals from ísa.
If she went all in with him, she had to do so with the full knowledge that work would eventually eat up more and more of his time. It was inevitable. There’d be no more picnics, no more kayaking, no more time in his life for his “spitfire” except on his own terms.
ísa couldn’t live that way.
But neither could she let Sailor go. Not before she’d lived every possible moment with him. Not before she’d fought as hard as she could for the dream she wanted to build with him—a family, a life together in the light rather than frantic couplings in the dark to make up for endless days apart.
Buzz.
Jerking at the sound of the door buzzer, she got up to let Sailor in, determined to do everything in her power to bind him to her. Until he wouldn’t ever forget her. Not even if he had a million other things on his plate.
* * *
SAILOR HAD WANTED TO TAKE a bite out of ísa all night, his possessiveness riding a hard edge. Because even though he was in her home and even though she’d been sassing him all evening, he had the gut feeling that something was off.
Frustration gnawed at him.
His need to claim her, brand her, was more than a little primitive.
And he didn’t care.
When she said, “Do you want dessert?” he pressed his mouth to hers, drank her in, curving his hands over her rear at the same time with blunt possessiveness.
“Yes,” he murmured when they came up for air. “I want dessert. Where’s the bedroom?”
A glint came into her eye. “Did you bring your truck?”
His cock turned to granite, his breath punching out of his chest. “Devil ísa in charge?”
“Maybe.”
“I have my truck. The school?”
“God no” was the horrified answer. “You find us a nice, quiet spot.”
“I know just the place.” Sailor’s blood pounded with need, but if ísa wanted a fantasy, he’d give her that fantasy.
He’d give his redhead everything she needed.
All she had to do was say the word.
* * *
íSA STARED AT HIM WHEN he brought his truck to a stop in front of his town house. Getting out without saying a word, he pushed open the garage, then drove the truck in before pulling down the garage door from the inside. There was a little light hanging from the ceiling that he turned on, but it didn’t do much to illuminate things.
“So?” he said to the woman he wouldn’t share with anyone, not even a glimpse.
Sliding out of the passenger-side door, she opened the door to the back seat and climbed in.
Sweet mercy.
He ran his hand over the lush curves of her as she got back into the truck, the ache in his groin a deep pleasure-pain. She made a breathy little sound before sitting herself down on the cracked leather of the seat. Holding his gaze, she dropped her hands to the bottom of her T-shirt and tore it over the top of her head.
Creamy skin.
The plump invitation of her breasts under mint-green lace.
Sailor was inside the truck with his hand on her breast before she finished dropping the T-shirt to the floor, his mouth on hers once again. Making that deliciously husky sound in her throat, she dug her nails into his back. His cock throbbed.
And he wanted more of her. All of her.
Dropping his hand from her breast to her thigh, he tugged down her pants.
When they caught on her tennis shoes, he tore them off and soon had one sleek leg wrapped around his waist, ísa backed up against the other door. He felt like a great big cat about lick up his favorite meal. “Your skin is so deliciously smooth.” Like cream and sugar and all things nice.
ísa shivered, her lips on his throat.