Cherish Hard (Hard Play #1)

by Nalini Singh

  Ísa told her about Catie, reassured her best friend that Catie was all right. Then she spilled the rest. “I’m terrified,” she admitted afterward. “So scared that I’ll never be anything but a peripheral part of his existence.”

  “Don’t judge him just yet,” Nayna said quietly. “He stepped into the breach this time, didn’t he? Maybe you can make it work.”

  Yes, he had. Magnificently. But— “It’s not the moment that counts, it’s the long-term commitment to being there, day after day.” She swallowed down the knot of worry as she approached the parking lot for Crafty Corners. “Getting back to you, give this Raj guy a chance too, okay?”

  “We’ll see,” Nayna said in a noncommittal tone before they hung up.

  Ísa was walking to her office when she saw Ginny doing a wheelie, her wheelchair tipped up off the front as she spun it around. Ísa’s lips kicked up. “Since when is that acceptable corporate behavior?”

  Her assistant grinned. “Since I just joined my local wheelchair basketball league.”

  “Didn’t you tell me you don’t understand the appeal of putting a ball in a net?”

  “When the league is coed with some superhot players for me to ogle, it’s all details, details.” Waving insouciantly, Ginny said, “Jacqueline wanted to see you as soon as you got in.” She came closer, dropped her voice to add, “Thought you’d want to know that she’s changed Harlow’s internship program. It’s way tougher than the usual.”

  “Thanks, Gin.” Ísa dropped off her satchel before going over to Jacqueline’s office.

  She found her mother in the middle of a phone call. Seeing her, Jacqueline held up a finger to indicate that she would only be a minute. Ísa shut the door behind herself and walked over to look at a large concept plan that was sitting on an easel to one side of Jacqueline’s office.

  It was a design for a mega Crafty Corners store in the central part of the city.

  Jacqueline still wasn’t sure about the economics of the possible expansion, so it was all very conceptual right now. If and when her mother did decide to move ahead, she’d have worked out every financial angle in advance.

  “So Catie’s fine?”

  Turning at Jacqueline’s statement, Ísa nodded. “Clive’s been dodging my calls, but I left messages. He’ll call Catie this morning if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “Fortunately,” Jacqueline replied, leaning back in her chair, “Catie is far more practical and clearheaded than you were at her age. She might hope for more from Clive, but she understands the reality of his personality.” Raised eyebrows. “You, on the other hand, always expected your father to change and become the kind of father you needed.”

  “Head in the clouds,” Ísa said, echoing something Jacqueline had said to her more than once.

  “Too sensitive.” Jacqueline picked up her fountain pen, tapped it against the side of her desk. “I wish you hadn’t been born that way—and God knows where it came from—but it’s who you are. It’s what makes you so good with the people who work for us—they follow me because they respect me. But they’ll follow you because they just like you.”

  “I chose to go into teaching for a reason, Mother,” Ísa said for the umpteenth time. “I chose to make my living with poetry and novels and the written word for a reason.”

  Jacqueline held her gaze. “We have an agreement. For the summer you’re mine.”

  “Yes,” Ísa said, “about that. What’s this I hear about Harlow being put through a different internship program than usual?”

  Setting down her pen, Jacqueline smiled that barracuda smile. “You say the boy has the balls for this kind of work—I’m giving him the chance to prove it. He’s going to be brought up through the entire business, and I’ll be getting reports from all the people he works under.”

  While Ísa was glad her mother was giving Harlow a chance, it was an unfairly difficult one. “He’s still only seventeen,” she said. “You can’t judge him against standards set by grown adults.”

  “You passed those standards,” Jacqueline said flatly. “When you were sixteen.”

  Damn her teenage self, so eager for her mother’s approval.

  Now she couldn’t say anything against Jacqueline’s plans for Harlow because the instant she did, she’d be confirming her mother’s doubts about her brother’s abilities. On the flip side, should Harlow pass the tests, he’d well and truly win Jacqueline’s approval and support. And that was all Harlow wanted.

  “Why did you need to see me?” she asked, trusting Harlow and his skills.

  Jacqueline’s mouth tightened. Waving Ísa over, she pointed to something on the computer screen to the right of her desk. “Look at this.”

  The headline was impossible to miss: New Crafty Corners megastore in progress.

  “I didn’t think the news was out.” Ísa skimmed through the article. “I wasn’t aware you’d made a final decision.”

  “I haven’t.” Jacqueline’s tone was frigid.

  Sucking in a breath, Ísa glanced at Jacqueline’s icily controlled face. “Someone leaked this information?”

  A crisp nod from her mother. “Since I’m not sold on the idea anyway, it won’t do too much damage. I’ve been thinking we should locate it in a less busy area with plenty of parking and spin off a birthday-party package. There are a lot of parents like me and your father who have more important things to do than plan birthdays.”

  Ísa glanced at her mother’s profile and saw that Jacqueline was, once again, frowning at the newspaper article onscreen. Powerfully intelligent as Jacqueline was, she didn’t seem to realize how deeply her words had once cut the child Ísa had been.

  She’d spent every single one of her childhood birthdays without her parents. She’d never had a party while her parents were married, as neither Jacqueline nor Stefán had thought to instruct the staff to organize it.

  Ísa had made damn sure Jacqueline showed her face at the parties Ísa had thrown for Catie. The last time Jacqueline said she couldn’t make it, when Catie was four, Ísa had relocated the party to Crafty Corners HQ and invited every single one of Catie’s preschool friends.

  She’d also hired child entertainers who came with their own live band.

  Jacqueline had learned her lesson very quickly.

  “So,” she said with an inward grin at the memory of the look on Jacqueline’s face when confronted by twenty-seven excited tiny tots with fingers sticky from cookies and cake, “you’re not worried about this specific leak, you’re worried about who it is that’s doing the leaking?”

  “I knew you’d understand,” Jacqueline said with a cool smile. “This leak won’t damage the business, but further disclosures might. I want you to track down the identity of the leaker.”

  Ísa already had a lot on her plate but she didn’t demur, well aware Jacqueline was asking her because she knew Ísa would never betray the family. “How long have you had this mock-up out here on the easel?”

  Glancing at it, Jacqueline frowned. “ At least two weeks. You know I like to have visual aids when I’m thinking on a project.”

  “I’m going to talk to Annalisa, find out who’s been in your office during that time.” That shouldn’t be a tough task. Jacqueline’s office was accessible only by keycard, with any guests escorted in. Even the maintenance and cleaning staff came in during the morning, after Annalisa was already at her desk to supervise.

  “The landscaping contract,” Jacqueline said without warning. “Sailor Bishop. He’s the only new contact I’ve had in here during the time since the concept’s been up on the easel.”

  Ísa bristled. “No,” she said. “He’s got no reason to mess up his relationship with us.” More, he was a man with a strong code of honesty and honor—but she knew better than to base her argument on that.

  Emotion never won with Jacqueline.

  Tamping down her instinctive anger on his behalf, Ísa responded with cold, hard logic. “Whatever the reporter paid for this piece of informati
on,” she pointed out, “it’ll have been peanuts in comparison to what Sailor will earn out of the Fast Organic stores in publicity alone.”

  Jacqueline gave her a piercing look. “I fell for pretty eyes once,” she said. “Clive was very good at telling me what I wanted to hear.”

  27

  Fur-Lined Handcuffs and an Executive Desk (Oh My)

  FOLDING HER ARMS, ÍSA HELD firm; she might have doubts about what she was doing with Sailor on a personal basis, but she had zero doubts about his integrity. “Do you know anybody at the paper you could call?”

  “It’s that asshole Jim Mason at the helm,” Jacqueline responded. “He hates me because I wouldn’t sleep with him.” A snort. “As if Jacqueline Rain needs to sleep with a third-rate editor to get good press.”

  Nope, no options there then.

  “Leave this problem with me,” Ísa said. “And Mother”—Ísa paused until Jacqueline looked up—“don’t do anything against Sailor Bishop in the interim.”

  “This is my company.”

  “It is. But if you want me to take the reins on projects and issues, then you take your hands off them. I will not have my decisions second-guessed and micromanaged.”

  Jacqueline’s lips curved. “Too sensitive, but also brilliant. You really are a chip off the old block. Have at it, Ísa. Succeed or fail, it’s on your shoulders.” Her next words were quiet. “Did you know your father used to read poetry?”

  Ísa froze with her hand on the doorknob.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “What?” She’d never seen her father with a book of poetry in hand. But then, she’d seen little of her father while growing up and even less after he’d handed her over to Jacqueline when Ísa was thirteen. Not because Jacqueline particularly wanted custody, but because Stefán’s own mother had passed away, leaving no one who could look after Ísa.

  Old grief made Ísa’s heart ache as she stood there, waiting for her mother’s response. Amma Kaja had thrown Ísa her first ever birthday party when Ísa was nine. She’d invited all the children in the remote but painfully beautiful Icelandic village where she lived and where Stefán had dumped Ísa after Jacqueline signed over custody—which Stefán had demanded in a fit of divorce-induced madness.

  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 eve
ry 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?”

  The untamed eroticism of him took her to the edge. “Anything you want,” she said, her chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm. “Slow, deep, fast, I don’t care. Just keep going. I love how thick and hard you feel inside me.”

  “You are going to kill me,” he said with a groan before pressing the pad of his thumb against the taut bud of her clitoris.