Freezing him out with formality while standing on a tropical beach, wearing a bikini. How could he not take that challenge? A verbal duel with Chelsea had the potential to become his favorite form of foreplay, and as much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, he knew after last night the battle of wits worked for her, too. “You know, a lot of people use my first name. Friends. Business associates.” He took a step closer. “Lovers. You fall into all three categories. Don’t you think it’s time you called me Rafe?”
“I fall into one out of three categories,” she shot back. Despite her stubborn insistence on using his formal name, she apparently lost her own battle with propriety. Her stare moved over him, and turned hot enough to singe through his white linen button-down and jeans, before slowly returning to his face.
He placed his hand over his heart. “We’re not friends?”
“No. And we’re also not lovers. One mistake doesn’t count.”
“Our kiss last night spoke volumes about what counts.”
Her cheeks turned as pink as the sunset. “There was no ‘our kiss.’ You kissed me. I simply refrained from making a scene.”
When he opened his mouth to point out she’d wound herself around him like ivy and kissed him back like there was no tomorrow, she shook her head and started drying off. “But that’s neither here nor there. Why are you here, now…and how did you find me? Best I recall, I didn’t tell my mom my plans for this evening.”
Jab, retreat, and jab again. She made it impossible to resist sparring with her. “I spoke with Lynette. She told me where to look.” He offered her an innocent smile, even though every swipe of her towel forced him to imagine running his tongue over her skin. “And here you are.”
“Here I am.” She continued drying off. “Did you need something?”
“The Templetons asked me to treat their new deal liaison to dinner tonight.” It happened to be true, although he’d have searched her out even if they hadn’t.
“That’s sweet, but totally unnecessary,” she insisted, running the towel across her stomach, and then down her long, slim legs. In his mind, his mouth followed.
“It’s company policy.”
She paused, mid-swipe, and looked at him. “Are you serious?”
“Of course not.”
The honesty got a laugh out of her, but she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He would change her mind—he hadn’t gotten this far abiding by good ideas—but he could find a business justification, if that’s what she needed. “St. Sebastian Enterprises just anteed up a significant sum of money to purchase Tradewinds, based on certain information and assumptions. I’m flying out early tomorrow, but when I return next week to get a more detailed view of the operation I want to hit the ground running. I’d appreciate if you’d join me for dinner, and give me some initial information about the resort, so we don’t have to waste precious time covering preliminaries next week.”
“So this would be strictly a working dinner, then?”
He wasn’t ruling out other possibilities, but he figured he’d made that clear last night. Besides, something told him answering her naive question with, “Depends on your definition of strict,” would result in a solo dinner. Instead, he said, “Nothing too grueling.”
She gave him a long, silent stare, and then stuffed the towel into her bag and pulled a cover-up over her head. It had long, loose sleeves, a slit neckline, and ended mid-thigh. He couldn’t really explain why he found the simple garment so sexy on her, but he did.
She stepped into beach sandals and looked down at herself. “As long as you’re content to dine somewhere casual. I’m not dressed for any of the resorts’ restaurants.”
“I know just the place.” He took the handles of her beach bag in one hand, and caught hers in the other. She didn’t draw away, so either she didn’t sense the irritatingly persistent need burning just below his veneer of civility, or somewhere beneath her own veneer lurked a woman who wanted to play with fire. Together they walked up the nearly deserted beach while the last streaks of sunset sank into the liquid blue of the Pacific. The soft orange light faded as they entered the tunnel of tropical plants and flowers surrounding the path to the resort.
Tradewinds’ beach access could serve as a set for the Garden of Eden. Quiet. Shaded. Ripe with the temptation to sin. Maybe Chelsea felt the temptation, too, because when they reached the end of the secluded passage, her shoulders finally relaxed.
Those shoulders tensed again when he led her through the lobby, toward the elevators. She dug in her heels and tried to take her hand back. “I thought we were having dinner.”
Rafe maintained his hold. Guests passed. When they moved beyond earshot, he said, “We are. I’ll order room service in my suite.”
This time she pulled her hand free and took a step back. “I can’t just”—she looked around to make sure they had no audience—“go to your suite. It’s not professional.”
He simply nudged her into the elevator, swiped his key card in the reader and punched the button for the top floor. The doors closed. “I completely disagree. My suite is a perfectly respectable location to have dinner. There’s a sitting room, and a dining area. I’m not suggesting we picnic on the bed.”
“It’s too private.”
“Privacy is essential. We’re going to discuss confidential topics like St. Sebastian’s goals with respect to the Tradewinds acquisition. Not the type of information I can afford a competitor to overhear from the other side of a booth at Roy’s.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m wearing a swimsuit and a cover-up. You don’t think that’s a tad improper?”
“I think it’s the standard dress code in Maui, but I want you to be comfortable.” He hefted the bag in his hand. “Shower and change in my suite, if you like.” Stepping closer to her in the small space, he challenged her with a grin. “What’s the matter, Chelsea? Afraid to be alone with me? Afraid you can’t”—he lowered his voice, and focused on her lips—“resist me?”
She walked forward until they stood toe-to-toe, and he fell into the same deep brown eyes that had stared back at him in his dream last night, wide and hazed with desire as she’d whispered his name. The moment stretched. The husky memory of her voice repeating his name echoed in his mind.
The elevator halted. The doors whooshed open, breaking the silence.
She stepped back and flashed him a satisfied smile, complete with dimple. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. St. Sebastian. I can resist you.”
You can resist him. Chelsea repeated the words in her mind like a mantra as she exited the suite’s second bedroom, fresh from a shower. Back in the cobalt blue wrap dress and black pumps she’d worn to work, she felt better equipped to keep the oath. Then she spied him sitting on the big, U-shaped sectional in the living area of the suite, absently swirling a drink in one hand while talking on the phone. Her confidence ebbed. The lights were low. Soft island music flowed from the sound system. Beyond the open balcony door, surf pounded shore in a rhythm older than time.
Her movement caught his eye. He gestured her to the sofa, while into the phone he said, “Thanks, Arden. I’ll see you next week.”
Arden. Friend? Business associate? Lover? All of the above? None of your business, she reminded herself, and took a seat kitty-cornered to him on the sectional.
He lifted a second drink from the glass-topped coffee table and offered it to her. “Rum and Coke, courtesy of the mini-bar. Dinner’s on the way.”
She took the Tradewinds emblazoned low ball and held it in front of her like a tiny shield. “Mr. St. Sebastian—”
“Call me Rafe.”
“I’d prefer to keep things between us professional. As such, let me take a minute to firm up a couple points about my role.”
He raised an eyebrow and set his drink down. “Feel free to firm up anything you’d like, Miss Wayne.”
His neutral tone told her he was baiting her, just like he’d been doing since he corn
ered her on the beach. Digging deep for some of the professionalism she wanted, she replied, “The deal liaison job arrived at a very opportune time, and I’m…flattered you requested me, but I want to be sure we’re on the same page about what the job entails.”
“It’s pretty straightforward. Starting next week, you’ll acquaint me with everything about Tradewinds.”
“You mean the amenities and activities, or—?”
“Everything. I need to know this resort inside and out. The staff, the property, all of it.”
“That’s a tall order. Though small by Maui’s standards, Tradewinds is a bigger resort than Las Ventanas. I hope you’ve got plenty of time.”
“Not so much. We plan to finalize the transaction in six weeks. What I do have is a lot riding on this acquisition. I need to close the deal, and close it cleanly. Zero surprises. I didn’t dive deep enough into the details during the Las Ventanas due diligence, and as soon as we closed, I got blindsided by some troublesome issues involving upper management.” He looked at her. “As I think you know.”
“Well, gee, if it’s any consolation, I got blindsided, too, and I was pretty deeply involved.” She didn’t quite succeed in keeping the sarcasm out of her voice.
He brushed her sarcasm off with a laugh. “Good thing we’re both smarter now. Our instincts have been honed by experience. If there are any hidden risks associated with this acquisition, you and I are going to bring them to light ahead of time.”
Wonderful. The deal liaison position included real responsibilities, but now doubt crept into her mind as to whether she could fulfill them. “I haven’t been here very long. I might not be the best person to give you the insight you need.”
“You’re the obvious choice. You’ve been here long enough to know the operation, and the key staff, but not so long you’re entrenched in the status quo. I trust you to tell me what’s working and what needs improvement. And where you think improvements are called for, I want to hear your ideas.”
“What if I don’t have any ideas?”
“Oh, come on.” His mouth tilted up at one corner. “I reviewed several of your proposals from Las Ventanas. You’re full of ideas, and Barrington’s not around to steal the credit for them this time.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” But a sinking feeling in her stomach said otherwise.
“You came up with the idea of turning Las Ventanas into a family resort. You did all the research, put together a proposal, shared it with Barrington, and then he went to Mr. Merriman and told him he’d developed the concept. By the time you and Barrington gave the in-person presentation to the owners, he’d already portrayed you as his helpful assistant. Merriman retired. The owners promoted Barrington to general manager. The rest is history.”
He paused and gave her a tight smile. “Except Barrington was too stupid or lazy to change the metadata on the proposal documents. When I reviewed them electronically, I saw who authored them. Also, after working with the man for several weeks, it’s abundantly clear he has no vision for the property and no understanding of guest service.”
Chelsea fought the urge to bury her face in her hands and scream. She’d shared her idea with Paul when they first started dating, and been ridiculously thrilled he’d reacted with enthusiasm and suggested they team up to present a proposal to the owners. Team, her ass. He’d aced her out of her dream job. Instead of screaming, she choked down another hard lesson on guarding her heart. From here on out, trust had to be earned.
But honesty ought to be freely given. “I practically grew up at Las Ventanas. I worked there through high school and college—everything from housekeeping, to room service, to the gift shop. Once I had my degree, I spent three years as the assistant manager. I know that resort inside and out. I don’t have the same familiarity with this property.”
“I’m sure you’ve had a thought or two about Tradewinds.”
Okay. Maybe he’d pegged her a little. “I might have suggested we narrow our focus. Tradewinds has a desirable setting, with limited capacity. I think we should play to those limits, instead of pretending they don’t exist and trying to offer everything.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Take out the kiddie pool, because this is a singles resort. Yes, singles have kids, but they’re not bringing them on this type of vacation.”
Because he really appeared to be listening, she turned toward him, crossed her legs and rested her elbow on her knee. “Same deal with fifty percent of the banquet facilities. We need to be able to host bachelor and bachelorette parties—occasions like that—but the hotel is too small to be a major draw for conferences or other large events. We should go upscale and exclusive. Remodel the spa to double its current size. Turn all the guest rooms into retreats, on par with the VIP villas. Splurge on high thread count bedding, plush towels, and bathrooms guests will want to live in. I know prevailing wisdom says tourists come to Maui for the beach and the outdoor activities, not the accommodations, but some demographics fly in the face of prevailing wisdom. Singles with the right resources want their comforts.”
“I agree with everything you’ve said.” He tilted his head and aimed his lethal blue gaze at her. “Why is it so hard to believe I’d ask for your opinion on Tradewinds?”
All righty, then. Time to put it out there. A swallow of her drink fortified her nerves. “Opinions are one thing, but last night you expressed an interest in something else.” She placed her drink on the table and crossed her arms. “Just to be clear, I’m not interested in sleeping with my boss. I learned my lesson at Las Ventanas, and I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Rafe relaxed into the sofa, and draped an arm across the back. “As it turns out, I’m not your boss. You work for Tradewinds and report to John and Evelyn Templeton. Now, this is purely an assumption on my part, but I suspect you’re on the right side of your rule where they’re concerned.”
“Very funny.”
“Yet you’re not laughing.”
“Because I take my career seriously, and accepting the deal liaison role puts me at risk.”
One black brow winged up. “How do you figure?”
“If a whisper of what happened between us at Las Ventanas came out, everyone would think I landed the job because I slept with you. I’d be a joke.”
His expression cleared. “Apart from us, the Templetons, and a handful of lawyers and accountants, nobody’s going to know about this deal, or your part in it, until we close. Nobody here will know you’re doing a new job, much less speculate about how you landed it. Before I arrive next week, we’ll come up with a plausible cover story to ensure that’s the case, because we need to be able to spend time together without raising any speculation.”
“That’s reassuring, but—”
“But it skirts your main concern. What you’re really trying to figure out is whether you can trust me to keep a secret.”
Bingo. And trust had to be earned. “Can I?”
His eyes met hers, and held steady. “Yes. I don’t discuss my personal life with anyone. Seems we have that in common. I know you didn’t tell Barrington what happened, and I’m guessing you didn’t say a word to anyone else at Las Ventanas. Am I correct?”
She nodded.
“So there’s not much chance of anyone here learning the particulars of our first meeting. Does that help?”
Some, she had to admit, but his promises didn’t erase all her worries. Spit it out, she ordered herself. “Is ‘acquainting you with everything about Tradewinds’ a fancy way of saying you want—or expect…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. God, her life officially qualified as a mess if she had to confirm whether her job duties included sex.
He didn’t blink. “The Templetons aren’t pimps and I’m not a John. Having sex with me is not part of the job.”
Now she felt like a big moron, but she’d take that over hooker. “Good to know.” She picked up her glass, sat back, and sipped her drink.
He rela
xed against the sofa as well, all broad and rangy and completely at ease. “I’m glad we got that squared away.”
“Me, too.” She settled deeper into the cushions and took another drink.
“When we have sex again, it will be for one reason only—because you can’t bear another second without me inside you.”
She sucked in a breath at the same moment she swallowed, and accidentally served her unsuspecting lungs a burning dose of rum and Coke.
Chapter Nine
Chelsea would lose at poker. Her face gave everything away. Right now, it reflected annoyance and reluctant desire. The expression made him want to keep right on pushing her buttons, until she slapped him or fucked him. Possibly both. He shrugged and picked up her nearly empty glass. “Another drink?”
She coughed into her fist and shook her head. “I’m not going to bed with you.”
“Bed, sofa, coffee table…I’m flexible about the location, and I’m not saying tonight’s the night, but we both know it’s going to happen, and we both know why.”
Her eyebrows shot up and she folded her arms across her chest. “Oh really? Enlighten me, please. Why, in your mind, is this inevitable?”
He leaned in, deliberately invading her personal space. When they were close enough he could smell the coconut-scented guest soap on her skin, he said, “Because whenever we get near each other, you remember everything I did to you in just ten minutes, in a cramped supply closet. You can’t stop wondering what I’d do if I had you naked, somewhere private, with hours to spend on every inch of you. I’ll give you a hint. The closet would look like foreplay.”
Her pulse beat strong and fast at the base of her throat. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and her lips parted, but the words that came out were pure nonsense.
“I think just the opposite, actually. The rush, the darkness, and the impropriety of jumping Santa in a supply closet were what made it so hot. Without all that”—she blinked and raised her gaze to his—“I’m sure the sex would be boring.”
Boring? He nearly laughed in her face, until he considered who she’d been sleeping with until recently. She’d no doubt experienced plenty of boring sex. Poor baby. He came nearer, stopping when their mouths were just inches apart. “Why don’t we put your theory to the test?”
Compromising Her Position Page 6
