Baiting the Boss (Entangled Indulgence)

by Kwan, Coleen

  He slowly withdrew from her inch by inch, then sank deep into her with deliberate, controlled force. He repeated the action again and again, inexorably stoking the blaze in her until she was white hot and ready to scream. His forearms trembled against her as he fought for self-control, while she was lost, writhing and panting beneath him, a willing captive to his exquisite torture. Each slow, thick thrust made her wetter, hotter, more frantic.

  How could she ever have imagined sex with Jack would be this incredible? Just when she thought she would pass out from the pleasure of his hard, measured pumping, he slid one hand between their bodies and unerringly found her slick, throbbing clitoris. His calloused fingers fondled her sensitized flesh, and instantly she arched her back and peaked in a fevered, incandescent climax, Jack’s name ripping from her throat. As her shudders rippled through her body, Jack clenched her hips hard and erupted inside her in a roaring tremor.

  She thought there must have been an earth tremor, but when the haze lifted, the trees were still standing and the birds were still singing. Jack lay next to her, panting in unison with her, their limbs caught in a sweaty, satiated tangle. Grace gulped in the sweet air, every nerve pulsating with rare intensity. Each detail of their postcoital moment seared into her memory—the damp throb between her legs, the hairs of Jack’s forearm brushing against hers, the sunlight flickering through the leaves, the hushed, humid air surrounding them. No matter what happened, she would always remember this moment, her and Jack lying together naked under the sun. Nothing could ever take this away from her.

  The next second her eyes prickled. Oh, no. Tears. Before she could recover, Jack stirred and rolled toward her. Hastily she draped her forearms over her face, pretending to shield herself from the sun while she furiously blinked back the tears. She couldn’t let Jack see her so vulnerable.

  “You okay?” he asked in a low, gentle voice.

  “Yeah.” She scrambled up, masking her turmoil by rubbing her face. “Just a little sun-dazed and thirsty.”

  “I’ve got some drinks here.”

  He stood and wrapped a towel around his waist. While he rummaged through the picnic things, she grabbed her T-shirt and shorts, and by the time he handed her a bottle of iced tea, she was fully clothed.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, occupying herself with her bottle of juice.

  He scrutinized her for several long moments before he scooted over and put his arm around her. “Hey, did I do something wrong?”

  The concern in his voice was almost her undoing. She’d thought making love with Jack would be an amazing experience, and it had been, way beyond her imagination. But it had been more than just a physical thing. He’d triggered more than an earth-shattering orgasm in her, and the thought of going back to Sydney and never seeing him again was more depressing than she’d anticipated.

  She pasted a smile on her lips. “Of course not. You were wonderful. Amazing. It all just…took me by surprise.”

  “Yeah, you can say that again.” He brushed his lips against her temple.

  This must be all familiar to him, but she’d known beforehand she wasn’t cut out for casual liaisons. She couldn’t show him how deeply she was affected. She couldn’t give him a reason to regret making love to her.

  As he continued to hold her, she turned her head away, not knowing how much more of this after-sex tenderness she could take. “Um, what’s that bird I can hear singing nearby?”

  “Probably a reed warbler.” He swallowed down the last of his iced tea. “Hey, we never got to finish our swim. Want to take a dip?”

  The pool looked inviting, but she knew she couldn’t linger too long alone with Jack. She was still too shaken, and if he made love to her again, God knew what she might blurt out in her climax.

  “I’d like to, but I still have to pack my things and say my good-byes to everyone. I think we should head back.”

  He blinked before his eyelids came down to half-mast. “Sure. I forgot you were leaving tomorrow morning,” he said smoothly. “And the tide’s running against us, so it’ll take us longer to paddle back.” Standing up, he drew her to her feet. He curled his fingers around her nape and studied her closely for a while. “Are we good, then?”

  It took all her resolve to look at him and nod. When he released her, a chill washed over her.

  …

  From where Jack sat in the stern of the canoe, the line of Grace’s back was as stiff as marble. She didn’t move an inch, keeping her body resolutely still as he plowed his paddle through the water. Jack could sense the discomfort bubbling through her. His own stomach felt tight and heavy. He supposed this awkwardness was only what he deserved. He’d told himself not to kiss Grace again, and straightaway he’d done that—he’d kissed her and made love to her like there was no tomorrow.

  Except there was a tomorrow, and tomorrow Grace was leaving. So why all these tense undercurrents? She knew as well as he that their sexual encounter was a one-off thing, that it was a quick, spontaneous eruption brought on by the tropical sun and the isolation and the volatile chemistry between them. The intensity of their carnal firestorm had taken him by surprise. He’d never experienced such an all-consuming conflagration, and the memory of it was seared indelibly into his flesh.

  But Grace wasn’t like most people. She wasn’t the type to indulge in casual, guilt-free sex. She wanted a steady guy, and when she returned to Sydney, sooner or later some lucky bastard would woo her. A hot ball of jealousy lodged in his chest at the idea of Grace sleeping with another man. She was an amazing lover, so responsive and lush and utterly sensuous, and it killed him to think of some other guy turning her on. Shit, he didn’t care for these envious, possessive feelings she incited in him. But the memory of her sweet body riding to his rhythm and her ecstatic cries shattering the jungle intensified the hankering. Damn, damn, damn.

  Silently cursing, he dug his paddle deep into the sea. How long would it take to forget the high of making love to Grace? His brief moment of madness could mess with his head for ages, and he only had himself to blame.

  …

  The morning sun soaked into Jack’s shoulders as he stood on the wharf. The sky was azure blue, the air mild and still, the ocean smooth as glass. Another day in paradise. Except inside him, his gut was one dense snarl. Turning, he watched Grace as she said her final farewells to Tupua, Mary, and the rest of the villagers.

  The boat captain waited patiently at the gangway. At least they’d found someone more reliable than Wally to take Grace back.

  She extricated herself from Mary’s hug and at last turned to Jack, her face a little apprehensive. After returning from Atea Falls, they hadn’t talked again in private. Mary had prepared a special meal for her last night, and she’d spent the evening at Tupua’s. He’d eaten with them but made no attempt to draw Grace aside.

  And now she was leaving. In her neat blue sundress, with her hair brushed back in a ponytail, she looked trim, tidy, and pent up. He stepped toward her and clasped her hand for a brief moment.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said formally. “Have a safe trip.”

  She chewed her lip as if she had something important to say, but all she said was, “Good-bye, Jack.”

  She pulled her hand away and climbed up the gangway. The captain followed her, and the boat crew began casting off ropes. Soon the boat started to putter off. Grace stood by the railing and waved at him. Jack raised his hand. The band of sea between him and the boat widened.

  The knot inside him wrenched as though an invisible tether attached him to the boat. Something wasn’t right. The breeze fluttered around Grace, teasing her hair, snagging her dress as she continued to wave. The boat chugged away, heading straight out to sea.

  Jack sucked in a deep breath, kneading his sternum.

  “What’s wrong, mate?” Tupua asked. “Ate something bad last night?”

  No, he hadn’t eaten something bad. He was doing something bad. He was letting Grace leave
. No, that wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was making her return to Sydney to face his grandfather empty-handed. That’s what was bothering him.

  Everything in him balked at obeying his grandfather’s imperious summons, but even worse was the prospect of making Grace carry the bad news to him. Lachlan had always reserved his harshest criticism for his own family, but he didn’t spare his staff either. Grace might be used to his hectoring, but the thought of her taking the fall for him bit like acid. He shouldn’t behave like his grandfather. He shouldn’t send an innocent party to do his dirty work. If he had something to say to Lachlan, he should say it to his face.

  He grabbed Tupua by the shoulder. “Is your VHF radio working?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I have to contact the boat captain. Pronto.” He started to run down the length of the wharf, scattering startled bystanders.

  The wooden boards jounced underfoot as Tupua pounded after him. “Why?” the big man huffed. “They forget something?”

  “Yeah. Me.”

  Chapter Six

  As the plane prepared for its final descent into Sydney, Grace found herself fidgeting with her seat belt. Muted sunlight bathed the city skyscrapers in crimson and turned the surrounding waters into rivers of gold. Myriad lights winked in the dusk, the harbor crossings glowing with strings of homeward-bound traffic. Soon, she would be home too, her task accomplished against all odds. So why didn’t she feel more satisfied?

  Jack leaned over her for a closer look out the window. As he studied the city he’d shunned, she tried but failed to imagine what was going through his head. When the boat had headed back to pick Jack up, he’d given her little explanation. Just said he’d changed his mind.

  Initially she’d been suffused with a crazy exhilaration at knowing she hadn’t seen the last of him, but the euphoria had quickly ebbed away because she knew this wasn’t what he wanted. Jack didn’t want to become embroiled with his family again. And she couldn’t help thinking she was responsible for his change of heart. She suspected he felt obligated toward her, and that didn’t sit well with her.

  The plane landed, and they spent the next hour shuffling through customs and baggage collection. Outside the terminal, a brisk wind cut through the concourse, a sharp reminder that it was autumn and Sydney was far from the equator. Jack had only brought a thin jacket, but he seemed impervious to the drop in temperature.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to ring Lachlan and tell him you’re coming?” Grace asked as they stood in the taxi queue.

  “I think I ought to have the advantage of surprise, don’t you?”

  “If you’d have let me ring at Kiribati, I could have arranged for his driver to pick us up. Then we wouldn’t be in this line.”

  He nudged their suitcases forward. “I don’t mind. I never liked being chauffeured around anyway.”

  “I’ll drop you off at Lachlan’s penthouse. He’s moved, you know. I’ll sign you in and then go home.”

  The taxi ride to Lachlan’s penthouse took a while because of the rush-hour traffic. Jack sat silent, wrapped in his own thoughts as he studied the passing streetscape. Perhaps he was missing Filemu Island already. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. Here, the honking cars, the gray evening, the tired commuters, the crowded streets—everything around them seemed hard and alien and a million miles from his tropical island.

  “Here’s my phone number and address.” She passed him a scrap of paper as the taxi pulled up outside Lachlan’s building. “Just in case. Oh, and you’d better take these, too.”

  She handed him the letters he’d written to his grandfather. He took them both with a slight grimace, as if he was already regretting his decision. In the echoing, marble-clad foyer, she signed him in with the concierge before waving toward the bank of lifts.

  “He’s on the top floor. Thirty-one.”

  “Thanks, Grace. For everything you’ve done.”

  He wore a braced expression, like a soldier going into battle, and her heart lurched. She wished she could go with him, be at his side when he faced Lachlan, but then immediately realized what a foolish idea that was. As if Jack would want a witness to his reunion with his grandfather. Jack could take care of himself—he didn’t need her support.

  Giving him a quick nod, she pivoted on her heel and hurried out of the building. She’d done her job. She’d brought Jack back to his grandfather. Now she could get on with the rest of her life.

  …

  The dryer was spinning the final load of laundry. She’d watered her African violets and sorted through her mail. She’d had a long, hot shower and changed into her pj’s. A pot of chicken noodles simmered on the stove, and her favorite TV show was about to start. Grace should have been as happy as a pig in mud, but instead she was prowling restlessly about her apartment. Rose, her best friend and flatmate, was away. Otherwise, her chatter would have distracted Grace.

  Instead, she couldn’t seem to settle anywhere. Her couch was too squishy, her dining chair too hard, her pristine bed too cold, and after living for more than a week in an open-air bungalow, the walls of her apartment seemed to be closing in on her.

  She wasn’t used to traveling, that was the problem. It had taken her several nights before she’d felt comfortable in Tupua’s bungalow, and she was going through the same adjustment now she’d got home. She just wasn’t cut out for new experiences, as Daryl had told her. She frowned, annoyed to be reminded of her ex-boyfriend.

  When her doorbell rang, she jumped in surprise. A glance through the spy hole made her breath catch in her throat. Jack stood outside, eyes aimed straight at her, as if he could see right through the door.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she opened the door. “Jack. This is a surprise.”

  He looked her up and down without smiling. “Nice pj’s. Didn’t know you liked bunnies.”

  “I wasn’t expecting company tonight.” Her gaze fell on the suitcase clenched in his fist, then back to his taut face. Oh no. Something had gone wrong between him and Lachlan. “Please, come in.”

  He walked in and glanced about her cozy living room with a distracted air. Harsh lines carved his face, and his eyes simmered with half-suppressed anger.

  “I was going to a hotel, but I couldn’t stand the thought of dealing with check in and all that crap. I thought you wouldn’t mind if I crashed here for the night.”

  “O-of course not. No problem.” She tugged the lapels of her pajama top closer together. “You can take my flatmate’s room. She’s visiting her mother for a while.”

  His eyes brooded on her, heavy and turbulent. “Thanks.”

  “What happened? Did you have an argument with Lachlan?”

  “Not exactly. It was…” He shrugged and dropped his suitcase on the ground. “I don’t know. Strained, I suppose. He got a shock when I showed up on his doorstep. Maybe he never really expected you to bring me back. We both just stood there, two obstinate blokes, not willing to give an inch.”

  The image he spun for her was so vivid she could practically see the two gruff men eyeing each other off. “He didn’t even give you a hug?”

  “A hug? Shoot, my grandfather would never hug another man. No, I got a handshake and a glad-to-see-you’ve-returned-to-your-senses-boy speech, or should I say, sermon.”

  “Damn his stiff-necked pride,” Grace said. “He should have told you how happy he was to see you. He should have tried harder and made the first move. After all, he’s the one who wants you back.”

  Jack’s lips contorted into a caustic smile. “But he did make the first move. He sent you along. Since I’ve obeyed his lofty summons, he assumes I’m willing to fall in with his plans.”

  She ran agitated fingers through her hair. “So you stormed out in disgust?”

  “I didn’t, no. I managed not to let him provoke me. I suggested we meet again tomorrow when we’d both had time to reflect.”

  “So no heartfelt reconciliation, then?”

  He shook his head. “He di
d belatedly offer me the guest suite, but I declined.”

  And now he was in her living room, looking restless, volatile, and as devastatingly attractive as ever, despite the shadows under his eyes.

  Raising his head, he sniffed the air. “What’s that smell? Is something burning?”

  “Oh cripes! My chicken noodles!” She rushed into the kitchen and yanked the pot from the stove. Acrid smoke spiraled from the charred mess crusting the bottom of the pot. She dumped it in the sink, filled it with water, and flung open the windows to air out the kitchen. Jack leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, watching her. His bulk filled out the doorway and made her smoke-filled kitchen feel even more constricting.

  “Uh, can I get you anything to eat or drink?” she asked.

  “No, thank you. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Okay. I’ll just get you some clean sheets and towels.” She edged past him into the living room, all too conscious of his hard, taut body. “And make up the bed for you.”

  “I can do that. Please don’t put yourself out on my account.” He followed her down the short hallway and stopped when she opened the door to her flatmate’s bedroom.

  “Rose won’t mind if you use her bedroom,” she said.

  Instead of entering the room, he cocked his head toward the door across the hallway. “Is that your room?”

  “Yes. It’s a bit of a mess at the moment.” She opened the nearby linen closet to get fresh sheets and towels.

  When she turned around, he had his shoulder resting against the wall. “You know, I don’t have to use your friend’s room.”

  The look on his face made her blood pound. Desire stirred in the apex of her thighs. “Well, I don’t think you’d fit on the couch.”

  His lips curved into a slow-burning smile. “Grace, you know what I’m talking about.”

  Oh, she did. And how she wanted to say yes.

  She stood staring at him, her arms full of linen, her legs quivering beneath her bunny pj’s. Her heart and her body longed to say yes, but the logical part of her brain warned her what a bad idea that would be. Sleeping with Jack Macintyre was the kind of crazy-and-exciting thing she’d always avoided. It was wilder than crossing Africa on a motorbike because she was risking a lot more.