Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me)

by Samanthe Beck

  Shit. This was where losing her temper with her father got her. “I’m fine.” She sniffled again and wiped her eyes.

  “Yes. Yes. I can see. Obviously.”

  “You have to give me some space, Dad. I know how to take care of myself. I can manage my own life.”

  He sat back on his heels and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine for you, but then what will I do?”

  She laughed. “Run a hotel?”

  “Pfft.” His eyes scanned the ceiling. “Where is the fun in that?”

  “You could, oh, I don’t know…call Mom and see what she’s up to?”

  To her surprise, a hopeful little gleam came into his eyes, but then he schooled his face into a stern expression. “If your mother wishes to speak to me, tell her to—”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. This was going to change, starting now. “I’m done mediating your relationship. If you want to say something to Mom, tell her yourself. Same goes for her. I’m not managing that aspect of your personal lives anymore.” She glanced at the monitor showing the lounge—no Nick. Hope swelled in her chest. “And I don’t need you managing any aspect of mine.”

  Her father looked at the monitor as well. “You’ll thank me for this one small interference. The Templetons are trustworthy people, as well as excellent judges of character. They don’t merely love their nephew, they think highly of him. We’ve had very candid conversations, and I feel certain he’s an ideal match for you.”

  “Yeah, well, I think your ideal match is going to stand me up.”

  “He’s a few minutes late. One drawback to doctors…wait. Aha. There he is.”

  Arden’s breath hitched as the monitor revealed Nick’s tall, unmistakable frame. He crossed the lounge and took a seat at the bar, scanning the room all the while. The flare of hope she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge flickered out, turning the remnants of her heart to ash in the process.

  Oblivious to her pain, her father smiled like a horse breeder inspecting a Thoroughbred. “Tall, strong, smart, accomplished. And ready to settle down with the right woman, according to his aunt. What more could we want?” With a modest shrug, he added, “I have a sense of these things.”

  Tears stung her eyes again at her father’s words. Nick was all of those, except the last. Or she wasn’t the right woman. It amounted to the same. “I know him,” she whispered. “It’s not going to work out. He’s not interested.”

  “What?” Her father turned to her, eyebrows high. “What do you mean, he’s not interested?”

  She shook her head and wiped her tears. The instinct to flee rather than confront returned in full force, driving her to her feet. It was time to leave. Past time. Her perfect Maui escape had left her devastated, and there was no way could she explain this to her father. “You’re going to have to take my word. I-I have a flight to catch. I need to go home.”

  “You’re leaving? Now? He’s here. At least go say hello.”

  Doorknob in hand, she turned and looked back at her father, and beyond him on the small screen, Nick. A cold, hollow ache settled somewhere under her lungs. “Trust me, Dad. I’m the last person he wants to see.”

  …

  Nick looked at the clock over the bar and tried to keep the fool’s grin off his face. One hour. No messages—he’d checked with the bartender and the front desk. Arden St. Sebastian had officially stood him up. Now it was time to find out why. After settling his tab, he walked to the lobby and helped himself to the stationery and pen available at the concierge desk.

  Czarina,

  I think it’s time we were properly introduced. I’m in the lobby.

  Nick

  He folded the note, placed it on top of the small gift-wrapped box he pulled from his pocket, and approached the front desk. The young clerk he’d spoken to earlier aimed a polite smile at him. “How can I help you, sir?”

  Behind her, a dark-haired man in a suit stood flipping through correspondence.

  He slid the note and box across the counter. “Could I have this delivered to a guest?”

  “Certainly, sir.” She tapped a screen. “The guest’s name?”

  “Arden St. Sebastian.”

  From the corner of his eye he saw the older man’s head come up and swivel his way.

  The clerk frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. Ms. St. Sebastian is no longer a guest with the resort.”

  The bottom fell out of his stomach. He didn’t have her number, her home address. Nothing. “I—that’s—are you sure? I was supposed to meet her here…”

  The clerk tapped the screen again. “She checked out this evening.”

  Through a haze of growing panic at what he’d let slip through his fingers, he saw the older man approach. Nick focused on the clerk. “Did she leave any messages for—”

  “Dr. Bancroft?”

  He turned to the older man, unreasonably impatient with the interruption. “Yes. Sorry,” he said to the clerk, who shook her head to indicate Arden had left no messages. Fuck.

  “Dr. Bancroft.” The dark-haired man spoke again.

  People flowed in and out of the ER all the time. They tended to remember the doctor who treated them or their loved one, and often expected the same. Normally, he smiled and played along, but right now he had no patience for it. Look, old man, I don’t have time to reminisce about your kidney stones. “Have we met?”

  The man extended a hand. “Luc St. Sebastian.”

  Shit. He firmed his clasp and shook Arden’s father’s hand. “Good to meet you, sir.”

  “Likewise. I understand you know my daughter.”

  “I love her.” The words came out in a rush, with absolutely no positioning.

  Luc’s smile turned strangely triumphant. “She was wrong. I am right. Children! When will they learn?”

  “Excuse me?”

  The man waved his hand. “Not important. Arden left for the airport an hour ago to fly home to Montenido. She was under the impression you were not interested in a relationship.”

  “She’s wrong. There was a misunderstand—”

  Luc closed his eyes and held up his hand, palm out. “I am not the one who requires an explanation. This would be best delivered to her. If you leave right now, you may be able to catch her.”

  Nick bolted, then skidded back to the desk to get the box. It took an endless three minutes for the valet to bring his car around, and then a palm-sweating half hour to drive to the airport. He parked the Jeep in the loading zone and ran inside. A scan of the departing flights board narrowed the options to one. Wincing at the time, he jogged to the ticket counter and threw down his credit card, mentally tacking on the cost of getting his car out of impound. “Flight 217 to Los Angeles. No luggage to check.”

  The friendly-faced islander gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, sir. That flight is closed.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. He sank his hands into his pockets to keep from pounding the counter, and his fingers encountered the box.

  Fuck it.

  “Put me on the next flight.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Home never looked better than after five and a half hours on a sold-out red-eye. Arden trudged through her front door at six in the morning and inhaled deeply. She expected the scent of the ocean and the woodsy smell of the gnarled pines. Those were the perks of living along the coast just south of Montenido. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee came as a surprise, but that was the occasional perk of sharing the beachfront compound with her brother. He—and now Chelsea—lived in the main house next door, but clearly someone had neglected to buy coffee, and with the nearest Starbucks a good thirty miles up the coast in Montenido, a trek across the sand sometimes won out. She didn’t mind. The footprints ran both ways.

  She parked her big wheeled bag at the base of the floating staircase leading to the second story, placed her carry-on beside it, plopped her purse on the first stair, and headed through the open living area to her kitchen. On the way, she kicked off her shoes and sank her toes into the shaggy extravagan
ce of the impractical white rug she’d fallen in love with at a Turkish bazaar three years ago.

  Falling in love in Maui had proven even more impractical. The ache in her chest served as a constant reminder. Rafe strolled out of the kitchen holding two mugs of coffee. “Welcome home,” he said, and handed her one.

  “Thank you.” She took the mug, inhaled deeply, and let the warm, caffeine-laced steam wake her foggy brain. “Coffee machine on strike at home?”

  He smiled. “We were out. Chelsea stayed in Montenido last night for a thing at Las Ventanas. I figured I’d sneak over here and borrow a cup. I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow. You look wrung out.”

  “Red-eye.” She lifted the mug and took a sip. “This will help.”

  “No.” His eyes narrowed. “There’s something else. Something caffeine won’t cure.”

  Now it was her turn to narrow her eyes. “Dad contacted you.”

  “Mom contacted me. She told me you abandoned her in Maui. She thinks something’s wrong.”

  “Yeah, she and Dad are going to have to deal with each other directly for the first time in twenty years.”

  His lips quirked. “About time. Good for you. Why don’t you look happier now that you’ve removed yourself from the middle of that train wreck?”

  “I’m perfectly happy.” Then, to her horror, she burst into tears.

  Rafe, to his credit, didn’t take his coffee and run. He maneuvered her into the living room, put her mug on the oversize glass table strewn with sand dollars, and sat her in the low-slung leather sofa she’d bought less for comfort than its ability to sit there looking sexy. Aside from an occasional pat on the shoulder, he let her cry until the worst of the storm passed. When the sobs subsided to deep, shuddery breaths, he handed her the mug, waited until she’d downed a swallow, and said, “Tell me what’s going on.”

  She did, in a disjointed, wandering, but mostly PG-rated version of the heartbreak she’d decided to bring on herself.

  “All right,” he said carefully, “let me see if I’ve got this straight. Nick showed up for the date, and that shows he’s not interested in you?”

  “Exactly. If he were into me, he wouldn’t have kept the date with Arden St. Sebastian. Look, I know it’s messed up—”

  “He knew it was you.”

  “—but he let me think he wanted…what?”

  “He knew it was you,” Rafe repeated. “As much as it kills me to lift suspicion from this guy, he knew. I ran into him in the hotel lobby before you and I went to breakfast last week. He’d seen us embrace, and he accused me of cheating on Chelsea. I told him I didn’t think Chelsea would mind me kissing my sister.”

  Arden absorbed the news while her brother sipped his coffee. Holy…shit. “He knew,” she whispered. Rafe nodded.

  He’d known when he’d left the note. He’d known the next evening, when she’d been so hurt and angry she’d basically told him she only wanted one thing from him. Oh my God, the whole time she’d been testing him and thinking he’d failed, he’d been testing her. And she’d failed.

  She shot off the couch. “I have to go back to Maui.”

  “Hey, they have this great new invention. It’s called the phone—”

  “Where is your soul? The first time I tell Nick I love him can’t be over a phone.”

  The doorbell interrupted whatever counterargument her brother intended to offer. “Sit.” Rafe motioned her back. “I’ll get it. I don’t know what you ordered,” he grumbled, “but it’s fucking early for FedEx.”

  When he pulled open the door, his scowl deepened. “No. I’m not signing for this.”

  What in the world? Arden got up and crossed to the entry. She blinked. Nick stood in her doorway, looking rough-jawed and rumpled, and very, very determined.

  …

  In some secondary part of his brain, Nick noted Rafe standing in the doorway, being a dick. The same part of his brain registered weathered gray boards and fresh white trim paint, and the random tinkling of a driftwood and sea glass wind chime. The main part of his brain focused on only one thing—Arden, hovering in the entryway, staring at him in lip-parted, wide-eyed surprise.

  “How? No…” She shook her head as if to clear it, and started again. “What are you doing here?”

  He should have prepared for this question better. Should have prepared something charming and persuasive. Now that he saw her, all he could think was to lead with his established strength. “I promised you a soul-deep, hurts-so-good, cry-for-mercy orgasm. Are you ready?”

  Charming and persuasive enough, he decided, when she launched herself at him. He closed his arms around her and staggered under the momentum of her body. Long legs wrapped around his waist, slender arms twined around his neck, soft lips rained kisses over his face—and he was home.

  An aggrieved voice muttered, “I’m out.” Without turning, Nick kicked the door. It shut behind him with a reverberating slam.

  So much to say, but it would have to wait—everything would have to wait—because the czarina’s hands were already pulling his shirt open. Buttons ricocheted off the baseboards. Her lips were already clinging to his, hips already pressing closer, her tongue already seeking to mate with his. He braced her against the entryway wall and drew back to speak, but—

  “You. I need you.” She speared her fingers into his hair. “Now.”

  He needed her, too, in every way imaginable, but the urgency right now was physical, and suddenly impossible to contain. There would be no slow seduction. No turning her around, lifting her hair, lowering her zipper, and stripping her sleek midnight-blue dress off while kissing his way down her spine.

  “Hold on,” he said, but then he did the holding, tightening his arms around her protectively as he dropped to his knees. She cried out—a cock-twisting combination of shock and gratitude—when he settled her on the floor. Her hands flattened on the wide, bleached planks, but her legs remained locked tight around his waist. Another cry flew from her throat—all gratitude this time—when he hitched them over his shoulders and shoved her skirt up.

  “I wish I had time to peel you out of that dress and get you properly naked, but neither of us would survive. Look at these panties”—he drew a finger down the center of the white silk—“so wet. This pussy is crying for attention, isn’t it?”

  “A lot,” she practically sobbed as she propped her head against the baseboard and aimed accusing eyes at him. “You addicted me to having a lot of attention, and then you sent me to my room on Friday without any relief.” Her voice carried the sting of that punishment, but she lifted her hips to chase his touch. Rushed hands tunneled under the collar of his shirt. Her fingernails raked his back.

  He teased his fingers along the panties again. “Did you use that toy I bought you to give yourself some relief? Spread yourself out in front of that big mirror and enjoy everything I was missing? Did you call me a bastard when you came?” The image of it had him scrambling to unfasten his pants and free his cock. “It’s okay if you did. I had it coming after not seeing to you myself that night, and I suffered enough for both of us.”

  “I tried,” she admitted on an uneven breath. “I wanted to.”

  He leaned in so he could see her face. “Where did you put it?”

  “I…” Her cheeks turned pink. “Several places.”

  “Here?” He traced her lips with a fingertip before sliding his finger between them.

  She sucked it deep and nodded. Lightning seared every nerve ending from the tip of his finger to the tip of his cock. The burn left him momentarily light-headed.

  He pulled his finger from her mouth quickly, so her lips smacked together, and worked his hand under her. “Here? Did you put it here, too?”

  Her arms fell away, landing on either side of her lolling head. “E-everywhere. I tried everywhere.”

  “Here?” He swept his thumb over her clit.

  Her body jerked as if he’d whipped her, legs tightening, hips lifting. “Yes. For the love of God, yes.�
�� Her hands linked behind his neck. She raised her head so their faces were inches apart and buffeted him with stormy gaze. “Nothing worked. You, Nick.” A flex of her arms and she sealed their mouths for a hard, desperate kiss. “It has to be you.”

  “It’s going to be me.”

  She sobbed the word, “Hurry,” and fell back as he dug a condom from his pocket. Writhed impatiently as he rolled it on.

  “I need you still now.” To enforce the requirement, he wrapped his hands around her ankles, lifted her legs from his shoulders, and moved them forward until he had her shins pressed to the wall.

  She splayed her hands on the floor on either side of her hips to stabilize herself. “That’s good, Czarina. Present that pussy to me.” He leaned in, lifting his ass and slowly lowering, sliding the underside of his cock along the velvety cleft.

  “It’s yours. All yours.” Somehow, she managed a little squirm. “Please.”

  It might have been the squirm, or the plea, but instead of preparing her with another slow slide as he intended, he thrust—a hard, deep thrust, fueled by need and instinct and not much else.

  A gasp filled the air. She reared up. Her toes pointed toward the ceiling. Her calves trembled under his hands. The gasp bottomed out to a husky moan, and then everything slowly loosened. “Oh God. I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have you right there.”

  He looked from her flushed, sweat-damp face to where his cock sat lodged halfway inside her plush pink folds. Gritting his teeth, he circled his hips to give her a long stir. “Coming back to you now?”

  “Nick?”

  “What, Czarina? Tell me what you want.”

  Her head tipped back, presenting him with the graceful column of her throat. “I want you to use that big dick you’ve been teasing me with to deliver a soul-deep, hurts-so-good, cry-for-mercy orgasm.”

  Holy shit, that did it. He plunged again, sinking to the hilt, drunk on the swift inhale his thrust pried out of her. Then he got to work, grinding his hips, circling, rolling, hitting every part of her before withdrawing almost completely and fucking his way deep inside her again. “I love how you feel. I love the way you tighten around me when I’m in deep. The way you ride out every inch.”