Bachelor Games (Tropical Temptation)

by Daire St. Denis

  “Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does this branch of science deal with the earth’s atmosphere?”

  Becca wet her lips nervously. “A little yes…mostly, no.”

  He smiled. God, he loved winning. He still had two questions, but he already knew what she did for a living. “You’re an astrophysicist. Theoretical.”

  Her jaw literally dropped. “How…”

  “I’m very perceptive, Dr. Watson.”

  “But…”

  Okay. Maybe he’d cheated. When she’d first sat down, she’d stuck a book into the pocket of the seat in front of her. He’d only seen it for a split second, but that was enough for it to register an image in his brain. Dark Matter, Dark Energy, and the Theory of the Universe by T.S. Klassen. There’d been a sticker from the University of Wisconsin on the dust jacket. No lay person read that sort of book for pleasure.

  During the questioning, he had placed his hand over hers where it clutched the armrest between them. He gently squeezed and then brushed his fingers over the top of her hand.

  Her gaze shifted from his face to where their hands met. Slowly, she pulled her hand out from beneath. Just as slowly, she swiveled her head back up to him. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted in a way that was quite…appealing. “Sex in the bathroom it is, then.”

  …

  Becca waited for Calum to back out of the bet, because she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had no interest in her and had merely conned her. Super sexy, wealthy playboys did not make passes at geeks like her.

  Except he didn’t recant. Oh, no. He smiled.

  To ridicule her?

  Obviously.

  Well, if he thought she was going to give him an easy out, he could think again, no matter that the result of his smile was an unfamiliar warm and squishy feeling in the deepest part of her abdomen.

  Becca could play this game, better than he could, and the more he pushed, the more she’d dish it right back until he retracted.

  Yes, sir.

  “Unless, of course, you want to back out.” She watched his face closely. “Do you?”

  He did not look concerned, like he should. Oh, no, determined was a more apt descriptor.

  Perfect. She loved a good challenge.

  He pushed up his sleeves. “No. I want to go right now.”

  They were merely playing a game, and yet strange little tingles radiated along the insides of her thighs. “Okay,” she said, dropping her voice while keeping it neutral. “Do you have condoms?”

  “Of course.”

  It was like there was some little person in her stomach poking her from the inside. “Cool.” Her voice only wavered a bit.

  He pulled a billfold out of the seat pocket and, from inside, withdrew a plastic square.

  Holy fuck.

  Becca clamped her teeth together to keep the curse word from sneaking out of her mouth. Blood raced from her extremities to her midsection, making her feel weird and shivery. She gave herself a mental shake. “So, how does this work? Since you’ve done this so many times before.”

  “This’ll be my first time on commercial, so your guess is as good as mine.” He placed the condom in his breast pocket, patted it, and grinned. “But I can hypothesize.” His eyes sparkled with irreverence. “Would you like to hear?”

  He was good. Damn good.

  “Of course.” She waved him on, hoping he didn’t notice how breathy her voice had become.

  He leaned toward her and whispered, “You go first and wait inside with the door unlocked.”

  Becca racked her brain for something that would make him crack. “What should I do while I wait?”

  His brows rose. Just a hair. “You should prop your foot up, flip up your skirt, and run your hands up your thighs.”

  He wasn’t seriously going there, was he? Fine. Let him go.

  Pulling her shoulders back, she asked nonchalantly, “And then?”

  His nostrils flared. “You should close your eyes and pretend your hands are mine, fingering the elastic on your panties.”

  Becca squeezed her knees together. What the hell was going on with her? Why were the tingles spreading to her most private bits? Seriously?

  She pretended to take a bored breath. “Is that it?”

  “Oh, no.” He leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a quiet rumbling that matched the vibration between her legs. “You imagine my fingers skimming over your panties. Dipping just beneath, brushing your flesh, grazing your clit…”

  Jesus Murphy.

  This was going too far. She was more turned-on now than she’d ever been with Jerry—which might be why their relationship ended after four months.

  Sex is good for you. She could hear Grace’s voice, as if her sister were still sitting beside her.

  What about faux sex? No, not even faux sex. Faux sexual banter? Was that good for the health? She had no idea.

  “But remember, Becca. This is all you. You’re touching yourself, while I wait.”

  “What are you doing while you wait?” she asked, doing a Kegel to keep the unsolicited tingles under wraps.

  He brushed hair away from her ear and whispered softly, “I’m standing outside the door, listening to you moan.”

  The guy was talented, she’d give him that. Turning to face him, she whispered, “Does listening make you hard?”

  He gazed directly into her eyes, then gently took her hand and placed it on his thigh, all the while holding her gaze. “Would you like to feel?”

  She glanced down—she couldn’t help herself—and realized something important. As much as she knew with one-hundred-percent certainty that he was playing her, his body seemed to be reacting as if this was all real, just like hers was. Her evidence? A ridge of what could only be erect male flesh pressing against the fly of his trousers.

  “I’ll make you a deal.” His voice was so low, she could barely hear him. “You can feel how hard I am if I get to feel how wet you are.” His other hand strayed to her thigh and inched up beneath the cotton of her sundress.

  Suddenly the plane dipped worse than before, and her stomach was in her mouth.

  It took a few seconds for Becca to realize her hands were wrapped around Calum’s arm. His bare and heavily muscled forearm, to be precise. What would it feel like to have those powerful arms wrapped around her? For his masculine hands to grasp her hips and haul her against his body? Again and again and again…

  Enough!

  With effort, Becca released his arm. The turbulence had broken whatever weird spell they’d been under, and Becca turned forward, staring at the headrest in front of her, waiting for the next jolt to hit.

  “You need a distraction,” he said. Leaning across her, he reached into the seat pocket in front of her, pulled out her book, and deposited it in her lap.

  That’s when realization hit. “You saw this. That’s how you knew what I do.”

  He shrugged.

  “You cheated.”

  “No. I simply made use of my powers of perception.”

  So, the man was observant. One more thing to add to his growing list of attributes. It wasn’t fair. No one person should be allowed to have so many gifts. While Becca had convinced herself that Calum Price was too perfect on paper, and thus just another arrogant ass, she was finding herself liking him more by the second.

  You more than like him. That’s the closest you’ve come to having sex with a man in over a year.

  It was embarrassing. A juvenile game of sexual innuendo had nearly brought her to orgasm in a commercial airline seat.

  Maybe Grace was right about her needing to get laid.

  Shit. Grace.

  Becca gave herself a mental shake, reminding herself of her mission. She was here for Grace. And so far, she’d learned that Cal liked sex—or talking about it, anyway.

  “Okay, so this”—she waved the book in the air—“nullifies the bet.”

  “Why?”

  Glancing sideways at him, sh
e said, “Look. You can stop pretending. We both know I’m not your—”

  “Not my what?” He leaned toward her, and she caught a whiff of cologne.

  Undoubtedly expensive. Olfactorily speaking, delicious. Sweet and spicy. It probably tasted good, too. She gazed at his jaw, along the line of stubble that was becoming more appealing by the second. What would it be like if she were to run her tongue just beneath that line? How would he taste?

  “Not my what?” Calum repeated.

  “Your type.” She glanced at his hands. Strong. They would feel divine on her hips, hauling her against him, the sound of flesh on flesh…

  “How do you know my type?”

  She met his gaze. “I know it’s not me.” Even if I am imagining it right now…

  “You know what I think?”

  She shook her head.

  “I think you don’t know anything about me.”

  Unnerved by her body’s unwanted physical response to this man—a tightening of the lower abdomen and buttocks, a tingling sensation as blood flooded her girl parts—Becca distracted herself by reciting all the facts and figures that she’d read about Calum in the article. How he’d graduated from Harvard Business School at the very young age of seventeen. From there, he and a group of friends had started a small company, buying and flipping homes. They were so successful, they soon got into developing condo complexes before partnering with other developers in planning new communities. He’d sold his share in the company at the height of the housing bubble, spent the next six years investing his fortune—increasing it by 400 percent—only to buy his original company back for a fraction of the price in 2012 when real estate was at its lowest. He then switched his focus to real estate again, just as prices began to rise, focusing on high-end communities primarily along the East Coast.

  Becca was about to mention his rise to fame after being photographed with various actresses and models, none of whom were seen with him more than once. Except Calum interrupted her.

  “None of that is who I really am. You have no idea who or what I like.”

  “Maybe not. But what I do know is that you are not my type.”

  “Is that right?” He arched a brow.

  “Yes. It’s simple chemistry. We are not attracted to each other,” she countered, even though it was a bold-faced lie. She simply could not continue this ridiculous conversation.

  “Really?” He placed his hand on her knee. “So, all this sexual banter has had no effect on you?”

  “Nope.”

  His hand inched dangerously beneath her skirt. “So, you’re not…turned-on?”

  She choked on a bit of spit. “Absolutely not.” Lord, his hand felt good: rough fingertips making little circles on her smooth skin.

  “Hmm?” He leaned close and took a deep breath right next to her throat. Yes. Calum Price was sniffing her fucking neck. “Your skin is warm, and you’re giving off an arousing scent.”

  “Too much alcohol,” she explained.

  Only inches from her, he gazed into her eyes. “Your pupils are dilated. As are the capillaries in your cheeks, making you blush.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And your lips are plump. Much fuller now than when we first met. Like we’ve already been kissing.”

  Becca swallowed. With difficulty.

  Breathing became unnatural and laborious.

  He’d noticed her lips?

  “I’m willing to bet you’re already wet,” he whispered as his hand crept up beneath the thin blanket, straying higher up her leg, as if he was going to check out the damp-factor of her panties.

  Oh good God.

  She started to pant—not a good sign. She needed to stop his hand. But oh! His fingers felt so nice, and while he was gentle, she had visions of him manhandling her, parting her thighs and demanding rights to explore her warm and wet bits beneath the blanket.

  Becca! Seriously! Don’t fall for it. He’s only playing a game. He’s making fun of you. That’s all.

  “I would say you are exhibiting all of the signs of sexual attraction.” The plane jolted again, and Cal’s hand did, too, slipping all the way up to…well, to where she’d soaked the crotch of her favorite panties.

  At least he had the decency to look surprised. But when he pulled his hand away, like she’d burned him, Becca had confirmation—not that she’d ever doubted it—that he had, indeed, only been taunting her with phony sexual advances.

  An uncomfortable heat shot through her abdomen and up to her chest. With the combination of alcohol, nervousness of flying, and now rejection, a tremor was triggered behind her eyes.

  Oh, no. Tears were unacceptable.

  There was only one thing to do. She fished her reading glasses out of her handbag, cracked open her book to the chapter on entanglement theory, and turned away from him to pretend to read.

  Chapter Four

  She was lying in a hammock, dozing off, the breeze from the ocean blowing in, keeping her at exactly the right temperature.

  Becca sat up and noticed she was completely naked. Oh, shit. She rolled off the hammock, or tried to, but the thing got twisted and dumped her on the hard ground below. It wasn’t until she got to her feet that Becca realized she was surrounded. Beautiful people, tanned and toned—but more importantly, clothed—were all staring at her, pointing and laughing. She covered herself, or tried to, but she didn’t have enough hands.

  “A towel? Does anyone have a towel?”

  “Here.”

  She turned toward the deep voice that spoke from behind her. Calum Price was there, a towel open in his hands.

  “Thank you,” she said with relief. “I owe you.” She leaned into him, allowing him to wrap the terry cloth around her body, placing her head against his chest, just beneath his chin, and breathing in deeply of his scent.

  Delicious.

  “You saved me…”

  A voice came from far away. “Hey. Are you having a bad dream?”

  Her shoulder was shaken, and Becca opened her eyes. She was still on the plane. Her head was nestled on Calum’s shoulder, and he was peering down at her with flashing eyes and a suppressed smile.

  She jerked upright and wiped her mouth and chin with the back of her hand. That’s when she saw the wet stain on the shoulder of Calum’s dark-blue dress shirt.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  Not only had she fallen asleep on his shoulder, she’d drooled all over him. Maybe if she didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t notice. She rubbed her eyes, a low-grade headache building behind them. Too many mimosas. “We almost there?”

  “Two hours left.”

  Still? God, it was the flight that never ended. She grabbed her flight-approved toiletry bag from her purse and pushed herself to her feet.

  “Don’t take too long,” he said. “Because I’m going to be right behind you.”

  She glanced at him. Whatever sexual subtext that had infused their conversation earlier had completely disappeared as Cal covered up a yawn, proving to her what she already knew.

  He was not into her.

  Of course not. Becca wobbled the four seat lengths to the bathroom, pushed on the door and locked it behind her. The woman who stared back at her was a horror: hair flat in places, sticking straight up in others. Her eyes were gluey and bloodshot and her skin pale.

  Ugh.

  She washed her face and brushed her teeth. Using her fingers, she combed her hair to the best of her ability. It wasn’t like she was trying to impress anyone, anyway.

  Just as she unlocked the door, she found Calum standing right outside. “It’s all yours,” she said as she tried to squeeze past him, but he was simply too big for the small space. They did a little side-step dance to make room for each other, when the plane dipped so rapidly, Becca was thrown back inside the cubicle. She cried out in terror only to find Calum had been tossed into the tiny space with her.

  As they both scrambled to find footing, the door closed and the pilot’s voice came on over the loudspeaker—for what seemed li
ke the millionth time—instructing passengers to return to their seats.

  “Open the door,” Becca cried. “Please. Open the door.”

  Calum tried the door, sliding and un-sliding the locking mechanism. “I can’t. It won’t open.”

  “Don’t play around. Please. Get that fucking door open.”

  He turned around. His expression was not playful, but then, it wasn’t dark and brooding, either. It was something else. “Becca, you need to calm down. The door is jammed. But we’ll figure it out, okay?”

  No. It was not okay. This was not fucking okay. While logically, she knew there was ample oxygen in the tiny space, the cramped confines shared with a man who was simply too big for anyone’s good made it seem otherwise, and she gasped for breath, like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing without any relief.

  Gentle hands on her shoulders eased her onto the toilet seat, where she automatically dropped her head into her hands. “Just breathe, honey. Nice and slow.” He soothed her bare arms by gently running his hands up and down their length. “In…” He breathed with her. “And out…” His voice was so calm, his tone so deep and consoling that soon Becca found herself listening and following his orders, as if he’d hypnotized her.

  Finally, she was able to lift her head, the pinpricks of darkness that had blurred her vision moments ago were gone. Crouching on his haunches, Calum Price gazed at her with genuine compassion. It was that expression that was her undoing.

  So, when he leaned forward, whether to find his footing to stand or for some other reason, she leaned forward, too, placed her palm on his stubbled cheek—yes, very sexy after all—and kissed him.

  …

  The kiss ended almost before it started, so Cal pretended it didn’t happen. Though it had been surprisingly nice.

  Once Becca calmed down, he instructed her to crouch on the closed toilet seat to give him more room to work the door. After a couple more attempts, the door folded inward, and they were released.

  Once they returned to their seats, Cal turned to Becca, who was pale and obviously still rattled, and pointed to the book. “So, tell me about entanglement theory.”

  The next two hours flew by as Becca shared her passion for her line of research. “There are still so many unknowns about the universe. Like, did you know that dark matter and dark energy make up about 95 percent of the universe and we still really don’t know what either of them are?”