The man smiled, his white teeth flashing against ebony skin. “I believe if you check your emails, you’ll find your calendar has cleared.”
She dug her phone out of her oversize handbag, turned it on and scrolled through her emails. Sure enough, she spotted one from Evelyn.
Hi Chelsea. I’ve got some bad news and some good news. First, the bad news. I think that nasty flu is gaining a foothold on the mainland. John’s not feeling well. I’m sorry, but we have to cancel dinner and reschedule our meeting for tomorrow morning at our office. The good news is Rafe volunteered to stand in for us tonight, and I know he’ll take care of you. Look forward to meeting with you tomorrow.
Shit. She switched her attention to Daryl. “I’m sorry. I have several important meetings to prepare for. Could you please tell Mr. St. Sebastian I appreciate his invitation, but…”
Daryl’s smile turned disarming. “I don’t keep my job by disappointing Mr. St. Sebastian.”
A polite way of saying, “I’m a driver, not a messenger.” Whatever she wanted to say to Rafe, she’d have to say it herself. In person. And the painful truth was she couldn’t say a damn thing without sounding like a fool. He’d asked her to go to the re-launch party with him. She’d said no. He’d taken someone else, and now she was jealous. Why? Because she suddenly realized she wanted him all to herself. Admitting that would be the quickest way to scare him off for good. Hastening the inevitable might be the safest option, but she didn’t have the strength to bare her heart and endure his rejection, which meant tonight would be an exercise in holding her tongue and keeping a lock on her feelings. She sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Okay Daryl, lead on, and please call me Chelsea.”
“This way, Chelsea. I know you had a long flight. Don’t worry. I’ll get you to your destination in no time.”
“Where, exactly, is my destination?”
He smiled again. “Mr. St. Sebastian requested that I tell you it’s a surprise.”
Not good. She still reeled from the last surprise he’d given her, when she’d seen a picture of him wrapped around another woman.
An hour later her stomach pitched when Daryl slowed the town car, turned left off Pacific Coast Highway, and inched down a winding drive lined with gnarled bishop pines. The clean lines of a two-level home shifted into view through the fringed green screen of trees. Late afternoon sunlight slanted off wide expanses of glass and wood.
Daryl stopped the car in the circular drive, directly in front of the house. Even from her vantage point in the car, Chelsea could peer through the soaring windows, all the way to the ocean.
Rafe stepped into view and descended the steps, barefoot, wearing jeans and a navy cashmere sweater that turned up the blue in his eyes. A poster boy for casual elegance, but she couldn’t stop picturing him in a tuxedo, holding that other woman in his arms. She wanted to hide in the back of the car but Daryl came around and opened the door, and then, ready or not, she stood face-to-face with the casual diversion she’d foolishly fallen in love with.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Surprise,” Rafe murmured and lowered his head to kiss her. She turned at the last moment and the kiss landed on her cheek. Impatience sprinted through him. Yes, he’d promised discretion, but Daryl didn’t moonlight for the Montenido Enquirer. He caught her chin, tipped her face up, and planted a kiss on her mouth, then nibbled and teased her stubborn lips until they parted around a reluctant sigh. He rewarded them both by deepening the kiss for one dizzying instant, before drawing back to stare down at her.
The sight greeting him gave him pause. Evasive eyes shielded by lowered lashes, and two slashes of red riding high on otherwise pale cheeks. He frowned and brushed her hair off her forehead, relieved to find it cool. “You okay?”
She flashed an unconvincing smile, but didn’t look at him. “I’m fine. Not too good with surprises, I guess.”
Tired, he deduced, and something more, but he didn’t need to pry it out of her right here on the doorstep. He had all night to figure out what troubled her. And he would. He took her hand and pulled her up the steps. The ever-efficient Daryl followed with her bag, set it inside the door, and then waited while Rafe signed the receipt. With a nod, he was gone.
“This way.” He led her through the open entryway to the light-saturated sitting room and pointed her toward the long, low-slung white sofa Arden had talked him into on the grounds of its “aggressive impracticality.” He had to admit it fit the space. “Something to drink?”
She snuggled into the gray wrap she wore over a formfitting gray and white striped sweater and slim white jeans that made her legs go on for miles. “Anything,” she said as she wandered over to the retracted glass doors framing the view.
“Two anythings coming up. Make yourself at home.” He swept her hair aside and kissed her neck—another surprise gauging by the way she stiffened. The urge to turn her around and ask her what the hell was wrong returned. He shook it off and headed to the kitchen. Sometimes patience presented a better strategy. Give her a drink, let her relax, and she’d probably share whatever was on her mind of her own accord.
When he returned with their drinks he found her out on the deck. She’d slipped off her heels somewhere along the line, and stood barefoot on the bleached wood, elbows propped on the rail, staring out at the waves. As he watched, she wrapped her arms around herself. The pose made her look disconcertingly solitary.
“Cold?” February evenings in Southern California fell a good twenty degrees short of the warm Maui nights.
“A little.” Her eyes remained trained on the water.
“This will warm you up.” He handed her a glass, and then stood behind her with an arm braced on the rail on either side of her. “I wanted to meet you at the airport, but my schedule didn’t cooperate.”
“The limo was very comfortable.”
“I looked forward to sharing the ride.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I can’t stop thinking about the last time we found ourselves together in a limo.”
“Was it memorable?”
Did she think that prim voice could freeze his dick off? He retaliated by moving his hips forward so she could tell he wasn’t easily discouraged. “Yes. I remember tying your wrists to the door, bracing your feet against the ceiling, and making you come so hard you cried.”
She lifted her glass and took a sip of her drink. The tiny pause before she swallowed told him she remembered the last time they’d shared rum and Coke, too. He waited until she was done swallowing and then touched his glass against hers. “I’ve missed you.”
“Have you?”
He tilted his head to study her. “Why the doubt?” Anger or something close to it put the flush back in her cheeks. She gripped the rail with her free hand, and he got the distinct impression doing so kept her from wrapping it around his throat.
“I saw a picture of you at the Las Ventanas gala. You didn’t look lonely.”
“You determined my mindset by a single picture?”
“Yep,” she clipped the word and took another drink.
He stared out at the darkening horizon for a moment, trying to recall all the pictures he’d posed for and which one would bother her. Nothing sprang to mind. “As host, I interacted with a lot of people that night. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“No. I don’t. This conversation is over.”
She tried to shift away from him, but he didn’t give an inch. He kept her hemmed in, kept the pressure on, because something had lit the fuse on her temper and he intended to find out what. “This conversation is just getting interesting. Let’s see, the two people I spent the most time with that evening were my father and my…” He almost said sister, but bit the word back because everything suddenly fell into place. “…date.”
She’d seen the picture of him and Arden. He sipped his drink to hide a smile. Chelsea wasn’t angry, she was jealous. A better man wouldn’t find so much pleasure in her suffering.
A better man would remember just how badly that particular emotion burned, and come clean. But jealousy meant she cared. She wanted a claim to him, and maybe if he pushed her she’d admit it instead of continuing to insist she was happy keeping things casual. The situation gave him the upper hand, and he didn’t plan to put his cards on the table until he’d won.
“I don’t want to talk about the party.” She turned on him, her dark eyes glittering in the purple-tinged dusk. When he didn’t back up, she added, “I’m going inside. I’m cold.”
“You’re not cold.” He brushed his hand over her furiously hot cheek.
Those dark eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Fine. I’m bored. This entire topic bores me.”
“And yet you brought it up, which makes me think you’re actually very curious—aching with curiosity. What do you want to know?”
Her entire body stiffened. “Nothing.”
Aware he risked bodily harm, he leaned in and put his mouth close to her ear. “Would you like to know who she is?”
“No!” A slender hand found the center of his chest and pushed him away with more strength than he would have given her credit for. She stalked down the deck, then swung around and faced him again. “It’s none of my concern. Date whomever you want. I don’t care.”
The last three words slapped at him like a challenge. One he desperately wanted to accept. “Who are you trying to convince, Chelsea, me or yourself?” He took a step toward her. She took a step back. “You seem a little jeal—”
Her tumbler whizzed past his head and crashed against the deck chair behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to assess the damage because her bare feet made glass shards a hazard, but the heavy crystal broke rather than shattered. He turned back to her. Wide, shell-shocked eyes locked on the glass as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d just thrown it. Those eyes shifted to him when he closed the distance between them. “To finish my sentence, you seem a little jealous. Shall I get you another?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance.”
She planted a hand on his chest to push him away again, but he simply wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to him.
“Hey—”
He didn’t let her finish, just slammed his mouth down on hers, pried her lips apart and swallowed her words until the fist against his chest curled into his sweater and fingernails raked along his neck and into his hair. Her wrap fluttered to the floor. He backed her up against the wall and hauled her into his arms. Slim thighs clamped around his hips and her needy moan slid over his tongue. And then something trickled into the seam where their lips met. Something salty. Tears.
God damn him. He drew back, cupped her face in his hands, and exhaled slowly. When he had himself under some semblance of control, he said, “She’s my sister.”
Liquid brown eyes stared into his for a good five seconds. “Your sister?”
“Yes. The woman in that picture is my sister. And for the record, you are the most stubborn woman on the face of the planet.”
“Your sister,” she repeated and made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Arden.”
“Arden. Not a friend, business associate, or lover.”
She didn’t say it as a question, but he responded anyway. “None of the above.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her soft, parted lips. “I really enjoyed the way you threw a drink at my head, though.”
“Sorry, not sorry.”
He kissed her again, more deeply. “I’m sure I had it coming, but your aim needs work.”
Here’s where he had to tread lightly. Ease her into the idea of extending their relationship beyond the close of the deal, and from there…more. Always more, because in the last six weeks he hadn’t managed to figure out the cure to this never-ending, insatiable need for her—her sassy comebacks delivered in that smooth, well-mannered way, the dimple in her cheek, her soft heart and hard head. Another six weeks, or six months, or even six years wouldn’t do the trick. He trailed his mouth along her jaw, and then nibbled her ear. “How about I come to Maui at least once a quarter and give you some target practice?”
She stilled, and then her hands flattened on his chest—not pulling him in, not pushing him away. He didn’t know what to make of it, so he nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear.
“Y-you’d commit to…coming to Maui once a quarter?”
“Give or take.” So far her reaction fell short of thrilled. Cautious was his best read. He dragged his lips back to hers, and applied persuasion.
Her breath came out in a long, slow exhale against his cheek. “I won’t be there.”
That stopped him cold. He drew back. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll be in Tahiti.”
Tahiti? What the hell? Maui was already a stretch, a five-hour flight from anywhere he could reasonably designate as his main office. Tahiti was remote. Remote to the point of running away—again. Except this time, he had no choice but to assume she was running from him. “You’re telling me this now?”
“You never asked about my plans.” She raised her eyes to his face, but for once he couldn’t read her thoughts in those dark depths. “As part of the deal liaison package, the Templetons offered me the general manager position at the new resort. You’ll have time to find a new manager for Maui, but after a reasonable transition period, I’m moving on.”
“I assumed—”
“Yes, you did, but I’m not sure why. I told you at the outset I wasn’t going to sleep with my boss. I learned my lesson the first time around. Been there. Done that. Wore out the T-shirt.”
This was bullshit. No matter what his title, he wasn’t Barrington, and he resented the hell out of her dumping him in the same sleazy, untrustworthy bucket. Another thing he resented? She’d never once discussed this with him. Why? He grabbed for the most obvious answer. “Chelsea, you don’t want to go to Tahiti.”
Her chin came up. “Yes, I—”
He used his mouth to cut her off, almost enjoying the taste of her anger and the urgent way she kissed him back. Maybe she refused to admit her feelings even to herself, but this he could trust. Their bodies had never been anything except brutally honest with each other. What the hell, he’d fuck the truth out of her. All night, if that’s what it took. He tore at the front of her jeans while she sucked his tongue so hard he felt the pull all the way to his balls.
A second later her pants were undone. He couldn’t say whether he unzipped them or ripped them, but the fabric gave way and that’s all that mattered. He set her on her feet long enough to dig a condom out of his pocket, yank his fly open, and protect her. In the time it took, she managed to work one leg out of her jeans. Good enough. He swept one hand under her sweater and tugged her bra out of his way. With the other, he reached around and got a grip on the back of her thong. “You don’t want to go to Tahiti.”
“You don’t have the first clue what I want.” The hands in his hair pulled hard, dragging his mouth down to hers.
He ripped her panties off. She gasped. Her hands dove under his sweater to latch onto his shoulders, and her hips rocked forward. He hitched her up a little higher, nudged himself into position, and let her squirm there while her small, frustrated cries floated on the wind. “Still running away, Chelsea?”
Her head whipped back and forth. “Not running away. Getting on with my life.”
Damn her. He wanted to pull back, to hold out until sheer need forced her to eat her words, but he overestimated his own restraint. The way she trembled against him, the bite of her fingernails on his shoulder, the wet, tight kiss of her body over the head of his cock obliterated all those intentions. The single, driving compulsion to be inside her superseded everything. And then he was. A surge forward buried him deep, brought her clit down hard on the base of his shaft. Her scream reverberated in his ears, desperate and euphoric at the same time. The last of his control ebbed like sand under a raging surf. She became a w
ave in his arms, arching, rising, cresting, and when she broke over him, she dragged him down, too. The orgasm drowned his so-called strategy under a crushing wall of pleasure.
Chelsea crept down the curved stairway she had no distinct memory of climbing last night, and saw her single piece of luggage sitting forlornly inside the front door where Daryl had left it last night. As if she’d really expected to have a quick, civilized dinner and then be on her way. Sore muscles in her calves, her thighs, and less mentionable places laughed at the very idea. He owned her body as soon as he touched her—a fact he’d firmly established in a supply closet at Las Ventanas—and pretending otherwise only gave him yet another opportunity to prove her wrong. He owned her heart, too, but at least that sad fact remained her secret. Determined to keep it that way, she relied on the meager pre-dawn light to guide her to the living room where she’d left her purse.
She had to get out of there. Now. Last night’s emotional roller coaster had left her reeling. Jealousy, followed by profound, head-swimming relief when he’d informed her the woman in the picture was his sister. For a few precious seconds she’d let her hopes soar, only to have them come crashing down when he’d tossed out what was essentially a, “Whenever I’m in Maui,” proposition. Admittedly, for him the offer probably felt like a commitment, but for her, it underscored the vast gap between what she wanted and what he had to give. Anger and pride had held her tongue last night, but if she faced him in the light of day, with her anger depleted and her pride fucked to shreds, she’d most likely throw herself at his feet and beg for whatever scraps he could offer. She’d subjugate her own wants and needs to suit him.
Same old Chelsea.
The thought got her moving. Carefully, she slipped her phone out of her bag, sat on the sofa, and called a cab. As she spoke with the dispatcher, she dug her compact out of her bag, opened it, and glanced into the mirror. Her listless, sleep-deprived reflection stared back at her, and a red mark decorated the side of her throat.
Compromising Her Position Page 18
