ÍSA ROSE TO THE SOUNDS of someone moving around. “Sailor?” she mumbled.

“Hey, spitfire.” Already dressed, he crouched down to kiss her. “I have to head out.” A big hand cupping her face. “I’m driving to the nursery this evening. I’ll get back too late to come over. Tomorrow?”

Ísa nodded and, despite his urgings that she stay in bed, got up to kiss him goodbye at the door. As she watched him walk away, his duffel in one hand, her heart squeezed. It only got worse when he waved at her from the elevator.

She was madly, passionately, terribly in love with Sailor Bishop.

And no matter how hard he tried, he could only give her short moments of his time.

“Story of my life,” she whispered with a mocking smile aimed solely at herself. Because she was the one who’d put herself in this situation; she was the one who’d fallen for those demon-blue eyes; she was the one who’d traded in her dream to support his.

Ísa had to laugh or she’d curl up in a ball and cry until her eyes looked like they were made of spaghetti sauce.

Since she was awake anyway, she decided to put in some work on the last hours of security footage. That it was Saturday mattered little; she wouldn’t stop until she’d hunted down the leaker. And if she needed to talk to Jacqueline, she knew exactly where to find her—the Crafty Corners HQ.

Her mother considered Saturdays a workday. Sundays too, though she was more subtle about that since even Oliver wasn’t tolerant enough to accept a spouse who worked seven days a week, sixteen hours a day. So she worked on her gadgets at home. Oliver seemed happy enough with that.

Twenty-five minutes into the security footage, Ísa saw it. Frowning, she pulled up another file, cross-referenced. “Shit.”

Her phone rang right then, Sailor’s number flashing up. And her foolish heart went boom, boom. “Sailor? Is something the matter?”

“I scared off some guy who was taking pictures of the Fast Organic site when I arrived.” He sounded a touch breathless. “I chased him, but the slimy weasel had a head start and his car was already running. He jumped in and took off.”

“I don’t suppose he’s blond and looks like he should be in a toothpaste commercial?”

“I swear, his teeth glinted in the sunlight.”

Well, that was the nail in the coffin. “I know who it was. I don’t think my mother will be pleased.”

---

That was an understatement.

“Ísalind,” Jacqueline said very precisely when Ísa showed her the evidence of Trevor’s sneaking about, “never trust good-looking and charming men.”

Ísa snorted. “I don’t think Trevor is either.” He was too smarmy for it. “What I do think is that he’s the leak—this recording shows him getting into the elevator after your meeting with him, only to come right back up.”

She tapped a piece of paper on Jacqueline’s desk. “And this shows your keycard being used to scan back into your office area.” For such a security-conscious woman, Jacqueline had a habit of leaving her keycard on her desk. “You’ve already confirmed that you and Annalisa were gone at that time.”

Jacqueline looked pained. “I may have mentioned to Trevor that I was taking Annalisa out for a well-earned brunch.”

“And you used Annalisa’s card to get back in.” It was on the list of swipe-ins. “I bet your card was back on your desk when you returned.”

“I don’t recall—but since I never missed it, it must’ve been.”

“Trevor gets back in the elevator ten minutes later. Plenty of time for him to snoop around.” The good news was that the concept plan would’ve been the only piece of juicy information to which he had access—the computers were password protected, and Jacqueline kept all her sensitive documents in a wall safe.

“Is there any way it wasn’t Trevor?” Jacqueline asked hopefully. “He’s poor, sweet Oliver’s only son.”

Ísa nodded in sympathy. Oliver really didn’t deserve a disloyal toad for a son. “Suspicious as this all is,” she said, “Trevor might somehow be able to explain it away. But he can’t explain this.” Ísa pushed across a photo of a car speeding away from the Fast Organic site; the location was identifiable because of the distinctive building on the other side.

Sailor had also managed to catch the license plate. “Taken about forty-five minutes ago by Sailor Bishop. Trevor was sneaking around snapping photos on his phone. He probably didn’t expect Sailor to be there on a Saturday—or to start work so early.”

“That fucking rat.” Jacqueline’s tone was ice as she tapped her pen on the desk. “If he took them less than an hour ago, they’re probably still on his phone. Do you think he’d come in if you invited him in for coffee?”

“Nope. He knows I think he’s a rodent.” Ísa shrugged. “But you… I think you could sell it.” Frowning, she leaned back in the visitor chair. “What I don’t get though is why he’d jeopardize Crafty Corners in any way? Isn’t he trying to get an executive position here?”

Jacqueline stared at her. “I never told you this,” she finally said with a sigh, “because it was never an option, but the position Trevor has been angling for is yours. And”—Jacqueline winced—“I’m fairly sure I let it drop that I was planning to put you in charge of the concept megastore project.”

“Ah. That explains it.” Trevor had been attempting to undermine Ísa. “He must’ve thought you meant immediately.”

“Yes. And Fast Organic is your baby too.” Jacqueline’s eyes narrowed before she smiled a cold smile. “It turns out I’ve lost faith in you, Ísa. In fact, I’ve lost so much faith I need to talk to Trevor and blow off steam. I might even need to invite him in to make it clear to you that you’re on thin ice.”

Ísa tried not to laugh—every so often, the Dragon chose a deserving victim. “What’s pushed you to this loss of faith? Surely not a single article?”

“No, apparently I’ve just heard of a security breach at the Fast Organic site. I can’t believe my VP didn’t take better care of such a prime site.”

“Are you a little bit serious about the latter?”

“Of course I’m not.” Jacqueline snorted. “No call to waste money on a security guard to monitor the site—there’s no staff or any merchandise to protect and we have insurance.” A shrug. “But I don’t expect Trevor to know that. He thinks he has a great head for business, but what he is, is a good lawyer in his specific and narrow field.”

“What do you plan to do to him?”

“Unfortunately, not what I’d like since Oliver does love him. But I’m going to make him sweat for a while by intimating I may share his behavior with his law firm—Trevor loves status above all else, and law firms frown at even a hint of illegality. The twerp deserves that punishment.” Jacqueline’s eyes glinted. “He’ll also no longer be welcome at any of my properties unless it’s a family event where Oliver is present. And at those he’ll be a dutiful, loving son.”

Ísa got up. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“This Sailor Bishop,” Jacqueline said. “Are you sure, Ísalind?”

Ísa didn’t have deep personal discussions with Jacqueline, but something in her mother’s tone made her pause. “Why would you ask that?”

“I told you,” Jacqueline said softly, “you always wanted your father to be different. To be a better man. But men don’t change, Ísa. Don’t forget that.”

Ísa said nothing, but part of her wondered. Was that what she was doing? Hoping for her gardener with demon-blue eyes to change?

“No,” she said once she was back in her office, her eye on her row of cactus plants. “I see him. And I choose to be with him.” Until the day he trampled so badly on her heart that even Ísa’s stubborn will couldn’t fix it.

---

WHEN SAILOR DROPPED BY HIS parents’ on his way to a job a couple of days later and told his mother he was bringing Ísa along on the family camping trip that coming weekend, she said, “Oh? A friend, is she?”

Sailor had been expecting the pointed question. He’d never invited a woman to join in any of the Bishop-Esera camping trips or barbeques; that time was about family, about connection, about love. None of his previous—and short-term—relationships had ever come close to that. But Ísa…

Ísa owned him body and soul.

“Mine,” he said with unhidden satisfaction. “She’s mine.”

Pure delight in his mother’s expression. “How did you two meet?”

“I was doing a job at the school where she teaches.” It was hard to keep a straight face while giving that answer when he just wanted to grin at the memory of being jumped by his redhead.

Early that Friday afternoon as he drove into the parking lot of Ísa’s apartment complex, he was unsurprised to see not just Ísa but Catie out front. The teenager had messaged him to ask if she could come along, the request written in an offhand manner, but Sailor had seen right through it to her genuine desire and curiosity.

He’d not only invited her, he’d told her to bring along her brother. But it turned out Jacqueline was taking Harlow to an out-of-town social-slash business event, so Sailor would have to wait to meet Ísa’s kid brother.

“Two gorgeous ladies waiting for me,” he said before bending Ísa over his arm to claim a ravenous kiss.

It had been two nights since he’d last seen her, their schedules out of whack. Sailor missed her like she was his heartbeat, and he’d made damn sure she wouldn’t forget him or begin to second-guess her decision to stick with him.

“Did you get the flowers I sent?” he asked after coming up for air while keeping her in that dramatic pose.

Pushing at his shoulders, laughter in her eyes, she said, “I don’t think increasingly spiky cacti count as flowers.”

“Succulents,” he murmured in her ear, too low for Catie to overhear. “Juicy, juicy succulents. Nearly as succulent as a redhead I know.”

Ísa blushed, Sailor kissed her again, and Catie took a photo.

Finally rising to his full height, Ísa in his arms—where she belonged—he reached out to tug on one of Catie’s twin braids. “Send me that photo so I can print it out and draw hearts around Ísa’s face.”

Though Ísa elbowed him for his teasing, she was laughing. So he stole another kiss, tasted her happiness. And felt things in him settle, become firm again. As if he’d been on quicksand and then, there it was, solid ground.

“Off to my lair we go,” he said afterward, his exhaustion from the grueling week having disappeared as if it didn’t exist.

Catie got into the back seat with a grin while Sailor lifted the luggage into the bed of the truck. “You can choose the radio station,” he told Ísa after they were in the truck.

“Oooh,” Catie announced from the back, “that’s a sign of love, twue love.”

Sailor saw Ísa’s fingers freeze for a single millisecond on the buttons of the radio before she threw Catie a smiling look, then continued on as if everything was normal. But Sailor had caught that pause, and he felt it like a punch to the jaw. Did Ísa not know exactly how much she meant to him? Had he fucked up that badly?

Running his knuckles over her cheek, he clenched his gut and made a silent vow that he’d fix the fuckup before the weekend was over. A single moment of privacy with Ísa and he’d lay his heart at her feet. And hope she wouldn’t kick it.

“Hey, Issie,” Catie said from the back, “did the Dragon breathe fire on you for taking off early?”

Sailor had meant to ask Ísa the same thing. “Yeah, spitfire, did Jacqueline give you any flak?”

Ísa shook her head just as her phone rang. “I swear, if you two have summoned her by speaking her name,” she muttered while digging into her handbag, “I’ll put a hex on you.” Having located her phone, she looked at the screen. “You’re safe. It’s my father.”

“Hi, Dad,” she said in English before switching to what he guessed must be Icelandic.

After she hung up, she checked something on her phone. “Dad’s fiancée just sent me her ‘visual concept’ for the bridesmaids dresses. Because—according to Dad—she’ll be ‘devastated, honey, just devastated’ if I’m not part of the bridal party.”

Catie, whom Sailor had thought was listening to her iPod, said, “Uh-oh. How bad?”

“Purple. Make-your-eyes-bleed purple.”

Even Sailor knew to wince at that. “It’s the thought that counts?” he suggested.

Ísa shot him a speaking look… before bursting out into giggles, laughing too hard to say anything. Catie fell victim to the same moments later.

And that set the tone for the rest of the drive. Having grown up with three brothers, Sailor hadn’t realized how different it would be to make the drive with two females who were sisters. They laughed, argued over music, teased Sailor, and filled the car with cheerful noise.

When Ísa went looking in his glovebox for a charging cable and found his marked-up copy of Poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, she shot him a smile so luminous it stole his breath. “I didn’t know you were into poetry.”

“My brothers caught me reading that book,” Sailor muttered, his voice husky from the impact of Ísa. “I hope you know what I’ve suffered for you.”

She blew him a kiss.

And Sailor decided he’d take any ragging his brothers cared to throw his way. Ísa’s delight was worth everything.