Cherish Hard (Hard Play #1)

by Nalini Singh

  He knew.

  Extending a hand, he helped her out onto the soft sand. “Now,” he said, “we relax.”

  First, however, they put their lifejackets in the kayak, then hauled the kayak up the beach to park it under the shade of a large pōhutukawa tree. Taking out Ísa’s tote, he placed it on the sand. Next, he retrieved his duffel bag and pulled out a small waterproof sheet he’d brought along.

  He placed the sandwiches he’d prepared onto the makeshift mat, bottles of orange juice beside them, then added apples and oranges plus fudge squares for dessert. “Jake,” he said in explanation. “He’s working part-time at a restaurant over the summer and keeps coming home with ideas he wants to try.”

  Ísa picked up a piece of the rich sweet and bit in. “Oh, this is divine.” A throaty sound that made his cock want to rise to attention.

  “Hey, eat your lunch before dessert,” he growled at her. “But first…” He took out a lumpy cupcake with orange icing that looked even worse than it had in the early-morning light. “I tried to bake you a birthday cupcake. You don’t have to eat it. But we can still blow out a candle.”

  Hands flying to her mouth, Ísa looked at him with wet eyes.

  “Hey. It’s not that bad,” Sailor protested. “It kind of even looks cupcake-shaped if you squint really hard.”

  Laughing and crying at the same time, Ísa grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him all over. “You’re wonderful, Sailor Bishop. And I’ll eat your cake.”

  He felt like a well-petted cat. “No, seriously. I think I mixed up the salt with the sugar. And possibly the baking powder with the baking soda.”

  Her shoulders shook. “Light the candle,” she ordered, all but bouncing on her knees.

  Placing the cupcake between them, he poked a thin pink candle into the orange icing, then used a lighter to set it aflame, his other hand cupped around it to protect it from the faint sea breeze. “Make a wish, Ísalind.”

  Face aglow, Ísa squeezed her eyes shut for three long seconds. “Okay, I’m ready to blow out the candle.”

  “Not before the birthday song.” He launched into it with gusto, Ísa listening with her hands fisted and crossed over her heart, as if he’d given her diamonds instead of a mutant cupcake.

  After blowing out the candle in one puff once the song was over, she took a careful bite. He waited for her to spit it back out, but she actually swallowed, then took a second bite. “Try it,” she said around the mouthful. “It’s pretty good.”

  Sailor figured she was pulling his leg, but it was her birthday after all. He took a bite. And felt his eyes widen. “I’m a culinary genius.” Actually, the cake was chewy and dense, but there was no salt instead of sugar, which, in his book made this a win.

  But even better was seeing Ísa smile with open happiness.

  Inside his heart, he cupped his hands, trying to hold the delicate mist of her. And those hands, they were callused and marked with nicks and cuts from his work. Work that had consumed him since he was a fifteen-year-old haunted by the knowledge that within him lay the capacity for betrayal, for disloyalty, for cowardice.

  30

  Sailor’s Mighty Horn

  TEN MINUTES LATER AND SAILOR had banished his dark thoughts into the dungeon where he usually kept them. Today was for him and Ísa and happiness. Shadows not invited.

  When Ísa took out her phone to glance at it, he managed to keep a straight face. Until twenty minutes afterward when she said, “Catie usually messages me a few times a day. I wonder if she’s okay.”

  Busted.

  “I told her I was kidnapping you,” Sailor said. “She gave me her number when we went to Hamilton.”

  Sailor had given Catie his in turn and told her that if anything ever happened and she couldn’t get ahold of Ísa, she wasn’t to hesitate to call him. He didn’t know if she would, but he’d wanted her to have the option. “She and Harlow will only message or call if it’s an emergency.”

  Ísa’s eyebrows drew together over her eyes. “Are you managing me, Sailor Bishop?”

  “Yep,” he said without any feelings of guilt whatsoever. “I know you’re pretty much in loco parentis”—had probably been since Catie’s birth—“but parents of teenagers occasionally leave them alone and trust them not to burn down the house.” He pointed at himself. “My mother once left me responsible for Jake and Danny while she and Dad went to watch one of Gabe’s out-of-town games.”

  “Did you set your brothers’ hair on fire?” Ísa asked suspiciously.

  Sailor gave her an indignant look. “Of course not. I only let them dye their hair peroxide blond. They asked, and I didn’t see a problem with it—I just told them to use the garage sink so they wouldn’t mess up my mom’s nice new bathroom. See? Responsible.”

  Lips pressed tightly together, Ísa was clearly struggling not to laugh. “You’re making that up,” she said at last.

  “Scout’s honor. I’ve got pictures to prove it.” He’d show them to her when he took her to visit his family. “Catie and Harlow will be fine, spitfire. Neither one of them is an infant.”

  Her face fell. “Did they say something? Does Catie feel like I’m smothering her? I know I’m overprotective with her.”

  “All Catie said in reply to my request was ‘Cool. I’ll tell Harlow too.’ Oh, and she sent a set of emojis.” Taking out his phone, he showed her the response: Heart eyes, kissy faces, fireworks, a tree, big kissy lips, and a unicorn. “The only one I don’t get is the unicorn. Does she think I’m a unicorn, or is that a sly teenage reference to my mighty horn?”

  Ísa snorted out laughing.

  Pushing at his chest, she tried to speak but was giggling too hard to create words.

  Delighted with her, Sailor pounced and stole a kiss, two. “Admit it, you like my mighty horn.”

  “You make Devil Ísa take over my brain” was the response.

  Sailor grinned. “Good. Now, let’s make out and scandalize anyone on those yachts who might be watching.”

  * * *

  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 tho
ught 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.

  Groaning, Sailor put his hand back on her breast. “Your bra’s pretty.” Soft and feminine. “But I want it off.” Sailor wasted no time in making that happen. He was so hungry for her, so determined to brand her as his, that he felt eighteen again and not like a struggling business owner barely hanging on by his fingernails.

  The only downside was that teenage boys weren’t known for their sexual stamina. And Ísa was his wettest dream. All opulent curves and gorgeous skin with nipples as pink as her lips. He had no hope in hell of resisting. Pausing only long enough to tear off his T-shirt so Ísa could touch him, he dropped his head and sucked one pouting tip into his mouth.

  * * *

  ÍSA’S BRAIN WASN’T MAKING MUCH sense right now. Her fingers clenched in the thick dark of Sailor’s hair, the heat of his body surrounding her as he did things to her breasts that made her thighs squeeze around his hard body. The hand he put on her other breast was callused, his skin in contrast to the firm wetness of his mouth.

  She shuddered, found herself clawing his back in an effort to tug him up for a kiss.

  “Hellcat.” A sinful grin as he released her aching, sensitive nipple to give her that kiss, deep and lush and erotically patient.

  “Now,” he said with a scrape of his teeth over her lower lip, “let me get back to work.” With that, he dropped his head to her neglected breast while using his free hand to stroke her thigh.

  When he began to pull down her panties, she knew this was it—the moment she either stopped him… or didn’t. And they got busy in a garage on a suburban street.

  Turned out she was still feeling reckless and insane.

  And young.

  So wickedly, wildly young.

  Teenage-girl-in-the-back-seat-of-her-boyfriend’s-truck young.

  The mint-green lace of her panties was hanging around one of her ankles two seconds later. And he was stroking his hand up her leg and she shivered at the feel of his skin against her inner thigh. She would’ve screamed at his next touch, directly between her thighs, if he hadn’t clamped his mouth over hers.

  Gripping at her hair with his other hand, he held her in place for his kiss while his fingers stroked and flicked and made her come so hard she trembled from head to toe.

  “Oh, that was good,” he purred as if rewarding her.

  She felt like telling him she’d already been rewarded. But her mouth wasn’t working quite right and she didn’t stop him when he hauled her across the seat so that she ended up in a half recline. He gave her no warning before he buried his face between her thighs.

  Ísa’s back bowed, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the faded and weathered leather of the seats as Sailor pushed her over with a relentless male focus. This time her scream was so deep it was soundless. She heard a wrapper tear, knew he was getting ready to enter her.

  Her exhausted inner muscles clenched in greedy readiness.

  Strong hands cupped her buttocks, squeezed. “You with me, beautiful?”

  Ísa pushed up on her elbows, met the blue of his gaze, and smiled. “Yes, my studly boy toy.”

  Laughing in sinful delight, he bent to kiss her even as he thrust
into her. The rest was steamy windows and dirty talk and a fantasy coming hotly true. And through it all ran a vein of terrifying joy. Because this felt right.

  Dangerously, beautifully, heartbreakingly right.

  31

  The Cost of Dreams

  THURSDAY WAS A HARSH RETURN to reality after five days beyond Sailor’s wildest dreams. Following that intense, sexy, fucking amazing interlude in his garage, he and Ísa had driven back to her place, fallen into bed… and stayed there for most of Sunday. He’d stroked and petted and marked up her delicate skin, and she’d been as possessive with his body.

  Sailor was good with that. More than good with it.

  Then Monday they’d had a private Christmas Eve celebration in the afternoon, sharing small gifts they’d secretly bought for one another. He’d found a pair of pretty earrings for her that looked like bunches of flowers falling from her ears—from her shining eyes, it looked like he’d gotten it right.

  She’d given him a belt with an aged buckle that he already knew he’d wear the hell out of.

  Fighting their desire to shut out the world, they’d gone in different directions after that private celebration, both having promises to keep. Sailor’s family was congregating at his paternal grandparents place ninety minutes out of Auckland, and he’d promised to go down early and help his gramps and grandma set up. Ísa, meanwhile, had given her scattered family orders to show their faces at her apartment for a family dinner.

  “Next Christmas,” Sailor had promised as he kissed her goodbye, “we’ll do it together. Combine the clans.”

  Gaze soft, Ísa had drawn him into another kiss instead of answering. And he’d known he hadn’t yet caught the mist, hadn’t yet convinced her to trust him with her heart. The thought haunted him even through the joy of the holidays, was still on his mind as he sat in his truck on his second day back at work.

  He’d only taken Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off but hadn’t managed to see Ísa yet, as she and Harlow had driven down to Hamilton with Catie on Christmas Day. The two had returned this morning and both were back at work too.