Hard Compromise (Compromise Me)

by Samanthe Beck

  She forced some lightness into her voice. “I’m okay. Concentrating on things I can control, like earning money. Earlier this week I called my old boss at Las Ventanas and let him know I’m available for catering and special events. He brought me on as extra help for the re-launch gala next Friday.”

  As soon as she mentioned the resort, she wanted to bite her tongue. Chelsea had been the assistant manager of Las Ventanas until her boyfriend, Paul, got promoted to manager, cheated on her with the director of HR, and then dumped her at the holiday party after informing her he and Cindy were expecting a child. Chelsea had quit on the spot, and packed up for a fresh start, not to mention a better job, in Maui. But Cindy and Paul had hit the skids now, and they were managing to cause her grief from five thousand miles away. “If I see your ex or the skank he knocked up, I’ll be sure to spill something on them.”

  Her best friend’s laugh flooded the line, quickly covered by a cough. “Don’t. You’ll get in trouble, and I’ll get a crazy phone call. Neither of us needs that.”

  “You’re taking away all my fun,” she complained, and fiddled with Booker’s mug.

  “There are better ways to have fun. Got any big plans tonight?”

  “Actually, I’ve got this combo bachelor/bachelorette event—”

  “Wow. You’re working a lot, too.”

  “Not really. This is more like a—” Her thumb stilled midway along the mug handle as her eyes snagged on a small rectangular piece of paper on her counter. A check. From Booker. For three thousand dollars. A ball of ice landed hard in her stomach.

  “More like a what?” Chelsea prompted.

  A date? Uh-uh. It’s a temp job, and you’re 50 percent complete after tonight. Rehearsal dinner, wedding, reception, and then you’re done. You’ve let this past week of sleepovers mess with your head. “No, you’re right. It’s a job.” The laugh she mustered up sounded forced. “But it won’t be too difficult,” she finished lamely.

  A few minutes later they said good-bye, but Laurie couldn’t have repeated any portion of that conversation to save her life. She’d been too blindsided by the check to concentrate. Stupid. The money was part of their deal, and frankly, she needed it. Cindy would be in her face—and in the right—if she didn’t get her deposit back on time.

  But no amount of logic dislodged the cold weight in her gut. Instead it spread to her chest. She sank down to the kitchen floor and sat there, waiting for the pain to subside while a little voice in her head diagnosed the cause.

  You haven’t guarded your heart at all. You handed it to Booker a long time ago, and even when this arrangement ends, there’s no getting it back.

  Dammit, she really hated that little voice. Pressing her forehead to her knees, she drew in a deep breath. Her heart might choose to ignore reality, but her head couldn’t. And her head was still in charge. This arrangement would come to an end—it had to, for both their sakes. She came with baggage she couldn’t share. Not with anybody, and especially not with him.

  …

  Booker stretched his legs and tugged his tie off. The back compartment of the limousine looked a little worse for wear now that four other tipsy couples no longer shared the space. Empty glasses and crumpled cocktail napkins littered the consoles, along with a bunch of credit card receipts—wine clubs Kate had joined after a few too many tastings. Beside him, Lauralie looked into a compact mirror and applied lipstick with a little wand.

  Watching her do it stirred up an urge to mess up all her careful work. Slide his tongue between those plush, wet lips…or his fingers…or whatever part of him she was game for, and feel them close and swell around him.

  “Did you have fun?” he asked, still watching her. She’d gotten a little tipsy tonight, too, which wasn’t like her. He hadn’t seen her drunk since she’d been sixteen. Yet despite the extra cheer from the wine and the party, she seemed subdued. Also not like her.

  Blue eyes cut his way. She paused mid-swipe when she caught him looking at her. “Yes.”

  “Nothing’s wrong?”

  She clicked the compact shut, screwed the wand back into the thing, and dropped both into her small purse. Then she turned to him. Her inspiring mouth stretched into a slow smile—a slow, slightly off-center smile, completely at odds with the smooth, sophisticated twist of her hair, her elegantly bare shoulders, and the sleek white dress he’d longed to strip off her the minute she’d walked down his stairs. “What could be wrong?”

  He reached over and ran his thumb over her chin. “You tell me.”

  She lowered her eyelashes. The smile wavered for a second, then recovered. “I might have had a little too much fun.” Her words didn’t slur, but had the husky traces of a long night.

  Okay. She was tired. He punched the window down an inch and breathed in the brisk, head-clearing air. Everything he had in mind could wait until tomorrow morning. “I’ll let you in on a secret.”

  “What’s your secret, Sheriff?” Oblivious to his gentlemanly resolve, she snuggled into him and eased her feet out of her sandals.

  Thinking she was looking for a comfortable spot to relax and close her eyes, he tucked her under his arm. The weight of her breast pressed against his torso and teased him to a pleasant, semi-hard state. “Making sure you ladies had too much fun was the plan.”

  “I’ve never been wine tasting before.” She tipped her head so her breath licked along the underside of his jaw. Her hand came to rest on his thigh, and his semi surged to something more urgent. “I didn’t realize it was just a fancy way of getting loaded.”

  He dipped his chin to his chest to look at her. “Are you loaded?”

  “I’m loose. The best man was loaded. That girl Mandy was loaded.” Her smile widened. “Kate was looooaded.”

  He smiled, too, in part at her observation, and in part from the memory of Kate staggering into Aaron as they left the forth winery, looping her arms around his neck, and saying in a voice nowhere close to a whisper, Hey, les elope. Ditch everyone and take the limo to Vegas, baby!

  “She attempted to drunk interrogate me twice tonight.”

  He tightened his arm and gave her a squeeze. “About what?”

  “You. Us. Not in a mean way,” she added, and then gave a dry laugh. “More like a ‘Should I throw the bouquet your way?’ way. I think we’ve got your family convinced we’re a couple.”

  What would it take to convince her? “Are you basing that on tonight, or on the fact that my mom gave you a bag of sex toys?” Yeah, he’d gotten curious and peeked. And immediately wished he hadn’t, but some things couldn’t be unseen.

  “That was unexpected, to say the least. Then again, I’ve never played the girlfriend role before. I wouldn’t know what to expect.”

  “You’re a natural.” And he was stuck in a trap of his own making. He leaned his head back and stared at the leather-upholstered ceiling.

  Her hand slid up his leg, and his hard-on throbbed. “You know what else I’ve never done?”

  “Made a guy pass out from lack of blood flow to the brain?”

  Her low laugh bounced her tits against his chest. Was she braless tonight?

  She dropped her voice to a whisper even though the raised privacy panel ensured the driver couldn’t overhear. “I’ve never done it in a limo. You?”

  “Not since prom, Jailbait, but my house is all of five minutes away. We don’t have time, unless you want to send this guy on a detour— Christ…” Her hand slipped inside the pocket of his pants, and he engaged the intercom.

  “Yes, sir?” The driver’s voice crackled from the front of the car.

  “Nido Beach,” he choked out as she traced his shaft through the lining of his pocket. Then she kneaded his balls. He caught her jaw in one hand and sank the other into the wild mane of curls she’d tamed and smoothed and pinned into submission. Everything gave under his touch. Her head tipped back. Her hair slid free of the pins. Her mouth opened generously for his tongue, and her scent wrecked his brain.

  Her fre
e hand trailed down the front of his shirt, until those agile fingers found his belt buckle and dispensed with it one-handed. Both hands came into play to unfasten his pants. The zipper rasped wickedly in the insulated luxury of the limousine.

  Seconds later she had him out, jutting like a flagpole, her tight fist wrapped around the base of his cock and the untended inches pulsing in the cool, heavy air coming from the vents. She breathed into his ear, “I’ve never done this in a limo, either,” and then scooted off the seat and settled onto her knees in front of him.

  Her lips shined in the muted light. “Did you paint your lips for the occasion?”

  One corner of her mouth lifted. “Maybe. Do you like the shade?” Then she lowered her head and kissed him, rubbing her lips over the tip. Pressure built fast, and terms like comfortable ceased to apply. A second later she eased back and admired the results. Sure enough, his crown sported a shimmer of red.

  “Very pretty,” he said through a tight throat.

  She tipped her head to the side, in a show of diligent consideration. “It could use a little more color, down along here”—he groaned as her thumb traced a startlingly sensitive vein running the length of his shaft—“don’t you think?”

  “It’s your project…fuuuuck.” He caught a handful of the loose hair curtaining her face and twisted the strands around his fist so he could watch her take him deep. His fantasies of her soft, pink lips yielding to his cock paled in comparison to reality. He indulged them for as long as he could without endangering his ability to change her I Never status, but it didn’t take long before the tight, hot haven at the back of her throat and the wet sounds of her working him wore away his reserves. He trapped her lithe body between his knees to keep her still, and, using her hair as a leash, slowly guided her mouth up his length. She kept the suction so tight the withdrawal drew his balls up, and popping himself free set off a blinding flash of light behind his eyes.

  “Jailbait, next time we’re in one of these I’m going to push your skirt up, part your legs, and give you a tongue lashing you’ll never forget, but if you want to scratch ‘Do it in a limo’ off your I Never list tonight, you better get your ass on my lap right now.”

  She scrambled, he lifted, and a second later she straddled his hips. Her hands rested on his shoulders for balance. One hard tug pulled the top of her dress down to her ribs, revealing bare, pale skin and tight nipples.

  He switched to an underhanded grip on her ass to try and maintain some control over the proceedings. “Put this”—he licked her straining nipple—“in my mouth.”

  A shiver cascaded down her spine. Eyes locked on his, she arched forward until her nipple grazed his lips. The barely there touch fluttered her eyelids. She tried to bear down and lower herself onto him, but he held her still. Once he was inside her, he had two, maybe three thrusts before he exploded. He had to find a way to take her with him. “In my mouth,” he repeated, and leaned his head back against the seat to make her arch deeper. Helpful, because the position lifted her hips and left her more open for him. “I’m waiting.”

  “And you call me stubborn,” she muttered, but complied. As she slowly fed her nipple between his lips, he fed his cock into her tight, wet channel.

  “Ooooh.” Her fingers threaded into his hair, and she pushed more of her breast into his mouth. He rewarded her with a hard suck and several more inches.

  Her voice “That’s…so…good. So good.” He lowered her until she sat fully astride him, felt her quick inhale, and forced himself to give her a few seconds to get comfortable. She shifted her hips, dug her knees into the seat, and then exhaled a satisfied sigh. “Really, really good.”

  Hell yeah, it was good, but as soon as she squeezed those internal muscles, he knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of taking her with him. He sealed his mouth around her other breast, lifted her a couple inches, and then brought her down solidly enough to make them both gasp. Another lift, another slam, another gasp, and he lost himself. He dragged her up and down his cock in fast, brutal bursts while he anchored her jiggling breast in his mouth and ravaged her nipple. And then he was coming. A blinding torrent of sensation that battered him, consumed him, ripped him away from her no matter how hard he tried to hold on.

  The pain of her fingers twisting in his hair dragged him back, just in time to cover her mouth to stop the moans coming from her throat from escalating into cries that might reach their driver. He sucked her breast, shoved two fingers between her lips, and flexed every muscle he had between his navel and his knees to send her over.

  She went. Rising up. Crashing down. Shuddering against him while she sucked his fingers and hugged his shaft. Finally, she bowed back, palms planted on his knees, center dragging over his abs, and jerked once, twice, before falling forward and collapsing over him.

  Her arms circled his shoulders. Her cheek rested on the top of his head. “Holy shit,” he murmured against her breast. “I stand corrected. I never did it in a limo until tonight. Not properly.”

  She laughed. “I’m no expert, but I’d say we did it proper tonight…uh-oh. We’re stopping.”

  Sure enough, the limo rolled to a halt. Then the driver’s voice invaded their space. “Nido Beach, sir.”

  His fingers hovered over the intercom, but before he could respond, she hitched her top up, slipped off his lap, and pushed her skirt down. “I’m going for a swim.”

  “What?” Maybe she was wasted after all. Water temps were sixty degrees, max, this time of year, but before he could remind her she bounded out the door. A blast of cool air washed over his wrung-out dick before he tucked it into his pants and dragged his zipper up. He burned through another minute shucking off his shoes and socks, and then chased after her. The sliver of moon barely lit her as she raced across the sand and into the water, long hair flying behind her like a banner for him to capture.

  Foamy waves crashed around his calves before he closed in on her. His heart pounded, a little from the sprint, but mainly because she stood there like a mirage of moonlight and the tide. Fascinating, but fundamentally elusive.

  That’s exactly what she is.

  He immediately rejected the thought. She was no mirage, and neither was the connection between them. She could run all night if she wanted, but she wouldn’t outrun it. Maybe she realized as much, because she looked over her shoulder and her eyes locked on him. The remnants of her smile faded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s good. We’re halfway done.” Her big-eyed gaze drifted away, and she chewed her thumbnail.

  Something definitely worried her. Money? “Did you get the check I left?”

  Her chin came up. “Yes.” The smile returned, but not quite the free and easy one from a moment ago. “Thanks.”

  He took a step closer, grappling with the uncomfortable feeling he’d asked the wrong question. “You’re welcome. Anything else on your mind?”

  “Just this.” Her smile turned innocent an instant before she flicked her foot across the surface of the water, splashing him.

  Yeah, he’d definitely fucked that up, somehow. Now he could either be an asshole and hammer at her—which would only make her less likely to talk—or let it go for now. He let it go. “Jailbait, don’t make me haul you off this beach a second time.” A bigger wave rolled in, pushing her toward him. He took her hand, and then moved their joined hands to the small of her back. Her palm settled against the front of his shirt.

  “On what grounds, Sheriff? I don’t have a curfew anymore.”

  “I’m imposing one. No swimming after dusk.”

  “Ha. How do you plan to enforce this new curfew?”

  He lowered his head and kissed her. Cool, salty lips parted for him, but instead of claiming what she offered, he rubbed his lips over hers, warming them, before catching her lower lip between his teeth and licking the salt from her skin. Slowly he drew back, his teeth lightly tugging and scraping the tender flesh trapped between. When it sprang free, her sigh fluttered
away on the breeze.

  She blinked her eyes open and gave him another strangely sad smile. “If that’s your idea of a deterrent, I should warn you, you’re going to have people breaking curfew left and right.” Slow, bluesy notes from an acoustic guitar drifted toward them from somewhere down the beach. Her brow lifted. “There’s one now.”

  A flex of his arm pulled her closer. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, and swayed her gently in time with the music. “This particular curfew applies only to women who have their way with me in a limo.”

  “All right then, I’m busted. Do what you’ve gotta do.” But she leaned into him, and she matched her steps to his. In the distance, a soulful voice joined the serenade, layering on moody lyrics about love with a stranger—the stranger the better.

  The moment stretched as they swayed to the music and the rhythm of the waves. Eventually she sighed and looked up at the star-strewn sky. He thought she might start the conversation again, and tell him whatever she’d been about to say before he’d jumped the gun. Instead she whispered, “Jesus, four wineries, and my head’s a mess. We should go. All this romance is wasted on us, Booker.”

  His head was suddenly, perfectly clear. She needed the romance, even if she claimed otherwise. And he needed to give it to her, because the bond between them was more than just some undefined connection. It had a name. Sometime between dragging a headstrong teen off this very beach and slow dancing in ankle-deep surf with the beautiful, complicated woman she’d become, he’d fallen in love.

  And you can’t say shit to her about it.

  “Speak for yourself, Jailbait. I happen to appreciate dancing by starlight every once in awhile.”

  “Play that card at the right time, I’ll bet it someday wins you the woman of your dreams.”

  He hoped. Ten plus years in law enforcement had taught him how to bide his time and manipulate a situation to his advantage, but when given the choice he preferred a straightforward approach. Lauralie, and circumstances, hadn’t given him that choice, and now the scheme he’d manipulated her into for the sake of helping her prevented him from telling her how he felt. If she said the words first, that would be different, but hell had a better chance of freezing over before Lauralie Peterson left herself emotionally vulnerable to anyone.