Cherish Hard
Page 49
Ísa still missed her amma. It was why she’d never made any effort to rid herself of the accent that touched her words to this day. It was her way of honoring the gentle woman who’d given life to the language Ísa had first learned from tutors—because Stefán had been adamant his New Zealand-born child speak the language of his birth.
“When we first met,” Jacqueline continued, “Stefán wanted to be a poet.” A shake of her head. “Can you imagine? He came to his senses soon enough—after he found out how much poets earn. But even then, he used to write me poetry…” Jacqueline’s gaze turned distant. “For a while anyway. Then life and business took over. And there was no more time for poetry.”
Jacqueline’s next look was sharp. “It never lasts, Ísa. The passion, the smiles from the pretty eyes, the endless time to love.” Her words were crisp and pragmatic rather than harsh. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did—choose a man like Oliver, a man who is comfortable and kind and who’ll love you into old age. Passion is not a good indicator of success in a relationship.”
* * *
ÍSA REFUSED TO BE HAUNTED by Jacqueline’s words. Her mother might be right, but Ísa was already well aware she was making a dangerous mistake with Sailor. She might as well dive all the way into the fire if she was going to emerge crisped on the other side anyway. Which was why she picked up the phone and called him.
“Hello, spitfire.” The deep tones of his voice were a caress. “Late dinner okay for you? I’m hoping to work till last light.”
“Jacqueline just handed me another project, so I’ll be here late too.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come by my office after you’re done. I’ll order in.”
It was only after hanging up that she realized it was already happening. Work, stealing away their time for each other. But Ísa wasn’t going to just give up and accept it as inevitable. She was going to fight.
The only question was if Sailor would fight with her.
That question haunted her when she let him through the locked front door of the HQ. Still in his work clothes, streaks of dirt on the khaki of his shorts, he made her heart beat faster just with his mere presence.
Yes, she had it bad for Sailor Bishop.
Frowning at seeing the dim lighting downstairs, he said, “You the only one in here?”
“It’s perfectly safe. My car’s right outside.” She nodded at his right arm. “Why are you carrying a picnic blanket?”
Bending his head, he kissed her breathless before saying, “For our indoor picnic, of course.”
Her silly heart, it gave a huge sigh. “Come on, the food’s already here.”
He ran his hand over the curve of her hip and ass and playfully distracted her the whole way up. Ísa was giggling like a schoolgirl by the time they entered her office. Sailor grinned at seeing the cactus she kept on her desk, the second one he’d sent her. But he was absolutely delighted by the soft, warm cookies she’d paid extra to have delivered.
“You know how to romance a man,” he said with a nuzzle to her neck after inhaling an entire cookie. “Sorry I’m so dirty.” He dropped the picnic blanket to the floor. “Couldn’t wait to see you.”
Ísa buried her face in his neck, drew in the earthy scent of him, and tried not to listen to the panicky voice inside her that said time was running out too fast. “I’m not complaining.”
Hands on her hips, he hitched her up onto her desk. “Sit here, Miss Trouble.” With that stern statement, he moved aside the visitor chair, then flicked out the tartan blanket, the colors blue and black. “I forgot this in back of my truck after our last family barbeque.”
He was back between her legs before she could answer. “Hungry?” It was a sensually loaded statement, his hands pushing up the sunny yellow of her dress to bare her thighs.
Teeth sinking into her lip and lower body clenching, Ísa said, “Yes.” It came out husky, her eyes locked on his mouth.
But he didn’t kiss her this time, his attention on other matters.
Dipping his head, he hooked his fingers on either side of her panties and slid them down her thighs and off. Ísa’s toes curled at the scandalousness of being panty-less on her desk with a deliciously sexy man between her thighs.
When he tucked the panties into his pocket with a wicked smile and said, “I’m keeping these hostage,” she melted.
Feeling more than a little wicked herself, she reached for his belt, undid it with quick hands. He oh-so-cooperatively took off his T-shirt for her. Ísa leaned in to lick at his chest while she undid the top button on his shorts. He was salt and heat and Sailor, and he scrambled her brain cells.
His bigger, warmer hands colliding with hers as she stroked him through the fabric. A nip of her lower lip. “Foreplay?” He reached into the back pocket of his shorts.
“Let’s save that for a bed.” Tonight, Ísa just wanted him inside her. “Did you—?” She gasped as he pushed her hands behind her and together.
Handcuffs snicked into place a second later. Something soft and lush caressed her wrists. Pink, she’d glimpsed pink. “I ordered a strong pair for you.”
“Bring it on, spitfire.” His smile slow, he pulled out the thick length of his erection.
It was suddenly hard to breathe. “Sailor.” She sank her teeth into her lower lip. “Tell me you have protection.”
He was already pulling a thin foil packet from his wallet. “I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
Skin shimmering with heat, Ísa watched him get naked.
Dear Lord. The man was like a sculpture of raw masculinity. All ridges and valleys and skin kissed by the sun. The odd scar here and there. Those phenomenally gorgeous tattoos that spoke of his history and family.
Honed muscles that flexed with every movement.
And he was all hers. “I want to spend an entire day in bed with you.” It came out throaty, like she was a sex kitten on steroids. “With my hands and my mouth all over your ridiculously beautiful body.”
“That could be arranged.” Shooting her a grin that said he was in favor of the idea, he sheathed himself with quick hands.
Then he was back between her thighs and—after an erotically rough stroke with his fingers to check her readiness—pulling her forward to oh-so-slowly sink the thick heat of himself inside her. She moaned, the inability to touch him, to do anything to control him, causing her muscles to flutter in warning of the primal pleasure to come.
Then he began to talk. “You are so perfect, Ísa, so hot and tight around my cock.” A flush across his cheekbones, his eyes glittering. “I fucking love your body.” His hand palming her breast through her dress, squeezing. “So damn sexy.”
Utterly helpless, Ísa watched him luxuriate in her body, his muscles bunching and unclenching as he claimed her in rolling thrusts that hit nerves inside her she hadn’t known existed. When he kissed her, she arched into the contact. “Sailor.”
“That’s it, spitfire.” His mouth on her throat, one of his hands gripping her wrists just above the handcuffs while the other closed over her thigh. “Talk to me.”
“You’re scrambling my bra— Oh.”
Rising at her shuddering moan, he gripped her jaw with one hand and took another ravenous kiss before drawing back and speeding up his thrusts without breaking eye contact. “You want me to grind deep, Ísa?” His demonstration had her inner thighs quivering. “Or do you want it faster?”
“When we first met,” Jacqueline continued, “Stefán wanted to be a poet.” A shake of her head. “Can you imagine? He came to his senses soon enough—after he found out how much poets earn. But even then, he used to write me poetry…” Jacqueline’s gaze turned distant. “For a while anyway. Then life and business took over. And there was no more time for poetry.”
Jacqueline’s next look was sharp. “It never lasts, Ísa. The passion, the smiles from the pretty eyes, the endless time to love.” Her words were crisp and pragmatic rather than harsh. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did—choose a man like Oliver, a man who is comfortable and kind and who’ll love you into old age. Passion is not a good indicator of success in a relationship.”
* * *
ÍSA REFUSED TO BE HAUNTED by Jacqueline’s words. Her mother might be right, but Ísa was already well aware she was making a dangerous mistake with Sailor. She might as well dive all the way into the fire if she was going to emerge crisped on the other side anyway. Which was why she picked up the phone and called him.
“Hello, spitfire.” The deep tones of his voice were a caress. “Late dinner okay for you? I’m hoping to work till last light.”
“Jacqueline just handed me another project, so I’ll be here late too.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come by my office after you’re done. I’ll order in.”
It was only after hanging up that she realized it was already happening. Work, stealing away their time for each other. But Ísa wasn’t going to just give up and accept it as inevitable. She was going to fight.
The only question was if Sailor would fight with her.
That question haunted her when she let him through the locked front door of the HQ. Still in his work clothes, streaks of dirt on the khaki of his shorts, he made her heart beat faster just with his mere presence.
Yes, she had it bad for Sailor Bishop.
Frowning at seeing the dim lighting downstairs, he said, “You the only one in here?”
“It’s perfectly safe. My car’s right outside.” She nodded at his right arm. “Why are you carrying a picnic blanket?”
Bending his head, he kissed her breathless before saying, “For our indoor picnic, of course.”
Her silly heart, it gave a huge sigh. “Come on, the food’s already here.”
He ran his hand over the curve of her hip and ass and playfully distracted her the whole way up. Ísa was giggling like a schoolgirl by the time they entered her office. Sailor grinned at seeing the cactus she kept on her desk, the second one he’d sent her. But he was absolutely delighted by the soft, warm cookies she’d paid extra to have delivered.
“You know how to romance a man,” he said with a nuzzle to her neck after inhaling an entire cookie. “Sorry I’m so dirty.” He dropped the picnic blanket to the floor. “Couldn’t wait to see you.”
Ísa buried her face in his neck, drew in the earthy scent of him, and tried not to listen to the panicky voice inside her that said time was running out too fast. “I’m not complaining.”
Hands on her hips, he hitched her up onto her desk. “Sit here, Miss Trouble.” With that stern statement, he moved aside the visitor chair, then flicked out the tartan blanket, the colors blue and black. “I forgot this in back of my truck after our last family barbeque.”
He was back between her legs before she could answer. “Hungry?” It was a sensually loaded statement, his hands pushing up the sunny yellow of her dress to bare her thighs.
Teeth sinking into her lip and lower body clenching, Ísa said, “Yes.” It came out husky, her eyes locked on his mouth.
But he didn’t kiss her this time, his attention on other matters.
Dipping his head, he hooked his fingers on either side of her panties and slid them down her thighs and off. Ísa’s toes curled at the scandalousness of being panty-less on her desk with a deliciously sexy man between her thighs.
When he tucked the panties into his pocket with a wicked smile and said, “I’m keeping these hostage,” she melted.
Feeling more than a little wicked herself, she reached for his belt, undid it with quick hands. He oh-so-cooperatively took off his T-shirt for her. Ísa leaned in to lick at his chest while she undid the top button on his shorts. He was salt and heat and Sailor, and he scrambled her brain cells.
His bigger, warmer hands colliding with hers as she stroked him through the fabric. A nip of her lower lip. “Foreplay?” He reached into the back pocket of his shorts.
“Let’s save that for a bed.” Tonight, Ísa just wanted him inside her. “Did you—?” She gasped as he pushed her hands behind her and together.
Handcuffs snicked into place a second later. Something soft and lush caressed her wrists. Pink, she’d glimpsed pink. “I ordered a strong pair for you.”
“Bring it on, spitfire.” His smile slow, he pulled out the thick length of his erection.
It was suddenly hard to breathe. “Sailor.” She sank her teeth into her lower lip. “Tell me you have protection.”
He was already pulling a thin foil packet from his wallet. “I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
Skin shimmering with heat, Ísa watched him get naked.
Dear Lord. The man was like a sculpture of raw masculinity. All ridges and valleys and skin kissed by the sun. The odd scar here and there. Those phenomenally gorgeous tattoos that spoke of his history and family.
Honed muscles that flexed with every movement.
And he was all hers. “I want to spend an entire day in bed with you.” It came out throaty, like she was a sex kitten on steroids. “With my hands and my mouth all over your ridiculously beautiful body.”
“That could be arranged.” Shooting her a grin that said he was in favor of the idea, he sheathed himself with quick hands.
Then he was back between her thighs and—after an erotically rough stroke with his fingers to check her readiness—pulling her forward to oh-so-slowly sink the thick heat of himself inside her. She moaned, the inability to touch him, to do anything to control him, causing her muscles to flutter in warning of the primal pleasure to come.
Then he began to talk. “You are so perfect, Ísa, so hot and tight around my cock.” A flush across his cheekbones, his eyes glittering. “I fucking love your body.” His hand palming her breast through her dress, squeezing. “So damn sexy.”
Utterly helpless, Ísa watched him luxuriate in her body, his muscles bunching and unclenching as he claimed her in rolling thrusts that hit nerves inside her she hadn’t known existed. When he kissed her, she arched into the contact. “Sailor.”
“That’s it, spitfire.” His mouth on her throat, one of his hands gripping her wrists just above the handcuffs while the other closed over her thigh. “Talk to me.”
“You’re scrambling my bra— Oh.”
Rising at her shuddering moan, he gripped her jaw with one hand and took another ravenous kiss before drawing back and speeding up his thrusts without breaking eye contact. “You want me to grind deep, Ísa?” His demonstration had her inner thighs quivering. “Or do you want it faster?”
