ÍSA WOKE, STILL NOT KNOWING what Sailor was planning. He’d teased her unmercifully last night, told her to wear a swimsuit and something over the top to protect herself from the sun, but wouldn’t tell her which beach he intended for them to visit.

Not that it mattered.

Ísa was already beyond charmed at the idea that he was throwing her a private birthday celebration. He could have no idea how much that meant to her. She was waiting for him in the lobby of her apartment building when he drove his truck into the parking lot. Having missed waking up to his kiss, she immediately headed out with her beach-ready tote bag.

He threw open the passenger door from the inside, all gorgeous male appreciation of her—though she was wearing a tankini over which she’d pulled on a pair of shorts and a floaty white garment that covered her arms.

Her legs were a matching flash-fire white.

But where she saw a wraith, he saw a woman who made his eyes glint with sexual heat. “I love your skin,” he murmured as she got in, placing one big hand on her thigh and stroking as he leaned in for a kiss.

How was Ísa supposed to resist him when he said things like that? And then he touched her as if she were some precious Rubens painting, his own breath turning uneven by the time the kiss ended.

“Hold that thought,” he ordered before putting the truck in gear and pulling out.

It took Ísa a few minutes to find her brain cells again. “What’s in that odd-looking duffel bag on the back seat?” It was tubular in shape and seemed to be made of waterproof fabric.

“My beach gear, plus I made us a picnic.”

Grinning at his open pride, she said, “Which beach are we going to hang out at?”

His chuckle sent all her instincts prickling. “A very nice one.”

Ísa narrowed her eyes. “Sailor, we are going to go lie on a beach and read books and drink champagne right?”

“Sure. After.”

“After what?”

“You’ll see.”

No matter what Ísa threatened, he wouldn’t tell her his plans. And then, a half hour later, they were obvious. He parked his truck in a spot not far from Mission Bay. But the actual bay closest to where they’d stopped—Okahu—was the hub of a kayak-rental business.

“Tell me we’re not going kayaking,” she asked, making no effort to hide her horror.

He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Trust me, spitfire. I’ll keep you safe.”

“That’s not the point, Sailor. I can’t row those stupid things!” The last time she’d tried had been during a high school camp, having been forced into the “fun” activity by a teacher who hadn’t understood Ísa’s lack of coordination. “I’ll drown and the fish will eat my face.”

“I’ve got you covered.”

“Oh, are you going to magically row my spindly death boat?”

Laughing, he just tugged her down to the rental place, where they showed him to the double kayak he’d already apparently booked.

“You could’ve told me,” she said to the demon by her side.

He chucked her under the chin with a playfulness that made her stomach go all fluttery. “Why?” he said. “It was so much fun having you send me death rays with your eyes.”

“You haven’t seen my death ray eyes yet,” Ísa muttered while putting on the lifejacket he gave her. She was glad to see him donning one too. Sailor was strong and athletic, but she’d feel better if they were both protected even though they’d just be paddling about in the relatively sheltered waters of the bay.

Then she saw him placing the tubular duffel into a hatch in back of the kayak after removing a few items. That done, he picked up her tote, added the bottles of juice he’d pulled out from his bag, and put the entire tote into another bag that looked waterproof before placing it in a hatch at the front of the kayak that the person sitting up front could easily access. He neatly sealed up both hatches.

Ísa swallowed. “Sailor, how far are we going?” There wasn’t anything out there except the islands of the Hauraki Gulf.

Oh God.

“Please don’t say Rangitoto.” The dormant volcano was a dramatic triangular shape on the horizon—and it was really, really, really far away.

“Okay.” He shot her a grin. “We’re going to Motutapu. It’s just behind Rangitoto.”

“I know where it is.” Even farther away. “In case you missed it, ferries cross that water. Yachts zip across it. No one’s going to notice a toothpick-thin kayak. Those face-eating fish are going to get a good meal out of the two of us.”

Her dark prediction only made Sailor’s grin widen. “Trust me on this, birthday girl. I can take us the whole way, and I know how to dodge or ride the wake from the larger craft.” A grip on her chin, a quick kiss. “Come on, where’s my wild, skinny-dipping Ísa?”

“She’s scared of face-eating fish,” Ísa muttered but grabbed her floppy hat from the tote and stuffed it on her head. “Will this stay on?” Even slathered in sunscreen, her face would be fried bacon if she went out on the water without a hat. The sunscreen should protect her legs, but she could always throw her towel across them if the skin began to go pink.

Sailor tied up the tote handles for her again. “Wind’s calm, so yeah.” Sliding his hand up her calf and higher, he rose to his feet. “Let’s go celebrate your birthday in style.”

Wanting to do her bit now that she’d agreed to this insanity, Ísa helped him lift the kayak. Once it was on the soft white sand, just nudging the water, Sailor made her get into the front seat. “I can control it better from the back,” he told her. “And with our gear pretty balanced, the heavier person should be at the back.”

Ísa’s lips parted in an instinctive demurral… when she realized he was heavier. All that muscle on a six-two frame made him deliciously heavy when he was on top in bed. Two days ago, he’d talked her into being on top. And then he’d talked dirty to her until she’d ridden him like he was a thoroughbred.

“Fuck me, Ísa. Just like that, baby.”

“You’re so good at this, sweetheart.”

“You have the body of a centerfold.”

Cheeks flushing at the memory of his harsh, sexy words before his back bowed in a shuddering orgasm, she took her seat.

Sailor put her paddle across the front and told her to hold on to the middle.

“Got it,” Ísa said just as a small wave crashed over the bow and washed away the erotic echoes from their night together.

Ísa tried desperately to reassure herself that this plan wasn’t destined for disaster.

If the kayak flipped, she and Sailor just had to float until someone got to them. And if a fish or three nibbled on her toes, well, apparently that was considered a pedicure in some places. She’d seen it online. So she’d get a free fish-nibble pedicure. Nothing to worry about.

We’re going to die. At least my last will and testament is up to date.

Sailor pushed the kayak forward, deeper into the water, then somehow managed to jump in without causing it to rock wildly before starting to paddle… and she realized she had absolutely no need to worry. He had total control of the kayak, his motions so fluid that she felt like she was on a smooth ride. She wished she could see him, see his biceps flexing, his golden skin gleaming under the sunlight.

They rode gracefully over an incoming wave.

“Shall I try?” she asked hesitantly, her hands tight on the kayak paddle she still held across her front. “I’ll probably mess up your rhythm.”

“Don’t worry so much, baby. This is about having fun,” he said, the affection in the words making her blink her eyes hard against a hot, wet burn. “But wait until I have us past the waves so it’ll be easier.”

That didn’t take him long.

Once they were in calmer waters, he stopped and taught her how to angle her paddle so it cut through the water rather than fighting it. It took her several tries, but she finally got some semblance of a good stroke.

A smile broke out over her face. “This is fun.” No one had ever been so patient with her when she was trying to learn to do something athletic.

“I don’t like to say I told you so, but…”

She laughed at Sailor’s smug tone and carried on. She did have to take frequent breaks as the trip was a three-hour one for someone as strong and experienced as Sailor. With him slowing down so she could paddle too, plus a water and snack break in the middle, it was well past the three-and-a-half-hour mark by the time they hit the choppier waters near the island.

---

CONTENT IN A WAY HE hadn’t been in a long time, his demons unable to fight the happiness in his veins, Sailor watched Ísa dig in her paddle ahead of him. She was off-rhythm but determined and probably had a burned nose by now, though she’d slathered on more sunscreen midway through their journey.

If he’d been facing her, he’d have kissed her silly.

She’d probably have pushed him back with a stern warning about face-eating fish.

Grinning, he said, “Time for you to rest, spitfire. I need to take over now to get us past the more tricky sections.”

“Okay,” Ísa said and carefully put her paddle in front of her so it wouldn’t be in his way.

Sailor dug in, powering them toward the beach at Motutapu where he intended for them to land. He saw a couple of yachts moored nearby, but there was no one else on the beach itself. It was a hard one to get to if you weren’t coming by your own watercraft.

“Are you bionic?”

Ísa’s question had him laughing. “Pure Kiwi male,” he said, but his chest puffed up a little at her admiring tone. “You want to paddle some more? It’s a straight shot to the beach now.”

Nodding, Ísa picked up her oar.

He matched his rhythm to her gentle one, enjoying himself in a way he would’ve never expected at such a lazy pace. Usually when he kayaked, it was all about the burn in his muscles, his speed punishing in an effort to drown out the demons. “Stay in the kayak,” he told Ísa when they got close to landing.

Jumping out into the water himself, he pushed the kayak onto the sand with her in it. She laughed in delight, and his heart, it flip-flopped in a way it had never done in his twenty-three years of life.

Yeah, she was it for him.

Didn’t matter how many years he’d had on this earth.

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.