Cherish Hard
Page 59

“Where are you going?” No way was Ísa about to let Nayna run off without getting all the details so she could watch out for her friend.
“Here.” Taking out her phone, Nayna forwarded the booking to Ísa.
“If Raj tracks me down and asks?”
“You know nothing.”
“Got it.”
Nayna did some more serious tea drinking. “So, you’re going camping?”
“I hate you,” Ísa said with a death glare. “I’m doing it for love.”
Snorting and laughing at the same time, Nayna told her to make sure she took toilet paper.
After threatening to strangle her best friend, Ísa admitted the truth. “I’m terrified I’ll come last with him, Nayna.” The other woman had witnessed Ísa’s lonely existence firsthand, had seen the scars being formed. “I’m also scared that I’ll talk myself into just another day, just another month, just another year, and when I look up, I’ll be all alone in a big house.”
“Bull. Shit.” Nayna poked Ísa in the side. “You’re not a child anymore. You’re a kick-ass woman who takes no prisoners. You really think you’ll let your Sailor pull that kind of crap?”
Your Sailor.
Ísa liked the sound of that. “I’m just as weak when it comes to Sailor as you are when it comes to Raj’s abs.”
Sighing, Nayna said, “I wish I’d shut my mouth at the party. He’s so pretty, and he was going to let me touch him all over.” A hard shake of her head. “But my dirty fantasies are not what we were talking about. Seriously, Ísa, you’re way too tough—and too honest—to fool yourself into a nightmare.”
As deeply in love as Ísa was with Sailor, she wasn’t so certain.
Right then, the night beyond the windows blurred as a sudden burst of rain thundered down in a resounding crash.
And Nayna said, “Fuck the tea. Where’s the tequila? I’ll sleep over.”
And that was how Ísa ended up with her first hangover since college… and Nayna ended up drunk-dialing a certain man and telling him she wanted to lick his abs.
* * *
“TEQUILA IS THE DEVIL,” NAYNA moaned down Ísa’s private office line. “Oh, fuck, they’re announcing my flight. And Raj just sent me another picture of his abs. He’s added the tongue emoji.”
Ísa couldn’t help laughing, her stomach aching from the force of it. Thankfully, the over-the-counter painkillers she’d taken had finally kicked in. “How many does that make since you woke up?”
“Stop laughing,” Nayna said grumpily. “Do you know how hard it is to think when my phone is full of half-naked pictures of him that I just want to ogle?” Her breathing picked up. “Last call for my gate. Talk to you later.”
“Don’t get into any more trouble,” Ísa ordered.
“Forget trouble. Let’s just hope I don’t throw up.”
After hanging up, Ísa logged into her computer and saw that company security had finally forwarded her the recordings she’d asked for. Crafty Corners didn’t have internal security—that would just be creepy, the employees being watched all day. However, they did have security at all the main exits and entrances and in the elevators.
She still had a number of hours of footage to scan through when she had to stop and dive into the normal work of a vice president. When Jacqueline asked her to come to her office and report on the spy situation, Ísa replied that she was working on it and if Jacqueline didn’t stop with the micromanaging, Ísa would dump the whole mess in her lap.
The Dragon backed off.
And Ginny brought her in a neatly boxed package that had been left for her at the front desk. This cactus was a round ball of fluff that had Ísa grinning like a goof.
You’re a strange man, she messaged Sailor.
But I’m your strange man.
Ísa sucked in a deep breath at that, scared at just how much those words meant to her. But, determined to try, to have no regrets, she met him at the work site at seven thirty that night; she’d brought along a healthy “home cooked” meal. It was actually takeout from a family-style restaurant that tried for simple fare with little fat.
They did love their carbs, but she figured Sailor needed those carbs. Especially when she discovered he’d just grabbed a single sandwich for lunch. “Good grief, Sailor, muscles like that can’t survive on a sandwich alone. And you know I’m just here for the muscles.”
Grinning, he hauled her in for a kiss that was red-hot heat and possession, openly appreciative hands on her rear. Ísa tucked her own hands into the back pockets of his shorts and squeezed. He licked his tongue across hers in revenge. She toed off one of her kitten heels and ran her toes up his calf.
He broke the kiss with a groan. “You play dirty, spitfire.” Another suckling kiss. “I like it.”
“We should eat,” Ísa managed to say. “I know we’re standing next to a garden bed, but I hear those beds aren’t very comfortable.”
“Smart-ass.” He petted that ass. “But yeah, you’re right. Let’s eat.”
Afterward, Sailor’s blue eyes captured hers. “Do you have to go back to the office?”
Ísa thought about it and realized she could plug in her earbuds and review the security footage on her laptop. “No, I can work remotely.”
He immediately brought over another empty wooden crate. “Ta-da! Your outdoor desk.”
They didn’t speak over the next hour and a half as the summer evening turned to dusk, but they were together, and every so often, he’d swing by and tip up her chin for a kiss. Ísa’s toes curled a little more with every kiss, until by the time the light faded into night and Sailor had to pack it in for the day, she was so hungry for him that she would’ve attacked him in the back seat of his truck given half a choice.
As it was, she followed him home since it’d be easier for him to shower at his place. When he pressed her up against the closed front door and kissed her, all heat and sweat and dirt, she didn’t care in the least. The earthy smell of him was a primal aphrodisiac that sank into her blood and turned it to molasses.
Squeezing her breast when she began to tug at his T-shirt, he pulled back enough to tear it off, then unzipped her dress and pushed it down to pool at her feet. “Fuck, spitfire. You’re my favorite dessert.” He bent to nip at her throat, his rough-skinned hands blatantly shaping her breasts.
She shivered, and he swore.
Her bra was on the floor a second later, quickly followed by her panties—though Sailor slipped her heels back on. “These make you just the right height.” Spinning her around on those harshly uttered words, he said, “Brace your hands on the door” at the same time that he circled the pad of his finger around her entrance before pushing in for a teasing stroke. “Hands on the door, spitfire. Don’t make me get the handcuffs.”
A little shocked—and so aroused that she felt combustible—Ísa did as he’d asked. He removed his hand from between her thighs with erotic slowness. She heard the metallic jangle of a belt, the soft crush of clothes being shoved aside, the crackle of a wrapper being torn.
Sailor ran his hand down her back and over her lower curves. “This skin,” he murmured, his voice thick.