Текст книги "Compromising Her Position"
Автор книги: Samanthe Beck
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Surprise,” Rafe murmured and lowered his head to kiss her. She turned at the last moment and the kiss landed on her cheek. Impatience sprinted through him. Yes, he’d promised discretion, but Daryl didn’t moonlight for the Montenido Enquirer. He caught her chin, tipped her face up, and planted a kiss on her mouth, then nibbled and teased her stubborn lips until they parted around a reluctant sigh. He rewarded them both by deepening the kiss for one dizzying instant, before drawing back to stare down at her.
The sight greeting him gave him pause. Evasive eyes shielded by lowered lashes, and two slashes of red riding high on otherwise pale cheeks. He frowned and brushed her hair off her forehead, relieved to find it cool. “You okay?”
She flashed an unconvincing smile, but didn’t look at him. “I’m fine. Not too good with surprises, I guess.”
Tired, he deduced, and something more, but he didn’t need to pry it out of her right here on the doorstep. He had all night to figure out what troubled her. And he would. He took her hand and pulled her up the steps. The ever-efficient Daryl followed with her bag, set it inside the door, and then waited while Rafe signed the receipt. With a nod, he was gone.
“This way.” He led her through the open entryway to the light-saturated sitting room and pointed her toward the long, low-slung white sofa Arden had talked him into on the grounds of its “aggressive impracticality.” He had to admit it fit the space. “Something to drink?”
She snuggled into the gray wrap she wore over a formfitting gray and white striped sweater and slim white jeans that made her legs go on for miles. “Anything,” she said as she wandered over to the retracted glass doors framing the view.
“Two anythings coming up. Make yourself at home.” He swept her hair aside and kissed her neck—another surprise gauging by the way she stiffened. The urge to turn her around and ask her what the hell was wrong returned. He shook it off and headed to the kitchen. Sometimes patience presented a better strategy. Give her a drink, let her relax, and she’d probably share whatever was on her mind of her own accord.
When he returned with their drinks he found her out on the deck. She’d slipped off her heels somewhere along the line, and stood barefoot on the bleached wood, elbows propped on the rail, staring out at the waves. As he watched, she wrapped her arms around herself. The pose made her look disconcertingly solitary.
“Cold?” February evenings in Southern California fell a good twenty degrees short of the warm Maui nights.
“A little.” Her eyes remained trained on the water.
“This will warm you up.” He handed her a glass, and then stood behind her with an arm braced on the rail on either side of her. “I wanted to meet you at the airport, but my schedule didn’t cooperate.”
“The limo was very comfortable.”
“I looked forward to sharing the ride.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I can’t stop thinking about the last time we found ourselves together in a limo.”
“Was it memorable?”
Did she think that prim voice could freeze his dick off? He retaliated by moving his hips forward so she could tell he wasn’t easily discouraged. “Yes. I remember tying your wrists to the door, bracing your feet against the ceiling, and making you come so hard you cried.”
She lifted her glass and took a sip of her drink. The tiny pause before she swallowed told him she remembered the last time they’d shared rum and Coke, too. He waited until she was done swallowing and then touched his glass against hers. “I’ve missed you.”
“Have you?”
He tilted his head to study her. “Why the doubt?” Anger or something close to it put the flush back in her cheeks. She gripped the rail with her free hand, and he got the distinct impression doing so kept her from wrapping it around his throat.
“I saw a picture of you at the Las Ventanas gala. You didn’t look lonely.”
“You determined my mindset by a single picture?”
“Yep,” she clipped the word and took another drink.
He stared out at the darkening horizon for a moment, trying to recall all the pictures he’d posed for and which one would bother her. Nothing sprang to mind. “As host, I interacted with a lot of people that night. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“No. I don’t. This conversation is over.”
She tried to shift away from him, but he didn’t give an inch. He kept her hemmed in, kept the pressure on, because something had lit the fuse on her temper and he intended to find out what. “This conversation is just getting interesting. Let’s see, the two people I spent the most time with that evening were my father and my…” He almost said sister, but bit the word back because everything suddenly fell into place. “…date.”
She’d seen the picture of him and Arden. He sipped his drink to hide a smile. Chelsea wasn’t angry, she was jealous. A better man wouldn’t find so much pleasure in her suffering. A better man would remember just how badly that particular emotion burned, and come clean. But jealousy meant she cared. She wanted a claim to him, and maybe if he pushed her she’d admit it instead of continuing to insist she was happy keeping things casual. The situation gave him the upper hand, and he didn’t plan to put his cards on the table until he’d won.
“I don’t want to talk about the party.” She turned on him, her dark eyes glittering in the purple-tinged dusk. When he didn’t back up, she added, “I’m going inside. I’m cold.”
“You’re not cold.” He brushed his hand over her furiously hot cheek.
Those dark eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Fine. I’m bored. This entire topic bores me.”
“And yet you brought it up, which makes me think you’re actually very curious—aching with curiosity. What do you want to know?”
Her entire body stiffened. “Nothing.”
Aware he risked bodily harm, he leaned in and put his mouth close to her ear. “Would you like to know who she is?”
“No!” A slender hand found the center of his chest and pushed him away with more strength than he would have given her credit for. She stalked down the deck, then swung around and faced him again. “It’s none of my concern. Date whomever you want. I don’t care.”
The last three words slapped at him like a challenge. One he desperately wanted to accept. “Who are you trying to convince, Chelsea, me or yourself?” He took a step toward her. She took a step back. “You seem a little jeal—”
Her tumbler whizzed past his head and crashed against the deck chair behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to assess the damage because her bare feet made glass shards a hazard, but the heavy crystal broke rather than shattered. He turned back to her. Wide, shell-shocked eyes locked on the glass as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d just thrown it. Those eyes shifted to him when he closed the distance between them. “To finish my sentence, you seem a little jealous. Shall I get you another?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance.”
She planted a hand on his chest to push him away again, but he simply wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to him.
“Hey—”
He didn’t let her finish, just slammed his mouth down on hers, pried her lips apart and swallowed her words until the fist against his chest curled into his sweater and fingernails raked along his neck and into his hair. Her wrap fluttered to the floor. He backed her up against the wall and hauled her into his arms. Slim thighs clamped around his hips and her needy moan slid over his tongue. And then something trickled into the seam where their lips met. Something salty. Tears.
God damn him. He drew back, cupped her face in his hands, and exhaled slowly. When he had himself under some semblance of control, he said, “She’s my sister.”
Liquid brown eyes stared into his for a good five seconds. “Your sister?”
“Yes. The woman in that picture is my sister. And for the record, you are the most stubborn woman on the face of the planet.”
“Your sister,” she repeated and made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Arden.”
“Arden. Not a friend, business associate, or lover.”
She didn’t say it as a question, but he responded anyway. “None of the above.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her soft, parted lips. “I really enjoyed the way you threw a drink at my head, though.”
“Sorry, not sorry.”
He kissed her again, more deeply. “I’m sure I had it coming, but your aim needs work.”
Here’s where he had to tread lightly. Ease her into the idea of extending their relationship beyond the close of the deal, and from there…more. Always more, because in the last six weeks he hadn’t managed to figure out the cure to this never-ending, insatiable need for her—her sassy comebacks delivered in that smooth, well-mannered way, the dimple in her cheek, her soft heart and hard head. Another six weeks, or six months, or even six years wouldn’t do the trick. He trailed his mouth along her jaw, and then nibbled her ear. “How about I come to Maui at least once a quarter and give you some target practice?”
She stilled, and then her hands flattened on his chest—not pulling him in, not pushing him away. He didn’t know what to make of it, so he nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear.
“Y-you’d commit to…coming to Maui once a quarter?”
“Give or take.” So far her reaction fell short of thrilled. Cautious was his best read. He dragged his lips back to hers, and applied persuasion.
Her breath came out in a long, slow exhale against his cheek. “I won’t be there.”
That stopped him cold. He drew back. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll be in Tahiti.”
Tahiti? What the hell? Maui was already a stretch, a five-hour flight from anywhere he could reasonably designate as his main office. Tahiti was remote. Remote to the point of running away—again. Except this time, he had no choice but to assume she was running from him. “You’re telling me this now?”
“You never asked about my plans.” She raised her eyes to his face, but for once he couldn’t read her thoughts in those dark depths. “As part of the deal liaison package, the Templetons offered me the general manager position at the new resort. You’ll have time to find a new manager for Maui, but after a reasonable transition period, I’m moving on.”
“I assumed—”
“Yes, you did, but I’m not sure why. I told you at the outset I wasn’t going to sleep with my boss. I learned my lesson the first time around. Been there. Done that. Wore out the T-shirt.”
This was bullshit. No matter what his title, he wasn’t Barrington, and he resented the hell out of her dumping him in the same sleazy, untrustworthy bucket. Another thing he resented? She’d never once discussed this with him. Why? He grabbed for the most obvious answer. “Chelsea, you don’t want to go to Tahiti.”
Her chin came up. “Yes, I—”
He used his mouth to cut her off, almost enjoying the taste of her anger and the urgent way she kissed him back. Maybe she refused to admit her feelings even to herself, but this he could trust. Their bodies had never been anything except brutally honest with each other. What the hell, he’d fuck the truth out of her. All night, if that’s what it took. He tore at the front of her jeans while she sucked his tongue so hard he felt the pull all the way to his balls.
A second later her pants were undone. He couldn’t say whether he unzipped them or ripped them, but the fabric gave way and that’s all that mattered. He set her on her feet long enough to dig a condom out of his pocket, yank his fly open, and protect her. In the time it took, she managed to work one leg out of her jeans. Good enough. He swept one hand under her sweater and tugged her bra out of his way. With the other, he reached around and got a grip on the back of her thong. “You don’t want to go to Tahiti.”
“You don’t have the first clue what I want.” The hands in his hair pulled hard, dragging his mouth down to hers.
He ripped her panties off. She gasped. Her hands dove under his sweater to latch onto his shoulders, and her hips rocked forward. He hitched her up a little higher, nudged himself into position, and let her squirm there while her small, frustrated cries floated on the wind. “Still running away, Chelsea?”
Her head whipped back and forth. “Not running away. Getting on with my life.”
Damn her. He wanted to pull back, to hold out until sheer need forced her to eat her words, but he overestimated his own restraint. The way she trembled against him, the bite of her fingernails on his shoulder, the wet, tight kiss of her body over the head of his cock obliterated all those intentions. The single, driving compulsion to be inside her superseded everything. And then he was. A surge forward buried him deep, brought her clit down hard on the base of his shaft. Her scream reverberated in his ears, desperate and euphoric at the same time. The last of his control ebbed like sand under a raging surf. She became a wave in his arms, arching, rising, cresting, and when she broke over him, she dragged him down, too. The orgasm drowned his so-called strategy under a crushing wall of pleasure.
Chelsea crept down the curved stairway she had no distinct memory of climbing last night, and saw her single piece of luggage sitting forlornly inside the front door where Daryl had left it last night. As if she’d really expected to have a quick, civilized dinner and then be on her way. Sore muscles in her calves, her thighs, and less mentionable places laughed at the very idea. He owned her body as soon as he touched her—a fact he’d firmly established in a supply closet at Las Ventanas—and pretending otherwise only gave him yet another opportunity to prove her wrong. He owned her heart, too, but at least that sad fact remained her secret. Determined to keep it that way, she relied on the meager pre-dawn light to guide her to the living room where she’d left her purse.
She had to get out of there. Now. Last night’s emotional roller coaster had left her reeling. Jealousy, followed by profound, head-swimming relief when he’d informed her the woman in the picture was his sister. For a few precious seconds she’d let her hopes soar, only to have them come crashing down when he’d tossed out what was essentially a, “Whenever I’m in Maui,” proposition. Admittedly, for him the offer probably felt like a commitment, but for her, it underscored the vast gap between what she wanted and what he had to give. Anger and pride had held her tongue last night, but if she faced him in the light of day, with her anger depleted and her pride fucked to shreds, she’d most likely throw herself at his feet and beg for whatever scraps he could offer. She’d subjugate her own wants and needs to suit him.
Same old Chelsea.
The thought got her moving. Carefully, she slipped her phone out of her bag, sat on the sofa, and called a cab. As she spoke with the dispatcher, she dug her compact out of her bag, opened it, and glanced into the mirror. Her listless, sleep-deprived reflection stared back at her, and a red mark decorated the side of her throat.
Branded, like one of the herd. She ran her fingertip over the tender spot, triggering the memory of his mouth on her skin. She dragged her attention back to the conversation in time to hear the dispatcher tell her they had a drop-off in Twilight Cove and the cab would be in the drive in less than five minutes. Miracle. Fate smiled on her for once.
She tossed the phone in her bag and then walked to the door. After opening it, she paused for a last look around. Stalling. Hoping he’d come down the stairs searching for her, and say some magic words that would make her feel like she could still do this.
But she couldn’t. One positive thing had come out of the last six weeks. She wasn’t ready to give up on love anymore. She knew what she wanted, though, and she wasn’t going to find it with Rafe.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Dammit.” Rafe hit disconnect when his call went to Chelsea’s voicemail, and tossed his phone onto the kitchen island. It skidded across the granite and clattered onto the terrazzo floor. “Dammit,” he said again, at the same time Arden came through the sliding glass door leading from the deck.
“And good morning to you, too.” She picked up his phone and handed it to him.
“Thanks. When did you get back?” Realizing he sounded surly, he added, “And how was…wherever the hell you were?”
“I got back about an hour ago, and San Francisco was lovely. Going out on a limb here, but am I interrupting some kind of temper tantrum?”
“No.” He didn’t intend to explain to his little sister that his carefully laid plans had somehow backfired and he’d woken up alone this morning, instead of next to Chelsea. They were not eagerly scheduling his next trip to Maui over eggs and coffee.
“Does it have anything to do with the woman who caught my cab?”
“You saw her? Did she say anything?”
“I didn’t see her. My driver got the call and said something along the lines of this being his lucky day, because he had a woman to pick up next door. I almost fell out of the car. You never bring women here. The deal liaison?”
“I need coffee.”
She wandered over to his machine and did the honors. “You must feel pretty strongly about her, to invite her to your house.”
He opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business, but what popped out instead was, “I love her.” His heart took a minute to resume beating after that confession, but the words—and the truth behind them—rang in his ears. He didn’t just want more from Chelsea. He wanted all.
“Oh my God!” She spun and treated him to a huge smile, but then her expression sobered. “So what happened? Why’d she leave?”
“It’s complicated, Arden. I had a strategy—”
“Strategy.” She rolled her eyes. “You are definitely your father’s son.”
He dropped into one of the tall stools around the island, and scrubbed his hand over his face. “We both walked into this with certain rules in place, and now I want to break every single one. Hell, I want to shatter them, but breaking and shattering seemed like bad tactics. I thought we should ease into it.”
A sharp stare, disconcertingly similar to his own, skewered him. “Define ‘ease into it’?” She made air quotes around the words.
“I don’t know. Just…” He trailed off, unsure how to phrase things. This was his little sister, after all. But she saved him the trouble.
“Holy crap, Rafe. What the hell did you propose?”
He winced and looked down at the counter. The flecks and grains in the granite formed an infinite variety of patterns. A question mark. A man walking off a cliff. The word “ass.” “I said I’d come to Maui once a quarter—give or take.”
“What?”
“Look, I know how it sounds now, in the light of day, okay?” He stood and stalked over to the fridge, then paced back to where he’d started. “At the time, I thought, ‘Just get the fuck out from under the hard stop imposed by the close of the deal. Get her to agree to keep us going, and then…whatever it took. Ratchet the frequency up until something had to give.’”
“Amazing.” She shook her head and looked at him as if he were a lost cause. “Hard to believe she didn’t jump at your proposition.”
“Shut up.” He stared out the window at the waves.
“You know, all that breaking and shattering you wanted to avoid goes by another name.”
He exhaled slowly, and braced his forearms on the island. He’d fucked up. He’d fallen short. And he knew it. Putting the right label on the mess wouldn’t improve a damn thing. “Do the semantics matter?”
“They do.” She crossed the room and propped herself on the other side of the island, opposite him, leaning in until their foreheads touched. “It’s called laying your heart on the line. It’s where you drop the games and strategies, and tell the other person how you feel.”
“In the language of negotiation, that’s called the all-or-nothing approach. It’s generally considered a risky move.”
She smiled up at him. “Good thing you like to take risks.”
Chelsea pulled her rental car into an open parking space near the address Laurie had given her. She raised her sunglasses to her forehead, and riffled through the file folder on her passenger seat until she found the small white envelope tucked between the freshly signed contracts for the sale of Tradewinds. Her hands shook as she opened the envelope, and her breath caught at the sight of all the zeroes on her bonus check. Fifty thousand dollars. Despite all the upheaval of the last twenty-four hours, she smiled. Sure, she’d failed miserably at guarding her heart, and her fresh start was an epic fail, but she’d accomplished one important goal.
Clutching the check, she got out of the car and walked the few steps to the empty storefront with the For Lease sign in the window. She squinted against the noon sun and paused to take in the view. Across the street a row of tall palms swayed in the breeze, marking the transition from sidewalk to sand. Beyond, the Pacific glittered in all its cool, blue Montenido glory. When she pictured the ocean, she always pictured this.
Home.
And the perfect spot for the new improved Babycakes Bakery. Time to do her part to make it happen. She smoothed her white blouse and red pencil skirt—the outfit she’d packed in deference to Valentine’s Day—and realized she’d chosen the exact same outfit she’d worn on her infamous final day at Las Ventanas. Nice job, Chelsea. When it comes to repeating past mistakes, you get all the details right.
Too many memories threatened. She turned quickly and headed for the door, but it swung open before she reached it. Laurie burst out onto the sidewalk and enveloped Chelsea in a tight hug. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”
Chelsea wrapped her arms around her best friend and returned the hug, blinking quickly when her eyelids started to prickle. “It’s good to see you too.”
Laurie eased away and gave her a stern look. “Don’t cry on me. If you start, I’ll start, and I’m almost as ugly a crier as you.”
“I won’t.” She forced her lips into a smile. “No crying. Not when we have something important to celebrate.” She held up the bonus check and danced it in front of Laurie’s face. “A Valentine’s Day surprise for you. I hear there’s a great opportunity to invest in a local business. I want in.”
“Oh my God, you did it!” Blond curls bounced as Laurie jumped up and down, and then hugged her again. Just as suddenly, she stopped and pinned Chelsea with a serious look. “This is a lot of money, and I know how hard you worked to earn it. You sure you want to risk it on me?”
“I want to invest it in you,” she corrected. “I don’t see a lot of risk. Babycakes thrived right up until the day it burned down. You know what you’re doing. You’ll have it thriving again in no time.”
“We’ll have it thriving again. You pay in, I insist on making you a partner.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”
Chelsea shook on it. “Deal.” A small, humor-challenged laugh escaped her. “Good timing for me considering I’m soon to be unemployed again.”
“Unemployed? I thought you were winging off to Tahiti next.”
“I thought so too, but when I met with the Templetons this morning, and they started discussing the new resort, I just…” She trailed off and stared at the ocean. “I couldn’t go through with it. I don’t want to move to Tahiti. I don’t want to stay in Maui. I miss Montenido. All I really want to do is come home.” She exhaled the confession, faced her friend, and prepared for one more. “When it comes to fresh starts, I fail.”
“How can you say that? If you don’t want to move to Tahiti, don’t move to Tahiti, but I count at least fifty thousand reasons you’re not a failure.” Hazel eyes flashed, but then clouded as they slowly assessed her. “Come on.” Laurie took her arm, pulled her into the empty store, and gave her the patented Laurie Peterson take-no-bullshit stare. “Okay, tell me what’s really going on, partner.”
“I figured on being a silent partner.”
“Nice try, but no. Not when you’re standing there like the answer to my prayers and calling yourself a failure. How have you failed?”
Sunbeams streamed through the twin front windows, revealing the weathered wood walls and floor of what Chelsea remembered as an art gallery. Dust floated in the columns of light, weightless and careless, and in stark contrast to her heavy thoughts. “I knew the rules. I told myself I wanted nothing from Rafe except fun, attraction, and great sex, and then I went and fell in love with him. I didn’t guard my heart.”
“Oh, honey.” Laurie squeezed her arms. “Maybe he won it, fair and square?”
“No. He wasn’t even trying for it.” She sank her fingers into her hair and pulled it back from her face, letting the slight tug in her scalp offset the pain in her chest. “That’s the most pathetic part. Rafe never led me down a false path. He was very upfront about what he wanted, and what he had to offer. He didn’t promise more.”
“Have you asked for more?”
“I don’t need to ask. I got a very clear answer last night when he proposed we take up where we left off whenever he’s in Maui.”
“That’s not good-bye.”
Chelsea resumed staring out the window. “It’s not a commitment either, and I can’t settle for less and still respect myself. It’s not Rafe’s fault. He’s not a bad person, and he’s not trying to hurt me, and he didn’t ask me to fall in love with him. I did that all on my own.” She kicked the toe of her red sling-back against the scarred wood baseboard. “That’s why I say my fresh start is a failure. You told me to guard my heart, but I’m too much of a lost cause to follow good advice.”
She heard Laurie approach, and then felt the weight of her friend’s arm around her shoulders. “We’re quite a pair, you know?”
Chelsea leaned her head against Laurie’s shoulder. “How do you figure?”
“You can’t guard your heart, and I can’t stop guarding mine.”
She raised her head and looked at her friend. “I’d rather be like you. It’s less painful.”
“No.” Laurie sighed. “I’m beginning to think it’s just a chicken-shit way of not getting hurt, but here’s the really bad news. It doesn’t work.”
A surprising admission, considering Laurie rarely acknowledged anyone had the power to hurt her.
“At any rate, guarding your heart doesn’t involve denying honest feelings,” she continued. “Your love is valuable. Treating something so valuable like a dirty secret sells you short. Dig up some courage and tell him how you feel. Maybe he feels the same way.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Maybe he doesn’t,” Laurie conceded with a tilt of her head, “but he hasn’t played you, and he’s earned your honesty. You both deserve that much.”
“All right.” She flattened a hand against her middle, hoping to release the knot in her stomach. “At the very least, I owe him an apology for running out this morning like I did.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m due at Las Ventanas to collect final signatures on the sale agreements. Afterward, I’ll ask for five minutes to apologize and then I’ll just”—she made a sweeping gesture with her hands—“lay my heart at his feet.”
“Atta girl. And remember, you’re the prize.”
