Cherish Hard
Page 31
Not looking at her because, right now, his desires weren’t the least bit civilized or professional—there might be biting involved—he wrenched his mind back to business. “How much leeway do I have to move ahead, given the changes? I have a line on some plants I can get for a lower than usual rate, but I have to act fast.”
“Go ahead and get the plants,” Ísa said. “But send me the updated quote tonight so I can keep the bean counters happy.”
Stepping back from the truck on that very vice presidential statement, she gave him a searching look that was… softer, gentler, made his hunger to kiss her even more voracious. “Is everything okay?”
Sailor nodded. If he did this right, his work might well be featured in magazines and other publications across the country. Ísa’s full kitchen garden concept was an incredible one, especially when it related to fast food—it would take his work into truly groundbreaking territory.
He had to be professional. Even when he was shaking off a blow he’d never seen coming. The years between them, her stubbornness, even the fact she was now vice president of Crafty Corners, he’d been ready to deal with all that—but the amount of money at Ísa’s disposal? It was at such a level that it simply took her out of his orbit.
And still Sailor wanted to tumble her into the back seat of his truck.
Even if Ísalind Rain, daughter of Jacqueline Rain, heir to a fortune in the tens of millions, would break his heart in the end.
* * *
ÍSA WAS STILL CHEWING OVER what had happened at the end of her meeting with Sailor when she drove into the school parking lot for her evening class. However, try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what had happened. One moment he’d been flirting with her with his eyes, his body a hard line against hers, and the next he’d grown oddly distant and formal.
A knock on her car window. She jerked. “Oh, Diana.” Getting out, she said, “Sorry, woolgathering.”
“No problem” was the cheerful response from the thirty-something woman with ebullient black curls around a rounded face. “I thought we could go in together. I have to tell someone about the amazing violin concert I went to last night.”
Smiling, Ísa hitched the strap of her satchel over her shoulder and walked in with the gregarious music teacher. She had to get her head back in the game, and that game was the teaching that she loved whether it was adults or children.
The good thing about adults was their sheer dedication. No teenage groans here.
In fact, they were so enthusiastic and had so much to discuss that her class ran into overtime. It meant she was the last teacher to leave, but with it being summer and the entire country running on daylight savings time, the world was still bathed in light. Several of her students were also yet lingering just outside the main doors. From what she overheard, they were involved in a heated discussion about the true meaning of a Coleridge poem.
Ísa wanted to grin and tell them they’d never truly figure it out. Coleridge had had a love affair with laudanum, and the drug had undoubtedly influenced his works. But he’d created incredible, haunting imagery that Ísa loved to sink into. Hearing her students’ passion about his work gave her deep pleasure—this was what she loved doing: sharing the joy of the written word with other minds.
It was only after she’d locked up that she spotted a familiar truck parked on the other side of the lot. She didn’t know what made her do it. After saying goodbye to her students, she walked in the direction of the truck. And there he was in the distance, shirtless and sweaty and an erotic dream come to vivid, masculine life.
Groaning, Ísa told herself to stop it. He was not for her. But her feet kept on moving until she was standing on the far edge of the section of the grounds where he was doing his work. He hadn’t seen her. She could still walk away. But instead, she put her feet on the grass and crossed the remaining distance to him.
Far too late, she realized he wasn’t alone. A lanky teenager worked alongside him, his attention on digging his spade into the earth; the boy had been hidden because he was working behind a number of tall flax plants. The teen’s features were strongly reminiscent of Sailor’s, though his skin was a warm shade of brown in comparison to Sailor’s more golden tan.
The teenager was laughing and saying something to Sailor when Sailor looked up and saw Ísa. His lips curved, and those blue eyes flickered with heat before he seemed to consciously stifle the response. A response that had gone a long way toward eliminating the uneasy sensation that had dogged Ísa since their meeting.
Smile fading, Sailor came over. “Hello, Miss Rain,” he said, wiping the back of his forearm across his forehead, his sweaty chest streaked with dirt and his eyes narrowed against the sunlight. “Strange place for a VP to hang out.”
“I work here too. And it’s Ísa,” she said firmly, even as her skin began to prickle with awareness and her lungs seemed to be having trouble drawing in oxygen. “Stop teasing me. You know full well I didn’t mean for you to start calling me Miss Rain.”
The demon blue glinted. “Whatever you say, Ísa. You’re the boss.”
He was, Ísa decided, being deliberately provocative. Whatever had caused the change in his behavior earlier, it was yet in effect. “Something is definitely wrong—and I’m not leaving until you tell me what.” Folding her arms, she set her feet.
“You, shouldn’t play with the hearts of simple gardeners, spitfire.”
“I’m quite sure you’re not a simple anything.” The playfulness was on the surface. Below that was a highly intelligent man whose passion and drive spoke to Ísa in ways she didn’t want to hear.
Because no woman would ever be a priority for a man that driven. Ísa would never be a priority. “And,” she said on the heels of that depressing thought, “when was the last time your heart was involved with a woman?”
Chuckling, he turned to wave the teenage boy over. “Jake, this is Ísa Rain. Ísa, this is my brother, Jake.”
Ísa held out a hand. “Hi, Jake.”
The teenager shook it with a small smile. “Hi,” he said before looking up at his brother. “Shall I dig up the rest, Sail?”
Sailor nodded, and Jake ran off back to his task. “Had to draft in some slave labor.” Sailor’s voice held an edge. “It’s all I can afford right now.”
Ísa realized he probably wanted to get back to work. “Sorry, I’m keeping you.”
But Sailor didn’t take the chance to step away. “You’re the prettiest distraction a man could have.”
Distraction.
Ísa had heard that word many times over her lifetime. Both her parents had often told her to stop being a distraction before they bent their heads to much more important tasks. “When I was young, I once deliberately broke an expensive vase,” she found herself telling Sailor, the words just rising out of her throat. “It was when my parents were still married. I wanted to see what they’d do.”
“My parent’s would’ve grounded me, then docked part of my pocket money to teach me not to throw a tantrum with other people’s things,” Sailor said with a grin that told her he was speaking from experience. “I’m guessing yours did something similar.”
“Go ahead and get the plants,” Ísa said. “But send me the updated quote tonight so I can keep the bean counters happy.”
Stepping back from the truck on that very vice presidential statement, she gave him a searching look that was… softer, gentler, made his hunger to kiss her even more voracious. “Is everything okay?”
Sailor nodded. If he did this right, his work might well be featured in magazines and other publications across the country. Ísa’s full kitchen garden concept was an incredible one, especially when it related to fast food—it would take his work into truly groundbreaking territory.
He had to be professional. Even when he was shaking off a blow he’d never seen coming. The years between them, her stubbornness, even the fact she was now vice president of Crafty Corners, he’d been ready to deal with all that—but the amount of money at Ísa’s disposal? It was at such a level that it simply took her out of his orbit.
And still Sailor wanted to tumble her into the back seat of his truck.
Even if Ísalind Rain, daughter of Jacqueline Rain, heir to a fortune in the tens of millions, would break his heart in the end.
* * *
ÍSA WAS STILL CHEWING OVER what had happened at the end of her meeting with Sailor when she drove into the school parking lot for her evening class. However, try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what had happened. One moment he’d been flirting with her with his eyes, his body a hard line against hers, and the next he’d grown oddly distant and formal.
A knock on her car window. She jerked. “Oh, Diana.” Getting out, she said, “Sorry, woolgathering.”
“No problem” was the cheerful response from the thirty-something woman with ebullient black curls around a rounded face. “I thought we could go in together. I have to tell someone about the amazing violin concert I went to last night.”
Smiling, Ísa hitched the strap of her satchel over her shoulder and walked in with the gregarious music teacher. She had to get her head back in the game, and that game was the teaching that she loved whether it was adults or children.
The good thing about adults was their sheer dedication. No teenage groans here.
In fact, they were so enthusiastic and had so much to discuss that her class ran into overtime. It meant she was the last teacher to leave, but with it being summer and the entire country running on daylight savings time, the world was still bathed in light. Several of her students were also yet lingering just outside the main doors. From what she overheard, they were involved in a heated discussion about the true meaning of a Coleridge poem.
Ísa wanted to grin and tell them they’d never truly figure it out. Coleridge had had a love affair with laudanum, and the drug had undoubtedly influenced his works. But he’d created incredible, haunting imagery that Ísa loved to sink into. Hearing her students’ passion about his work gave her deep pleasure—this was what she loved doing: sharing the joy of the written word with other minds.
It was only after she’d locked up that she spotted a familiar truck parked on the other side of the lot. She didn’t know what made her do it. After saying goodbye to her students, she walked in the direction of the truck. And there he was in the distance, shirtless and sweaty and an erotic dream come to vivid, masculine life.
Groaning, Ísa told herself to stop it. He was not for her. But her feet kept on moving until she was standing on the far edge of the section of the grounds where he was doing his work. He hadn’t seen her. She could still walk away. But instead, she put her feet on the grass and crossed the remaining distance to him.
Far too late, she realized he wasn’t alone. A lanky teenager worked alongside him, his attention on digging his spade into the earth; the boy had been hidden because he was working behind a number of tall flax plants. The teen’s features were strongly reminiscent of Sailor’s, though his skin was a warm shade of brown in comparison to Sailor’s more golden tan.
The teenager was laughing and saying something to Sailor when Sailor looked up and saw Ísa. His lips curved, and those blue eyes flickered with heat before he seemed to consciously stifle the response. A response that had gone a long way toward eliminating the uneasy sensation that had dogged Ísa since their meeting.
Smile fading, Sailor came over. “Hello, Miss Rain,” he said, wiping the back of his forearm across his forehead, his sweaty chest streaked with dirt and his eyes narrowed against the sunlight. “Strange place for a VP to hang out.”
“I work here too. And it’s Ísa,” she said firmly, even as her skin began to prickle with awareness and her lungs seemed to be having trouble drawing in oxygen. “Stop teasing me. You know full well I didn’t mean for you to start calling me Miss Rain.”
The demon blue glinted. “Whatever you say, Ísa. You’re the boss.”
He was, Ísa decided, being deliberately provocative. Whatever had caused the change in his behavior earlier, it was yet in effect. “Something is definitely wrong—and I’m not leaving until you tell me what.” Folding her arms, she set her feet.
“You, shouldn’t play with the hearts of simple gardeners, spitfire.”
“I’m quite sure you’re not a simple anything.” The playfulness was on the surface. Below that was a highly intelligent man whose passion and drive spoke to Ísa in ways she didn’t want to hear.
Because no woman would ever be a priority for a man that driven. Ísa would never be a priority. “And,” she said on the heels of that depressing thought, “when was the last time your heart was involved with a woman?”
Chuckling, he turned to wave the teenage boy over. “Jake, this is Ísa Rain. Ísa, this is my brother, Jake.”
Ísa held out a hand. “Hi, Jake.”
The teenager shook it with a small smile. “Hi,” he said before looking up at his brother. “Shall I dig up the rest, Sail?”
Sailor nodded, and Jake ran off back to his task. “Had to draft in some slave labor.” Sailor’s voice held an edge. “It’s all I can afford right now.”
Ísa realized he probably wanted to get back to work. “Sorry, I’m keeping you.”
But Sailor didn’t take the chance to step away. “You’re the prettiest distraction a man could have.”
Distraction.
Ísa had heard that word many times over her lifetime. Both her parents had often told her to stop being a distraction before they bent their heads to much more important tasks. “When I was young, I once deliberately broke an expensive vase,” she found herself telling Sailor, the words just rising out of her throat. “It was when my parents were still married. I wanted to see what they’d do.”
“My parent’s would’ve grounded me, then docked part of my pocket money to teach me not to throw a tantrum with other people’s things,” Sailor said with a grin that told her he was speaking from experience. “I’m guessing yours did something similar.”
