Текст книги "Compromising Her Position"

Автор книги: Samanthe Beck

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked up at him while the pink in her cheeks turned into a full-blown blush. “I can’t handle any more.”

“You’re wrong.” With his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her down until she lay on the bed, legs hanging over the side. He used one arm to brace himself over her and watched her face while he lifted her skirt. “Care to tell me why you think otherwise?”

The blush turned fiery. “I’m suffering from an over-use injury.”

“Poor baby. It’s entirely my fault. I owe you an apology.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ve just never spent an entire afternoon—”

He knelt and draped her legs over his shoulders.

“W-what are you doing?”

He held back a laugh and bestowed a kiss high on the inside of one thigh. “Apologizing.” So saying, he opened the nightstand drawer and took out a tube of Tradewinds’ Tropical Passion Edible Massage Gel.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “We charge sixty dollars for that stuff.”

“You can’t put a price on forgiveness.” He kissed the other thigh.

“I forgive you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t accept words.” He lubed his fingers. “Now, tell me where it hurts. Here? Or here?” He drew a leisurely figure eight, around and around, until her head dropped back and she lifted her hips to meet his touch. He hoped she had her eyes open, enjoying the view of his head framed by her thighs.

“That feels like heaven. I definitely forgive you.”

“I need to know your forgiveness runs deep. I need to hear it ringing in my ears. I need to taste it.”

“Oh, God…”

His first long, slow apology had her grabbing fistfuls of his hair. The second loosened her tongue. “I forgive you. Completely. I swear.”

He kept the apologies coming, slow and steady, until she planted her feet on his shoulders and lifted her hips. Signal received. He apologized faster, and faster still when her heels dug into his collarbones like stirrups. She practically levitated with forgiveness.

The second he closed his lips around her clit she stiffened, threw her head back and granted him something that sounded like complete and total absolution.

Moments later, as he kissed his way up her still trembling stomach, over her still pounding heart, and claimed her pliant, still parted lips, a strange thought floated through his mind. He didn’t believe in fairytales like happily ever after, but if such a thing did exist, it might feel a lot like this.

Chapter Fifteen

Jan. 10

1:15 p.m.

Chelsea,

Is the Tropical Passion massage gel gluten free??? Miss Simmons in room 202 wants to know.

Thx.

Lynette

She blushed. Couldn’t help it. Intensely aware of Rafe prowling her tiny office, talking into his cell phone, Chelsea hit reply and typed, Thank Miss Simmons for inquiring and please assure her every flavor is gluten free.

She glanced up and took a moment to admire him in profile while he stared out her window and listened to whatever information his assistant summarized for him. Steel gray trousers and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms looked unreasonably good on him. Then again, everything looked good on him. Nothing looked even better.

He shook his head in response to something his assistant asked. In the process, his gaze snagged on hers, and held. His lips curved into a smile that said, Caught you.

Guilty. She shifted her attention to her computer screen and swept her hair up into a loose knot while she scanned the rest of her emails. She’d been looking her fill at every inch of him for four days, not to mention three incredible nights, but her eyes kept coming back for more. So did the rest of her. Even sitting next to him in her office, doing something as dry and analytical as isolating trends in forty-eight months of reservation reports, rendered her half seduced. Sharing the small space left her susceptible to his cologne, his body heat, and the inherent magnetism of the man. He made it hard to concentrate on work.

Other than a bad case of sexually-induced ADD, she had zero complaints. Her newly adopted philosophy worked better than she’d dared hope. Thumbs up to fun, attraction, and mind-blowing sex. She could do this. Was doing it, and the knowledge put a happy glow in her heart, not to mention a few other places.

She scanned the rest of her emails and listened with half an ear while he wrapped up his call.

“Thanks, Vanessa. You can toss the messages from my father. He’s going through you because I’ve stopped answering his communications. I’ve reminded him this is not my first time at the rodeo, and the only bullshit I’ve encountered so far is his expectation that I update him at his whim. That should convince him to stop pestering you, but if he persists, reiterate that I’ll call him on Friday when I’m back in L.A. If he wanted to be closer to the action, he should have done the deal himself.”

His voice remained level, and not particularly frustrated, but she stole a peek at him anyway. There it was. The brooding frown. Inspired by his father, but damn, the sight of those assessing eyes staring at her from beneath dark, lowered brows made her pulse quicken. The corner of his mouth tipped up, suggesting he knew exactly the effect he had on her. Apparently his father’s expectations didn’t bother him overly much. Not nearly as much as the mention of his returning to California on Friday bothered her.

You’ll be waving good-bye to the man who showed you the meaning of multiple orgasms. Of course it bothers you. You’ll miss the sex.

Legitimate point, but another, more cautious part of her wondered if she was enjoying the whole package a little too much. Maybe they both were?

Into the phone, he said, “I leave the exact phrasing to you. Any other messages?” He paused to listen to his assistant, and his attention shifted to the floor, then the ceiling. “Would you contact her and tell her I appreciate the offer, but I’m not in a position to take her up on it?” His eyes slid to Chelsea, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “No, I don’t anticipate that changing in the foreseeable future.”

Another pause, during which she told herself neither the offer nor the person making the offer were any of her business, and the fact Rafe had obviously just refused an invitation from another woman shouldn’t relieve her…or worry her.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “Anything else?” As he listened, his smile returned, genuine enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Arden’s in New York? She has the nerve to say I get around. She gets around. Say hi for me. Tell her I’ll call her this weekend.”

They exchanged a few final comments, but she didn’t track them, because all of a sudden the relief evaporated, leaving just the worry. The mysterious Arden again.

Stop worrying. Her inner voice spoke firmly this time. You knew the score from the start. This thing stays casual, and that’s the whole point. Don’t let multiple orgasms mess with your head or your heart.

The thoughts helped. She controlled her own destiny, and right now that destiny involved exploring her wants and desires without the constraints of someone else’s expectations. She’d enjoyed herself so far, and she’d keep right on enjoying until their time together ran its natural course. All good…even if the natural course ended in two more days.

“I sent the reservation reports and your analysis to our marketing team,” Rafe said as he took the chair he’d pulled around to her side of the desk so they could share the computer screen. “It matches our expectations, but now they’ve got data around which to build their marketing schedule. I… Do you need a break? You look a little”—he fiddled with her heart-drop earring and considered her with uncomfortably perceptive eyes—“somber.”

“I’m fine.” She dredged up a smile to prove it. “Registration system overview is next on your list, right?”

“I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

And now she wasn’t forcing the smile anymore. “Just the highlights?”

“Just enough for me to confirm to my IT team they’re integrating Capterra data into our proprietary information management system.”

“Okay. That’s easy enough.” She turned to her computer and called up the application. “This is the main screen—”

“Fuck me.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “We have to spice this up or I’m going to die. Role play. Take my reservation.”

“Role play?”

“I’m after the complete guest experience, remember?”

Oh, priceless. He was giving her his version of puppy dog eyes, and it flat-out sucked. He couldn’t pull off innocent and needy to save his life. Tamping down on a grin, she gave him her version of exasperated. “I’ll do your stupid role play on the condition you stop looking at me like that.”

His expression immediately shifted into the familiar, satisfied smirk. The bastard. She lost her battle to hold back her grin. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?”

He tapped her screen, and prompted her with, “Ring. Ring.”

She rolled her eyes. “Good afternoon. Thank you for calling Tradewinds Resort, Maui. How may I assist you today?”

“I’d like to reserve your best villa.”

“Of course, sir. What are your dates of travel?” She clicked on the calendar and prepared to input dates.

“I’m flexible. What’s the optimal time to visit?”

She nudged him for being difficult. “That’s not common. Most people have their dates pinned down by the time they call or go online to reserve.”

“I’m uncommon.” He nudged her back. “As I think you know by now. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Maui is beautiful year round. Temperatures don’t vary much with the seasons, so optimal time depends on your vacation goals. If you want to escape cold weather at home, come anytime from November through May, which also happen to be prime whale watching months. If you prefer fewer crowds at the beach and other attractions, visit us in the spring or fall.”

“My goal doesn’t involve much sightseeing or whale watching. I have different entertainment in mind. But fewer crowds sound good. How about February fourteenth?”

“Very romantic. And your departure date?”

“Hard to predict. I’m not sure when I’ll be…done.”

Palm to forehead, she practiced patience. “You know, for a man who runs a hotel conglomerate, you act as if you’ve never reserved a room before.”

“You don’t know who I am,” he pointed out, arching a brow and shooting her a half smile. “I’m a faceless caller trying to plan a romantic getaway.”

“Well, sir, we need to input a departure date to check availability.” She brought her hand back to the keyboard. “I suggest booking for five days. If you wish to extend your reservation at any point during your visit, simply check with the reception desk and they can advise you of your options.”

“If that’s the best you can do.” His sigh had her lips quirking.

“I’m glad someone’s having fun with this overview.” But she was, too. He played with her, and she appreciated it, possibly more at this moment because he’d sensed her mopey mood and cared enough to charm her out of it. In her experience, she catered to the mood of the man in her life, not vice versa. She’d gravitated to serious guys, because she’d mistaken serious for sincere. Lesson learned. Tight-assed didn’t mean trustworthy. Next time, she’d pay more attention to those dynamics.

Whoa. Kinda soon to be thinking about next time.

Hell, yes. And she had plenty to concentrate on in the here and now. She added the reservation end date to the calendar and hit enter. The range of available rooms appeared on screen. She clicked on the villa and prepared to fill in the additional fields. “How many guests?”

“Just two. Adults,” he volunteered. “Go ahead and use my name.”

She typed his name into the primary guest field, and clicked on the name match found in the system. His credit card information auto-populated the appropriate fields. “Would you like to use the credit card already on file to secure the reservation?”

“Hmm. What if I prefer not to put this stay on a charge card?”

She dropped her customer service voice, and explained, “We require a credit card for every reservation, so we’re protected against no-shows and last minute cancelations.”

“St. Sebastian has the same policy, but, you know, not everyone who books a vacation at a singles resort is single. What happens when the guest doesn’t want to leave a paper trail?”

“That issue isn’t limited to singles resorts. We ran into the situation plenty at Las Ventanas.” She wrinkled her nose, but slipped back into customer-service mode. “Your card incurs no charges until your stay is complete. We can accept cash or an alternate credit card at our reception desk.”

“Perfect. I knew I could rely on your discretion.”

“I’m not here to judge,” she said under her breath, and tapped the additional keys to complete the reservation. Once complete, she turned to him. “Your confirmation code is C-H-E-A-T-I-N-G-B-A-S-T-A-R-D. I hope you enjoy your stay at Tradewinds, Maui.”

His low laugh drew a smile from her, and the earlier warning replayed in her mind—the one about them enjoying this more than they should.

“No judgments, huh?”

“Obviously I would never say such a thing to an actual guest, but, no, helping someone plan an illicit affair never sits well with me.” She shrugged and turned back to the screen. “I think if you make a promise to someone, you ought to honor that promise, or at least be up-front and tell them you can’t. Don’t go behind the person’s back.”

Nice girl rule number one. Do you plan to recite the whole list for him? “I suppose I sound naive.”

“No.”

She glanced over, surprised to find no hint of amusement in his expression.

“As it happens, I agree.”

He said the words casually, but something intense lurked in his eyes and she got a little lost in them. Had her office always been this small and quiet? “You do?”

“I don’t make a promise unless I intend to keep it.”

“Hence, you don’t make promises?” All the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. She inhaled until her lungs hurt.

“Hence, I haven’t—”

Her cell phone rang.

Chelsea mumbled, “Excuse me,” stood, and stepped around him, her leg brushing his knee as she passed. His dick twitched at the small contact, and then hovered at half-mast as he watched her walk to where her cell phone sat charging on her windowsill. The soft pink dress she wore qualified as business casual. Not especially low cut in front, not especially high on her legs, but the thin, slippery material clung to her body. He’d have to be dead not to notice the slight bounce of her breasts as she moved, or the slide of the fabric over her flat stomach and rounded hips as she unconsciously smoothed the skirt down. The messy knot she’d swept her hair into distracted him to the extent he nearly didn’t hear her when she spoke.

“It’s my friend Laurie from Montenido. Her bakery burned down on New Year’s, and I’m trying to help—”

“Go ahead. Talk with your friend.” He forced his attention to the computer and away from a cock-torturing fantasy about perching her on the edge of her desk and seeing how many times he needed to make her come to turn her cheeks the color of her dress. “I’ll go—”

“No need.” She headed to the door. “I’ll step out. I want to let Lynette know she can go to lunch.” She pulled the door closed behind her, but the latch didn’t catch. It swung open about a foot and presented him with a framed view of Chelsea from behind.

Normally he would have excused himself while a business associate took a personal call, but normally he wasn’t sitting in the associate’s office with a tent in his pants from watching her cross the room. He wasn’t going anywhere until that situation resolved. Resolution required focusing on something besides the luscious swell of her ass beneath soft pink fabric.

He saved the reservation—test file—he told himself, although the thought of spending a week of R&R at the villa with Chelsea after the sale closed sounded like the perfect reward for a job well done. Could he talk her into it?

What the hell are you doing planning a vacation with the woman?

Good question. They were mixing business with pleasure. Convenient and diverting, but when the business concluded, they’d both move on. Neither of them offered more. He didn’t have the time or disposition for a relationship, much less a long-distance one, and once he was running St. Sebastian, the opportunity for fun and games on Maui would be few and far between. Even if…

What the fuck? Why are you wasting brain cells thinking about this? Justifying it? When the business concludes, you’ll both move on. End of story. What you should be thinking about is getting her off the phone and back to the villa, so you can make the most of the time you’ve got left.

The mention of limited time set a clock ticking in his head, loud enough to drown out his internal debate. He looked over to where she stood. Something her friend said made her tense. She rounded her shoulders and brought her free hand up to cup the phone—the body language of someone protecting secrets—and suddenly he couldn’t concentrate on anything except her side of the conversation, which he could hear well enough through the half-open door.

“Oh my God. When?”

A voice at the other end of the phone responded, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“But what about the baby?”

Now he didn’t need the other side of the conversation. Obviously Barrington and the love of his life had hit the skids. No big surprise, but a big fucking mess if they allowed their personal difficulties to spill into the workplace. Neutralizing that possibility should have been foremost in his mind, but all he cared about at the moment was Chelsea’s reaction to the news. He wished he could see her face.

“I can’t believe it. No, I know you predicted this, but I’m stunned.”

Stunned happy? Stunned appalled?

“Me? She’s lost her mind. How in God’s name is this my doing? I’m not even there.”

She shook her head and paced a few steps, moving out of his view. Her words became an indistinct murmur. He nearly got up to position himself closer to the door when she paced back to her starting point. “Yes, but—”

He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Okay, fine. He has called, several times, and left some voicemails. So what? I haven’t responded.”

The son of a bitch had called her. She’d chosen not to open the lines of communication, which offered minimal comfort, but would she change her mind now that things between Paul and Cindy were unraveling?

“Well, that wasn’t very smooth of him.” She bit her lip and hugged one arm across her waist.

Did she realize how conflicted she looked?

“Whatever happens is between them. I wish they’d chosen a better place to have a spat than a staff meeting, and I wish they’d left my name out of it.”

Was her heart out of it? Not that he expected her to make any pledges to him, but the notion of getting her body while her mind remained stuck on the past made him want to slam his fist into the wall, or Barrington’s face. Most likely he’d have to settle for terminating the asshole’s employment, but one way or another that guy needed to be gone. He’d call this afternoon and light a fire under the corporate recruiter.

Chelsea finished her call, closed her eyes, and ran the heel of her hand over her forehead.

He busied himself at the computer, and sensed more than saw her re-enter the office. “Is your friend okay?” he asked, without looking up. Yes, he was playing dumb. Less because he didn’t want her to know he’d overheard as he wanted her to share the conversation with him of her own accord. More to the point, he wanted her to tell him she couldn’t care less if Barrington was back on the market. Hell, he wanted her to slap his face for even thinking she might give a damn.

“Laurie’s hanging in.” He looked up to see if she’d volunteer anything more, but she sent him an unconvincing smile and slid into the guest chair on the other side of the desk. After crossing one leg over the other, she leaned forward and fiddled with her phone.

“Other troubles?”

She frowned at her phone, sliding her thumb over the screen and tapping as if calling up an email. “No. Everything’s fine.”

Disappointment settled in his gut. He needed to get a grip. They shared a professional goal, first and foremost. Yes, they also shared some incredibly entertaining sex, but he could practically hear his father lecturing him for letting sex distract him from his primary purpose. “If everything’s so wonderful, why are you giving your phone a dirty look?”

Wary brown eyes found his. “Lynette emailed me a reservation confirmation. We’re scheduled with Undersea Escapes for a dive at the St. Anthony tomorrow morning.”

“I know. I asked her to set it up. Tradewinds has a multi-year contract with the vendor, which St. Sebastian will have to assume or pay off.”

“Guests routinely give them four or five star ratings.”

“What do you give them?”

“I…um…” She tapped the touchscreen again, and her frown deepened. “I haven’t done that particular activity yet.”

“You’re certified, right?”

“Yes, but the St. Anthony is sixty feet below the surface. That’s a little out of my depth.”

“I’m a dive master. I’ll make sure you know which way is up.”

She made a noncommittal sound and squinted at her screen.

He rose and stretched, then wandered over to where she sat, still focused on her phone. Crouching, he took hold of her wrist and adjusted the angle of her screen until he could see what concerned her. The dive company’s website filled the view, featuring a photo of the St. Anthony. A sleek gray shape with white-tipped fins took up one corner of the shot. Mystery solved. Chelsea was worried about becoming part of the food chain. He took some satisfaction from knowing it wasn’t thoughts of Barrington and his potential breakup distracting her. “Are you chicken?”

Her eyes locked on his. Beneath his fingers her pulse quickened. “I’m cautious.”

“That’s a reef shark, you know. They’re not man-eaters.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I know. Do they know?”

He smiled, tightened his hold on her wrist, and pulled her closer. “I’ll protect you. The only creature likely to bite you tomorrow is me.”