Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me)

by Samanthe Beck

  She blinked, not sure how to respond to the advice. Finally she settled for, “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I have my motherly moments.”

  “You know Dad handed over the reins of St. Sebastian to Rafe? He’s truly stepped out of the role. He’ll be here now full time, as the general manager of this resort.”

  “Oh please. Handed over the reins?” Sonja shook her head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Hey, you never know.”

  Her mother leaned back, folded her arms above her head, and stretched like a cat. “You never know.” She sighed and relaxed. “I do love Maui. I could happily spend serious time here.”

  “Me, too.” Rider’s face flashed in her mind.

  “Extend your stay, honey. ”

  “We’ll see.” Would he be interested in more? With Arden St. Sebastian this time?

  Chapter Twelve

  Nick hit the call button on the gate to the villa, smoothed his already-smooth tie, and caught himself before he shot his cuffs.

  Nerves.

  He’d laugh if it weren’t so pathetic. Not because he was nervous, but because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this restless energy before a date. When was the last time an evening had really mattered to him?

  The gate unlocked with a buzz, and he walked through.

  Tonight mattered. This woman mattered. It wasn’t simply lust anymore, the desire to have a little mutual fun, or even his ego-driven need to unlock her orgasm. Somewhere along the line he’d stopped playing and started falling for her. Now he had to convince her there was more to him—to them—than just a week of enterprising sex.

  He walked along one side of the pool and spared a moment reminiscing as he passed his favorite lounge chair. While his pride might view that first evening as an abject failure, it wasn’t lost on him now how things would have worked out had he succeeded in delivering the soul-deep, hurts-so-good, pray-for-mercy orgasm he’d promised. That first night would have been their last. They would have gone their separate ways, smug and satiated, never knowing what they were missing. And he didn’t mean just the week of enterprising sex so much as the chance to get to know each other, to forge trust, or just to laugh at tacky souvenirs in a tourist trap.

  But did she see it that way? Did she see him as someone with long-term potential? Playing to his established strengths seemed like a good way to start convincing her, and enterprising sex was definitely an established strength. He fingered the corded silk drawstring of the black bag he held—the second purchase resulting from the shopping trip he’d taken during his lunch break. Hopefully the front desk had made sure their guest in the villa received purchase number one. Enticing her to offer more while seducing an orgasm from her might not be the fairest way to fight for what he wanted, but…holy fuck.

  The czarina opened the door and floored him. Nerves burned away in a firestorm of want. She’d been sexy as hell that first night at the bar in her slinky sundress, and she was way beyond girl-next-door pretty in cutoffs and a T-shirt—much less those tiny bikinis she wore the shit out of—but tonight she’d shown no mercy. She’d done something to her hair so it cascaded around her shoulders in smooth waves his fingers itched to dive into. The way she stood in the doorway with her forearm braced against the doorframe and one leg draped over the other posed her body in a graceful S across the threshold. Slippery black fabric suspended by two narrow straps hugged every curve from breast to knee. Sheer black stockings and shiny, lethal stilettos turned her legs into erotic distractions. Even with her ankles demurely together, a man couldn’t help imagining them splayed wide over tangled sheets or locked around his neck.

  Lips, as ripe and red as cherries, parted as if she’d read his mind.

  He closed in and took a moment to acknowledge she’d probably invested some time on those smooth waves and cherry lips, but then he pulled her into him and proceeded to wreck it all anyway.

  Her breasts were a familiar weight against his chest now, and her mouth a familiar destination. He felt all of it even before she settled into place.

  Strawberries, not cherries. Her lips tasted vaguely of strawberries thanks to the gloss or lipstick, or whatever it was. He dragged his fingers through her hair and breathed in a flowery scent overlaying her shampoo. “Your hair smells different,” he said against her mouth.

  “Spray. For the curl.” She spoke fast between kisses. Her arms twined around his neck.

  “Something you break out of the arsenal when you intend to slay a guy?”

  “Do I?” Soft lips nibbled his. “Slay you?”

  He tipped her head back and looked down at her. “Czarina, you slay me in the blink of an eye, just by breathing. You slay me in your sleep.”

  Kiss-smudged lips curved into a surprisingly shy smile. “You’ve never seen me sleep. For all you know I’m a mouth-breathing cover-hog.”

  “But a slaying one.”

  She laughed and ran her fingers along his freshly shaved jaw. “You clean up pretty well yourself.” Her thumb wandered to his lower lip and swiped one side. He realized she was wiping her lipstick from the spot, and teasing his lip was merely a by-product, but his body didn’t know the difference. He dipped his head and bestowed a quick bite to the pad of her thumb, just to watch surprise and desire flare in her eyes.

  “I promised you a suit.”

  “So you did.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You promised me dancing, too.”

  “Invite me in, and we’ll dance.”

  “Come in.” She took his hand and led him through the light-drenched entryway into the main living area. Music drifted over hidden speakers. Low but discernible percussion of steel drums, acoustic guitar, and Jack Johnson singing about how maybe pretty much always meant no.

  He couldn’t say if any of the furnishings differed from those in place when his aunt and uncle had owned the property, but the wall of retractable glass doors showcasing an endless expanse of sky and sea still eclipsed everything else in the room—except the woman in front of him.

  She turned to face him and glanced down. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Several things I carefully selected for tonight.” He placed it on an end table.

  Her gaze stayed on the bag. She rested a knuckle against her chin. “Do I get to look?”

  “Buy me a drink, and we’ll see.”

  The comeback earned him a quick smile. Curiosity still shone in her eyes, but she shrugged and crossed the room. “Is wine okay with you? I just opened a bottle.” She tipped her head toward the glass doors.

  He didn’t actually need the drink, but she’d obviously made some selections of her own, and he was happy to play along. He followed her out to the patio and leaned against the railing while she lifted a chilled bottle from an ice bucket and poured two glasses. When she approached and handed him one, he slid his arm around her and settled her against him. Behind her the sun hung low over the water, and the sky blushed pink in the last hour before sunset. “Did you receive the other items I carefully selected for tonight?”

  She smiled into her glass, but the unexpected bonus was the pink that seeped into her cheeks, turning them the same shade as the sky. “I did.”

  He skimmed his hand along the back of the dress. “Do I get to look?”

  “Buy me a drink, and we’ll see.”

  He clinked his glass to hers. “You’ve already got a drink.” Then he took a sip of his before setting the glass on the railing and folding her in both of his arms. “How about a dance?”

  “How about one?” She put her glass aside as well and looped her wrists behind his neck. The move lifted her breasts, shifting their softness against his chest. He pressed her closer, to torture them both a little more, and swayed her in time to a song with a reggae vibe about a girl with a red dress on.

  After a few seconds of silence she let out a sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. He brought her even closer. Less of a seduction than a straight-up cuddle, but she tightened her arms around h
im and held on. He dipped his chin, kissed her temple, and then asked the first thing that popped into his mind. “How’s Mom?”

  Okay, not true. The question had been festering since last night, but he regretted asking immediately because her spine stiffened.

  “I am so sorry about last night,” she told the knot of his tie.

  “Not a problem.” And somehow he pulled off the response, though a big part of his brain insisted it actually was a problem. “I know you weren’t expecting them until this evening.”

  She sighed again—a less than content sound this time—and lifted her head. “I wasn’t expecting her at all.”

  “Surprise.”

  “Extreme surprise. My mom didn’t know my father was coming, and I’m sure he has no idea she’s here. I’m not supposed to let that kind of thing happen, but I wasn’t attending to my messages this week as diligently as I normally do. Anyway, it’s not your problem, but I am sor—”

  “Ever considered letting them handle their separation?” His own mother’s voice filled his mind, reprimanding him for interrupting, but regret, or manners, weren’t what he wanted from her. He wanted to know about her life and the things that worried her. More importantly, he wanted her to want him to know, and to trust him enough to tell him.

  Her eyes found his and locked there for a long moment. He could practically hear her internal debate. Finally, she propped what she probably considered a jaded smile on her face—but the weariness of it broke his heart—and shook her head. “I guess I feel guilty if I don’t. Given the age gap between my older brother and me, I’ve always suspected I was a save-the-marriage baby. In a weird way, I suppose I have. My default role has been enabling them to not deal with each other, and that keeps the peace, not to mention the status quo.”

  “Their relationship isn’t your responsibility. Don’t take on the stress.” Of course, he’d dragged her right back into the stress by bringing it up.

  Her shrug fell short of casual. “We all have stress to deal with. I’m sure you deal with it, too”—she looked at him uncertainly—“up on the space station?”

  Was this an invitation to correct the backstory, or a request to stay within the confines of their script? He couldn’t read her. But he could read that the conversation was making her uptight as hell.

  Lead with your established strength.

  Right. For once his mind and his dick were in complete agreement when it came to this woman. He slid his foot between hers and pressed his hand to the small of her back, basically stranding her against him. “I’ve got a bagful of ways to relieve stress, Czarina. Would you like me to demonstrate?”

  …

  Arden could count on one hand the moments she’d stood at a crossroads in her life. The time the nanny had been over an hour late picking her up from school, and the principal had asked whether they should call her mother or her father. The time a seemingly sweet vineyard owner from Seattle had called her “just to see what’s up” a little too quickly after she’d received a worrisome threat. And now, when Nick sidestepped her question and shifted them back into the safe zone of sex.

  There had been no right answer to give the school principal. She’d followed her gut with the vineyard owner. But this time, she chickened out. Instead of saying, “Stick a pin in your bag of tricks and just tell me something real,” she fell back on his words from last night. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  His arms tightened around her. “You don’t have to wait for me to ask. We both know why I’m here. You want to come, just say so. I’ll make it happen.”

  Damn. “Rider, I…I want—”

  “Give me a tour, Czarina.”

  The request threw her off balance. “A tour of the villa?”

  “Exactly. I have some specific requirements for tonight, and I’m not sure which room will suit them.” He turned her toward the doors and gave her a gentle push.

  The way he said “requirements” weakened her knees. She nearly stumbled. “What sorts of requirements?”

  “I’m mainly concerned with comfort and view—your comfort, and my view.”

  She turned, a little surprised to find him right behind her. He moved quickly and quietly when he wanted to. “The patio has the best view.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Not even close.” He stepped through the doors ahead of her and took her hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Then, like a man who knew exactly where he was going, he led them through the living area, retrieving the bag he’d brought before heading down the short hallway to the villa’s second bedroom. It was the room she’d selected for herself because the idea of sleeping solo in the massive four-poster bed in the master suite made her feel stupid. The monstrosity boasted a mirror mounted overhead. This had been a singles resort, after all. Her smaller bedroom wasn’t without questionable decor choices, but at least she didn’t have to wake up to the sight of herself alone in a bed every morning.

  He left her hovering just inside the door and stepped deeper into the room, looking around the space, taking stock as if ticking off check boxes in his mind. The standard-size king bed sat in an ebonized, carved wood frame. Ornate, but not quite as over-the-top as the one in the master. He closed a hand over the polished round finial accenting the footpost closest to him and gave the frame a shake. It didn’t budge.

  His slow smile made her insides jittery.

  He tossed the bag on the bed, where it sat looking dark and mysterious against the pristine white cover, and then sized up the large mirror propped against the wall opposite the bed.

  From a decorator’s standpoint, the piece made sense. It doubled the size of the room, as well as reflected the light and the view from the glass doors along the adjacent wall. But he didn’t seem overly concerned with the design elements. He sent her another smile and patted the mattress. “Come here.”

  Her legs were in motion before she could question the decision. When she reached the side of the bed, she made a move to sit, but he curved his hands around her upper arms and stopped her.

  “Crawl onto the bed and kneel here.” He indicated the center of the mattress.

  “Oh. Okay.” She balanced her weight on one foot, raised the other, and reached behind her to slip her heel off.

  “I like the shoes.”

  She paused and then lowered her foot and looked down at the gleaming leather. “Me, too.”

  “Are they comfortable?”

  “Nope.” She laughed at her own foolishness. “But they make me feel sexy.”

  “Funny how that works, sometimes. You could even consider the sentiment a theme for this evening. Keep the heels on, Czarina.”

  Those jitters in her stomach turned hot and fluid as he helped her onto the bed. He took a moment to position her where he wanted her and then stepped to the side. She looked up to see herself in the mirror, kneeling in her slinky black dress on a cloud of white. The list of things in this world she stressed about stretched longer than she liked to admit, but her appearance generally wasn’t one of them. Right now, however, she stared at her reflection through his eyes. What did he see when he looked at her? Plaything? Challenge? Friend? Lover?

  He caught her eye in the mirror. “That view right there has it all over the patio.”

  “Kind of a solitary view, from my perspective. Are you going to join me?”

  “In a little while. First, I need you to join me.” He held out a hand and helped her off the bed. Then he brought her directly in front of the mirror and moved to stand behind her. Her eyes naturally sought him out, but found the man in the mirror slightly disorienting—and slightly imposing. Yes, she was well accustomed to men in suits, but she wasn’t accustomed to him in a suit. He looked taller, broader, and far more unpredictable than the easygoing charmer with the wicked smile. The crisp white collar of his dress shirt set off the bronze column of his throat. The black jacket turned his eyes a shade darker, and infinitely harder to read.

  He skimmed his hands up her sides. His palms whi
spered over her dress. “Did you like your gift?”

  Ah. There was the wicked smile. She propped her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Yes.” For some reason, the admission brought heat to her cheeks. To combat the blush before it bloomed, she added, “Thank you for the…ahem…carefully selected items.”

  “You’re welcome. May I see them now?”

  She would have answered, but his hands had already found the zipper at the base of her shoulders and were slowly lowering it. A well-placed tug and the dress cascaded down her body to puddle at her feet, leaving her in a barely-there web of sheer black lace. The shoes became the least of her discomfort.

  His eyes moved over her, scorching an unhurried path down her reflection and then up her other side, where his hooded eyes prevented her from knowing exactly what parts of her captured his interest. The whole experience caused her skin to tighten. Finally, their eyes met in the mirror again. He ran a finger down the strapless edge of the bustier he’d sent her to the easily discernible point of her nipple. She shivered when he grazed it.

  “Cold?”

  Hot. Bothered, and a little self-conscious, standing next to naked while he wore a suit and tie and inspected her at his leisure. “Curious,” she corrected. “Don’t you see anything wrong with this picture?”

  He flattened his palm against her stomach, spreading his fingers wide so his thumb swept the underside of her breast and his little finger teased the strip of bare skin between the bottom edge of the bustier and the top of the panties. They both watched her nipples tighten. “No. It’s flawless.”

  She elbowed him in a rock-hard ab. “This isn’t fair. Why am I the only one in my underwear?” Enough of this one-sided bullshit. She started to turn, with the intention of relieving him of some clothes, but he tightened his arm, holding her to him, and slid his other hand down to cup her between her thighs.