Compromised in Paradise

by Samanthe Beck

  Jesus, she was a tough nut to crack. She really wasn’t going to ask. Wasn’t even going to acknowledge she wanted to. He opened the Band-Aid and placed it across the cut with practiced precision. She refused to admit it bothered her if he had a date lined up for later today? Fine. Far be it from him to force unwanted information on her. He busied himself putting the kit in order. Finally, he tipped his head and eyed her.

  She sat in his passenger seat, huddled in his hoodie with her ponytail askew, her sweatpants dusty, and her bandaged knee.

  Fuck it.

  “Just so we’re clear, I wouldn’t impose any rules on you that I wasn’t willing to abide by myself.” Having tossed that out there, he worked her pant leg down over her knee.

  Something landed on his shoulder. Her hand. It rested there. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  He smoothed her sweats to her ankle, and then slid his hand beneath her knee and lifted it. “It means when I put down the caveat about nobody else touching you, except me, the same applied to me. Nobody’s touching me except you.”

  Across the parking lot, a tour guide conveyed instructions to the flock of cyclists, but his confession elicited no response from his patient. He looked up to find her blushing.

  “Well that’s very…none of my business.”

  Maybe she wanted to believe as much, but her blush said differently. “It’s a fact. I’ll tell you another, Czarina. I don’t want anybody touching me, except you.” Because the truth of that rattled him more than he wanted to admit, he added, “Does this hurt?” and slowly extended her leg, supporting the back of her knee as he went.

  “Huh? Oh. No.”

  “How about this?” He guided her leg into a bent position, and then into a deeper bend, keeping an eye on her face.

  “It’s all good.”

  No twinges of pain tightened her lips. Her expression matched her words. “Great. Take the Band-Aid off tonight. As long as it’s not giving you any trouble, you can leave it uncovered.” He gathered up the wrappers.

  “Hey, Rider?”

  “What?”

  She brushed his hair away from his forehead and waited until he looked at her. “Thank you.”

  He closed the first-aid kit. “All part of the service.” But when he would have stood, she put her hand on her shoulder again.

  “Thank you for telling me what you told me. I”—she glanced away, squinting into the distance as she chose her words—“I know this is temporary. We both have our reasons, we’ve been up-front about that, and I don’t have a right to ask questions, but—”

  That was all he needed to hear. She felt it, too, even if she didn’t like to admit it. He leaned in and kissed her. Long, hard, and possessive as hell. The kiss conveyed all the things neither of them wanted him to say out loud.

  You’re mine, Czarina. You were mine the moment I set eyes on you, and you’ll be mine for the term of our deal. I really don’t give a shit how that sounds.

  When he’d stamped that on every part of her mouth, he drew away. She rested her cheek against his. “Okay. I’m glad we talked about this.”

  He laughed. “Me, too. Anything else you want to discuss before we go?”

  “No.” Smiling, she shook her head. “I’m good.”

  So she said, and they’d nearly made it back to the resort before he caught her flexing her knee and aiming a sidelong glance at him.

  “Is the knee bothering you?”

  “Uh-uh. It feels fine.”

  “Why the look, then?”

  “Just puzzling over your many talents.”

  “Am I many-talented?” He steered the Jeep around a turn and flicked his sunglasses down to combat the glare.

  She held up a finger, to count off this first talent. “First aid.”

  “Maybe I was an Eagle Scout?”

  She held up the next finger. “Orgasm whisperer. Do they teach that in Eagle Scouts?”

  “Self-taught.”

  “Very funny.” Her eyes narrowed. “And pretty sure of yourself, considering you called me out on what I know for a fact is an utterly convincing fakie.”

  His laugh bounced out as the Jeep took a rut in the road. “Okay, first, it’s a sad commentary on the male species that you would even attempt to develop an utterly convincing fakie, as you put it, and second, there was absolutely nothing convincing about yours.”

  “Says you.” She shrugged out of the sweatshirt and settled back into her seat, leaving him to appreciate the way her white top clung to her like a second skin. “I have a different theory, which is you know what to look for better than the average guy. I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve taken an advanced biology course or two.”

  His pulse accelerated a little, which had nothing to do with the twisting road and everything to do with the prospect of dropping some of the pretense between them. “Are you asking me to confirm or deny, Czarina? Because that sounds like a request to exchange background information if I’m hearing you correctly.”

  To his frustration, she shook her head. “No. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “Okeydokey. Have it your way.” But his conscience pointed out he’d bandaged her knee and given her instructions on how to care for the cut. She deserved some evidence he knew what the hell he was talking about. He was about to cave and confirm when she cursed and turned to him.

  “Fine. Information exchange. Confirm or deny.”

  “Confirmed. I’ve taken an advance biology course or two.”

  “Does that come in handy, up in the space station?”

  The question amounted to an invitation to abandon the safety of the space station and get real. He’d go there, but she had to come with him. “Uh-uh. My turn.” He took the drive leading to the resort. “What do you do for a living, besides have meetings, adhere to budgets, and send emails?”

  “I work for my family’s business.”

  The main entrance came into view. He pulled up to the front and stopped. “Which is…?”

  She stared at the pristine glass doors of the hotel, watching as they opened for some guests and then slid shut, obscuring the sun-washed lobby behind scrolled letters that read St. Sebastian Resorts. Finally, she turned to him. “I’d rather not say.”

  Well, hell. So much for confidences. He wanted to slam his head against the steering wheel and beat some sense into his brain. Short-term. No matter how intense things got between them during their week of fun, they would walk away. He would walk away. “You don’t have to say, Czarina. I’ve figured it out.”

  Her brows lifted. “Have you?”

  “Russian mafia, right? Don’t answer. I understand how this works. You could tell me, but then you’d have to kill me.”

  Suspicion eased into relief. “What gave me away?”

  He snagged two fingers in the neckline of her shirt and pulled her close. “All your contradictions. Guileless eyes, but guarded lips. I don’t know. There’s just something dangerous about you.”

  The guileless eyes rolled, and the guarded lips twitched. “Oh yeah, I’m dangerous.”

  He closed the space between them and brushed his lips over hers, withstanding the torturous softness and the small but powerful shocks of lust. He endured the velvet of her tongue, the edge of her teeth, and the memory of that hot mouth sucking his fingers while she shivered and came. “This mouth is definitely dangerous,” he murmured as he relinquished it. “Tomorrow I’m not going to give you my fingers to suck like a pacifier as your orgasm rips through you. Tomorrow my cock will do the honors. Would you like that, Czarina?”

  The mouth in question trembled open on a little moan, and her eyelids fluttered. “What time?”

  He had the day off, and he didn’t intend to waste a minute of it. “Nine a.m. What I have in mind is going to take all day. Can you swing it?”

  “Yes,” she replied with gratifying speed. “I’ll meet you here.”

  The valet approached at that moment. “Parking, sir?”

  A glace at the das
hboard clock made him wince, but he thought about her knee and the distance to her villa. “Can I leave it here for five minutes? I want to walk her to her room.”

  The valet nodded at the same time she said, “That’s not necessary.” To demonstrate, she hopped out. “I don’t want to make you late. See you tomorrow.” With a wink and a wave, she walked toward the entrance. Only a sharp eye would notice she favored the uninjured knee—and that could be the fault of the Band-Aid more than any lingering pain from the scrape.

  The doors slid open, and she disappeared behind gleaming glass and fancy calligraphy proclaiming the rarified domain beyond as a St. Sebastian resort. He glanced at the clock again. He could make it to the hospital on time without pushing the speed limit if he left now. Like, now. His foot already rested on the gas pedal, but he pictured her stumbling on the stairs or along the path, and ended up catching the valet’s eye and getting the go-ahead. He left the keys in the ignition and jogged into the lobby. A quick scan brought him to a skidding halt, and then, as he watched, the Czarina peeled herself off some dark-haired guy in a tailored suit and stood in the circle of his arms like she belonged there while they smiled at each other and the rest of the room disappeared.

  His gut tightened as unfamiliar aggression took root. What kind of a dickhead wore a suit at a resort in Maui?

  They exchanged a few more words before Dickhead planted a kiss on her cheek. She gave him one last squeeze and then retreated across the lobby toward the ladies’ room. Dickhead said something to a resort employee hovering nearby and then turned so Nick saw him head-on, and…fuck. He recognized the guy.

  A scalding wave of emotions he barely recognized swept over him. Anger—and he rarely got angry. Jealousy—and he never got jealous. He played things loose and casual. No attachments. No drama. And yet he found himself in motion, striding across the lobby to confront Rafe St. Sebastian—recently engaged hotel magnate—for putting his lips on the woman who’d been coming in his arms an hour ago. He tried to tell himself it was the recently engaged part that compelled him to interfere, and not the coming-in-his-arms part.

  As if sensing his approach, St. Sebastian looked up from checking his phone. His neutral expression sharpened into recognition. One dark brow lifted in a strangely familiar gesture Nick couldn’t quite pin down. “Dr. Bancroft. To what do we owe this visit? Another flu outbreak?”

  His reasons for being here were none of Rafe’s business. “I understand from my aunt that congratulations are in order. On your engagement.”

  The douchebag didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He simply smiled and said, “Thanks. I’m a lucky man.”

  “Determined to press your luck, apparently.”

  The smile disappeared, replaced by a look of confusion. “How so?”

  What a piece of work—no shame whatsoever. “What would Chelsea think of you kissing another woman?”

  St. Sebastian stared at him for a moment, and then the confusion cleared. “Ah.” Now his expression turned infuriatingly amused. “I’m sure she’d appreciate you looking out for her, but I doubt she’d mind me kissing my sister.”

  The anger fueling his confrontational impulse dissipated as quickly as it formed. “Your sister?” As soon as he said the words, several things hit him all at once. Same hair. Same eyes. Same brow raise. Suddenly, he felt like a jackass. But then something else hit him. Rafe’s sister was Arden St. Sebastian, his Saturday night setup. The woman who wanted him to reacquaint her with at-will orgasms planned to spend Saturday night dining with Dr. Nick Bancroft. If things went well, did she plan to test out her newfound proficiency with him?

  Granted, him was him, but knowing as much didn’t help, because she didn’t know. And yes, after six days enjoying the exclusive right to touch her, pleasure her to the fullest, he expected her to fly home and move on with her life, but for some reason knowing she planned to move on even before boarding a goddamn plane left him feeling—fuck it—betrayed.

  “Give Chelsea my best,” he managed, turned on his heel, and walked out. The czarina—Arden—would be in good hands with Rafe, and he needed to get out of there before he did something stupid, like confront her for…what? Using him? Hell, he’d signed up to be used. He’d hatched the idea himself.

  Definitely he was going to have to call his aunt and back out of the setup, because the czarina would not appreciate having this game they’d started cross the boundaries she’d drawn and show up in her real life. She might take a six-day sexual adventure with a guy she met in a bar, but their deal involved him returning to outer space when it ended, not showing up on a blind date arranged by their families.

  The Jeep sat in the drive where he’d left it. He started the engine and faced the irony of his situation. The easygoing guy who never got jealous was suddenly and undeniably jealous. Of himself.

  Chapter Eight

  Arden sat across from Rafe at a table in the lounge, devouring eggs Benedict—because the best motherfucking sunrise in Maui left a girl ravenous—and thanking God her date for this morning’s outing hadn’t walked her into the hotel. She didn’t want real life complicating this temporary escape she had with him, and her brother’s unexpected presence would have done it. Rafe would have insisted on introductions, not to mention fingerprints and a full background check after what had happened with the last guy she’d dated.

  Bullet dodged, mercifully, because what would she have said? Hey, meet my brother, Rafe. Rafe, meet the man helping me get my groove back. I wish I could tell you more but I don’t know his real name.

  The offhand thought gave her pause. Do you wish you knew his name? You’re thinking like a woman who wants to stay in touch. That’s not part of the plan. Remember?

  She did remember. She absolutely did. They had their rules for good reasons. Reinforcing her resolve, she turned her attention to Rafe. “What are you doing here?”

  “Technically, I work here.”

  “You know what I mean. I thought you were headed to Sydney this week.”

  He nodded. “I am. I’m here for a few hours on a personal errand, and then I’ll continue on to Sydney.”

  “A personal errand like checking up on me?”

  “Why would I need to check up on you, Arden?”

  “I have no idea,” she countered, unwilling to acknowledge anything. “But there’s no other reason I can think of for you to be here.”

  “There are seven million reasons, all wrapped up in a property I’m considering buying as a surprise for Chelsea. I have a meeting this afternoon with the seller’s rep to look it over. You’re welcome to come see it with me.”

  His explanation sounded plausible. He and his fiancée, Chelsea, loved the island, and Rafe wanted to find the perfect wedding gift. “How is your bride-to-be?”

  “Good. She sends her love.” He drank his coffee and eyed her over the rim. “How was the sunrise on Mount Haleakala?”

  “Breathtaking.” Not just because of the view, but her brother didn’t need to know the details.

  “Whose idea was it?”

  Uh-oh. What did he know? “Mine. Whose idea did you think it was?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t have pegged you for that particular activity.”

  “Why not?”

  He smiled. “The four a.m. wake-up call, for starters. Besides, didn’t you get dragged up there at some point during one of those summer adventures Mom booked because she didn’t want us underfoot, and Dad paid for because he didn’t want to argue with her?”

  “Yes. But I was, like, twelve. I got more out of it this time.” Way more. She scooped a bite of eggs into her mouth.

  “Like a skinned knee?”

  She waved that off and swallowed. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” He pushed his empty breakfast plate aside and rested his forearms on the table. “You look tired.”

  “Hey, thanks. Did I mention I got up at four a.m.?”

  “Dad says you’re stressed.”

&nb
sp; Poof. Appetite gone. “He’s making me stressed.” She scooted her chair away from the table, crossed her arms—which probably made her look all the more stressed. “The man didn’t retire. He simply switched jobs. You know how he spends his time now? Poking his nose into my business. I get half a dozen messages a day along the lines of, ‘Where are you? What are you doing? Why?’ And you know what? I could probably learn to deal with that, but I can’t deal with the way he challenges every decision I make professionally. Worse, he’s trying to take over my personal life.”

  Rafe scrubbed a hand over his face and then cast her a sympathetic look. “Why didn’t you say something to me sooner?”

  “Because it’s not your problem to solve.” Frustration at her own inability to manage the situation made her reply terser than she intended.

  “Arden, I’ve been on the receiving end of all that second-guessing most of my life. I’m pretty good at solving this particular problem.”

  Rafe was right, to a point. She might bear the burden of serving as the unofficial go-between for their parents, but Rafe had born the brunt of their father’s scrutiny when it came to work.

  Then again, he’d always had ambitions to run the company, and their father had groomed him to do so. “First off, you wanted the big chair at the head of the table, and you knew getting it would involve proving to Dad that you knew what you were doing. Second, he never attempted to pimp you out to someone’s nephew as part of a business deal.”

  “Ha. Don’t be so sure.”

  “I’m not joking. That shit is happening.”

  Her brother didn’t quite succeed in hiding a smirk behind his coffee cup. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve got a solution to part of your problem.”

  “Which part?”

  “The part where he doesn’t have enough to keep him busy. I asked Luc to take over as general manager of this property, and he agreed. Once you’re done making this place look like a St. Sebastian resort, you’ll be out of his line of fire. He’ll have a hard time micromanaging you when he has his hands full running the resort.”