Текст книги "Compromising Her Position"
Автор книги: Samanthe Beck
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Chapter Sixteen
Rafe firmed his grip on Chelsea’s wrist, effectively stopping her retreat. The bubbling hum of their oxygen and the water itself muffled her protest, but he knew full well she wanted to bolt, and he knew why. They were midway through their second dive of the day, suspended in the cool depths of the open ocean, surrounded by a group of sharks.
The school was small. The sharks were not. But they were minding their own business, not paying much attention to the human interlopers, at least not until Chelsea saw them and promptly forgot every bit of training he and their dive master had given her regarding how to react in the event of a sighting.
Was she staying calm? Nope. Keeping her arms in and making as few movements as possible? Not even close. As soon as she’d spotted the sharks, she’d screamed and thrashed around in the water like a cartoon character running off a cliff.
No real danger loomed. The big fish couldn’t have been less interested, but her panic handed him an excuse to play protector to her damsel in distress. Letting go of her wrist, he pulled her into the circle of his arms and held her there while the school swam past, some close enough to reach out and touch, if you wanted to lose a hand. But only guilt attacked him as her body trembled against his.
She really was terrified, and he felt bad because this particular excursion had been his choice. The only reason she’d joined him was because he’d assured her shark sightings were rare, and then he’d played the deal liaison card.
Didn’t the Templetons instruct you to introduce me to as many of the resort activities possible?
They sure had.
He should have cut her some slack. In between juggling her regular job and facilitating the kind of direct, first-hand access to the operations even his father couldn’t criticize, she’d toured the entire resort with him, and most of the rest of the island.
She’d let him drag her out of their warm, cozy bed in the pre-dawn hours so they could share coffee and a sunrise on Mount Haleakala, and afterward, ride mountain bikes down the steep slope of the sleeping volcano. She’d kayaked miles of coastline, and snorkeled with turtles and manta rays at Molokai.
Action-packed as the days were, they paled in comparison to the nights. And yet he couldn’t get his fill. Too many times over the last five days he’d found his thoughts—hell, his priorities—straying to her instead of the deal. During a conference call, she’d fiddle with a blouse button, or run her tongue over her lower lip, and suddenly he’d be bending time and space just to get her alone. Touch her, taste her, lay claim to every inch of her in some primitive attempt to satisfy an addiction that only seemed to be growing. She held nothing back, but he still craved more. And every time her heart pounded under his, he heard that damn clock ticking in his mind—an annoying but relentless countdown to his departure.
At the moment, however, her heart pounded furiously against his chest for an entirely different reason than normal. A large shark, about six feet long, broke away from the school and lazily circled back. He rubbed his hand over her arm.
When the shark approached, she gave a little squeal of dread, squeezed her eyes shut and tucked herself into him. Either her noise or boredom quickly drove the animal off, but he held on to her because her body plastered against his felt too good. Conscience battled libido.
Conscience won out, eventually, and he squeezed her hand. Behind her mask, her eyes opened and rounded as she watched the sharks swim off. He pointed his finger skyward and lifted his brows.
She nodded and started kicking. He let her glide through his arms and, a decompression stop later, they were safely on deck.
“Oh my God. That was…”
“Thrilling? Amazing?” He helped her out of her harness and stacked their cylinders and equipment in the designated area.
She turned around and smacked his shoulder. “Terrifying!”
“Anybody ever tell you you’re gorgeous when you’re terrified?”
She hit him again, but he saw her lip twitch. “When you’re scared and wet and clinging to me,” he continued in a low voice, crowding her against the railing with his body. “Come on, confess. You found the dive exciting.” He sure as hell had, less due to the sharks than her in little black bikini bottoms that cupped her ass like a candy wrapper, and a long-sleeved black swim shirt that might as well have been painted on. The way it clung to her breasts completely fucked with his concentration. Or maybe his fucked concentration had more to do with the fact that those breasts currently heaved with agitation?
He glanced at her face and revised his conclusion. Not agitation. No, she’d seen him looking her over and read his mind. He leaned closer, let his chest brush her breasts. “I’m guessing yes, because you seem a little excited.”
She inhaled sharply. He loved her instant, unguarded responses. There was nothing contrived about Chelsea. Placing his fingers against the base of her throat, he went on. “Your pulse is racing. Your pupils are huge. I’d have to say you’re excited.”
“I’ve never come so close to anything dangerous before. Other than you.”
“I’m harmless.”
“You’re lethal,” she said softly, but he barely heard her because he was too distracted by the way she ran her tongue over her lower lip. He couldn’t take his eyes away.
“You like it.” He brushed his thumb along her damp lip.
Just then chatter and laughter sailed across the deck, signaling the arrival topside of other members of the dive party. Tactical blunder. He should have known better than to trap them on a boat with a bunch of strangers and absolutely no privacy. “I’ll prove it to you. Later,” he whispered and, with reluctance, dropped his hand.
She glanced over at the ladders, where other divers now climbed aboard, then back at him. “Maybe I’ll prove a few things to you as well, Mr. St. Sebastian.” With that, she turned and strolled away.
Excitement over the shark sighting infected the entire group. In his experience, a day of diving bonded virtual strangers with an instant, intense shared experience, and that was especially true when it came to shark encounters. It left everyone euphoric and festive. With the day’s dives completed, the crew opened the bar, turned on the music, and the dive boat transformed into a party boat for the cruise to the dock.
Hanging back, nursing an ice-cold beer, he watched Chelsea circulate amongst the passengers. They were all Tradewinds guests, mostly under forty, but still a diverse group.
Her energy, ready smile, and easy friendliness attracted people. She chatted with everyone, from the girls-getaway group of New York City thirty-somethings to the trio of Seattle-based software engineers who clearly hadn’t seen the sun in at least six months.
One of them handed her a beer. While she smiled and thanked him, the man’s eyes roamed over her, and Rafe battled a territorial urge to stride across the deck and drag her away.
What was that about? He didn’t get possessive about women. He could try to justify the uncharacteristic instinct on the basis of their arrangement. During this week—his week, damn it—he required her undivided attention. But that was business, and this feeling was unquestionably personal. Worse, spending time with her only intensified his desire, and transformed it into something complicated and less centered on physical need. Time was running out. What did he plan to do about it?
Nothing. You’ll enjoy tonight, fly back to L.A., complete the deal.
Completing the deal could take four more weeks.
But you won’t have time to spend any of them back here. The Las Ventanas re-launch has to stay on track.
After the close…
You’ll be her boss once the deal goes through. She’s got rules.
Be persuasive. Convince her to make an exception for you.
Right. She’s going to agree to what she views as a career-endangering exception for the thrill of a hookup whenever you come through on business? Think you’re that persuasive? Here’s how this plays out. You leave, the deal closes, and you finally get what you’ve been striving for since the time you were old enough to answer the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” She stays, meets a stable, decent guy, and lives happily ever after. She’s a smile on your face when you’re ninety and a big-eyed, dark-haired nurse comes in to check your blood pressure.
He watched his future favorite memory laugh at something one of the pasty perverts said. His blood pressure spiked and he had to force himself to relax his white-knuckled grip on his beer. Her twinkling gaze collided with his and held. Her smile faltered. Pink invaded her cheeks. After a moment, she took a long drink, licked her lower lip, and turned back to her conversation. Shit. He rubbed his palm over the center of his chest, where an uncomfortable tightness lodged.
You’re in worse shape now than when you landed five days ago.
Jan. 11
3:45 p.m.
Chelsea,
Mr. Collins in Room 112 wants to know if we can pick the lock on a pair of handcuffs.
Thx.
Lynette
Yes, they could. Chelsea sent a request to the head of maintenance, and dropped her phone into her bag.
“Problem?” Rafe asked, and waited for her to join him on the path leading to the villas.
“Nothing life or death, unlike our latest adventure. You told me shark sightings were rare, but I’ve seen fewer dorsal fins during a Shark Week marathon.” She tried to smile and ignore the countdown screen in her mind steadily ticking off his remaining hours at the resort. A light offshore wind caught the edges of the orange and black tribal print sarong she’d changed into after their dive. Waves crashed in the distance, sending out a low repeating echo. Last day.
He shot her an innocent look, or as close to innocent as he could come. “Shark sightings are relatively rare.” Then he squeezed her hand. “Consider us lucky.”
“I think we’re feeling lucky for different reasons, but either way, I’m not going to press mine.” Or maybe she was, because she let him draw her to the door of his villa. “I’m content to call today a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
“You say that now, but after today, diving in the safe, boring shallows won’t satisfy you anymore.” He unlocked the door and held it open for her. “You’ll want the adrenalin rush that comes from going deep.”
She walked through, grappling with the sneaking suspicion his words applied to more than just diving. After this week of going deep with Rafe, would her days seem tame and boring? She perched on the arm of the sofa and kicked off her sandals. “Too bad you fly back to L.A. tomorrow. You won’t be able to put your theory to the test.”
Just mentioning the fact out loud made her want to wrap herself around him and…cling.
Nope. No clinging. You went into this strictly for fun. Fun and sex. Wonderful while it lasted, but it ends the moment his limo pulls away from the resort tomorrow.
Yes, okay, good rule to keep in mind, because she was in no condition to risk an emotional attachment right now. Even if she could, he wasn’t the man to do it with. He’d been crystal clear about his limits. Tomorrow she’d pull on her big girl panties, kiss him good-bye, and move on. She wasn’t looking for Mr. Forever, and he wasn’t auditioning for the role.
He stepped close and tipped her chin up until she stared into moody eyes. “You chatted up a storm with everyone on the boat today. Now you’re suddenly quiet, except to mention my departure. Anxious to get rid of me?”
No…and yes. His barest touch sent a familiar thrill of heat through her, but God, she could get dangerously addicted to that thrill. After tonight, she’d put his demanding yet surprisingly giving hands out of her mind. She’d ignore the residual whisper of his voice in her ear, and relegate the sensation of his hungry mouth exploiting every vulnerable part of her to a corner of her memory.
After tonight.
His mouth kicked up at one corner. “Not in the mood to talk?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t. Not so much.
“Something else you prefer to do instead?”
This time she nodded, and undid the tie that secured her sarong. The slippery fabric puddled at her feet, leaving her naked. “I believe you have some unfinished business, Mr. St. Sebastian.” Then she turned and bent over the arm of the sofa.
She waited like that for a long, quiet moment. Finally, his low curse shattered the silence, and a rustle of activity followed—the hushed sound of his trunks hitting the rug, the quick tear of a condom wrapper. She sank her toes into the thick rug, and then arched up onto the balls of her feet.
Two cool fingertips trailed slowly down her spine, and came to rest at the last notch.
She dug her fingers into the cushion beneath her. “Mr. St. Sebastian?”
Firm hands clasped her hips and lifted her precisely where he wanted her. She closed her eyes and held her breath.
“Miss Wayne. I always finish business.”
Chapter Seventeen
When the long, sleek Tradewinds’ limousine pulled to a stop at the front entrance of the villa, Rafe gave in to impulse. He took Chelsea’s hand, got into the limo, and pulled her in after him.
“Rafe…” She shook her head and held up their still linked fingers. “What are you doing?”
Fair question. Too bad he didn’t have an answer. Last night represented the natural, logical end of their highly entertaining but always temporary diversion. He understood how this worked. He’d turned the whole thing over in his mind more than once, and reached the same inevitable conclusion each time. And yet here he sat, deliberately trying to draw things out. So no, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and worse, he didn’t know why. All he knew was he didn’t want to say good-bye yet. The driver’s sturdy frame appeared beside the open door.
“Don’t close the door, Ron,” Chelsea said. “I’m getting out.”
“No, she’s not.” With that, he pulled the door shut.
She swung her head around and gave him an aggrieved look. “I have a conference call in two hours.”
“Plenty of time for a ride to the airport. Keep me company.”
The driver’s door opened and the big man settled himself behind the wheel.
“Ron will keep you company.”
“He doesn’t need distractions while he drives, do you, Ron?”
“No, sir.” The broad-faced native grinned when Chelsea re-directed her aggrieved look. “Just knock twice when you’re ready to go.” With that, he raised the privacy screen and sealed them in a comfortable capsule of black leather and burled wood.
Big brown eyes leveled on him. “I really can’t—”
He used his tongue to sweep all words of refusal right out of her mouth. Triumph surged when she sighed and leaned into him, and flared stronger when she pressed her face to his throat and said, “I guess I could…”
That’s all he needed to hear. He kissed her again and rapped twice on the panel. The limo rolled forward. With the hum of the engine insulating them, he quickly popped buttons on her white blouse, pushing it off her shoulders and down her arms. It landed on the dark carpet like a flag of surrender, but he had a sinking suspicion he was the one giving in, because this wasn’t supposed to be happening. After their week together, he should have been ready this morning with a smile and a wave, and been on his merry way. Instead he remained at the mercy of the same restless hunger that had propelled him all the way to Maui a day early just to be with her. He had about fifty miles to satisfy the hunger once and for all, and he didn’t like his chances.
The clasp of her white satin bra gave way with a little coaxing from his fingers. He lifted her breast, took it into his mouth, and tongue-whipped her nipple to attention. Slender arms wrapped around his head and she arched closer.
Needing to feel her under him, he tugged her down until she lay against the seat. He tore his mouth away and stared at her, mind reeling with possibilities. Apparently her mind rifled through some possibilities as well, because she pulled his shirt out of his trousers and ran her hands over his abs. He let her play, until she glided her palm down the front of his trousers and stroked his cock.
“Don’t. You. Dare. This will be over in three seconds if you keep that up.”
The words brought a slow smile to her lips. She stroked him again. Willfully. Leisurely. “Who’s going to stop me?”
“Me and Victoria’s Secret.”
Now the cocky smile gave way to confusion. Her hand stilled. “Come again?”
“Yes. I guarantee you will.” With that he whipped her bra down her arms and twisted it around her wrists. A quick tug confirmed the restraint would hold. He drew her bound hands over her head and hooked one dangling strap around the door pull.
“Hey!” Eyes wide, she tried to slide free, but with him straddling her hips, she couldn’t get the right angle to unhook herself from the latch.
“Let me go, Rafe.” Her brown eyes remained huge, and locked on him, but no fear lurked in their depths. He saw surprise, and excitement.
“Quiet.” He leaned closer and slid his thumb into her mouth—right past those plush lips—and caressed her tongue. “We don’t want to disturb Ron, right? He might decide to lower the privacy screen and check on you, and, well, beautiful as you look right now, I’d just as soon keep the view all to myself.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he moved his thumb in a slow circle over the velvety surface of her tongue. A comparatively subtle restraint, but one she accepted with a little moan and a lowering of her eyelids.
“That’s a good girl. Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to do the touching. All I want. Anywhere I want. You’re going to sit back and take it. Understand?”
Not entirely, if the way she closed her lips around his invading thumb and sucked him deeper served as any indication. Christ, she killed him. Until Chelsea had blundered into his life, he hadn’t known it was possible to want to groan with pleasure and laugh at the sheer stubbornness of a woman. He had her half naked, trussed up, totally at his mercy, and still she challenged him. Apparently for the fun of it. And it was fun, damn it. Whether shoving him into a supply closet, walking out on a very promising dinner just to teach him a lesson, or swimming with sharks, Chelsea always entertained. Knowing he would soon board a plane and put thousands of miles between them brought an uncharacteristic sense of emptiness, followed by a harsh slap of irritation. People envied him, for fuck’s sake. A few more weeks of focus and patience separated him from his most ambitious professional goal. On a personal front, he’d never lacked for amusements. His life was anything but empty. He could, and would, walk away from her. As soon as this ride ended.
He withdrew his thumb and swept it over her lips. “I’m going to abandon your wicked mouth, Miss Wayne. Please try to control your volume without my help.” He ran his hands down her calves to her ankles and flicked her shoes off.
“Mr. St. Sebastian.” She tried to sound forbidding, but he ran his hands back up her legs, separating them more, and her tone softened. “Oh, God…”
He retraced his route, palms smoothing behind her knees, under her slim black skirt, until he hooked her panties. “Quiet, please.” Her breath hitched as he swept the scrap of satin down her legs and pocketed it for safekeeping.
“Are you planning to keep me tied up the entire time?” She tugged her wrists.
“Yes.” Then he lowered his head and trailed his mouth up the same territory his hands had just traversed. When he reached the hem of her skirt, he pushed it to her waist to give his mouth and hands access to everything he wanted.
“That’s not very…fair,” she whispered. “Ohhh…”
Her complaint trailed off when he lifted her long, gorgeous legs skyward, and crouched low, one knee on the floor, the other on the seat. His breath fanned her as he spoke. “Now that’s a very pretty picture.” He placed his thumb at her threshold.
“Rafe!”
“Quiet,” he reminded her, and teased her clit with the very tip of his tongue. At the same time, he eased his thumb inside, using the pad to trace a slow circle along her inner wall in a move that mimicked what he’d done in her mouth moments ago.
She shivered around him and her moan filled the back of the limo. He would have teased her about the volume, but the need to hear her uncensored moan again enslaved him as powerfully as the craving to taste her one last time. He should have been the one in control, but she seduced him with her hands tied. Literally. All she had to do was breathe.
Need brutalized him, but he kept his touch on her gentle. Punishingly gentle. The impatient edge to her moans told him she expected—demanded—he plunge her into ecstasy as hard and fast as possible. He refused. They’d have time for hard and fast, right after he shattered her so slowly, thoroughly, and irrevocably, her lips would instinctively form his name every single time she orgasmed for the rest of her natural life.
He closed his mouth around her clit, kissing her, rewarding each delicate pulse with a light, devastating lick. He kept the sweep of his thumb teasingly shallow, even when those low, husky moans turned to pleas. Her heels dug into his shoulders. Her hips rocked in a rhythm he recognized. He allowed her three hard, purposeful pumps before he pulled away.
The sudden move wrenched a very heartfelt, “God damn you,” out of her, which coaxed a smile out of him. “I’m certain he does, Miss Wayne.”
Stormy brown eyes locked on him. He rolled the condom on as quickly as possible, because although he enjoyed toying with her, he had sympathy for the condition he’d left her in. His cheek would be sporting her palm print by now if she had use of her hands. Perverse as he was, the thought of her slapping his face and ordering him to fuck her made his already stiff cock swell to new dimensions, and turned the process of rolling the condom on into a form of torture.
With the job done, he ran his hands along the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs, and guiding them higher, until her toes touched the upholstered ceiling of the limo. “Right there. Don’t move.” He leaned in, using his body to help support hers.
“I can’t,” she said, but held the position nonetheless. Sweat slicked her skin. Her cheeks flushed from the strain of complying.
That kind of effort deserved encouragement. “You can and you will, Miss Wayne.”
He braced a hand on the ceiling, hooked the other under her ass, and hitched her up another crucial inch. The glide of his cock along her center had her groaning, and him biting back a curse, because Miss I Can’t suddenly had the strength to fidget her hips all over the damn place. Eventually, he got them lined up. He felt huge and ruthlessly hard against her soft, giving center.
“I can’t do it. I’m going to scream.”
“No,” he managed, and eased his thumb into her mouth again. She moaned as he stroked her tongue. “Nobody’s going to scream.” He nearly broke his own rule when she sealed her lips around the base of his thumb and sucked as if the motion of her lips could somehow pull him into her…fill every void.
And maybe they could, because the next thing he knew, he was thrusting deep. Over and over. Through sweat-stung eyes, he watched her arch up to meet him, felt the pinch of her teeth as she locked her jaw. The hot, tight channel cradling his cock contracted, pulling him into a sudden, almost painful climax. And all the while a single thought repeated in his mind.
More…
Dammit.
He opened his eyes, blinked down at Chelsea, and froze. She’d turned her face away, but even with her eyes closed he could see tears leaking from the corners. Heart in his throat, he quickly reached over and unhooked her wrists.
“Jesus.” He pulled her into his lap, smoothed her skirt down, and cupped her wrists. His thumbs swept over the soft, pale skin. “Did I hurt you?”
She buried her face against his throat and shook her head. Not a tremendous relief, because he could feel her hot tears on his neck.
“Talk to me.”
“I’m okay.” The words tickled his skin. “Just a little overwhelmed. Can you give me a minute?”
He tried to pull back and look at her, but she dug her fingers into his shirt and held on. “Chelsea—”
“Don’t,” she said, but let go of his shirt and gave a small, uneven laugh. “I’m the world’s ugliest crier.”
Relief washed over him, so profound he almost laughed. He had enough experience with women to concede he might never understand what he’d done to bring her to tears, but this reaction, at least, he understood. Arden always insisted the ugliest crier honor belonged to her. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed her temple. “Always.”
But sitting here, watching her, would only add to her discomfort, so he handed her a fistful of tissues from the box tucked discreetly in a side console, and then occupied himself untangling her bra and helping her into it.
By the time she finished wiping her tears and aimed her doe eyes at him, he’d gotten her blouse on and his own clothes in reasonable order.
“Sorry.” She tucked her blouse into her skirt, sniffled, and offered him a tenuous smile. “I guess I had some kind of orgasm-induced tear duct flush.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m flattered. I think—”
She held up a hand and cut him off with a soft, “We’re here.”
He jerked his head around and looked out the window. Sure enough, there sat his jet.
A moment later, the limo rolled to a stop. Soon the impact of the driver’s door closing buffeted the car.
“Good-bye,” she whispered.
Ron would be around to open the door in a few seconds. Say good-bye. Get out of the car. Instead, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her. Quick. Hard. Deep. And pulled away just seconds before the back door opened.
He stepped out of the limo without taking his eyes off her. Then three very strange, completely impulsive words crossed his lips. “I’ll call you.”
Where the fuck had that come from?
Chelsea sat motionless, looking up at him like he’d sprouted a second head. “No you won’t. No promises, remember?”
Shit.
Ron closed the door.
Rafe walked onto the plane.
It wasn’t until the jet cruised at thirty thousand feet that he shoved his hand in his pocket and touched something slippery. He pulled out a bundle of satin and stared at Chelsie’s panties. She’d left a pair for him when he’d arrived, and he’d taken a pair when he left. He was amassing quite a collection. A smile threatened, until his better judgment kicked in. Playtime’s over. She’s right. Don’t call her.
He shoved her underwear back into his pocket.
