“Thank you,” I say, internally cringing at how breathless I sound. I shouldn’t be this affected by a man I don’t even know—especially after the shit I went through with my ex—but there’s something about him that draws me in, making my head foggy, and my hormones kick into overdrive.
Isaac opens the door for me, grasping my hand softly to help me inside, then follows suit, sliding in behind me before closing us in the limo. Music is playing softly in the overhead speakers, and the privacy partition is up.
“How was your weekend?” he asks a few minutes into the drive. I glance outside and take a breath of relief when I see the vehicle head north, away from Crystal Harbor.
“It was good. I worked Saturday and was off Sunday.”
His body outwardly tenses, his jaw tightening, and I freeze, realizing I almost slipped up. Luckily, I didn’t mention where I was working, so his reaction must be due to him thinking I was escorting men while I was working.
“Did you have a good weekend?” I ask, quickly putting the attention back on him.
After a few seconds, a sigh escapes his lips and his body and face soften. “I did. I worked Saturday and spent Sunday on my boat.”
“I went to the beach Sunday morning to watch the boats.”
“Where?”
“Chester Creek Beach. It was crowded and got hot too quickly, so I only stayed for a couple hours.” In Washington, there’s more rain than sun during the summer, so when it’s actually sunny out people tend to take advantage of it.
“I was there as well. I docked at Wallen Island and did some fishing. It was very relaxing and my boat provided plenty of shade.” His brown eyes meet my green and a breathtakingly beautiful smile spreads across his face. “Had I known you were there, I would’ve invited you to join me.”
Unsure what the hell to say to that, I simply smile back and ask, “What’s the name of your boat? Maybe I saw it.” I love people watching, and when I go to the beach, I always find the names on the boats and create stories in my head about where the names came from.
“Only Ever Yours.”
“Sounds romantic… Care to share who she is?” I flutter my eyelashes playfully, but quickly stop when a frown appears on his face.
“It’s named after my parents. They passed away several years ago. My mom had those words engraved on the inside of their wedding rings in Portuguese, which is her native language, for their twentieth anniversary. They were the most in-love couple I’ve ever seen,” he says, a small smile breaking through his sadness.
My heart sinks, remembering how his parents died. “I’m sorry.” I lay my hand on his, which is resting on his lap. “I lost my mom to cancer and that was hard enough, I can’t imagine losing both my parents…” And in such a sudden, violent way, I think but don’t say out loud.
“Losing someone we love is never easy, but I’m thankful I got so many years with them. They were the two people I looked up to the most, showing me every day what love looks like. I hope one day the name of my boat will have a deeper meaning.”
His eyes, filled with heated intensity, connect with mine, at the same time he threads our fingers together, causing butterflies to explode in my belly. After several seconds, I avert my gaze and slide my hand out of his—remembering where I am and why—to break the connection that’s sizzling between us. But he’s not having it, because the second my face begins to turn, he catches my chin and forces me to look at him.
“Your eyes are beautiful,” he says softly. “That shade of green reminds me of the home my father built for my mom. It was a two-story colonial sitting on hundreds of acres of land. When it would rain, the grass would turn a bright green. I hated the rain because I couldn’t play outside, and when I would complain to my mom, she would tell me that rain is Mother Nature’s way of pressing the refresh button. That’s what your eyes remind me of... a fresh start.”
Be. Still. My heart.
I swallow thickly, stunned by his words, and say the first thing that comes to mind to change the subject. “Is there anything I need to know about tonight?”
At the charity function, he made it a point to refrain from introducing me to anyone, focusing on the person he was speaking to—for which I was grateful—but at dinner, it will be more intimate—then again, Yasmin did tell me that most men prefer a trophy date... a pretty woman to be seen and not heard. But something tells me that’s not Isaac’s style and I need to stop trying to lump him into the same category as my ex.