Текст книги "Compromising Her Position"
Автор книги: Samanthe Beck
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Chapter Eleven
Chelsea walked toward the bedroom on unsteady legs. Her heart pounded. She didn’t know how far he intended to take this game, or how far she was willing to go. All she knew was she felt like playing. “Okay. I’m in the master suite. I’m staring at a hand-carved canopy bed.” Her fingertip itched to trace the intricate scroll winding along one of the four posts.
“Tell me about the view.”
“The view?” Maybe they weren’t playing the same game after all?
“I imagine there’s a view from the master suite?”
She tugged the pulls until the drapes whooshed open, and then she stared out at the setting sun. “Yes. The room features a floor-to-ceiling ocean view, similar to what you get in the main living area.”
“Sounds nice. It’s probably dark now, though.”
“Almost.”
“Can you see your reflection in the glass?”
“I can…” Where was this going?
“What are you wearing?”
Now she smiled. “Really? We’re down to that?”
“It’s a simple question.”
“White blouse, navy blue skirt, navy heels.”
“High heels?”
“I’m five feet, five inches tall. I take all the extra height I can get.”
“Thank you. Go sit on the bed please.”
“Wait a second. What are you wearing?” She’d never done this before, but a mutual exchange of information seemed reasonable.
“Santa suit.”
“Very funny.” For some reason, she envisioned him in his tux, which seemed equally unlikely, but sexy as hell. “Okay. I’m sitting on the bed.” She bounced a bit, and then glanced up at the canopy and saw her reflection staring down from the large mirror mounted there. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“Problem, Miss Wayne?”
The amusement in his voice touched off tingles in overly sensitive territories. She had to give herself a moment before she replied. “No.” The word sounded thick to her ears. She cleared her throat. “I just hadn’t noticed before. The bed has an interesting feature.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“There’s a mirror directly above me.”
“That is interesting. You see yourself sitting on my bed, perhaps in the very place I’ll be soon.”
His words were hushed, but the implication came through loud and clear—where we’ll both be soon. She could almost see him there with her. Leaning in, lowering her to the mattress. Removing her clothes. A pulse began to throb between her legs.
“Any other interesting features I should know about?”
She looked at the slender, turned posts of the bed with new eyes, and swallowed hard as her imagination looped a couple of silk ties around them. “N-nothing springs to mind.”
“Tell me about the mattress. Would you consider it firm or soft? I’m very particular about such things.”
“Of course you are.” Her attempt to be flippant didn’t fool either of them.
“I prefer firm. Too much give prevents me from getting deep…sleep. Lie down and tell me if you feel supported.”
As if her body took its commands directly from him, she slipped her shoes off and stretched out on the bed. The mattress groaned a little as she moved, so she suspected he knew she was doing as he asked, but he didn’t wait for her answer.
“Can you see your reflection?”
She looked up at the canopy. A glassy-eyed woman floated there against a satiny white ocean of bedspread. “I– Yes.” She could very easily see him there, too, a dark-haired predator in his deceptively refined suit, slowly making his way up her body, pushing her skirt out of his way, undoing her blouse…
“I’m getting the most fascinating picture of you, lying on my bed, your hair spilled across my pillow, your eyes open and riveted on the mirror as you watch everything I do to you.”
“What would you do to me?” The question escaped before the nice, rule-abiding part of her could play censor. Her hand took an unauthorized trip down the center of her chest, over her stomach, and under her skirt. The woman in the mirror bit her lip and squirmed into her own touch.
“Depends. Tell me, Miss Wayne, is the bedframe solid?”
“It’s Koa,” she managed. “I’m sure—”
“Let’s be very sure. Get on your knees, hold onto the headboard, and give it a good, hard, shake.”
Images filtered into her mind. Rafe kneeling behind her, wrapping her fingers around the top of the headboard and telling her to hold on. The sensation of his hands traveling all over her, readying her for the moment when he’d put the bedframe to his own, personal evaluation. She tightened her hips and rocked into her palm, barely conscious of the instinctive move to relieve the ache building under her hand. She may have moaned.
“Unless your hands are otherwise occupied?”
It took her a moment to process the sly comment, and then she jerked her hand out from under her skirt, and sat up at the same time, losing her hold on her phone in the process. Good Lord, had she really been about to stroke herself to oblivion accompanied by the sound of his voice?
She heard her name from somewhere nearby, and felt around for her phone. How long had this experimental naughty girl been lurking inside her? She fell back onto the bed, equal parts appalled and amazed. Tearing her attention away from the mirror, she cleared her throat. “Yes, Mr. St. Sebastian?”
“The villa sounds like a one-of-a-kind experience. I can’t wait to arrive and enjoy the pleasures firsthand.”
Smooth. Confident. Not the least bit out of his depth. This adventure constituted a new experience for her, but not for him. Not by a long shot. The ease with which he’d toyed with her reminded her they played in very different leagues. Did she really want to join his? Was she equipped to?
The air conditioner kicked in and pumped cool, heavy air over her skin. She shivered and tugged her skirt into place. “I’m sure you’ll find the villa accommodates all your needs, but other than the comforts it affords, you shouldn’t take anything for granted.” Great. Now she sounded like an uptight bitch. You just had something perilously close to phone sex with the man. Can you blame him for making assumptions?
His laughter carried over the line. “I promise you, Chelsea, I take nothing for granted.”
Maybe not, but she still felt like a mouse to his cat. Even though she had no idea which office at Las Ventanas he’d commandeered, she imagined him with his feet propped on a big polished desk, hand behind his head, smiling as he spoke into the phone. Before she could think up a brilliant comeback, he went on. “But when I find something I want, I work for it. I pursue relentlessly, if necessary.”
Wanted. Pursued. Magic words to a woman rebounding from a bruised heart and a trampled ego, with the power to entice her to do things she wouldn’t normally do. Tonight offered a perfect example. Not that she cast herself as some helpless victim of his calculated seduction. The telephone diversion might have been Rafe’s idea, but she’d gone along because she’d wanted to. To please herself. Literally. In a strange way, it seemed like a step in the right direction. She stood and slipped her feet into her shoes.
“Do you always get what you want, Mr. St. Sebastian?”
“Ask again, but call me Rafe this time.”
“Do you always get what you want, Rafe?”
“I just did. See?”
Okay, he’d played her like a child’s toy, yet she couldn’t help but laugh. “Tradewinds prides itself on providing excellent customer service, which includes addressing our guests in any way they prefer.”
“Maybe. But we both know there are things you’ll do for me that have nothing to do with customer service.” His voice dropped. “Things you’ve never done for anyone else. You never wanted to before, but you do now.”
Yes, she certainly did. He knocked her off balance, the way he teased her one moment and then hit her with unrestrained intensity the next. A tiny vestige of self-preservation had her scrambling to keep things light. “Hmm. Know what I really want to do right now?”
“Name it.”
“It’s pretty personal. I might shock you.”
“Nothing shocks me.”
“All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I have this fantasy where I drive home, change into something comfy, and eat dinner in front of the TV while watching the Laker game highlights.”
He laughed, which didn’t completely cut the wire of sexual tension snapping between them, but brought the vibration down to a less distracting level. “Me, too. Unfortunately, only one of us is going to get to indulge that particular fantasy tonight.”
Fatigue or frustration weighted his voice. Maybe a little of both. Before she could remind herself of all the reasons she shouldn’t care, she asked, “How are things at Las Ventanas?”
“We’ve hit a few snags. This place misses you.”
“I miss it, too.” Saying the words sent a pang of homesickness through her, so she rushed on, “and I’m sorry about the snags.”
“They’re not your fault, although you’d certainly be able to work them out. I hear, ‘Chelsea always handled that,’ at least ten times a day. Barrington can’t run a simple occupancy report on his own.”
A small, petty part of her bounced and clapped at the idea of Paul floundering without her, but she strove to reply diplomatically. “He concentrated on supervising, and relied on me to bring him the information he needed.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. He relied on you for information and analysis. Now we’re all suffering from the loss.”
Suffering? Little needles of guilt pricked her inner pleaser into action. “I could try to help, if there are specific questions…?”
“I appreciate the offer, but I need to find a viable, long-term solution to the knowledge gap. Using you as an unofficial bridge until we can get our arms around the operation isn’t viable, or long-term. It’s also not fair to you.”
“I don’t mind. I left without notice.”
“No. This falls on me to fix, and I’ll fix it. My board expects Las Ventanas to re-launch next month as a St. Sebastian resort. We’ve got a lot of work to do between now and then, and the fact that everything takes more time and effort than I envisioned when I sold them on the plan is something I’ll have to deal with.”
“Can you go back to your board, explain you encountered unforeseen circumstances, and provide a revised plan?”
“Yes, but”—he paused, and she pictured his dark brows v-ing into the moody scowl that put a flutter in her stomach—“doing so would cost me more than I’m willing to pay.”
“I don’t understand. Why would they care if you held the re-launch next month versus the month after?”
“My father chairs the board. He believes in setting aggressive goals and achieving them. He does not believe in ‘unforeseen circumstances.’ I promised him three strategic acquisitions, in three key markets, by the close of our quarter in February. If I achieve the goal, he’ll step down as chairman and support my appointment. If I don’t, he won’t. I’ve been working toward this too long to give him an excuse to question my commitment. He can think what he wants about how I run my personal life. I make very few personal commitments, and I would never argue otherwise, but with respect to the business, I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Guilt flared again. Her abrupt resignation from Las Ventanas caused consequences she’d never imagined. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. This is not your problem. I’m not sure why I mentioned any of it, but it was not to make you feel responsible.”
“I honestly don’t mind helping.” She almost felt Laurie kicking her.
“You always take on other people’s problems?”
“Sort of, yes.” Apparently it was an evening for personal disclosures. “My friend Laurie recently pointed out to me that I chase approval. I hate to disappoint anyone.”
“Must be exhausting.”
“It’s led to some regrettable decisions. I’m trying to reel myself in.”
“Is that so?”
Criticism disguised as a question, but still her lips quirked. “This is different. I really want to help.”
“You are. As deal liaison for Tradewinds, you’ll help ensure this transaction goes smoothly and nobody has to manage any unforeseen circumstances.”
“I’ll do my best, but my other offer still stands, okay?”
“There are far more interesting ways for you to earn my approval.”
Her mind filled with all sorts of possibilities, and her throat went a little dry, but she still grinned. “Don’t mock my helpful nature.”
“Never. How about I help you, instead?”
“What are you proposing?”
“You live to please. Giver that I am, I’m willing to provide a detailed list of ways for you to please me.”
Just like that, the line between teasing and intense grew thinner. “I’m trying to reform, remember?”
“I can help with that, too. There are endless ways for me to please you. I’ll train you to be selfish.”
“Endless, huh? You may think I’m easier to please than I am.”
“Try me.”
“I’m considering it.”
“Consider quickly, Miss Wayne, because once I arrive, you’ll have a hard time thinking straight. Sweet dreams.”
“Your ego—” The dial tone filled her ear. She disconnected and glanced at her reflection in the mirror above the bed. Why his cocksure attitude left a smile on her face, she couldn’t say, but it felt good. She turned her eyes away from the grinning idiot. Her gaze landed on the bed—the rumpled spread and faint imprint of her body.
She smoothed the covers, but the underlying truth wasn’t as easy to erase. Come Sunday, his bed was exactly where she would end up. Exactly where she wanted to end up. Who was she fooling? Not herself. Not him. Why bother trying?
Why indeed? One important purpose of her fresh start involved letting go of the nice girl agenda and concentrating on fun, attraction, and amazing sex. Rafe offered all of the above, without putting her heart at risk, because unfamiliar as this particular path might be, it came with the security of a pre-arranged end point. When the deal closed, they’d both walk away. All the way to Tahiti, in her case, while he would turn his attention to the only commitment that held any long-term interest for him—running the entire St. Sebastian organization. Naughty Chelsea didn’t need commitments, and she wasn’t above sending a bold signal to make her intentions known.
She reached under her skirt, pulled her underwear off, and tossed the white lace onto the bed.
Message sent.
Chapter Twelve
Chelsea rolled over on the double-wide lounge chair, wiggled her hips into the cushion, and breathed deeply. Mild tropical humidity thickened the air, making the simple act of drawing it in a tactile experience. She stared over the tips of her toes at the pool she’d climbed out of minutes ago. Sunbeams danced on the glassy surface, and she found herself momentarily mesmerized by the shifting light.
Soaking up the sun on the terrace of a private villa was not a bad way to spend a free Saturday afternoon, but guilt hovered at the edges of her bliss. Seven hundred Tradewinds guests trusted her and the rest of the staff to deliver a memorable vacation experience, and the weight of the responsibility kept intruding. She lifted her phone from the small teak side table and stared at the readout. No new emails, texts or calls.
Stop checking. Lynette will contact you if they need you.
Right. She relaxed into the chair, closed her eyes, and shoved the guilt away. Her thoughts floated along to the rhythmic sound of water lapping against the sides of the pool. A swim normally counted as a workout, but today she hadn’t done anything more strenuous than float on her back and glide through the warm water. Considering the amount of energy she’d expended, all this after-swim lounging bordered on hedonistic. Then again, this was Tradewinds, where hedonism ruled the day, and she did have the gorgeous pool all to herself.
Why not indulge?
She sat up and glanced around, just to confirm what she already knew. There wasn’t a soul in view. She’d never sunbathed topless before, but if there was ever an ideal moment, this was it. She unhooked her bikini, tossed it on the table next to her sunglasses, phone, and the short yellow sundress she’d brought as a cover-up in case duty called. Highly unlikely, her inner hedonist reminded her. She settled back on the lounger.
Liberating. A feather-light breeze tightened her nipples. Okay, liberating and stimulating. She let her eyes close, and her imagination immediately projected a scene on the blank canvas—blue-green eyes, an indecent smile, sure hands sweeping over her breasts, down her stomach, along the edge of her bikini. Heat unrelated to the afternoon sunshine gathered low in her abdomen and flowed in a slow, inevitable path to the place she imagined him preparing to touch next. She shifted a little on the cushion and squeezed her thighs together. Thank God for absolute privacy. If she wanted to enjoy a harmless fantasy, nothing would disturb her.
Something trickled down her breast. She pried an eye open, and immediately choked on a scream. A dark figure loomed over her chair, backlit by the sun. Nightmares of a trespasser with weapons and nefarious intent flew through her mind. She crossed her arms to cover herself, but before she could scramble to her feet and run, the shadow tossed something onto her lap. “I found these on my pillow. Much as I appreciate the welcome, I hope the rest of the guests have to settle for a mint.”
Her racing heart stuttered to a stop at the sound of the voice, and then resumed at a slightly less rampant pace. Rafe. In her lap sat the panties she’d left on his bed.
She raised her eyes again. He braced a hand on either side of her hips, planted a knee on the cushion, and leaned over her. He wore a single-minded expression and blue board shorts that rode low, leaving plenty of bronze skin and rippling muscle on display. Cool water dripped from his body onto her overheated flesh. She shivered.
“What are you doing here?”
“You know why I’m here.” He closed the distance between them.
She slapped a hand to his chest and felt his heart beating strong and fast under her palm. “I thought you were arriving tomorrow.”
“Surprise.” Then he flexed his arms and slowly lowered himself until his mouth hovered tantalizingly close to hers. Every nerve ending in her body migrated to her lips and prickled with anticipation.
“I am surprised,” she managed.
“In another second you’re going to be downright speechless.”
She already was. Speechless. Ready. Eager. She closed her eyes, tipped her face toward his, and held her breath…
He shifted, and claimed a target nowhere near her mouth. Her eyes flew open. Her toes curled. Then he tugged her bikini aside, and went after the target again. Her breath rushed out in an uncontrolled burst.
“Wait!”
He speared his tongue into her heat once more, like a starving man about to be dragged away from a meal, and then forced himself to raise his head. “No,” he ground out. “No more waiting.” Control slipped away like sand through his fist at the sight of her spread out before him. He reared up onto his knees, dug into the pocket of his trunks, and retrieved the trio of condoms he’d shoved there upon finding her underwear on his bed. He threw two onto the side table, tore the foil on the last, and stared into huge brown eyes.
“I spent the last twenty-four hours running my ass ragged.” The thick growl coming out of his throat barely sounded like his own voice. “Aggravating my staff”—he tugged his trunks off—“rescheduling meetings”—he rolled the condom on—“commandeering a goddamn G-6 aircraft. Why?” He hooked his hands behind her knees and pulled her toward him. “Because I couldn’t wait another fucking second.”
He knew he sounded angry. Even he could hear the impatience in his voice. She definitely could, considering she lay there, breathing rapidly and looking at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had, but the uncertainty didn’t give rise to much caution. “If it’s no, tell me no. Otherwise, shut that beautiful mouth and open these gorgeous legs, because we both know ‘wait’ is not an option.”
Her eyes searched his, and for one agonizing moment he thought she might refuse him. Then those long, slender legs slowly opened.
Triumph brought no calm, just a new level of urgency. “Hold on to something.”
He grasped her hips, lifted, and somehow made himself wait while she scrambled to wrap a hand around the armrest. A second later he drove into her. No polish. No sophistication. She’d stripped those attributes from him the second he’d seen her lying on the chaise, uncovered and unguarded. Her sharp inhale could have meant anything…shock, pain, gratitude? The question formed on his lips, but came out as a groan when she arched up to meet his thrust, digging her heels into his calves for leverage. Her body clamped around him, her inner muscles quivered in reaction.
More, was all he could think, and he drew back to go again.
She made a small sound of distress at the slight withdrawal. “Don’t stop.”
“Nothing short of the apocalypse could stop me now.” He reinforced his grip on her hips and unleashed a series of rapid thrusts—more instinct than technique.
Her head lolled on the cushion. Her breasts bounced from the collision of their bodies. Tendrils of damp hair clung to her face and chest. This. This he’d missed their first time. The opportunity to see her eyes glaze, her cheeks flush, and her mouth drop open. The chance to watch her stomach tighten and her hips flex as she strained to meet every thrust. He wanted to frame her face in his hands, lean in and kiss her parted lips. He wanted to caress her breasts. Feel the scrape of her tight nipple on his tongue. But all he could do was grip her ass tighter, and adjust the angle to allow her a quick, greedy grind at the base of his cock every time he sank deep.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Sweat burned his eyes. Pressure built at the small of his back and sank into his balls. Warning signs from his nervous system. He slowed, and gave her longer, deeper strokes because he was determined to get her there first. She drove a fist into the cushion for additional leverage, and lifted her hips as high as she could, attempting to maximize the duration and intensity of every precious grind. He gritted his teeth and let her do her best.
Long lashes lowered as she concentrated on the internal chase. Some twisted part of his ego raged against being blocked out, used like a convenient tool to get the job done. A nameless, faceless tool. Just like you’re using her, the cool, detached voice in his head fired back, but it wasn’t true. Not this time. It had to be her, and there was nothing convenient about it. By the time this week was over, she would be out of his system, damn it. They’d both walk away—or crawl away—fucked out, wrung out, and utterly satisfied. No more thoughts of her hijacking his head and distracting him from his priorities.
But at this moment? At this moment he craved the same admission from her. He was what she needed. Him, specifically. Not simply some readily available clit-pleaser she could use to make up for months of lackluster sex with a worthless prick like Barrington. Or worse, a substitute. Behind those closed eyes was she picturing Barrington? She’d mistaken him for Paul the first time, but damn if he’d play the stand-in twice.
Fuck no. Maybe he had lost his mind, but he was going to hear her say his name. He tightened his hold on her hips and pulled nearly all the way out, clenching his jaw against her body’s frantic attempts to hold on to him.
Her groan came first, and then her eyes flew open and darted around, seeking a justification for the interruption. Finally they settled on him. Two dark mirrors.
“I warned you the next time you spread your legs for me, I wouldn’t be a gentleman. Did you expect a gentleman, Chelsea?”
