Because you hate to lie? She did. She valued honesty. But blurting out the truth would be a surefire mood killer. Hey, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon not exchange names. No, the situation called for a more clever form of honesty—an honest lie. “My name is”—something racy might help—“Tatiana Svetlana.”
Both brows lifted again, but not in invitation this time. More like twin bullshit detectors. Still, his hand remained on her back, and his easy grin stayed in place. He wasn’t fazed. Good. She rolled the tension out of her shoulders and waited to see if he’d play along.
“Svetlana, huh?”
“Of the Siberian Svetlanas.”
“This explains your thick Siberian accent.”
His response, smooth and entertained, told her he didn’t mind playing. Not in the least. She almost high-fived him. “Da.” And that was pretty much the extent of her Russian. Babushka, Tolstoy, vodka. Self-consciousness pulled a laugh from somewhere below her lungs. “Um…davai?”
He leaned against the bar. “Okay, Czarina, we’ll play it your way. Who am I and where am I from?”
She immediately missed the feel of his hand along her back, but his stance invited her to inspect him, which she did, from the thick mass of hair that looked as if it had been swept back from his forehead by a careless hand, to the tips of his…goodness…they had to be at least size thirteen shoes.
Deliberately, she slowed her gaze for the return trip, taking in long legs in relaxed khakis. The pants rode trim hips, but didn’t disguise the bulge of powerful thighs.
And speaking of powerful, undisguised bulges. She took in the impressive one forming a ridge behind his fly. Those tiny wings of anticipation in her stomach migrated to points south of her navel. She forced her eyes to keep moving, studying the array of planes and angles beneath his shirt. One muscle-braided forearm angled toward her, close enough for her to see the dusting of sun-bleached hair against tanned skin.
She doubted he spent his days behind a desk. She’d grown up around executives—her father and brother being two of the most notable—and nothing about him struck her as corporate. He definitely spent time outdoors. She raised her eyes to his face. Definitely. Sun and sea had left their traces on him, but then again, this was Hawaii. Almost everybody looked outdoorsy after a week. Those hands, though. That touch, coupled with the careless hair and unshaven jaw, made her think artist, or musician. She could easily imagine his fingertips dancing with precision over the frets of a guitar or the keys of a piano. But he threw off this vibe of calm, rather than the mercurial temperament of an artist. Nothing rattled him. He thought on his feet and adjusted his approach based on the circumstances. Also, he had an ingrained confidence she recognized in her father and brother—men accustomed to riding out risks and solving problems. He hadn’t earned his in a boardroom, but he’d earned it somewhere. Granted, she based her opinion on five minutes of interaction, but something told her he could handle himself in a high-stakes situation. Soldier? Firefighter? Skydiving instructor?
She went with the best scenario she could come up with in under a minute. “You’re an astronaut. Your name is Luke Sky…um…” No. Not Luke Skywalker. “…rider.” You suck.
“My friends call me Rider for short?”
Thankfully, he didn’t suck. He had game. Plenty for both of them. She inclined her head. “Of course they do. You live on the International Space Station fifty-one weeks out of the year, but when you get that week of vacay, you come to Maui for some R&R.”
Would he be offended? She basically told him as soon as they were done with each other he needed to disappear into outer space. Honesty was a virtue, but maybe that had been a little too honest?
“Wow. Nailed it on the first guess. What gave me away? My attraction to heavenly bodies?”
A bubble of laughter burst from her before she could cover her mouth. Dear God, this man. He was already the most fun she’d had in months.
Worries that had seemed so suffocating minutes ago now felt remote. Family pressures? Gone. Stress resulting from a crazy ex with a greedy streak? Poof. This guy didn’t need to know who she was, and his agenda for her didn’t last beyond the next couple hours. But oh, what hours they’d be. Her family remained, for the moment, far away. The evening stretched out before her like stolen time. Absolute freedom. Nobody would know, and she’d never have to account for it.
She leaned in close enough to inhale the clean scent of no-nonsense guy soap and rested her hand on his forearm. “Anything special on your to-do list while you’re here?” Time to move this to the next level. She trailed a fingertip down to his wrist. “Maybe an activity you just can’t engage in when you’re up in space?”
He dipped his head so his face hovered just above hers. She could count every last one of his ridiculously long eyelashes. “Like…have a drink with my aunt and uncle?”
The tease. Was he giving her a dose of her own medicine? Slowing things down as payback for the cocktail napkin? “I think you just did, right?”
“True.” He threaded his fingers through hers as if to make sure she knew they were in this together. It occurred to her that most people she met didn’t feel quite so free to touch her right from the jump, but she liked it. From him. “Now that you mention it, I have this overwhelming urge to—”
“Yes.” Not a question. An answer. Her answer was yes. To the big hands. The shoulders. Everything. She didn’t want to slow down.
“…go for a swim.”
“A swim?” Her smile froze on her face. “Now?”
One side of his mouth twitched. “It’s gonna take more than a cocky grin to close the deal.”
Holy crap. Her own words, thrown back at her, and he’d played it so well she couldn’t help but laugh. Fair enough. It was her turn to try harder. Her villa had a private pool. She stood and lifted her purse from the back of the chair. “I know just the place.”
“Great.” He stood as well, and pulled her against him snugly enough she felt the hard length of him burning through the layers of their clothes.
Very long. Very hot. Verrrrry hard. One of them moaned softly. Okay, her. The moan came from her.
From him came a whisper that tightened her skin. “And Czarina, after we swim, I would really love to make you come so hard they hear you from space.”
…
Her long legs could cover a lot of ground, even in mile-high sandals. The czarina clearly didn’t mind moving fast. After a preliminary round of icebreaker orgasms, he’d talk her into slipping the heels on again. The extra height they gave her offered some interesting possibilities. Like fucking her onto the very tips of her toes while the wall muffled her cries.
Right now those thought-provoking heels practically skipped along the softly lit path leading to what had been the private villas back when the property was a Tradewinds Resort. He wasn’t sure what changes St. Sebastian had undertaken since buying the hotel from his aunt and uncle earlier in the year, but back in the Tradewinds days the villas had been enclaves of luxury. The room rate had reflected as much.
He doubted an ounce of Russian blood flowed in the czarina’s veins, but maybe the nickname wasn’t so far off the mark? He lifted his eyes from the sway of her hips and caught her looking over her shoulder at him. She smiled and gave their joined hands a little tug.
“This way.” The path split and she veered to the right, toward the line of palms shrouding the big villa. She stopped at a security gate and flashed him another smile, but it hovered uncertainly on her lips. Like maybe despite her flirtations in the bar and her rush to get here, she didn’t do this kind of thing often. “Just a sec. I have a key.” She riffled through her purse. “Somewhere.”
The warm breeze blew a few strands of hair across her face. He brushed them back at the same time she turned toward the gate. His fingertips ended up trailing over her cheek. The move earned him a shiver and a short, self-conscious laugh. Or a nervous one.
Neither worked for him. He didn’t mind moving
fast either, or taking the lead. In fact, he preferred both, but he wasn’t into railroading anyone. Though it killed him to do it, the right move was to make sure she knew she could change the game anytime she pleased. He was a big boy. He wasn’t going to throw a tantrum over a case of blue balls. Not even a severe case. Stepping up behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his mouth to her ear. “No hurry, Czarina. As it happens, walking in the moonlight with a beautiful Siberian princess is also on my to-do list.”
She stilled and drew in a slow breath. “A little short on moonlit paths up there on the space station?”
“Mmm-hmm. And beautiful Siberian princesses.”
The breeze flirted with her hair again, and he breathed in scents of vanilla and coconut. His mouth watered. She shifted, and her backside brushed his fly. His vision went momentarily blurry. The accidental contact felt so good he dropped a hand to her waist and let it rest there. Not strong enough to hold her in place if she wanted to step away, but enough to tell her where he wanted her.
Her breath shuddered out, long and slow, and she relaxed against him. He rewarded them both with a nudge of his hips, nearly groaning at the way his cock fit against the curve of her ass. As an attempt to give her space, this was completely fucked up, but he couldn’t bring himself to back off. Especially not when he slid his other hand from her shoulder to her wrist and lightly banded his fingers there, unerringly finding the spot where her pulse raced.
Without dislodging his grasp, she slowly raised her hand. Between her fingers she held a key card. “Found it,” she breathed.
He squeezed her hip in a show of gratitude and then released her. She slid the card through the reader. The gate lock released with a click. He reached around her to push it open, held it as she walked through, and then followed.
A large rectangular pool shimmered in front of the opulent glass-and-wood villa. Both looked about the same as they had earlier in the year when he’d paid a house call as a favor to his aunt, to diagnose Rafe St. Sebastian with a nasty case of flu. He’d gotten St. Sebastian back on his feet easily enough, despite a total lack of cooperation on the part of his ungrateful patient. The man had gone on to buy the hotel and get engaged to the manager—a woman his aunt had been trying to set him up with—so he figured at the very least St. Sebastian owed him a swim.
Tonight, underwater lights turned the pool into a clear, flawless sapphire, and strategically placed landscaping lights showed off the teak lounge chairs lined up along one side. White pillows decorated each tan cushion. His hostess walked over to the closest chair, placed her purse on the small wooden table beside it, and perched on the arm. She tipped her head to the side and regarded him.
Lights from the villa tinted her hair midnight blue. Air stirred by the ocean plastered the front of her dress to her body and showed off her nipples defiantly straining the filmy fabric. “We can take care of more than one item on your wish list. Moonlit walk, swim, or maybe…something else?”
Now she was trying to hurry him, but whether it stemmed from nerves or need—or some of each—he couldn’t be sure. He was all need, but he could bank it for the sake of making certain she felt the same. A swim would be a good place to start. Not just because he liked the idea of her naked and wet, but it gave her the shield of the water, in case she felt shy. It also gave her a chance to check out the goods, because he wasn’t shy, and while science insisted men responded more powerfully to visual stimuli, in his experience, women responded to visuals, too. The responses might be less obvious, but he read them just fine.
“Are you trying to talk me out of the swim?” He toed one shoe off. “What’s the matter? No pools in Siberia? I’m beginning to think you’re afraid of the water.” He slid his foot out of his other shoe. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.” With that assurance out there, he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off.
Oh yeah, women responded to visuals. She bit her lip, and her gaze roamed all over his chest and then meandered down his abs. When her attention dropped to where he’d hooked his thumbs into the waist of his pants, he undid the button, lowered the zipper, and peeled them down his legs, along with his underwear. He straightened and watched her eyes laser in on what he liked to think of as the best of the goods. Her openmouthed expression suggested she agreed. She whispered something that sounded a lot like, “Thank you, Jesus.”
Knowing he had her full attention—or parts of him did—he reached down and took his wallet from the back pocket of his pants. He straightened again, flipped it open, and slid a crucial piece of equipment from inside. Then he walked toward her.
Her eyes widened, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. It wasn’t until he came to a stop directly in front of her that she lifted her gaze to his face. He tossed the condom on the table next to her purse. “Something for later.”
She blinked at him. “Just one?”
He knelt and skimmed his hands up her calves. “Big talk from a woman still wearing all these clothes.”
“It’s not really that many. Dress, panties…” Her voice trailed off as he rounded her knees and continued up her thighs, raising her dress as he went.
“And yet you’re still wearing both.” With her skirt bunched at the tops of her thighs, he brought his hands to a stop.
Her legs splayed open a little, creating a shadowy tunnel that disappeared under a single drape of the black sundress. “I guess I got distracted by the scenery.”
“Distracted, huh? Siberian undergarments must be very complicated if they require your full focus.”
Her lips twitched. “Very complicated.”
Determined to tease her right out of her panties, he extended his fingers until he encountered strips of lace hugging her hips. He plucked them. “NASA trained me to handle complicated projects. Maybe I can help?”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble. You seem committed to your swim.” She planted her hands behind her on the cushion and leaned back.
“No trouble.” He threaded his fingers through her thong. “Lift up.”
She did, but then sagged slightly as he flossed the panties over parts of her densely packed with sensitive nerves. He limited the caress to a gentle play of lace against flesh. Even when her eyelids drooped. Even when her hips rocked.
“I think I found the problem.” He kept his voice low, so as not to pull her out of the pleasure, and flexed his fingers, drawing the panties tight between her legs.
Her head fell back. A soft moan tumbled from her parted lips. “Y-you did?”
“Yeah. They’re all wedged up in here”—he flexed his fingers again. They were now. “It’s a delicate situation.”
Her arms began to tremble from the strain of holding her position. “You have no idea.”
Oh, but he did. Keeping one hand on her hip for support, he edged the index finger of his other under the vee at the back of her thong. “Don’t worry. I’ll go slowly.”
“Oh God.”
She shivered as he trailed his finger along the line of lace, dislodging it in increments. Her breath hitched at one point, but he stayed the course until he freed the fabric from between her cheeks. Then he snagged the strips now riding low on her hips and slowly drew the panties down her legs, making sure the wispy triangle—black, as it turned out—tickled her inner thighs during the journey. Goose bumps rose on her satiny skin. So responsive. “Mission accomplished.”
She released a shuddery breath and lowered her hips. He guided one high heel through the panties, then the other. When he finished, he looked up to find big blue-green eyes open and focused on him.
“My hero,” she sighed, and took the scrap of lace dangling from his finger. “How can I ever thank you?”
A lot of options sprang to mind, but unfortunately, he couldn’t suggest any of them right now or this would be the shortest one-night stand of his life. Instead, he stood and let her see exactly what having his hands under her skirt had done to him. “I’m thinking you could…”
&nbs
p; She eyed the evidence and sucked in a breath before looking up at him. “What could I do?” She left her lips parted and slightly puckered from forming the word “do.”
It was all he could do to stop himself from sliding his cock between those inviting lips, but the concept of mutuality dictated he couldn’t start there. Maybe later. After he’d earned her gratitude. “Join me for a swim.” Then, without waiting for her reply, he turned and strode to the pool, taking his time because he felt the heat of her stare slide over his shoulders, down his back, and linger on his ass.
When he reached the edge, he dived in. The water welcomed him with a muffled crash. Immersed, he swam along the bottom, following the slant as it transitioned from deep to shallow. Just as he broke the surface, a splash exploded behind him. He swiped his hair back from his face, turned, and looked for her.
She surfaced a few feet away, her long hair sleek, her body a shifting, indistinct outline of treading limbs. The waterline kissed her chin. She stared back at him, all big eyes and damp skin. Little waves lapped against the sides of the pool. Overhead, palm leaves rustled in the breeze.
He walked toward her, going deeper with every step. The water rose from his waist, to his chest, to his shoulders. At that point he was close enough to reach out and catch her arm, which he did, and pulled her into his space. Not flush against him, but near enough that their bodies bumped here and there from the momentum of the water. He held on to her—ostensibly because he had the advantage of being able to stand at this depth and she didn’t—but mostly because he enjoyed holding her. Her hands settled on his biceps.
Compromised in Paradise Page 2