* * *
Long before they reached the dive center, Ella was certain she’d been cosmically destined to face death by drowning. Why? If Liam Baggett was a menace in a power suit, then he was lethal in swim trunks. Yes, small swim trunks, at that. God’s existence had been verified the moment Liam walked out of their bungalow, towel slung over one broad...broad...shoulder, his lips still slightly swollen from their kiss.
Their kiss. What had she been thinking? The answer was simple: nothing. She’d been living on the sheer influx of desire that had clouded her brain and determined conservative thinking—and living—to be a crime given proximity to him.
She sneaked another look, this one longer. And she wasn’t any sorrier this time than she had been when she’d stolen the first, second or third looks.
His upper body had the professionally chiseled look that came from long hours in the gym and, for good measure, a little physical work on the side. His thighs were lean but corded with muscle. If she touched his calves, they’d be solid. But his arms were the most arresting part of him. They were nothing less than sculpted perfection, a wordless covenant that protection could be found within their embrace.
Ella shook her head. Covenant? Protection? You’re thinking Henry Cavill as Superman, not British surrogate wedding decision maker.
They passed the bar, and she eyed it longingly. If she stopped for a drink, just one, they’d miss this excursion but could still catch the last outing today. Watching the bartender muddle the mint as he put together a mojito almost made the decision for her... “Ella?”
Instinct had her rubbing her furrowed brow and forcing herself to take a deep breath. “Yes?”
Liam waited several feet ahead of her, a knowing look in his eyes. “If you want another...”
Kiss. Say kiss.
“...drink that badly, I’m sure we can make the next excursion. We’ve plenty of time before the wedding party’s arrival.”
Wedding party. Job. Stay focused.
“No.” The word registered clear and sharper than she’d intended. “No,” she said again, this time more pleasantly. “I need to... We need to use every minute to our advantage to ensure your sister’s wedding comes together without a hitch. No cutting corners, and certainly no making do.”
That same shadow she’d seen earlier passed over his face. “Of course.”
“Wait. What’s that look? Is there something I should know?”
He glanced away, his gaze fixed on some unseen spot in the water. “What, specifically, are you referring to?”
“I’m referring to the wedding. I mentioned it being perfect and your face went totally blank. Is there something you aren’t telling me? Something I should know?” She hesitated. “Is it something between the bride and groom?”
“I assure you, Ella, that my interests lie solely in securing my sister’s well-being. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. Understand that I will do whatever I must to ensure her happiness is secured. She’s the priority here, not me.”
“Of course.” Ella gripped her shoulder and pulled, stretching, before repeating the same with the other side. She was wound so tight she couldn’t tell up from down, left from right, or brotherly concern from familial dissatisfaction. His answer struck her as a bit odd, though. Aggression created a solid foundation for every word he spoke. What was he willfully omitting?
The answer wasn’t right there for the plucking, but she’d figure it out. One thing was certain, however. He loved his sister and, like he said, she was the priority. At least they agreed on that much.
“About that drink?”
A shake of her head before she resumed the trek to the beachfront dive hut. “It’s best I don’t give in to temptation before hitting the water.”
The wind carried his response to her, soft and so sexually charged it seemed lightning should have struck. “On that, Ella, we very much disagree.”
Fighting to keep from visibly clenching her thighs at the impact of his words, she focused on retying the sarong around her waist. Her dive suit wasn’t skimpy, but it fit tight, and the thin neoprene did nothing but enhance every movement. So she’d suffer a little discomfort. It wouldn’t kill her.
Liam remained silent the rest of the walk, lagging behind just far enough that she felt his eyes caressing every line of her body, every inch of her bare skin.
CHAPTER FOUR
WAVES ROCKED THE 109-foot catamaran, the slap of water against the fiberglass hull soft. Rhythmic. Every now and then, the breeze would gather enough momentum that the sails swelled and billowed. The fabric would snap taut only to fall back to its lethargic default when the winds quieted. Clouds were sparse—brilliant white against the endless azure sky. If the Garden of Eden had been anything like this particular slice of paradise, Adam had been a fool to risk it all over a mediocre piece of fruit. For Eve, though? Particularly if she’d looked anything like Ella...
“I’d have eaten brussels sprouts if she’d offered,” he murmured.
Ella had started the trip by grilling the dive instructors, asking for everything from credentials to referrals. The poor men had been overwhelmed, though she hadn’t understood why. And wasn’t that just like her. She was everything brilliant and strong and professional...yet kind...and wearing a bikini. The poor dive instructors had been tripping over themselves to satisfy her every request. If they knew how the woman kissed? They’d be lost—land or sea, it wouldn’t matter.
As for himself? Well, he’d simply watched with avaricious appreciation as she took off the short dive suit and revealed the little number beneath. Thankfully, she hadn’t required anything of him. Even so, they hadn’t cleared the outermost harbor buoys before he’d lost the little bit of temper he’d packed for the afternoon.
“For God’s sake, Ella,” he bit out. “Leave the men to their jobs. I’m certain your questions will be answered in due course, either by the instructors or through the experience.”
Ella’s chin had set, and she’d shot him a sharp look. “I get your point, Liam. I’m annoying him by doing my job. Let me make something perfectly clear now, before we go any farther. You seem like you’d be the type who’s more comfortable dealing with women as accessories. That’s fine if it’s okay with the women in question. But I’m absolutely not that woman. I don’t require a man to intervene, to handle the difficult tasks—the proverbial heavy lifting. Thanks for feeling the need here, but I’m good. If you think I should retire to the deck and lie back, get a little sun and let the men do their jobs, think again.” She smiled sweetly at Liam. “Unless you’re willing to join me.”
“Well, shit,” he muttered. “Insult my manhood when I’m just trying to help you relax. What’s the old saying? ‘Out of the frying pan—’”
“Oh, you have no idea the fire you’ve just waltzed into,” she murmured, retrieving a glass of punch offered by the boat’s deckhand. “See, if you had grown up in the United States, Smokey the Bear would have taught you not to play with fire unless you were prepared to get burned. But after that interruption? You better hope there’s a first aid kit onboard, because I’m about to blister your ass.”
“Foreplay in such a public manner?” Liam teased. “I’ll take my chances.”
She grinned into her cup. “You’re just that type, aren’t you?”
“What type is that?”
Shaking her head, she wandered over to an unclaimed space on the deck and lay down before shooting him a quick, devilish look. “You know—the type to make things a little public.”
He sank down beside her, propped himself up on one arm and leaned over her, seeing his reflection in her sunglasses a split second before his subconscious made the decision his conscious mind would’ve eventually landed on. He kissed her. Quick. All heat and passion, without apology and certainly without regret. He’d only had the one taste of her, but he craved more. She was an instant addi
ction.
Breaking away, he smiled down at her. The stunned look on her face sent a thrill through him. Seducing her, or being seduced by her, would be worth every effort. Or almost any compromise. So she was clear, however, he leaned closer and said, “I don’t mind public displays of affection.”
“Apparently not.” She cleared her throat and shifted so his lips could easily find her neck. “Liam...” Her gaze slid to his and then away. “While I don’t know who your sister is and, yes, that irritates me like you wouldn’t believe, I do know she’s high profile. Seriously high profile. And people—everyone from guests to trade magazines to gossip rags—will name me as the event coordinator. You’re obviously the bride’s family. Do you really think it’s wise to be seen cavorting with the hired help?”
He buried his nose in the crook of her neck and nibbled his way across the expanse of skin to her collarbone. A quick nip elicited a gasp and he pushed up to lean on one elbow again, thrilling at the sight of her nipples pearled beneath her bikini top. “Don’t be confused here, Ella. I didn’t hire you.”
“True, but—”
He cupped her jaw and rested his thumb over her lips. “Don’t borrow trouble. Wherever this goes, we’re two consenting adults. No one need worry about anything else.”
A small grin tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Do you really believe you know what’s best for everyone—what they should think or how they should behave...”
He arched a brow. “Darling, when people want to be right the first time around, they seek out my opinion. So, in a nutshell, yes.” Something whispered through his consciousness, something as uncomfortable as it was unintelligible. Ella, in taking his advice, was going to be dead wrong. He smothered the feeling as he waited out her response.
She laughed and shook her head. Instead of replying, she shifted her gaze and stared out at the seemingly endless expanse of water behind him. The rapid tap-tap-tap of one bare foot against the deck created an anxious rhythm in the conversational void.
Liam grew twitchy as the silence continued. He wanted Ella to say something that would stop him from examining his response too closely, something that might soothe the discomfort left by the vague thought he’d taken a misstep. He’d always been at the conversational helm, directing people wherever he wanted them to go. Now, to have Ella stop like this left Liam out of sorts. Suddenly he was the one tapping his foot, and he struggled against the urge to say something, do something.
He moved to take her hand, wanting the physical contact, hoping it would assuage the unpleasant pressure on his conscience.
She picked up her punch, shutting down his attempt.
“Like that, is it?”
“For now.”
“And why, exactly, should that be the case ‘for now’?”
She sat up, crossing her legs and spinning to face him. The move put her at arm’s length. “You’re clearly suffering delusions of grandeur, believing you know what’s best for everyone.” She took a demure sip of the punch. “What’s best for me is to finish this, suit up and get in the water as soon as possible.”
“And why, pray tell, do you believe that?”
She tipped her glasses down her nose and looked up at him, sun already bronzing her skin to reveal a smattering of faint freckles over her nose. “You’ll follow, and that means you’ll either have to shut up and breathe or chastise me...and drown.”
Laughter erupted from him in a rush. No one—no one—talked to him like this. Ella Montgomery must have a set of stainless steel balls and a spine to match. He liked that about her. Far more than he should, in truth. She was compassionate, professional, quick thinking... And she was starting to become more than a short-term distraction.
She’d never be a potential bride, despite his earlier joke, because Liam didn’t do forever. He leased his car. He leased his plane. He leased his flat. Hell, he had term versus whole life insurance. Everything in his life had an end date, even his career. Thanks to sound financial planning, he would retire in sixteen years at age fifty.
So that mythical woman, the one capable of enticing Liam to rethink a forever type of commitment? She didn’t exist. Not for him and, given what he’d witnessed within his peer group, within the business world and, God knew, within his family, not for anyone.
It struck him that if Ella had him shoring up his emotional boundaries and personal beliefs, he should be careful.
Standing, he moved to the front of the catamaran, leaned against one of the masts and quickly outlined his plan.
Seduction would necessarily come first. His. Hers. Theirs. It mattered little so long as it occurred.
Second, mutual physical pleasure—always a fine goal.
Third, he’d get her out of his system, thus removing any craving he might have for her.
Fourth, and finally, he’d ensure there were no strings.
That gave him roughly forty-eight hours to complete his plan before he got back to business as usual.
He’d worked with less.
* * *
The dive had been a complete success, and Ella signed the paperwork that made the excursion an official group activity for the wedding guests.
Headed back to the bungalow with Liam, she laid a hand on his arm, hoping the physical contact would smooth the way to her next task. “I know you don’t want to give me guests’ names in order to protect your sister’s identity. I get that. I do,” she emphasized when he looked down at her, face entirely deadpan. “I’m not asking for names. I don’t need them. I just need the guest preferences from your spreadsheet. I can’t do my job, can’t represent your sister’s best interests, without them.”
His arm stiffened beneath her hand before he broke contact, stepping away. “Ella, I understand you need the spreadsheet, and I’ll get it to you as soon as I have a chance to amend it and remove names. You’ll have it in plenty of time to do what my sister hired you to do.”
Irritation brought a hot flush to her cheeks. A fallen coconut lay in the middle of the path, and for a brief moment she envisioned braining him with the shell before stealing his computer and running off to print the mysterious list. Sighing, she toed the coconut off the path and continued walking beside him. “This isn’t a want, Liam. It’s a need. No matter what you may think of my profession, that’s precisely what it is. A profession. I’m a professional. It’s a business, not some fun little hostess-styled sideline thing I do to break the daily ennui of living as a high-society wife.”
“My mother might take offense to that assessment of her monthly luncheons.”
“Then I’ll issue an apology. To your mother.” She shoved her hands through the mass of hair she’d unbraided and let dry in the sea breeze. “If you’ll just give me—”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her into the dense tropical foliage that lined the path. It was cultivated but had grown up, taken on a wild feel.
She let out a small squeak of surprise when he took her hips and backed her into a palm tree. Looking over his shoulder, he found the greenery had closed behind them. For all intents and purposes, they were well off the beaten path, not steps off a cultivated one.
Perfect.
“Let’s talk about want versus need.” Shifting, he pressed against her. The fabric of their swimwear did nothing to hide his full, throbbing erection.
“Let’s,” she murmured. Her hands went to his hips. He arched a brow, and she knew she’d surprised him. “Seize every moment or there might not be another, remember?”
“I guarantee there will be another.”
“Then perhaps...” She made as if to step away, and he took one hand gently, firmly.
“I wanted you earlier, Ella. Now?” He swallowed and looked askance, and she wasn’t sure if it was his confession or the sun that deepened the color of his cheeks. “Now, this is sheer, unadulterated need.”
“I u
nderstand.”
He cupped her chin and lifted her face to his. “Do you? I’m not playing around, Ella. I hunger for you in a way that defies logic and explanation.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” she murmured.
A group of young adults passed by only feet from where they stood. The teens never paused, never glanced their way.
Ella adjusted her stance so that the length of his cock pressed along the soft, bare skin of her belly. The fabric of his swim trunks was stretched beyond manufacturer recommendations, no doubt.
His hips thrust forward as he sucked in a breath. His heat branded her skin. “Please, Ella. I’ll get down on one knee and—Holy shit.”
She dropped to her knees and freed him from the constrictive fabric. He was much larger than she’d thought, and she’d guessed he was big. She had a moment of doubt. Could she manage him?
One way to find out.
She slid the tip of her tongue up his pulsing length and then slipped her lips over his broad crown. The palm tree trunk at her back scraped across her skin. That strange dichotomy of sensations—smooth, silky skin on her tongue and rasping bark against her back—heightened Ella’s every sensation. She lowered herself down his length, the tang of salt water and man saturating her awareness. He ran his hands through her hair, his fingers spasming as she lifted herself off his length and found a sensitive spot just beneath the corona. She paused, thrilling at the command she wielded over the powerful man who stood before her. He shook so that his legs seemed to almost fail him. His breaths were so harsh he sounded like a racehorse nearing the finish line. And the way he had to remove one hand from her head to prop himself up on the palm tree at her back? She ruled his body just then, and she relished every second.
Reaching up, Ella cupped Liam’s sac, gently rolling it in her palm at the same time she sank down his length. The tip of his cock brushed the back of her throat, and she hummed her approval.
He groaned, knees bending so she had to adjust her position.
Wicked Heat Page 4
