Wicked Heat

by Kelli Ireland

  Ella spun, the sand churning under her feet and tipping her off balance. She grabbed Liam’s arms to keep from falling. Looking up, she searched his face. “Changes? What changes? This is precisely what your sister asked for. It’s her dream setup.”

  “You’re right. It’s her dream, Ella. But it’s certainly not her groom’s vision of the perfect wedding. My sister discussed her wishes with her fiancé, and there were a few things in particular he wanted to see changed or added.”

  “I need that list,” she all but growled. “Now.”

  “As agreed, I’ll provide it after dinner.” Adjusting her hold on his arm, he gently turned her toward the table. “Where would you have us sit, Arvin?”

  “You may choose whichever seat you prefer, but I had planned for you and Ms. Montgomery to sit in the seats reserved for the bride and groom. The northern seat places the bride closest to the water with a slightly better view of the performers.” He pulled out one of the two ottoman-style seats and gestured in a genteel way. “Once you’ve been seated, madam, sir, I’ll have the meal served. We’ve adhered to your request for local custom and cuisine. The chef will serve pork, chicken and an optional fresh-caught parrot fish, all locally sourced and cooked in a traditional himaa, a pit dug in the ground and heated with volcanic rock. There are marinated plantains for those who prefer a vegetarian or vegan diet. The central proteins will be accompanied by dishes of po’e, fei, uru and fafa. The drink served with the meal will be miti haari, which is coconut milk diluted with spring water and lime. We will, of course, also provide a variety of beer in the bottle and a selection of white wines. Champagne will be chilled and provided later in the meal for the traditional toasts to the bride and groom.”

  Ella relaxed fractionally at the realization that the meal was exactly what she’d asked for—local tradition combined with a handful of dishes that would cater to Hollywood’s particular, more diet-restrictive tastes. “It sounds divine.”

  “We’ll want to ensure that a bottle of that new sports drink—what’s it called? Power something—is at each place setting.” Liam dug out his phone and thumbed through a couple of screens before nodding. “Here it is. Yes, it’s PowerBoost. The company is the groom’s newest sponsor, and he wants them represented. He’s asked that place settings alternate flavors between Manic Melon and Electrified Kiwi.”

  A faint film that tasted suspiciously like shock seasoned with a hefty dose of denial coated Ella’s tongue. “No. That shit is either fluorescent pink or neon green.”

  Arvin paled.

  Liam shrugged. “And?”

  “It’s not going on these tables.”

  “Groom’s wishes. Bride concurs.” Liam tapped his phone screen, and it went dark. “Shall we eat?”

  * * *

  Liam wrestled dueling urges: he wanted to cringe at his undiluted lies. He wanted to laugh at the look on Ella’s face. Neither won. Instead, he smothered both urges with brutal efficiency.

  Murdering emotions and flights of fancy. A new tagline for my personality type.

  His mouth tightened until he felt the corners curl down.

  Sitting next to him, Ella made small talk, guiding the conversation with an easy grace through each course, from appetizers through salad and well into the main course. She was a great conversationalist, seeming to truly listen to what Liam had to say and asking intelligent questions in turn. She was an anomaly, a complete about-face compared to the women he typically entertained, who were interested in his money and his social status and focused almost exclusively on what he could do for them. They were piranhas in Prada, jackals in Jimmy Choo. They looked at him and saw unlimited dollar signs and a season’s pass into society’s elite, whereas Ella—without knowledge of who he really was—saw a relatable man.

  It dawned on Liam that, for the first time in his life, he had the chance to get to know a woman without presumptions laid out by society matrons and their husband-hunting daughters. Those women had proven time and again that they’d do anything to become Mrs. Liam Baggett, and he’d shut them down, each and every one. Yet now, having met a woman who genuinely piqued his interest, he was unable to capitalize on the opportunity.

  My, how the tables have turned.

  “Liam?”

  He glanced up. “Beg your pardon?”

  Ella paused, fork held out with a seared scallop on the end. “I asked if you were aware scallops had been added to the main course. I thought the groom hated seafood, particularly shellfish.” She set her fork down and picked up her wineglass, sipping slowly as she watched Liam with undisguised assessment.

  “I know he doesn’t care for seafood in general, but I was under the impression scallops were the lone exception to that rule. It’s shrimp that will send him into a righteous fit of temper.”

  “Shrimp? Why?”

  “The first time I met the man was at a private dinner with my sister. She was in London for...” He waved off the explanation, not ready to disclose his sister’s identity. “Regardless, that’s where she chose to introduce me to him.”

  “I take it things didn’t go well.”

  “He ordered steak. There was a shrimp skewer on his plate as garnish, and the guy absolutely lost it. Berated the server, demanded to speak to the manager, told my sister to mind herself when she attempted to intervene and defuse the situation. Her fiancé humiliated her. Over shrimp.” Liam picked up his wineglass and swirled the contents but set the glass down without drinking. “It’s safe to say I’m not his biggest fan.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Liam looked up, focusing on the woman across from him as the last wisps of the memory fanned the flames of temper. That had been a disastrous night. “Why are you sorry? You had nothing to do with it.”

  “It’s clear it still bothers you.”

  Liam shrugged then forked up a scallop and popped it into his mouth, enjoying the buttery flavor. He picked his glass up again but, this time, followed through and drank. The tannins in the wine cut the richness of the butter, the pairing perfect. If only he could say the same of his sister and her choice of groom. Setting his glass down once more, he met Ella’s direct gaze. “It’s over and done. She’s marrying him despite my suggestion she do otherwise.”

  Arvin approached the table, stopping at Liam’s seat. “How is everything?”

  Liam rose from his low seat and offered the other man a brief handshake. “Your staff has outdone themselves. The meal was incredible and the musicians positively brilliant.”

  Arvin stammered as he tried to articulate his thanks.

  Liam interrupted, waving him off. “I understand how much effort went into the planning and execution. You have my thanks and the same from my sister, I’m sure. If you’d have dessert served while the event’s primary entertainment performs, that would be lovely.”

  “Of course, sir.” Arvin bowed deeply and then gestured to the musicians, saying something in Polynesian. The music grew softer and softer until it completely faded away. The ocean’s susurrus rush and retreat filled the void. Liam found himself able to breathe and, for the first time, truly appreciate the perfection of the locale Ella had selected for Jenna’s wedding. His sister was going to be thrilled with every aspect Ella had selected and designed.

  And he was going to ruin it all.

  He had no choice, though. Jenna’s fiancé was a fame-seeking, moneygrubbing, coattail-riding leech. Mike had moved in to her home, assumed use of her staff and drove her cars at his leisure. To the best of Liam’s knowledge, Jenna was footing the entire bill until the baseball player “made it big.”

  Perhaps Liam would be able to convince her to spend a few days here with him after the wedding plans dissolved. She’d need the downtime. This would be the perfect place for her to recenter herself before she headed back to Hollywood. And, with Jenna here for a while, her publicist would be able to spin the breakup and place
his sister in the best possible light. As for the groom? Mike could rot in hell as far as Liam was concerned. Let his dime-store publicist work out his personal spin.

  A low, slow drumbeat began, and Liam swiveled to find a group of six women making their way onto the stretch of sand between the table’s edge and the surf. Each carried a large, lit tiki torch. They took their places and began to move as the drumbeat increased in tempo. Hips undulating, the women—clad in sarongs and bikini bottoms—swung the tiki torches like they were batons, splitting into two groups of three and holding the lights high before stabbing them into the sand as the drum thundered a final beat. Two performers moved to stand in front of the table. They swayed as the drums began to beat out a hypnotic rhythm, their hips seeming to move independent of the limitations set by the human body. They swiveled and shook while the women’s shoulders stayed straight and almost still, their arms so fluid as to seem boneless. Two more women joined, and then two more, and all six moved in a way that embodied the allure of the tropics, the appeal of intimate meals shared on fire-lit beaches and the promise of seduction that lay in the music’s every note.

  One stepped forward and held out a hand to Ella. “Come.”

  “Oh, no,” she replied, laughing, her eyes bright. “I don’t dance.”

  The moon cast its light on Ella’s lush mane, highlighting it with luminous silver streaks. Her face was flushed from wine. The self-deprecating smile that decorated her face was so open, so unapologetic, so real. The last thread of his control began unraveling. When the dancer reached for her and Ella shook her head, Liam found himself moving forward without any awareness he’d set himself in motion. All he knew was he had to touch Ella. Right then. To see if the silver streaks in her hair were as cool as they appeared or, just maybe, as warm as the woman who bore them.

  The distance between them disappeared, and Ella turned just as Liam reached out.

  Warm. She was so warm.

  “Liam?”

  He didn’t say anything, simply took her glass and blindly held it out with the unspoken command that the dancer take it.

  She did.

  “Dance, Ella.” The murmured command rumbled up from within him, so deep that his chest vibrated with the sound. With the need that fueled it.

  “I don’t dance,” she whispered.

  “Tonight you do.”

  “Liam—”

  “If you won’t dance there, with them, then dance now.” He took her hand and pulled her into his embrace. “Here.” He began to sway in time to the lilting notes of the traditional bamboo flute, its sound as light as the drums were heavy. “With me.”

  She began to move in time to the music. They swayed back and forth, letting their bodies go where the music led them.

  His hands slid across the smooth, silky skin of Ella’s back. He loved her dress, the way it hugged her body, hinted at its lean form but enhanced her lush curves. He would have a dozen made so she had one to wear for every occasion. Hell, he’d plead with her to never wear anything else.

  When he pulled her closer, Ella glanced up through thick lashes, her eyes burning with untempered heat. “Is this how you’d treat a date in Los Angeles?”

  “This is how I’d treat you, Ella. Only you.” He spun her around, guiding her to the water’s edge and into the very edge of the surf, the waves rushing in to slip over their bare feet and wick up the fabric of his trousers and her dress. “Just dance.”

  She closed her eyes then, and gave herself to the music. Her chin tilted toward the sky. Starlight shone brighter than he ever remembered it, bathing her in a surreal glow. The hand that held his tightened, and the hand on his chest fisted the linen of his shirt. “You’re a dangerous man, Liam Baggett.”

  Something in him snapped. No one could have heard, but it was as clear to him as the starting bell at a horse track. He moved with as much grace as he could muster, leading Ella from the water’s edge and back onto the sand.

  The surf rushed after them, licking at their heels.

  Ella’s lips parted on a sigh. Lifting her face to his, her gaze came to rest on Liam’s mouth.

  His cock swelled in response to the undisguised hunger that swam in those green depths.

  Ella didn’t look away, didn’t try to hide the emotional riot she experienced. Instead, she whispered his name, just his name, in that sultry voice of hers. In it lay a plea he heard and responded to in kind.

  “Ella.”

  She rose on her tiptoes, clutching his shoulders for balance in the shifting sand, and closed the distance between them...then stopped less than an inch from his mouth, waiting.

  She would pursue so much as she was pursued. She would give what she was given and take what was offered. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Liam could live with that.

  He dipped his head low and brushed his lips over hers. She tasted of crisp white wine and the sun’s warmth and just a hint of mint in the dessert she’d sampled. He could get drunk on her. His senses heightened even as his mind grew sluggish, intoxicated by the woman in his arms. Never had it been like this with anyone.

  Breaking the kiss, he took her hand and started toward the bungalow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TENSION RACED THROUGH Ella’s body like her nervous system was a never-ending zip line. Fine tremors in her hands made her clumsy as she gathered the hem of her dress before climbing the stairs that led into the thatch-roofed hut. Liam stood across the room, his shirt unbuttoned and one thumb hooked behind the button of his pants. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I haven’t been able to think clearly since I saw your toes.”

  She glanced down. “My...toes?”

  “They’re pink, Ella.” He chuffed out a short, harsh laugh. “You’ve reduced me—the head of Europe’s premier financial firm—to obsessing over the color of your nail polish.”

  She smiled at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “So, you get off on feet, then. Or is it the color pink? Because if it’s pink, you’re in for it. I’m wearing one other item that’s pink.”

  “If you’re telling me your lingerie is pink, don’t expect to find them in the morning.”

  “You’d steal my underwear?”

  He met her curious stare, his eyes filled with a predatory hunger that made her want to run only to ensure he chased her. Took her down. Commanded her body as the spoils of some as-yet unfought war. Then he sealed her fate as well as his.

  “Of course, I’d steal other things from you first.”

  “Such as?”

  “I intend to steal your breath followed by your sense of reason followed by your self-control.”

  Her heart tumbled through her chest like she had just come off a carnival tilt-a-whirl. “You’re telling me you’re capable of taking all of those things. And with such confidence.”

  He leaned against the bathroom door frame and, with one flick of his wrist, undid the top button of his trousers. “Yes, Ella. I am.”

  “How can you be so sure?” she asked, voice strangled.

  He pinched the zipper tab between thumb and forefinger. “I haven’t been able to stop staring at you all night. That dress... God, Ella. That dress. I want to peel it off you slowly, but I’m afraid I won’t have the patience. I want to see you bare, wearing nothing but candlelight, far too badly. I want to touch you, to find out if your nipples are a similar pink to your toes or if they are, in fact, paler.”

  Ella traced a hand along the outside of her breast, his eyes following her every move. It was thrilling, knowing she had seduced this man simply by being herself. Erotic in a whole new way.

  Liam’s gaze slid back to hers. “I’m done chatting, Ella. Lose the dress.”

  She smiled, the coquettish move morphing to something more carnal as her gaze dropped to the smattering of dark hair revealed just above Liam’s zipper. He had an impressive erection going on
. Mouth dry, she forced herself to swallow. “We need to set the ground rules.”

  “Fine, but be quick about it.” He pulled his zipper down an inch.

  “What happens inside this bungalow has no bearing on what happens outside.”

  “Spell it out clearly, Ella.”

  “What we do here, privately, has nothing to do with who we are professionally. The two—personal and professional—are essentially two different people.”

  “I’m fine with that, but I’m more interested in the rules that apply right here. Right now. Tomorrow will be whatever it is.”

  Ella licked her lips. Liam’s gaze zeroed in on the movement, and her nipples pearled.

  “Lose the dress.”

  “Bossy bastard.”

  He shrugged, eyes blazing with unchecked desire.

  Clutching the bodice of her dress with one hand, she reached up and untied the slender bow at her nape. Strings fell away and the dress sagged around her, held in place but not covering much. “Bedroom rules are simple. If either of us doesn’t like something, we say so, and whatever it is stops.”

  “And if you don’t tell me to stop, Ella? What then?”

  “Then take it as an official endorsement—hell, take it as a challenge—to pull every other damn word in the English language out of my mouth using only your body. Make me scream, Liam. Make me forget my name. Make me forget every man who has been here before and be the man I’ll compare every future lover to.”

  Liam’s lip curled. Before Ella could ask what his issue was, he’d dropped his pants, stepped out of the puddled linen and started toward her, his long strides eating up the distance between them with alarming quickness.

  He stopped so close to her she could smell the fragrant musk of his cologne. “Here’s hoping you have a huge vocabulary, Ella. Challenge accepted.”

  Then he kissed her.

  Ella’s self-control dissolved under Liam’s undivided attention. She let her dress fall to the floor, the silky fabric puddling around her feet like spilled ink. Kicking free, she moved closer to the scalding heat of Liam’s bare skin. She gave herself free rein to explore his chest’s contours with hands and lips, discovering the sculpted hills and salty valleys of muscle defined in stark relief in the moonlight. She shoved his shirt off his shoulders and let it go. It landed somewhere. They’d find it later. For now? There was only her.