This.
This moment made her fears about his overprotective nature and reclusive ways feel inconsequential.
Yes. She was all too willing to lose herself in this moment.
Their relationship was still new, only a few months old, a passionate explosion. They would sort through the rest with time.
Because what they had was too precious to lose.
* * *
Since starting her consulting business four years ago, Isabeau had met clients in their homes for a variety of reasons. Despite her anxiety, those meetings didn’t faze her. There’d always been a sense of comfort, partly because her clients felt at ease in their own spaces and it made the work of image curation easier.
But not all clients were Trystan.
Drop-dead sexy Trystan with his newly clipped dark brown hair and sexy, steamy eyes. Isabeau had started to get used to her trips to Trystan’s temporary office space for further consultation and makeover advice. The trips to his remote home had been scheduled in advance—standard really, but when making the schedule, she hadn’t taken into account an impulsive hookup and a broken condom.
Her stomach plummeted a bit as she stared out the window of the seaplane. Smaller planes made flying feel more real, more adventurous, as she studied the landscape below, from the rocky shoreline to mountaintops that still carried a hint of snow even in summer.
That sense of adventure blended with an awareness of being in a small cabin space with a man she’d slept with, in a boathouse no less. A man who was her client.
A man she could not push from her thoughts no matter how hard she tried.
The events of yesterday’s wedding brimmed in her mind, overflowing until her body hummed with the desire to repeat their boathouse encounter, but slower. And without a broken condom.
Nerves pattered in her stomach. She drew in one deep breath after another. If she was pregnant, she would handle it. She would love her child and provide a stable home. Thanks to the sacrifices her own mother had made, she had an education and a career on the rise. A surprise pregnancy would slow her down, but she wouldn’t let it stop her.
She pushed aside whispers of fear. If the delicate balance of her diabetes flared out of control... No. She would be okay. She’d asked her doctor in the past and it could be managed.
She was in control.
Well, of everything except her feelings for the man beside her.
Trystan guided the Mikkelsons’ tiny seaplane housing just the two of them, plus Paige who curled in a tight ball between Isabeau’s seat and his. The dog’s head rested against Isabeau’s foot. She reached down to scratch the pup’s ears, flopping them back and forth, taking comfort in the sensation.
She reminded herself of her plan to get through the next few weeks of this job with Trystan—until she knew where she stood.
Stay calm and keep your hands to yourself.
And above all, do not risk another broken condom.
Trystan shot a glance her way. “What made you choose the name Paige for your dog rather than something like Fluffy or Old Yeller?”
Talking about the tasks her dog performed still made her feel uncomfortable. She was learning to draw boundaries around what she shared, but it had been quite a process over the past year since she’d been partnered with a working dog. She’d always struggled with anxiety, which spiked her blood sugar. But she’d managed with medication and some counseling. But after the stalking incident, her life had spun out of control—as had her health. She’d needed more help, help that had come in a surprising four-legged package.
“Um, why are you curious about her name?”
“We put a lot of thought into naming our horses. I’ve found there’s usually a clue to the individual’s personality when I hear the story about why they chose the name.”
“That’s very insightful of you.”
“You sound surprised. Should I be insulted?” He half teased, eyes steady on the controls. Alert. Aware.
Sexy as hell.
He commanded a cool confidence as he guided the plane through the clear sky.
“I apologize for not thinking before I spoke. But I guess now I have to be honest. You seem too...brusque.” Sliding her gaze away from him, she peered out the window, down to the Alaskan topography. Lakes appeared like constellations among the green valleys, the lush color a brief but vibrant treasure in Alaska.
“Maybe I’m churning around some deep contemplation during all those quiet moments.” He offered her a tight smile, and though his aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, she imagined they had a dash of mischief in them.
“Perhaps you are. I should know better than to prejudge.”
“So, the name Paige?”
Tucking her feet beneath her, she turned in her seat. Inspired by the conversation. By the willingness to open up. She needed him to do that if she was going to turn him into the perfect mouthpiece of the company. “How about a trade? I’ll tell you more about Paige if you’ll tell me the story behind one of your horse’s names.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded once, keeping his gaze forward. “I assume from the tone of your voice, I’m supposed to go first.”
“That would be nice.”
“You’re tougher than you appear, by the way.”
“Thanks. Your horse?” Leaning forward, she awaited his answer. Probably something gruff and manly. Perhaps named for a skill or attribute. Like Rocky.
“Jerome.”
She laughed, then bit her lip. Not what she’d expected at all. “Seriously? Jerome?”
“Absolutely serious. I named my first horse Jerome.”
Curiosity nipped as she pictured him as a child naming a horse such a serious name. “How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
Scratching along her hairline, she frowned. “You got your first horse at eleven? I assumed in your family you would have started riding much younger.”
“I did ride earlier—as a guest.” He touched the back of his neck, his jaw tense. “I’m an adopted Mikkelson. I visited when I was younger but didn’t live with them until they took me
