Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me)

by Samanthe Beck

  But her blanket of contentment slid out of reach. Words she hadn’t organized crowded her throat and wouldn’t be held back. She turned in his arms until she straddled his lap, wound her arms around his neck, hooked her feet around his calves, and hugged him so fiercely his heartbeat echoed in her chest. “Rider…” Jesus, where to start?

  Start with him. Tell him the things you want him to know regardless of what happens between the two of you.

  The washcloth landed on the floor, and he began stroking his hands up and down her back, as if he realized whatever she wanted to say right now had the potential to cause her more discomfort than anything they’d done tonight.

  “What’s on your mind, princess?”

  “You.” She cupped his cheeks and held his dark gaze. “At the beginning of this week you told me something—something I agreed with, at the time.”

  “That you could count on me to give you a soul-deep, hurts-so-good, cry-for-mercy orgasm?”

  The tilt of his lips was its own distraction, but she couldn’t let him pull her off course. “You said you didn’t want to get blinded by your emotions. I understood. At least I thought I did. I’ve been blindsided a time or two as well, in my own pathetic and not terribly tragic way, and walked away wondering if I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d just paid more attention.”

  The smile stayed in place, but something guarded came into his eyes. “We’re two of a kind, huh?”

  She shook her head, a little frustrated with herself, her inability to say what she needed to say concisely. “No. We’re not. I mean, the thing is, we all have our blind spots, but yours is not what you think it is. Your blind spot is you don’t see your strengths.”

  “I know my strengths, Czarina.” His expression shuttered. “You don’t have to spell them out for me.”

  “If you think I’m talking about sex, you’re selling yourself short. I’m talking about how when you’re with me, you notice everything. You notice if I fake an orgasm, but it’s not just about the orgasms,” she quickly added. “You know when my family is stressing me out. They’ve known me all my life and they don’t even pick up on that.”

  She paused a moment to kiss the small frown from his lips. “I guess what I’m saying is, you’re far from blind. I know, because you see me, and you do it so instinctively you don’t even give yourself credit for having the capacity.”

  He stared at her while her heart thundered in her chest. One beat. Two. On the third he offered her a slight smile. “You’re the second person in twenty-four hours to tell me I sell myself short.”

  “Well, apparently I’m not the only one who thought you needed to hear it.” She forced herself to let go of him and get to her feet. “Could be a sign, huh?” And her cue to back off. It was one thing to tell him she believed he was capable of more than he thought he had to give, but following that up with a request for more changed this from something for him, to something for her. It opened up a topic they didn’t really have time to get into right now, and…well…frankly, it put him on the spot. Some things had to be offered. “I have to get ready.”

  He stood as well.

  Shit, she sounded like she was booting him out the door. “You don’t have to leave. Please. Take your time. I just can’t, because…my father…”

  “I know. I need to get going.”

  While she was kicking herself for playing this wrong, he took her hand. “You’re free tomorrow night?”

  Her belly gave a silly flutter. Arguably, tomorrow was already part of their deal, but suddenly it sounded like more. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He leaned in and gave her a slow, lingering kiss. “Pick you up at six thirty?”

  “I’ll be ready. See you then.” She started to take a step back, but he held on to her. His eyes scanned her face, as if looking for something. He brushed her hair back from her forehead and then released her. She gave him what felt like a thin smile and turned toward the bathroom.

  When she emerged ten minutes later he was gone, but she found a red hibiscus blossom on the dresser, next to a folded slip of St. Sebastian stationery. She flipped it open and read the lines.

  NASA kicked me off the space station. I hear Siberia is beautiful this time of year. Maybe you could show me around?

  She floated to dinner—head in the clouds, stars in her eyes, feet never touching the ground. Even the prospect of Luc’s displeasure at her tardiness couldn’t dampen her mood. Rider wanted more, too. More than a vacation escape. More than a week of fun and games. They weren’t just playing anymore. With those happy thoughts spinning in her head, she walked up the stairs, across the terrace, and into the lounge from the side opposite the main entrance. Even with his back to her, she spotted her father right away, seated in the corner table, flanked by an older couple she assumed to be the Templetons. A disorienting sense of déjà vu struck her as she approached.

  Her father turned, saw her, and stood. The tall, trim man on his right did the same, and the woman opposite him sent her a friendly smile, even as her light brown eyes discreetly assessed. Arden smoothed a palm down the side of the sleeveless red sheath she’d changed into, and then checked to see if the hibiscus from Rider that she’d tucked behind her ear on a sentimental whim had survived the walk from her villa to the lounge. The satiny petals kissed her fingertips.

  “Arden.” Her father leaned in and kissed her left cheek, then her right. “I see you’re on island time.”

  “My apologies.” She turned and extended a hand to the other man. “You must be Mr. Templeton?”

  “John,” the man said with a smile as he took her hand. “And this is my wife, Evelyn.”

  “So nice to meet you.” She clasped the older woman’s hand for a moment and then took the empty chair opposite her father.

  “Lovely to meet you, too,” Evelyn replied, and absently touched the double strand of pearls around her neck. “I’m so glad we got the chance.”

  “Me, too.” The déjà vu returned. Arden looked from John to Evelyn and gave her head a little shake. “I’m sorry. I just have this feeling like…have we met before?”

  “No. I’d definitely remember,” Evelyn replied.

  “But it’s possible you’ve seen us around,” John supplied. “Your father mentioned you arrived over the weekend. We’ve been in and out of the hotel this past week.”

  Evelyn nodded. “Yes. In fact, we were right here last Sunday, having drinks with our nephew. I understand you’re going to meet him Saturday?”

  Suddenly, everything clicked. “You had drinks here last Sunday with your nephew?” And then he’d come over to the bar and bought her a drink, and the rest, as they say, was history. Rider the astronaut was actually Dr. Nicholas Bancroft, the man her brother might trust with a bad case of the flu, but not his sister. Nick Bancroft, the player. The man taking her to dinner Saturday night. The man who, less than an hour ago, had given her a blinding orgasm and left her a cute note insinuating he wanted something with her beyond a vacation hookup.

  Even as her heart imploded and left a gaping wound in her chest, her mind scrambled for an explanation. Maybe he’d forgotten about the stupid date? Maybe he’d fallen so hard for her, it had slipped completely off his radar?

  “I-I think so.” She forced her stiff lips to form the words. “If he’s still up for it?”

  “Oh yes. I just spoke to him last night. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  So much for dropping off his radar.

  Her father gave her a pointed stare when she didn’t reply, and interjected, “She’s looking forward to meeting him as well.” Then he turned the conversation to the possible joint venture. She looked down at her shoes—shoes she’d worn while he’d fucked her seven ways from Sunday—and shook her head in denial. The move dislodged the flower from behind her ear. It landed like a bloodstain on the marble. She kicked it under the table so she wouldn’t have to see it. Discussion flowed around her, but she couldn’t keep up with it. Her brain stalled out
on one simple fact.

  He’s a player, and you just got played.

  …

  Nick drove up to the main entrance of the resort, a little surprised to see Arden waiting out front for him. She looked cool and remote in her dark sunglasses and slim white sundress. He pulled in and stopped beside her. “Zdrah-stvooy-tee.”

  “Hello, Rider.”

  She didn’t smile. Didn’t lift up her glasses. Something was off. Was it his imagination, or had her voice gone steely over his name? “You know, Czarina, I think I speak more Russian than you.” He kept his tone light but unfastened his seat belt.

  Her eyebrows rose over the tops of her glasses. “Are you suggesting I’ve been less than honest with you?”

  Yeah, something was definitely wrong. He got out of the car and walked around the front toward her. “I’m not suggesting anything, but when it comes to honesty, we could both do better. Are you okay?” Had he freaked her out with his note? Was she wondering how she was going to collect her last orgasm and then end this thing so she could go on a date tomorrow night with a clean conscience?

  “I’m fine.”

  But she rubbed her forehead, and he could practically see the nerves pounding above her eye.

  “Taken anything for the headache?” He pulled her glasses off and watched her pupils dilate. That would be a no.

  “I’m fine,” she repeated, and then let out a slow breath. “It’s been a long twenty-four hours.” She held out her hand for her glasses, and he gave them to her.

  “Well, Czarina, I’d suggest rescheduling, but you’re busy tomorrow night, right?”

  She shoved her glasses back on. “Yep.”

  The knot in his gut tightened. “Sure you can’t get out of it?”

  Her little chin went up. “Why? Is tomorrow better for you?”

  Why did he feel like he was stumbling blind through a minefield? “It is if what you need tonight is for me to walk you back to your room, fetch you a glass of water and two painkillers, and then dim the lights so you can rest.”

  “You’re an attentive guy, aren’t you?”

  He folded his arms. “Czarina, what do you want from me? Spill it.”

  “I want what you promised me. Nothing more. Nothing less. I don’t want your clever lines, and I didn’t sign up for an Outward Bound adventure. You told me I could count on you for a soul-deep, hurts-so-good, cry-for-mercy orgasm. So tell me, Rider, are you going to fuck me tonight or not?”

  Her volume rose as she spoke. Her last question reverberated around the carport. Heads turned their way.

  He stepped closer and took her arm, pulling her to him as well. “That’s what you want?” His temper was a rare thing, but he recognized the ice-hot flow of it in his blood, the chill in his voice.

  Scarlet flooded her cheeks. Undaunted, she nodded.

  “That’s all you want?”

  Another nod.

  How could he have misread her so completely? There was no way. No fucking way. A bitter taste coated his throat. “I don’t believe you.”

  She laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Your ego blows me away.”

  Maybe, but it was brittle pride that came to his rescue right now. “Go inside, Czarina. Neither one of us is in the mood.”

  The color washed out of her face as quickly as it had swept in, leaving her pale to the lips. “Good-bye, Rider. It was fun.” She pivoted and walked through the open glass doors. They closed behind her, obscuring her retreating form behind scrolling letters that spelled out St. Sebastian.

  A hovering valet looked at him awkwardly—like a reluctant witness ready to swear on a stack of Bibles he hadn’t seen or heard anything.

  Nick stalked back to the driver’s side of the car, got in, and started the engine. And then, fuck him, he waited another thirty seconds, hoping the czarina would come back through those doors, and say…what? Let’s start over. I’m Arden St. Sebastian, and I’d love to have dinner with you.

  Didn’t happen.

  He peeled away from the curb, silently cursing this fucked-up situation of his own making. How could he hold it against her that she viewed him exactly as he’d presented himself? Exactly how he was. What had he expected?

  He’d spent the last six years playing the field like a fucking Olympian, studiously avoiding anything resembling a relationship, or anyone likely to seek or provoke needs that couldn’t be satisfied by a short-term interaction with his cock. Now the consummate player wanted more, and the irony was, the woman he wanted more with only wanted one thing from him. Nothing deeper. Nothing real—not even her real name. And he’d gone in knowing those limits, being happy with them. Hell, ecstatic with them.

  Shame burned in his gut. He steered his car down the main highway, leaving the hotel in the distance, but there was no way to get distance from his feelings. He’d winked and smiled and charmed his way through scores of women, calling it freedom. Calling it living the dream in paradise. But Evelyn had called it for what it really was. Avoidance. Fear. In a nutshell, fairly pathetic.

  Walking into his condo only intensified the feeling. He hurled his keys toward the kitchen counter. They skidded across the granite and clattered on the floor. Fail. Just like the candles and flowers on his patio table. Romantic gestures she’d rejected without even seeing them.

  Or had she?

  You still haven’t told her how you feel. What you want.

  How do you feel? What do you want? Define “more.”

  He rubbed his hand over his sternum, where pressure lodged, and drew in a deep breath. You love her. You want to be with her.

  Fuck. Even as the pressure in his chest dissipated, frustration settled in.

  She was holding out for someone different. Case in point, she had a date lined up for tomorrow night.

  One he needed to cancel right now. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started to look up the number for the hotel, deciding to leave Evelyn out of it. This was one of those occasions he was better off asking for forgiveness rather than permission. He tapped the number, but as the phone rang, he thought the move through. What if he didn’t cancel? What if, when she showed, he did what he should have had the balls to do tonight? Taken her hand and said, “Hi. I’m Nick Bancroft, and I’m in love with you.”

  What if she doesn’t show?

  He disconnected the call. If she didn’t show, it meant she wasn’t interested in moving on. It meant he hadn’t misread a damn thing.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Where are you?

  Arden glanced at the text message from her father and sighed. It took a little more effort than normal to type a reply. Being heartbroken and sleep-deprived impacted her text game. She hit send and returned her attention to the wall of high-definition screens displaying different areas of the resort in slightly grainy resolution. Or maybe it was her eyes that were grainy? She rubbed the heels of her hands over them and then blinked back the salty burn that kept threatening whenever she had a moment to herself.

  You don’t need this torture. Your bags are packed. Your flight booked. Just go.

  She should. She’d already dealt with Sonja’s disappointment over, quote, “being abandoned” in the middle of the spontaneous mother-daughter getaway she’d envisioned. After that scene, Arden figured she should have had her fill of drama. She should have been ready to escape the risk of more. But she couldn’t. She had to know if Nick actually showed tonight. Rightly or wrongly, she was going to take away a measure of hope if he stood up Arden St. Sebastian. Her reckless heart wanted to take it as a sign he really did want to…visit Siberia.

  He’s five measly minutes late. You can’t take that as a sign of anything.

  A few seconds later Luc let himself into the small security room. “Since when did you relocate the lounge to the security closet? You didn’t clear that design change with me.”

  “Ha-ha.” She propped her hip on the bank of cabinets behind her and hooked her hands along either side of her neck. Carefully, she circled her hea
d, working kinks out of the muscles.

  “Yes, I am very funny. Also very curious. Why are you hiding in here, instead of waiting at the bar for the perfect match I went to great pains to arrange for you?”

  “Dad, can you please just…” An exasperated breath poured out of her, leaving her lungs empty, but when she tried to drag more air in, she burst into tears.

  “Mon dieu. Arden.” He was at her side instantly, guiding her into the leather swivel chair in front of the monitors. “Sit. Tell me what’s wrong. You’re overwhelmed. Under too much pressure. Rafe hinted at this. Tell me who to throttle, and I’ll have it taken care of.”

  “Dad.” She shook her head and tried again. “Dad, there is someone who needs to back off.”

  “Who?” He knelt beside her chair. Eyes nearly identical to her own, but far more worldly, stared back at her with genuine concern and utter cluelessness.

  “You.” She said it as gently as possible, then sniffled and waited for his reaction.

  “Me? I don’t understand.”

  “Ever since you stepped down from the board, you’ve been on me, questioning my decisions—”

  “I’m taking an interest in your career,” he defended.

  “You’re making me feel like you don’t trust me to do my job. Do you have a problem with my results?”

  “Of course not. I enjoy discussing these things with you. I find it fascinating to understand why blue, and not gray. It’s a side of the business I never had the opportunity to give much attention to before, and—”

  “You don’t care about gray versus blue, and you’re not just questioning my professional judgment. You’re literally in my face, or calling, or texting. You send me a half dozen ‘Where are you’ texts a day. It’s got to stop. You’re making me crazy.”

  “Is it so wrong for a father to want to know his child is well? To feel he must keep vigilant in case some…some”—he muttered a rude word in French—“attempts to harass and blackmail her?”