Текст книги "Compromising Her Position"
Автор книги: Samanthe Beck
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Chapter Seven
Jan. 1
4:37 p.m.
Chelsea,
The McIntyre bachelorette party wants the waiters to wear grass skirts—and nothing else. Do we need a special permit for that kind of party?
Thx.
Lynette
Chelsea turned away from her computer and forced her attention back to her conference call. The Templetons’ banter flowed from her speakerphone, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words.
Where the heck was the happy in her Happy New Year? She slumped at her tidy, blond-wood desk in her tidy office and stifled a yawn. Bad enough to have spent the first seconds of the new year in a lip-lock with Rafe St. Sebastian, and then the next several hours tossing and turning in bed, too stirred up to sleep. When she’d finally dropped off, her dreams had hardly qualified as restful. They’d featured Cindy, hugely pregnant, cornering her at the Las Ventanas holiday party and informing her Paul wanted to speak with her right away. Then came Paul, in his office, with a crib where his desk should have been, calmly telling her he was in love with Cindy. She’d run, only to stumble across Rafe in the hallway, wearing a tuxedo and a knowing grin. He’d called her a liar, pulled her into the supply closet, and proved his point. She’d woken sweaty and aching, with his name on her lips.
Her cell phone vibrated. She scooped it up with an unsteady hand, silenced the thing, and told herself to focus on her call.
No use. The Templetons were teasing each other about their resolutions. Meanwhile, here she sat, tired and cranky and nowhere near a New Year’s frame of mind. Every second of the afternoon dragged by like an eternity and she placed the blame for her exhaustion squarely on Rafe’s annoyingly attractive head. How dare he show up out of the blue, bringing all sorts of bad memories—and even worse impulses—with him? True, she’d had plenty of restless nights before he arrived, and, okay, yes, a disturbingly steamy Santa dream or two, but today should have been the start of her clean slate, dammit.
There was one thing to be thankful for. The dance floor last night had been so packed with party-goers reveling in their own New Year’s Eve kisses, nobody appeared to have noticed the new manager surrendering her good sense, her clean slate, and every single hormone in her body to a walking orgasm in a tux.
She propped her elbows on her desk and rubbed her eyes. That’s when the silence struck her. She jerked her head up and stared at her speakerphone. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat the last part?”
John Templeton’s unhurried voice came over the speaker. “St. Sebastian made an offer to purchase Tradewinds Maui. A strong offer. Evelyn and I have decided to accept.”
The air couldn’t have rushed out of her lungs faster if he’d come through the phone and kicked her in the gut. “I didn’t…” She winced at the high pitch of her voice, took a deep breath and tried again. “I didn’t know you were contemplating selling.”
“We weren’t,” Evelyn broke in. “Believe me, Chelsea, we would have disclosed our intention to sell the resort before we offered you the job had we seen a sale on the horizon, but this offer came unexpectedly.”
“Are you sure you want to take it?”
“Yes. We’re in the final phase of construction on Tradewinds Tahiti, and the proceeds from the sale of the Maui property would enable us to do some really spectacular things with the new resort. As John said, Rafe made a very attractive offer.”
Yeah, he was full of them. She plowed her hands into her hair and tugged until her scalp protested. “How long until the sale goes through?”
“It’s still a potential sale right now,” John said. “We’ve agreed to price and terms, contingent on St. Sebastian’s satisfactory completion of due diligence. We’re estimating about six weeks to close, if all goes according to plan.”
“I see. Thank you for trusting me with the information. I’ll consider this confidential until you tell me otherwise.”
“We appreciate that,” Evelyn said. “We’re also hoping to entice you into an expanded role for the next six weeks.”
“A new role?” She didn’t have time for a new role, no matter how enticing. She’d be too busy finding another job.
“Yes. We need an on-site deal liaison. Someone to coordinate with our attorneys, particularly when they need information or documents located there rather than here at corporate, and also to give John and me daily status reports about the due diligence activities on your end.”
“Oh.” She picked up a pen and scribbled notes. “Not a problem.” Not exactly enticing, pulling documents and making copies, typing up daily status reports, but she could handle the tasks.
Evelyn laughed. “I know all that sounds incredibly dull and administrative, but don’t worry, there’s a fun part, too.”
“Fun part?”
“Yes. Rafe wants to get under the covers, so to speak, so he understands firsthand the property’s strengths and weaknesses. To that end, he proposes he spend a week at Tradewinds and requested we appoint someone to familiarize him with everything the resort has to offer. Naturally, we thought of you.”
Chelsea fought the urge to bang her head against her desk. A week under the covers with Rafe? Fun wasn’t the word.
“Sounds great,” Chelsea said carefully, “but I don’t think I’m the right person to play tour guide. I mean, I haven’t been here very long. I’m sure there are others on staff more qualified.”
“He specifically asked for you,” John told her. “Evelyn and I mentioned how well you’ve done in such a short time, and shared some of the ideas you brought to us about how to improve the resort. He wants to hear all your thoughts.”
Sure he did, preferably while horizontal. Sadly, after last night, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself to remain upright around him. She’d jumped into his kiss like a kid jumping into the waves on a sweltering summer day.
Someone coughed on the other end of the call. She pulled her mind away from the kiss. “I’m flattered, but I can think of several employees who would do an outstanding job. I’m happy to shoulder the other duties, and find the right person to take care of Mr. St. Sebastian.”
“We need you in both roles,” Evelyn insisted. “And we know we’re asking a lot, so we’ve put together a package we hope makes the deal liaison job, in its entirety, worth your while. John’s sending you an email outlining the details in writing, but to give you the high points, we’re offering you a fifty thousand dollar bonus when—or I guess I should say if—the deal closes.”
Fifty thousand dollars? She fumbled her pen. It landed on her desk, rolled across the smooth surface and fell onto the floor. “Wow. That’s very generous.”
“There’s more. If the Maui sale closes, we’d offer you the general manager position at the new resort in Tahiti. I don’t know how you feel about moving again, so soon, but—”
“Not that you’re out of a job if the sale happens,” John interjected. “Rafe assured us he envisions no layoffs. He hopes everyone will transition to St. Sebastian. It’s a large organization with plenty of opportunities. We understand if you prefer to stay on in Maui.”
“No.” She had zero interest in joining the same organization that employed Paul and Cindy, no matter how large and far flung. “If the sale happens, I’ll definitely move on.”
“Well, then.” Evelyn sounded pleased. “You’ll have our written offer shortly. Give it some thought, and then get back to us.”
“Get back to us with a ‘yes,’” John added.
“I’ll look it over,” she promised, and said good-bye, knowing full well she’d have to refuse. She hated turning down the bonus, as well as passing on the general manager slot at a brand new resort, though she was slightly less conflicted about that decision. Moving to Maui had been a purposeful step toward a fresh start, and a new perspective. Accepting the transfer to Tahiti felt more like getting swept along by events than controlling her destiny, plus Tahiti made the distance between Maui and Montenido look like a day trip.
The real deal killer, however, remained the tour guide part of the job. Spending so much time with Rafe amounted to an engraved invitation to mix business with pleasure. She’d learned a hard lesson about the consequences of that particular mix, but last night’s kiss left her with no delusions. A little persuasion from him and she’d make all kinds of bad decisions.
She swiveled in her chair and stared out her office window at the resort’s palm-lined walkways. He was still out there somewhere. She’d checked the registry this morning and discovered his reservation, discreetly made under a corporate account, ended tomorrow. Another reason to stay in the safe zone of her office. If she played things right, she could avoid him for the rest of his stay.
Turning back to her desk, she woke her computer and checked her emails. At the top was a message from John, confirming everything they’d discussed.
General manager of a new Tradewinds resort. Damn. Fifty thousand dollars. Double damn. Quite an offer. Too bad she couldn’t accept. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, about to click reply, when her cell phone vibrated again. She glanced at the caller ID, saw “Babycakes,” and picked up.
“Happy New Year, Babycakes.” Her mood lifted as she pictured Laurie sitting in the kitchen at the bakery.
“Not exactly.” Laurie’s voice cracked on the last word.
Chelsea straightened in her chair. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
“We had a fire this morning, Chels. A bad one.”
Now she shot to her feet. “Are you hurt? Is anyone—?”
“Everyone’s fine, thank God. We were closed for the holiday. But Babycakes is…” Laurie paused and took a ragged breath. “The bakery is gone. I’m standing where my shop used to be, staring at a burned-out shell of a building.”
“I’m so sorry, Laurie.” She sank into her chair. “I wish I was there.”
“Be glad you’re not. It’s a pretty sad sight.”
“You’ll rebuild. You’ll use the insurance money and open Babycakes again, even better now because you’ll take into account the things you learned the first time around.”
“I—I don’t think so Chels. Not anytime soon.”
“Why not? I thought you loved working for yourself?”
“I went cheap on insurance, trying to be smart with my money.” Her laugh was all irony. “Even if I get the maximum under my policy and throw every penny of my savings into the pot, I’m still a good seventy grand short of what I’d need to rebuild.”
“Seventy thousand?” Chelsea looked at her computer screen. Her eyes honed in on the bonus.
“At least,” Laurie puffed, and Chelsea pictured her friend digging through rubble. “Might as well be seventy million, because I don’t have that kind of money, unless a scorched mixer brings a lot more at a fire sale than I’m estimating.” A low thud signified the pitching of said mixer into a bin or Dumpster.
“Hold off on the fire sale.”
“What?”
She scanned the email again, and then hit reply. “I might have a way to get you a decent chunk of what you need. The Templetons made me an offer today, to take on a new role. I was kind of on the fence about it”—she crossed her fingers at the white lie—“but now I’m not. I’m going to accept. If things go as planned, I can send you fifty thousand in about six weeks.”
“Chelsea, I can’t. You’re my best friend, but I can’t take your money.”
“You have to. For me.”
“Chelsea—”
“You’re always there for me. Let me at least try. I can’t guarantee the funds yet, but I guarantee I’ll do my best.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say a thing right now. You can thank me when I come through with the money.”
She typed I accept and hit send before her brain could reiterate all the reasons why she shouldn’t.
Chapter Eight
Rafe watched Chelsea emerge from the waves, tug her white bikini bottoms into place, and wring the water from her long, loose hair. The sunset turned the sky behind her pink and orange, but he had a hard time focusing on nature’s show because The Chelsea Show commanded his full attention.
She made her way up the beach, smiled at a pair of kids playing in the sand, and then strolled to the spot where she’d dropped her beach bag. When she bent and searched the bag for her towel, an almost painful bolt of lust shot through him. She hadn’t spotted him yet, so he let his eyes linger. Memories of her laid out for him, moving under him, coming around him, had predictable effects, and made it harder than it should have been to cross the sand to where she stood, still digging around in her bag.
Jesus, he needed to get her out from under his skin. Do what it took to scratch this incessant itch she stirred in him. The one only she could reach. Finding a mutually beneficial way to make it happen while accomplishing his primary goals was a stroke of genius, because he had to keep his sights on the deal.
Chelsea had cooperated, thank Christ, at least as far as the business goals went. She’d need some convincing to feel safe indulging in the rest, but he could offer her that security. This wasn’t going to blow up in their faces. She could trust him. A few days with her—a week, tops—and then they could both move on with their lives, satisfied and no worse for wear. He came around to face her at the same time she straightened, and her unsuspecting gaze collided with his.
All right, maybe a little worse for wear. It took every bit of discipline he owned not to let his eyes wander to where her tight nipples poked against her bikini top, practically daring him to look. Her eyes narrowed, as if she’d read his mind, and she draped her towel around her shoulders.
“Chelsea.”
“Mr. St. Sebastian.”
Freezing him out with formality while standing on a tropical beach, wearing a bikini. How could he not take that challenge? A verbal duel with Chelsea had the potential to become his favorite form of foreplay, and as much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, he knew after last night the battle of wits worked for her, too. “You know, a lot of people use my first name. Friends. Business associates.” He took a step closer. “Lovers. You fall into all three categories. Don’t you think it’s time you called me Rafe?”
“I fall into one out of three categories,” she shot back. Despite her stubborn insistence on using his formal name, she apparently lost her own battle with propriety. Her stare moved over him, and turned hot enough to singe through his white linen button-down and jeans, before slowly returning to his face.
He placed his hand over his heart. “We’re not friends?”
“No. And we’re also not lovers. One mistake doesn’t count.”
“Our kiss last night spoke volumes about what counts.”
Her cheeks turned as pink as the sunset. “There was no ‘our kiss.’ You kissed me. I simply refrained from making a scene.”
When he opened his mouth to point out she’d wound herself around him like ivy and kissed him back like there was no tomorrow, she shook her head and started drying off. “But that’s neither here nor there. Why are you here, now…and how did you find me? Best I recall, I didn’t tell my mom my plans for this evening.”
Jab, retreat, and jab again. She made it impossible to resist sparring with her. “I spoke with Lynette. She told me where to look.” He offered her an innocent smile, even though every swipe of her towel forced him to imagine running his tongue over her skin. “And here you are.”
“Here I am.” She continued drying off. “Did you need something?”
“The Templetons asked me to treat their new deal liaison to dinner tonight.” It happened to be true, although he’d have searched her out even if they hadn’t.
“That’s sweet, but totally unnecessary,” she insisted, running the towel across her stomach, and then down her long, slim legs. In his mind, his mouth followed.
“It’s company policy.”
She paused, mid-swipe, and looked at him. “Are you serious?”
“Of course not.”
The honesty got a laugh out of her, but she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He would change her mind—he hadn’t gotten this far abiding by good ideas—but he could find a business justification, if that’s what she needed. “St. Sebastian Enterprises just anteed up a significant sum of money to purchase Tradewinds, based on certain information and assumptions. I’m flying out early tomorrow, but when I return next week to get a more detailed view of the operation I want to hit the ground running. I’d appreciate if you’d join me for dinner, and give me some initial information about the resort, so we don’t have to waste precious time covering preliminaries next week.”
“So this would be strictly a working dinner, then?”
He wasn’t ruling out other possibilities, but he figured he’d made that clear last night. Besides, something told him answering her naive question with, “Depends on your definition of strict,” would result in a solo dinner. Instead, he said, “Nothing too grueling.”
She gave him a long, silent stare, and then stuffed the towel into her bag and pulled a cover-up over her head. It had long, loose sleeves, a slit neckline, and ended mid-thigh. He couldn’t really explain why he found the simple garment so sexy on her, but he did.
She stepped into beach sandals and looked down at herself. “As long as you’re content to dine somewhere casual. I’m not dressed for any of the resorts’ restaurants.”
“I know just the place.” He took the handles of her beach bag in one hand, and caught hers in the other. She didn’t draw away, so either she didn’t sense the irritatingly persistent need burning just below his veneer of civility, or somewhere beneath her own veneer lurked a woman who wanted to play with fire. Together they walked up the nearly deserted beach while the last streaks of sunset sank into the liquid blue of the Pacific. The soft orange light faded as they entered the tunnel of tropical plants and flowers surrounding the path to the resort.
Tradewinds’ beach access could serve as a set for the Garden of Eden. Quiet. Shaded. Ripe with the temptation to sin. Maybe Chelsea felt the temptation, too, because when they reached the end of the secluded passage, her shoulders finally relaxed.
Those shoulders tensed again when he led her through the lobby, toward the elevators. She dug in her heels and tried to take her hand back. “I thought we were having dinner.”
Rafe maintained his hold. Guests passed. When they moved beyond earshot, he said, “We are. I’ll order room service in my suite.”
This time she pulled her hand free and took a step back. “I can’t just”—she looked around to make sure they had no audience—“go to your suite. It’s not professional.”
He simply nudged her into the elevator, swiped his key card in the reader and punched the button for the top floor. The doors closed. “I completely disagree. My suite is a perfectly respectable location to have dinner. There’s a sitting room, and a dining area. I’m not suggesting we picnic on the bed.”
“It’s too private.”
“Privacy is essential. We’re going to discuss confidential topics like St. Sebastian’s goals with respect to the Tradewinds acquisition. Not the type of information I can afford a competitor to overhear from the other side of a booth at Roy’s.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m wearing a swimsuit and a cover-up. You don’t think that’s a tad improper?”
“I think it’s the standard dress code in Maui, but I want you to be comfortable.” He hefted the bag in his hand. “Shower and change in my suite, if you like.” Stepping closer to her in the small space, he challenged her with a grin. “What’s the matter, Chelsea? Afraid to be alone with me? Afraid you can’t”—he lowered his voice, and focused on her lips—“resist me?”
She walked forward until they stood toe-to-toe, and he fell into the same deep brown eyes that had stared back at him in his dream last night, wide and hazed with desire as she’d whispered his name. The moment stretched. The husky memory of her voice repeating his name echoed in his mind.
The elevator halted. The doors whooshed open, breaking the silence.
She stepped back and flashed him a satisfied smile, complete with dimple. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. St. Sebastian. I can resist you.”
You can resist him. Chelsea repeated the words in her mind like a mantra as she exited the suite’s second bedroom, fresh from a shower. Back in the cobalt blue wrap dress and black pumps she’d worn to work, she felt better equipped to keep the oath. Then she spied him sitting on the big, U-shaped sectional in the living area of the suite, absently swirling a drink in one hand while talking on the phone. Her confidence ebbed. The lights were low. Soft island music flowed from the sound system. Beyond the open balcony door, surf pounded shore in a rhythm older than time.
Her movement caught his eye. He gestured her to the sofa, while into the phone he said, “Thanks, Arden. I’ll see you next week.”
Arden. Friend? Business associate? Lover? All of the above? None of your business, she reminded herself, and took a seat kitty-cornered to him on the sectional.
He lifted a second drink from the glass-topped coffee table and offered it to her. “Rum and Coke, courtesy of the mini-bar. Dinner’s on the way.”
She took the Tradewinds emblazoned low ball and held it in front of her like a tiny shield. “Mr. St. Sebastian—”
“Call me Rafe.”
“I’d prefer to keep things between us professional. As such, let me take a minute to firm up a couple points about my role.”
He raised an eyebrow and set his drink down. “Feel free to firm up anything you’d like, Miss Wayne.”
His neutral tone told her he was baiting her, just like he’d been doing since he cornered her on the beach. Digging deep for some of the professionalism she wanted, she replied, “The deal liaison job arrived at a very opportune time, and I’m…flattered you requested me, but I want to be sure we’re on the same page about what the job entails.”
“It’s pretty straightforward. Starting next week, you’ll acquaint me with everything about Tradewinds.”
“You mean the amenities and activities, or—?”
“Everything. I need to know this resort inside and out. The staff, the property, all of it.”
“That’s a tall order. Though small by Maui’s standards, Tradewinds is a bigger resort than Las Ventanas. I hope you’ve got plenty of time.”
“Not so much. We plan to finalize the transaction in six weeks. What I do have is a lot riding on this acquisition. I need to close the deal, and close it cleanly. Zero surprises. I didn’t dive deep enough into the details during the Las Ventanas due diligence, and as soon as we closed, I got blindsided by some troublesome issues involving upper management.” He looked at her. “As I think you know.”
“Well, gee, if it’s any consolation, I got blindsided, too, and I was pretty deeply involved.” She didn’t quite succeed in keeping the sarcasm out of her voice.
He brushed her sarcasm off with a laugh. “Good thing we’re both smarter now. Our instincts have been honed by experience. If there are any hidden risks associated with this acquisition, you and I are going to bring them to light ahead of time.”
Wonderful. The deal liaison position included real responsibilities, but now doubt crept into her mind as to whether she could fulfill them. “I haven’t been here very long. I might not be the best person to give you the insight you need.”
“You’re the obvious choice. You’ve been here long enough to know the operation, and the key staff, but not so long you’re entrenched in the status quo. I trust you to tell me what’s working and what needs improvement. And where you think improvements are called for, I want to hear your ideas.”
“What if I don’t have any ideas?”
“Oh, come on.” His mouth tilted up at one corner. “I reviewed several of your proposals from Las Ventanas. You’re full of ideas, and Barrington’s not around to steal the credit for them this time.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” But a sinking feeling in her stomach said otherwise.
“You came up with the idea of turning Las Ventanas into a family resort. You did all the research, put together a proposal, shared it with Barrington, and then he went to Mr. Merriman and told him he’d developed the concept. By the time you and Barrington gave the in-person presentation to the owners, he’d already portrayed you as his helpful assistant. Merriman retired. The owners promoted Barrington to general manager. The rest is history.”
He paused and gave her a tight smile. “Except Barrington was too stupid or lazy to change the metadata on the proposal documents. When I reviewed them electronically, I saw who authored them. Also, after working with the man for several weeks, it’s abundantly clear he has no vision for the property and no understanding of guest service.”
Chelsea fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and scream. She’d shared her idea with Paul when they first started dating, and been ridiculously thrilled he’d reacted with enthusiasm and suggested they team up to present a proposal to the owners. Team, her ass. He’d aced her out of her dream job. Instead of screaming, she choked down another hard lesson on guarding her heart. From here on out, trust had to be earned.
But honesty ought to be freely given. “I practically grew up at Las Ventanas. I worked there through high school and college—everything from housekeeping, to room service, to the gift shop. Once I had my degree, I spent three years as the assistant manager. I know that resort inside and out. I don’t have the same familiarity with this property.”
“I’m sure you’ve had a thought or two about Tradewinds.”
Okay. Maybe he’d pegged her a little. “I might have suggested we narrow our focus. Tradewinds has a desirable setting, with limited capacity. I think we should play to those limits, instead of pretending they don’t exist and trying to offer everything.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Take out the kiddie pool, because this is a singles resort. Yes, singles have kids, but they’re not bringing them on this type of vacation.”
Because he really appeared to be listening, she turned toward him, crossed her legs and rested her elbow on her knee. “Same deal with fifty percent of the banquet facilities. We need to be able to host bachelor and bachelorette parties—occasions like that—but the hotel is too small to be a major draw for conferences or other large events. We should go upscale and exclusive. Remodel the spa to double its current size. Turn all the guest rooms into retreats, on par with the VIP villas. Splurge on high thread count bedding, plush towels, and bathrooms guests will want to live in. I know prevailing wisdom says tourists come to Maui for the beach and the outdoor activities, not the accommodations, but some demographics fly in the face of prevailing wisdom. Singles with the right resources want their comforts.”
“I agree with everything you’ve said.” He tilted his head and aimed his lethal blue gaze at her. “Why is it so hard to believe I’d ask for your opinion on Tradewinds?”
All righty, then. Time to put it out there. A swallow of her drink fortified her nerves. “Opinions are one thing, but last night you expressed an interest in something else.” She placed her drink on the table and crossed her arms. “Just to be clear, I’m not interested in sleeping with my boss. I learned my lesson at Las Ventanas, and I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Rafe relaxed into the sofa, and draped an arm across the back. “As it turns out, I’m not your boss. You work for Tradewinds and report to John and Evelyn Templeton. Now, this is purely an assumption on my part, but I suspect you’re on the right side of your rule where they’re concerned.”
“Very funny.”
“Yet you’re not laughing.”
“Because I take my career seriously, and accepting the deal liaison role puts me at risk.”
One black brow winged up. “How do you figure?”
“If a whisper of what happened between us at Las Ventanas came out, everyone would think I landed the job because I slept with you. I’d be a joke.”
His expression cleared. “Apart from us, the Templetons, and a handful of lawyers and accountants, nobody’s going to know about this deal, or your part in it, until we close. Nobody here will know you’re doing a new job, much less speculate about how you landed it. Before I arrive next week, we’ll come up with a plausible cover story to ensure that’s the case, because we need to be able to spend time together without raising any speculation.”
“That’s reassuring, but—”
“But it skirts your main concern. What you’re really trying to figure out is whether you can trust me to keep a secret.”
Bingo. And trust had to be earned. “Can I?”
His eyes met hers, and held steady. “Yes. I don’t discuss my personal life with anyone. Seems we have that in common. I know you didn’t tell Barrington what happened, and I’m guessing you didn’t say a word to anyone else at Las Ventanas. Am I correct?”
She nodded.
“So there’s not much chance of anyone here learning the particulars of our first meeting. Does that help?”
Some, she had to admit, but his promises didn’t erase all her worries. Spit it out, she ordered herself. “Is ‘acquainting you with everything about Tradewinds’ a fancy way of saying you want—or expect…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. God, her life officially qualified as a mess if she had to confirm whether her job duties included sex.
He didn’t blink. “The Templetons aren’t pimps and I’m not a John. Having sex with me is not part of the job.”
Now she felt like a big moron, but she’d take that over hooker. “Good to know.” She picked up her glass, sat back, and sipped her drink.
He relaxed against the sofa as well, all broad and rangy and completely at ease. “I’m glad we got that squared away.”
“Me, too.” She settled deeper into the cushions and took another drink.
“When we have sex again, it will be for one reason only—because you can’t bear another second without me inside you.”
She sucked in a breath at the same moment she swallowed, and accidentally served her unsuspecting lungs a burning dose of rum and Coke.
