HIS REDHEAD GLARED AT HIM.

Sailor knew he shouldn’t be messing with the vice president of the company for which he was doing the biggest job of his career so far, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Is this what you call professional behavior?” Her tone was so icy that he almost bought it for a second—but then he caught the flush at the very tips of her ears.

Fascinated, he nearly gave in to the urge to lean down and nip at the nearest tip to see if she was sensitive there. He hadn’t done that while she was naked in his arms in the water. In fact, he hadn’t done a lot of things he wanted to do with and to this redhead with her blushes and her smart mouth and her way of looking at him as if she’d like to eat him up—after ripping off his clothes and running her hands all over him.

Sailor was quite willing to be her sacrifice.

Even if she was a curvy distraction.

Because this distraction didn’t only make his blood burn, she made the day brighter just by being in it. Every time he was lucky enough to be with her, he was just… happier. That was worth fighting for. Worth any prickles. Worth the bruised knuckles. Worth the super-early-morning starts just so he could carve out time in his day to play with her.

“My apologies, Ms. Rain,” he said. “I’ll keep it strictly professional from now on.”

A distinctly suspicious glint in her eye.

Hiding his grin as he grabbed his stuff from the truck, he spread out the detailed plan on the hood. Anchoring the top of the plan with his cell phone and the tape measure, he put his hand on the third edge and Ísa put her hand on the final one.

“This is what I see,” he began.

“Wait,” Ísa said before he could continue. “You’re talking about digging up the existing parking lot. Jacqueline didn’t mention that.”

“It’s the basis for everything else.” Sailor handed her a copy of the quote he’d done for Jacqueline. “There’s no way to get the look the senior Ms. Rain wants for Fast Organic without—”

“I’m the one in charge of this account now,” Ísa said. “You have to sell me your idea.” She shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “And I don’t have a weakness for pretty and charming men.”

This time when Sailor scowled, it was for real. “Don’t you think that’s a little sexist?”

“Excuse me?”

“Ignoring all my skills and bringing me down to being just a pretty man?” Part of him was delighted she saw him that way, but the hard-nosed businessman within was pissed—and irritated. He didn’t want Ísa thinking of him as anything but smart, a worthy opponent.

“Now you know what women feel like in the workplace,” was her tart response. A moment later, she added, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did, especially after I asked you to be professional.”

“So you don’t think I’m pretty and charming?”

An even narrower-eyed glance. “Let’s talk about your plan.” It was an order.

Startled at this unyielding side of her—and turned on as well—Sailor began to go through the finer points of what he intended to. “It’s all about working to create a certain atmosphere from the moment a customer drives in.”

Excitement was a crashing wave inside his body as he laid out his vision. “We’re talking green and healthy, and with this kitchen garden that I’m suggesting”—he tapped it on the map—“your customers will actually be able to see where a little of their food is coming from. Obviously, it’s going to be mostly for show because you won’t be able to grow enough, but you’ll be growing some at least.”

Sailor continued when Ísa didn’t interrupt. “People feel good about buying sustainable products, especially people in your targeted customer base. There’s also the lack of a carbon footprint in taking lettuce from the garden to the kitchen and then to the plate. You can use that in your advertising and customer outreach. I’m betting the garden will also get a lot of play on social media.”

Ísa looked intrigued. “Can we extend that?” she asked. “Fast Organic is going to be fast food, but we won’t be doing huge volumes. Our prices are at the premium end, which means we need to sell at a lower volume to make a profit. The plan is to grow a small but dedicated client base.”

Sailor saw where she was going with this. “You want the kitchen garden big enough that you can actually supply most of the needs of the restaurant?”

Ísa nodded. “Even if it’s only certain items per season,” she said. “For example, if we could say that all the tomatoes in the salad this month come from the Fast Organic gardens.”

Sailor nodded slowly, his blood heating at having a client who was willing to work with him. That it was this woman who made him crave things he’d long pushed to the side, that was just the icing on the cake. “I’ll have to rework the plans, but yeah, we could make that happen.”

He took a pencil from his pocket and began to sketch in a few changes. “You’d then need to have a long-term gardener on contract who could make sure the garden stayed healthy. As it so happens, I know a gardener with excellent rates.” Yes, he preferred to do landscaping, but he wasn’t too proud to take maintenance jobs—it was all cash flow for his bigger dream.

Ísa gave him a look that was pure Rain. “Let’s do this first and see how good you are, Mr. Bishop.”

Sailor wanted to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. Telling himself to focus, that playtime was later, he said, “If we put in a larger kitchen garden, we’re going to have to lose the little seating area here.”

“Not necessarily.” Ísa stared at his plan. “What if we make it so people are welcome to do things in the garden during their lunch break? They can sit there. They can weed if they’re in the mood.”

“Like a community garden?” Sailor drew in a breath, and with it came her scent. “Might work with staff keeping an eye on things. The larger issue is what happens when the restaurant is closed.”

He frowned at the map while Ísa’s scent tangled around him like invisible chains. “I only have sustainable fencing created of hedges in this plan, and I still think that’s the look you should be going for, but if you’re talking about a true kitchen garden, then we have to build in some way to protect the garden at night so folks don’t sneak off with your produce.”

He tapped his pencil on the plan before beginning to draw in a system of strong trellises that would let in light and look beautiful while still acting as protective walls. “One side can open to let people in during the day,” he murmured. “We can train climbers over the rest. Something edible. Beans maybe. Or… will you be using edible flowers in your dishes?”

Ísa was so close now that he could feel her hip brushing against his thigh. “No, I don’t think so. But we should be able to work with that. I’ll talk to the chef who’s finalizing the menu. We can move quickly because Fast Organic will be doing a number of limited-run products across the seasons.”

Sailor continued to alter the plan. Snuggled up next to him in a way she probably didn’t realize and he wasn’t stupid enough to point out, Ísa kept on asking questions, her face alight with interest. He realized that though she’d called him a pretty man, she was dead serious about him and his work.

He also realized she had a brain as dangerous as Jacqueline’s.

His third realization was that he badly, badly wanted to stroke his hand down her back and over the curve of her rear. He’d probably squeeze, because an ass that beautiful deserved nothing else. Then he’d bend down and kiss his way up her spine and to those ears with their fascinating blushing tips.

That was when, out of nowhere, he realized a fourth thing that he’d simply forgotten to factor into his whole pursuit of his redhead: Ísa was rich.

Way out of his league rich.

Even if he got his business off the ground as he wanted and was hoping to achieve, he wouldn’t make any real money until at least two or three years into the future. And that money wouldn’t ever compare to Crafty Corners unless he managed to achieve the biggest dream in his heart.

His fingers tightened around the pencil.

Hard as it was to bear the thought, his spitfire would most probably only ever see him as an amusement. Women as wealthy and as smart and as sexy as Ísa tended to stick within their social and economic class when it came to serious relationships.

Mood suddenly dark even though he had no room in his life for a relationship and the removal of a distraction should’ve made him happy, he began to roll up his plan. “I’ll need to rework the financial end of things in light of these changes. But,” he continued, “I don’t think it should make that much of a difference as we’ll be taking out the seating area to extend the garden.”

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.”

“No.” Though Ísa had wished so hard for exactly that type of a reaction, exactly that type of involvement. “The maid swept away the shards and I was told to go play in my room.” Where she wouldn’t be a distraction. “I was never punished.” Neither parent had had the time to deal with such an insignificant matter. “Lucky, right?”

Sailor’s eyebrows drew together, his lips parting, but a familiar ringtone shattered the air before he could speak.