Page 12 of Sucker For You

Most important of all, since she was here alone:what went wrong?

What had sent Isabel running to Monterey, into the freezing midnight water?

Are you safe?

I went swimming.

That wasn’t an answer.

Wes suppressed his need to ask more questions by biting into a second strawberry. Yes, she was sitting across the coffee table from him, had stopped her fiddling with the aquarium pump, but her elbows remained tight against her ribs and she was staring with hunted, haunted intensity at her mug, almost as if she were drowning in it.

Or wanted to.

One wrong move, and she might vanish back into the sea.

He needed to get her talking. Warmed up, but not by running.

Eating a third strawberry seemed like a good first step. Around his mouthful, Wes told her, “I’m supposed to be staying in a hostel in Moss Landing, but I got a good airfare deal and flew to California early. So my room’s not ready. Like I said, Frizzy—Erin—mentioned that I could crash on her couch for a night or two. Not for my whole five weeks here, though, and. . . wait, did I mention that I’m documenting the Monterey Oceanic Research Institute’s eco-restoration work on the kelp forests? You might’ve seen some floats and fronds out in the bay, if there’s any bioluminescence tonight.”

Isabel’s frown shifted. “The institute—MORI?”

“You know it?” He nudged the remaining strawberries toward her. “MORI’s established a couple of environmental protection zones to help the bay’s ecosystem recover after its sardine boom-and-bust in the nineteen-thirties and forties. I’m contracted to shoot the sea palms and some sea urchin and crab species—plus the sea otters—that only exist in Central California’s bull kelp forests.”

“Kelp is the planet’s largest alga,” she nodded.

“If you, Attenborough, and MORI’s briefing materials all say so?” He shrugged and gave the strawberry tray another push. “The institute reports that it only took eight years after otters reinvaded the bay in the nineteen-sixties for the kelp to come roaring back. Or maybe the right word isgurgling? Anyhow, otters are—”

“—a keystone mammal.” Isabel hitched her chin toward the tank. Her attention briefly caught on the berries, before the coral reclaimed her focus. “Thisecosystem needs more than otters to restore it. It needs oysters.”

“Nature’s brainless water purifiers?”

“Smarter than a man-made filter,” she answered. “They’re more effective, too.”

“Hmm.” He wandered over to the aquarium. Overwhelmed by a fresh influx of debris, its pump was sputtering again. “You’re right.”

When he circled back to the table, a strawberry had disappeared from the tray. A freckle of chocolate marked Isabel’s lower lip.

Good.

Against all evidence to the contrary, she must be relaxing a bit now. Wild creatures fleeing danger would starve, rather than risk the slow, protracted process of digestion. That was why he noticed the little fleck of sweetness on her pale, pretty mouth. He wasn’t staring at her. But he had to clear his throat, then redirect himself to point at the couch’s polka-dotted cushions.

“Hey, do. . . do you mind if I sleep here tonight? I’ll find somewhere else tomorrow, obviously. I’m used to that. But—I can also sleep in my Jeep, if you want. I don’t mind. It’s fine.”

“Oh—no.” Her fingers clenched around the tie of her robe. She shook her head. “Take the bedroom. Please, because you were invited here first. I can’t stay past tomorrow morning, so—”

“No.”

“. . . no?”

“No.” His back twinged. He ignored it. “If we’re doing this, I’m taking the couch. You’re taking the bedroom. If you won’t take the bedroom, then I’ll sleep in the Jeep while you sleep on these cushions. Then we’ll both feel stupid. Plus, I’ll have a crick in my neck.”

“I—”

“You don’t know me. The bedroom door locks.”

After whatever had happened tonight, Isabel would be sleeping with a deadbolt between herself and the stranger she’d found in Erin and Ethan’s bungalow.

Even if that stranger was him.