Taming Lily

by Monica Murphy

  “From stress.” I smile and sip from my wine. It really is terrible, with that bitter aftertaste that still lingers in my mouth. I don’t really want to finish it, but I also don’t want to be rude.

  “Ah.” He nods, like he completely understands the need to get away from it all. “Stress. It’s a killer.”

  “It is,” I agree. “So can I ask you why you’re in Maui all alone?” A pause. “You are here alone, aren’t you?” If he’s married and the wife is down at the beach or pool or whatever, I’m going to smack this asshole upside his arrogant head.

  “I’m here on business.” He chuckles when I send him a skeptical look. “A retreat of sorts. Training and meetings all morning, then fun in the sun during the afternoons.”

  “Nice. You must work for a great company.”

  “They’re pretty good.” He shrugs, looking ready to burst. I know he wants to tell me what he does for a living or who he works for. He’s dying to show off.

  “What do you do?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.

  “I’m a real estate broker.” His smile turns the slightest bit smarmy again. I can tell he’s impressed with himself. Ugh. “In Beverly Hills.”

  “Ah.” I look him over as discreetly as possible, not wanting him to think I’m interested. I note the perfectly cut light brown hair, the Tommy Bahama shirt, the fact that there’s not even a single line or wrinkle in his face and I’d bet big money he’s at least ten years older than me, maybe more. Probably uses Botox. And the Rolex on his wrist is ostentatious. Big and bold, with the face trimmed in diamonds.

  Hmm. He may look designer, but I bet he doesn’t have much cash in his bank account. Probably in debt to his eyeballs, trying to impress any and every silly woman he meets.

  Like me.

  “What do you do?” he asks as he rests his hand once more on my elbow, his fingers cupping my skin. When I send him a questioning look he clarifies, “For work.”

  “Oh. I’m, um, in computers.” Not far from the truth. I am into computers. I just don’t get paid for it, not usually.

  Well, there were those few times back in my late teens when Daddy would cut me off financially. I’d end up doing some IT jobs for people, work one of my good friends from high school would find me. I’d also secretly do some sneaky hacking work, but those jobs were few and far between because I didn’t want the trouble.

  It’s one thing to be a teenager and change up your friends’ bad grades by hacking into the school’s computer system. It’s another thing entirely to fuck someone’s life up by, say, depleting the person’s bank account. Or forward that extra-sexy email from a mistress to the man’s wife. I’ve had those sorts of requests more than once but I never took them. Not from strangers, and not for money.

  Once I turned twenty-one and received my trust fund, I didn’t have to worry about picking up odd jobs anymore. Now any hacking work I do is for fun.

  Or revenge.

  And that’s what typically gets me into trouble.

  “Beauty and brains, huh? Sounds like you’re the full package.” He runs his fingers down the length of my arm. My immediate instinct is to jerk away from his touch, but I don’t. I shouldn’t be so hung up on Max, especially since I’m the one who walked away from him. I need to focus on Russ. Pretend that he interests me.

  Despite every instinct screaming inside of me to run away, I stay. I’ll give him another chance. But if he does one more thing that creeps me out, I’m gone.

  “Why do men always assume if a woman is attractive, she must be dumb?” I keep my voice light as I ask the question, but I can see the quick flash of anger in his eyes.

  He looks offended. “I never said you were dumb.”

  “Ah, but you did say beauty and brains, as if you were surprised,” I point out.

  “Well, I have to admit, I am surprised. You really are the full package. Hot. Smart.” He lets his gaze dip to my chest as he checks me out. Blatantly. The full-body disgusted shiver is hard to contain and I wonder if he notices.

  Worse, I wonder if he thinks I’m shivering in anticipation. Ick.

  I say nothing. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll probably insult him and piss him off. Luckily enough, he continues on with the conversation.

  “So where are you from?”

  “The East Coast.” I don’t want to say anything else personal. The less information I give him, the better. Glancing at my glass, I decide I’m not going to drink anymore. I need to get out of here. This guy gives me the creeps.

  “My, uh, ex-wife is from Connecticut,” he offers, and I want to roll my eyes but don’t. Of course he was married. Now that I’m studying him a bit closer, I can see he has that I just got divorced and I’m on the hunt look to him.

  Probably has kids, too. Most likely he cheated on his wife or he was a total workaholic or a combination of both, and they ended up involved in a nasty divorce that resulted in a horrific custody battle. And now he’s paying her alimony and child support through the nose, bitter every month as he writes out the check.

  I’ve met his type before. They’re all the same. Yet here I am getting mad at his generalizations and I’m doing the same exact thing to him. I need to get over myself.

  “Hmm, how nice.” I set my glass down on a nearby cocktail table and turn to smile at him. “It’s been great talking to you, but I’m afraid I have to go.”

  “What’s your hurry?” Russ grabs hold of my upper arm, his fingers pressing into my skin. It’s a possessive hold that makes me uncomfortable, though I try my best to play it off.

  “I’ve had a long day of too much sun. And I hurt myself yesterday, so I’m still dealing with that.” I offer him a view of my bandaged hand but he doesn’t even glance at it. His gaze is entirely focused on mine, his body looming over me, his expression serious. Too serious.

  “I got you a drink,” he reminds me.

  I try to withdraw from his hold but he tightens his fingers. “And I thanked you for it.”

  “It’s not like you have any other plans. You’re here alone, right?” He glances around as if wanting to make sure no one’s paying us any mind, and I’m sure no one is. The place is packed, the music loud. Everyone’s in their own little world and I’m stuck with a creep who looks like he wants to maul me. And not in a good way, either.

  “You should come back to my room with me,” he suggests. “We could get to know each other better.”

  “I don’t think so.” This time, I get out of his hold and I step away, ready to bolt. But he’s quick and he reaches out, locking his fingers around my arm again and jerking me toward him.

  “Women like you are all the same,” he says, his beer-laced breath hitting my face, and I wrinkle my nose. How much has he had to drink? Why did I talk to him anyway? Why do I always get myself into these awful situations? “You flirt, you give me the look, you force me to buy you a drink and then you won’t put out.”

  “You think with a few words and a free drink I’ll put out?” I try to jerk my arm out of his grip but it’s no use. The guy is strong. “You’re disgusting.”

  He leans in even closer, his mouth practically touching mine, and I lean my head back as far as I can. “What the hell did you think, coming to a club called Vice? Give me a break with the innocent act. It’s a bunch of shit.”

  My mouth pops open, I’m about to hurl an insult, when I feel an ominous presence behind me.

  “If you’re smart—though I’m wagering you’re not—I’d suggest you let her go before I rip your fucking fingers off.”

  I glance over my shoulder, my knees going weak when I see him standing there, tall and broad, wearing a white linen shirt in a sea of Hawaiian print, a stark contrast against his tanned skin.

  It’s my watcher.

  chapter seven

  Max

  I FOLLOWED HER INTO THE CLUB, though she wasn’t aware i was tracking her. What a sight she was, too, in that hot-pink dress that fell to the tops of her thighs, the skirt swishing and swirling
with that captivating walk of hers. The dress, while simple, showed a lot of flesh. Her shoulders, her back, all that sun-kissed skin on display and driving me out of my ever-lovin’ mind. I couldn’t stop staring.

  More like, I didn’t want to stop staring. The fact that she rejected me yesterday, leaving me in the dust without a backward glance, kind of pissed me off. It shouldn’t, because the fact that I’m interacting with her, wanting to get closer to her, is risky. I need to get her laptop, but I can go about it in different ways.

  Certainly don’t need to flirt with her, that’s for damn sure.

  Lily’s not very observant, though. I learned that quick enough. She seems fairly savvy in some ways yet she’s completely oblivious in others. And that makes me worry for her safety.

  For example, this dickwad has such a tight hold on her I can see his fingers pressing into her flesh. From the moment he approached her—which was seconds upon her arrival—I could tell he was no good. I stood on the other side of the bar in the shadows, observing their interactions, ready to spring into action if she needed me. Lily appeared distracted most of the time, as if she wanted to be anywhere but with that guy, not that I could blame her.

  Has she ever frequented a club like this one before? Hell, I know I haven’t. I didn’t even know this place existed at the resort. Vice is unlike any club I’ve ever been to before and I’m intrigued. The moment I walked in, the vibe was overtly sexual. Women studied me with interest in their eyes as I passed by them. The music that filled the space had an incessant, primal beat. An energy hummed in the air, pumped in my blood, and I knew I could easily find a woman tonight if I wanted one.

  And I do want one—Lily.

  As fucked up as that is, it’s the damn truth.

  “Who the hell are you?” the guy asks, his nostrils flaring, eyes wide and filled with anger. He doesn’t let her go and that infuriates me. Makes me want to smash his face in, but I need to show some sort of restraint.

  “Doesn’t matter to you. Just do as I say and let her go,” I demand, my voice loud, causing more than a few people to turn and look in our direction. Reluctantly, he releases his hold on her and she springs away from him, absently rubbing her arm at the spot where he touched her. “Come here, Lily.”

  She hurries over to stand just behind me, never protesting my command, and I’m thankful. I don’t want any trouble, but I feel like everywhere this girl goes, she’s a walking, talking disaster. To keep her out of danger I’ll have to put her under lock and key.

  And why does that thought appeal so damn much?

  “What, is she your bitch?” the man asks as he starts to laugh. I lunge for him, my hands gripping the front of his shirt, close to his collar, as I yank him up almost to his toes and thrust my face in his.

  “Don’t you ever call her that again, do you hear me? Or I’ll fuck up that pretty little face of yours,” I murmur, my voice low so only he can hear me.

  He blinks up at me, the anger in his eyes turning to fear, and I let go of his shirt, pushing him away from me so he nearly stumbles and falls. He bumps into a small crowd of women and they all shout out in protest, calling him names as he scrambles to his feet and takes off, the women’s laughter trailing after him.

  I turn to Lily, about to ask her if she’s all right, but I find her gaping at me, a shocked expression on her pretty face.

  “You defended me,” she says, her voice full of awe.

  I brush at the front of my white shirt. Despite how dark the club is, the lights are almost fluorescent and my shirt seems to glow. I didn’t mean to be so damn obvious. I also didn’t mean to end up at some sort of deviant club, defending Lily Fowler’s honor, for Christ’s sake. “Of course I did. That asshole had his hands all over you.”

  She takes a few cautious steps toward me, those plump, sexy-as-hell lips still parted in surprise, and my fantasies go into overdrive. I can imagine tracing them with my finger. Slipping my dick between them, hearing her sigh in pleasure just before she licks the head of my cock with her wicked tongue …

  “No one’s ever done that for me before. Thank you,” she says sincerely.

  Now I’m the one who’s shocked. I push all dirty thoughts out of my head and concentrate on the stunned woman in front of me. “What the hell are you talking about, no one’s ever done that for you before?”

  “Rushed to my defense,” she explains, tilting her head to the side, as if she’s observing me in a whole new light. “I’m usually left on my own, having to take care of myself.”

  Guilt nails me in the gut and I try to ignore it, but I can’t. I hate her admission, hate thinking of her all alone, all the time. I shouldn’t feel sorry for her. I shouldn’t give two shits about this girl, but … I do. Why? I don’t know her, not really. She’s bound to be more trouble than she’s worth. Only a couple of days in and I’ve already rescued her twice.

  Leave. Just turn around and go.

  But my feet stay firmly in place.

  “That guy …” My voice drifts and I stare at her hard. She’s the one who puts herself in these types of situations. It’s as if she looks for trouble. “He could’ve hurt you if I hadn’t stepped in.”

  “I know. It was dumb. I shouldn’t have talked to him, let him get that drink for me.” She moves even closer, and I can smell her. Honey and sunshine. Sweet and warm. “You’re like my white knight.”

  “I’m no one’s knight, princess.” I want to say more, but the words get caught in my throat when she wraps her arms around my neck and presses that hot, tight little body against mine. I can feel her, every single inch of her, and my cock twitches in response at the same exact time my brain short-circuits.

  “You’re mine,” she whispers, her hand curling around the back of my neck and tugging my head down to hers. “At least for tonight.”

  And then she presses her mouth to mine, her lips sweet and insistent, the faintest sigh escaping her when my lips gently part beneath hers. No tongues are involved, just lips and breaths and her fingers tightening around my neck, her mouth so damn soft and damp and fucking delicious. I don’t touch her, just let her guide the kiss, let her have all the control, though it goes against everything I normally do when I’m kissing a woman. I restrain myself from taking it deeper. Harder.

  It’s the most difficult thing I’ve done in a long-ass time.

  When she pulls away from my mouth, her hand loosening its grip on my neck, I stare down at her, wondering what her motives are. I need to remain suspicious. This girl is the enemy. Hell, more like I’m working for her enemy. I can’t lose focus. “Why’d you kiss me?”

  She smiles, managing to be sweet and sexy all at once. Her breasts are nestled close to my chest, the deep V of her dress allowing me a fine glimpse of her cleavage. I could slip my hand beneath the neckline and touch warm, bare skin in seconds. I’d bet good money she’s not wearing a bra. “Aren’t all princesses supposed to kiss their white knight as a way of saying thank you for rescuing them?”

  I slip my arm around her waist and tug her closer, her eyes going wide when she feels just how much she’s affected me. She wants it bold? I’ll give it to her bold. “Like I told you, I’m no one’s white knight, princess. No matter how badly you want me to be.”

  The sassy look on her face tells me she likes the challenge. “I like it when you call me ‘princess.’ ”

  “And I don’t like it when you call me your white knight.” I splay my fingers wide at the small of her back, touching just the top of her ass. I want to smooth my hand down lower and cup her flesh but damn it, we’re in a public place.

  A public place called Vice, you idiot. You can do just about anything you want in a club like this.

  “Maybe I should call you something else.” Her smile grows. She sure is receptive after nearly getting into a dangerous situation with a complete jackass only minutes ago. “Maybe with that slight drawl of yours, I should call you ‘cowboy.’ ”

  I lift a brow. “Drawl?”

  “Your
accent,” she explains as she slides her hands down the front of my chest, so slow I’m wondering if she’s trying to memorize the sensation of my body beneath her palms. I know I’m sure as hell trying to memorize the feel of her gentle touch. “You’re from the South, right?”

  “Maybe,” I say, stretching out the word, letting the Texas back into my voice at full force, liking the spark that lights her eyes.

  “Tell me where you’re from,” she demands.

  Fuck it. I cup her backside and haul her in as close as I can get her, her eyes going wide, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt so I can feel the light scrape of her nails against my skin. “Awfully demanding, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been known to get my way a time or two,” she practically purrs, her lids lowering as she stares at my chest, her fingers loosening their hold on my shirt.

  I squeeze her ass tighter, making her squeak. It would be my absolute pleasure to mark that pretty, pale skin tonight with my bare hands but she probably won’t let me. Bossy thing. “Tell me why you wouldn’t sit with me earlier.” I shouldn’t ask. It’s as if I’m trying to torture myself and I might not like the answer.

  Her head lifts, her gaze meeting mine, wide and full of regret. “Because I’m stupid,” she admits, her voice the softest whisper.

  “You’re definitely not stupid. It was probably the smartest thing you could’ve done,” I tell her, my voice just as soft. Leaning in, I press my cheek to hers, my mouth close to her curved lips. “And it’s Texas,” I whisper.

  She turns the slightest bit, her lips brushing the corner of mine, and I keep the groan that wants to escape from slipping out. “You’re from Texas?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say in my best good-ol’-boy drawl. “Never was much of a cowboy, though.”

  Lily laughs, the sound melodic. My heart lightens just hearing it, which is the craziest thing ever. Being with this girl … she makes me forget what I should be focusing on. “I find that surprising, considering you’re from Texas,” she says as she pulls away. I let my arms drop from her waist. “Want to get a drink?”