Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation)

by Beck, Samanthe

  He found her huddled at the far end of the shower, her body pressed up against the glass wall behind her like if she got close enough, she might magically pass through to the leafy haven beyond. A white towel barely covered the essentials, which made inspecting her for injuries a job he accomplished in a matter of seconds. No visible blood. No signs of a struggle. But blue eyes wide with shock locked on him as if she couldn’t believe he stood there.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She pressed a hand to her chest and let out a self-conscious laugh.

  Before he could storm into the shower and shake her for scaring the crap out of him, or pull her into his arms and hold her until the adrenaline subsided—possibly both—she pointed to one corner of the vestibule, just inside the archway where he stood. “Sorry. He caught me by surprise.”

  He? Eyes trained on the corner, Luke stepped into the shower, and—

  “Ugh. Jesus Christ. What the hell is that?” He had tile to his back before he even realized he’d retreated from the abomination of nature slung out along the cool porcelain. The blasted thing was the size of his forearm, but its dark scales blended into the gray tile.

  “I don’t know. Some kind of snake, maybe?”

  “Uh-uh. It’s not a snake. It has feet. A lizardly thing.”

  “Luke?”

  “What?” He answered without looking at her. Bugs, he could handle. The part of Texas where he’d grown up boasted some whoppers. Same for spiders, rodents, bats, and birds. But he was not cool with reptiles. Yes, it was a phobia more than a legit fear, but logic didn’t stop his heart from turning into a jackhammer in his chest. Caution dictated he keep all eyes on the footed snake.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “I don’t want to wake it.”

  “The eyes are open,” she added.

  Open, and unblinking. “Who says it has eyelids?”

  “Good question. You’re wearing shoes. Can you, like, kick it out of here?”

  “Fuck no.” He looked at her now. “Not unless you’ve got a universal antivenom stashed somewhere on your person.”

  She paled and her eyes darted back to the…thing. “Is it poisonous?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Doesn’t Mother Nature usually decorate poisonous species with bright colors?”

  “I. Don’t. Know.” But spending the evening in a standoff with a potentially lethal lizard held zero appeal. Time to man up. He advanced to the center of the shower, and extended an arm to Quinn. “Come on. Walk behind me, and straight out the door. It’s probably asleep.”

  She inched away from the wall. “You think?”

  “I’m sure it’s asleep.” He waved her forward in a SEAL Team Six signal for move-your-ass, but as soon as she’d taken a full step, the animal skittered toward them. Quinn’s shriek bounced off the walls, and the next thing he knew, he had a nearly naked woman climbing him like a jungle gym, and a surprisingly strong arm vised around his windpipe. He hefted her onto his back while retreating to the wall again. The bloodthirsty beast stopped about a foot away and stared God only knew where with its round, side-mounted eyes.

  “Okay…okay. Quinn. Let me breathe.”

  The arm around his throat loosened a faction and he gulped oxygen. Over the rush of his pulse in his ears, he heard her say, “It’s not asleep.”

  “Thanks, Princess Obvious. I got that.”

  “Jeez. It moves fast.” She hoisted herself a little bit higher on his back. “Do you think it can jump?”

  Shit. If there was a God listening to his prayers, no. “I doubt—”

  That’s as far as he got, because the ugly motherfucker charged them, and Quinn screamed again—way louder than he did—and scrambled to get a leg over his shoulder. He braced a hand on the wall to regain his balance, wrapped his other arm around as much of her as he could reach, and then he did what any guy in his shoes would do.

  He ran.

  Some idiot kept panting, “Watch your head…watch your head…” as he hauled ass out of the shower, the alcove, and the gym. By the time he reached the courtyard, a rational part of him recognized the need for speed had ended, but his fight-or-flight instinct didn’t respond to reason. He kept on running, up the steps and through the open patio doors to her villa. Just inside, he slipped on a rug some interior designer had selected without regard for how easily a natural fiber turned into a hazard on ebonized floors. Gravity gave him just enough time to turn so he landed shoulder first, with Quinn tucked into the protection of his body.

  The dull thud of impact was oddly comforting. No sharp pain, no scream from his passenger, no creepy clatter of tiny claws on polished hardwood. Just a diffuse ache that warned him he’d really feel it tomorrow. For now, he rolled onto his back, closed his eyes against the sunbeam slanting through the door, and gave his heart rate a moment to stabilize. The squirming, naked woman draped over him didn’t help the effort, nor did the way her hands slid over his chest while her breathless voice repeated his name—although it reassured him she wasn’t hurt.

  “Luke. Are you okay? Say something. Speak to me.”

  “I’m fine.” Not true. He was in trouble. Her towel was…he had no idea where. Hopefully nearby, but in the meantime, there was way too much naked skin pressed against naked skin. His hand, her ass. Her breasts, his chest. Their legs. A pair of boxer briefs and workout shorts wouldn’t hide what all this was doing to him, and at some point soon, she’d dial in and realize she was a heartbeat away from finding herself pinned to the floor and fucked at a thousand miles per hour—for approximately three seconds.

  As if to prove she didn’t quite appreciate her predicament yet, she laughed. “I gotta say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone run that fast before.”

  He smiled, despite himself. “Are you insinuating my cat-like reflexes are less than heroic?”

  “Perish the thought. I was duly impressed.”

  “Not half as impressed as me, at how you jumped on my shoulders in a single bound. Your Lena Xavier skills are strong.”

  Her chuckle tickled his jaw. “I probably didn’t need to jump on you. I’m pretty sure your scream scared it to death.”

  “My scream? Please.” He mustered up a disparaging grunt and pried his eyes open to see her smug smile. “You screamed. I issued a battle cry.”

  “Battle cry? Huh.” She had the gall to crinkle her brows at him. “I could have sworn you just showed it the meaning of the word ‘retreat.’”

  “I saved the damsel in distress.” He slapped her butt, and then immediately regretted it when his hard-on surged. “But hey, no worries. I can put you back out there with your friend, if that’s your preference.”

  The swat turned her laugh into a snort. “Whoops. I’m bruising your fragile male ego, aren’t I? Sorry. Let me try again.” She batted her lashes at him. “My hero. How can I ever thank you?”

  Then she leaned in, legs sliding to either side of his waist, and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Even though she only meant to play, he groaned.

  Quinn’s lips were as warm and soft as his darkest fantasies, and in those fantasies, they wandered everywhere. His cock jumped, eagerly volunteering to be her next stop, while at the same time he struggled not to pull her closer and capture those addictive lips with his own. Kiss them. Bite them. Coax them open and drink her in until she was all he could taste.

  Her sudden stillness told him the moment she fully appreciated her predicament. And then, God help him, she trailed her mouth up and kissed his chin. Every nerve ending in his lips burned. He imagined fisting his hands in her hair and dragging her mouth the last few millimeters to his. Claiming it. Owning it. Violating it.

  Control yourself.

  His hands found their way along the line of her spine. “I accept—” He cleared his throat, because his voice stalled like a cold engine. “I accept your thanks.”

  She lifted her head and sent him a slow smile. “I’m not done thanking you, yet.”

  He
clamped a hand at the back of her neck, under her hair, and traced her lips with his thumb. First the peaks and dips of the upper, and then the plump curve of the lower. “You’re my client.”

  So get your fucking hands off her.

  She saw a path straight through his mixed signals. “Not right now.” Her tongue snuck out to lick the pad of his thumb. “I’m on my own time, remember?”

  But she wasn’t. Not really. During every second of their arrangement, she remained under his care, and while she didn’t exactly embrace the fact, she’d finally stopped rebelling against it. This wasn’t a power struggle, like their last few skirmishes. She’d worked her way through that phase, for now. But this was a phase, too, despite how real and potent the combination of attraction and affection might feel to her. And his feelings? His were so out of line, he refused to let himself go there. His personal feelings ultimately factored in not one iota, because the rules still applied. “Quinn, this isn’t fair…”

  That got through to her, though not the way he intended. She jerked back as if he’d slapped her. “Jesus, Luke. I’m not trying to buy you—”

  “Not fair to you.” He caught her wrists to hold her to him, because he needed to clarify. “You’re here, thousands of miles from your normal support network…”

  I miss you, too.

  “…counting on me to help you accomplish something very important to you.” Calling on every ounce of self-discipline he possessed, he levered them both up, and placed her on her feet. Then he found the towel she’d lost sometime during the tumble and tossed it over her like a cape. “This relationship is physical, and intimate. Everything about our respective roles makes you vulnerable. I’m controlling all your fundamentals right now, including what you eat, when you work, when you rest. That fosters a huge sense of reliance. Acting on that vulnerability isn’t fair to you. It exploits your trust.”

  He couldn’t judge by her expression whether she accepted his explanation. Unlikely, given she didn’t see herself as needing anyone’s protection, especially not from her own instincts. But she did, and the very fact that she required his services spoke volumes about that. It was past time for him and his unrepentant hard-on to get out, before he broke his own rules. He turned and walked toward the door.

  Her voice stopped him at the threshold. “Maybe you should trust me to know my own mind?”

  He shook his head and kept walking. “I know better.”

  Chapter Ten

  Quinn couldn’t bear to look, but she heard every tap as Luke entered her assessment results into the tracking app on his tablet. She pulled her spine straighter, because good posture made a girl leaner. Right?

  His long, resigned sigh dropped an anchor of failure in her stomach. She opened her eyes and searched his face. “Are you kidding me?”

  He gave her a grave look. “I am. Congratulations. You’ve earned a reward.”

  Shock paralyzed her vocal cords for a second. “Seriously? How much progress have I made?”

  “All of our key measurements are down. Your overall BMI is down. Your strength and endurance are way up. Look at the definition you’ve got here”—he traced a finger along her biceps—“and here.” The finger wandered down her torso, where she could see some actual abs now. “The better question is how do you feel?”

  Horny would be her answer, especially if his fingertip wandered over any more of her body, but she cleared her throat and said, “Good. Energetic. Like if I can handle everything you’ve dished out over the past four weeks in here, I can handle an afternoon of takes on an action scene.”

  “Great.” He walked to the little fridge and pulled a paper bag out of the small freezer section. “Do you want your reward here, or by the pool?”

  By the pool sounded more relaxing. Her villa sounded even more relaxing, but he hadn’t set foot in her domain for three days—since he’d treated her like a woman so screwed up she didn’t know her own mind. He was clearly trying to enforce boundaries, and she was trying to let him because his rejection, no matter how well-intentioned, hurt like a bitch. But the notion of spending time with him somewhere besides the gym tempted her too much.

  “Pool.” She skipped out the door, into thick air, and dappled afternoon sunlight. “What’s my reward?”

  He strolled into the palm-shrouded courtyard at a more sedate pace. “Something from your list of favorites. Two things, actually. Have a seat.” He pointed to the chaise lounges arranged side-by-side near the pool, with a small, wrought iron table between them.

  She plopped down on one and watched as he placed the bag on the table. When she reached for it, he swatted her wrist. “Hands off, grabby. I have something to say before you dig in.”

  “Talk fast, Luke. I want my reward.”

  “Hmm. It’s warm out here. Maybe I’ll take a swim first.” He sent her a mild smile, and then stripped off his shirt.

  “Don’t you dare—” His shirt landed in her face. She swept it aside, and prepared to toss it at him, but her mouth went dry at the wide planes of his chest, the hashtag of his abs, and the enticing line of dark hair trailing from below his navel to where it disappeared beneath the drawstring of his gray sweat shorts. Did he have anything on under them? One little tug and she could find out. As if he’d read her mind, a truly impressive muscle twitched beneath the gray sweats, and lifted in a gravity-defying show of strength.

  She raised her eyes to find him staring down at her with his scowling, clench-jawed look. Forbidding was the word that sprang to mind, as if she needed a reminder that no matter what she did, or how much he wanted her, he’d never actually approve of her. Long-established defense mechanisms had her mustering up a smirk. “I thought you said my reward was in the bag?”

  To her surprise, the comment earned her a laugh, and she realized some of his scowl had been self-directed. “I would leave the choice to you, but I don’t really have any hope of competing with what’s in the bag.” He lowered himself to the other chaise, his big frame dominating the space, legs parted to accommodate hers, the insides of his knees almost brushing the outsides of hers.

  Like a poorly trained puppy, her attention rambled over the thickly braided muscles lining his thighs and honed in on the barrier of loose, gray cotton splayed for her gaze, thanks to his manspreading. Was it a trick of the light, or did she detect—her vision narrowed and salt filled her mouth—sweat-dampened fabric? He’d said he was warm. Her tongue crept to the front of her mouth as she imagined freeing his balls from the shorts and cooling them down with her tongue.

  The sound of Luke clearing his throat had her fixing her gaze on his face. His expression was entirely too knowing. “Before I lose your attention entirely, I want to tell you I’m proud of you.”

  Proud? She snapped her head up so fast, she nearly bit her tongue. “You are?”

  “Yeah. This is not an easy process. Getting results requires physical and mental discipline, and frankly, not everyone can follow through. But you can.” Clear hazel eyes leveled on her, and he added, “I am very proud of how hard you’ve worked.”

  A lump in her throat threatened to choke her. This was no doubt part of the program—establish need, assert control, dismantle resistance, and then slowly build confidence—but even so, his praise felt like rain after a thousand-year drought. To talk herself down before she did something stupid like burst into tears, she nudged his knee with hers. “You sound so surprised. Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?”

  He nudged her right back. “I knew you had it in you. Eddie wouldn’t have called me for a client who didn’t have it in her.”

  “Oh.” The overwhelmed feeling subsided a bit. “Well, that’s really more your faith in Eddie’s judgment.”

  “Eddie’s a smart guy. I respect his opinion, but once I reviewed the show, I agreed. Talent counts for something, but you’re too good at what you do to be the kind of person who lacks commitment and follow-through.”

  Emotion threatened to swamp her again. She put everything she ha
d into her work, but she didn’t expect him to realize—or care. The compliment stunned her. She needed to find some perspective, because being this susceptible to his opinion left her feeling way too fragile. “You only watched the show to check out my tits.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and then lifted a corner of his mouth up in the subtlest of smiles. Tension slipped from her shoulders. He was going to let her get away with diverting the conversation.

  “Every job has perks.”

  “Speaking of which, do I get mine now?”

  His smile went up a notch. He reached into the bag, drew out something about the size of an espresso, and presented it to her with a flourish.

  Sweet Jesus, she really was going to cry. With shaking hands she reached out and touched the mini-cup of imported Belgian chocolate ice cream. “For me?”

  “All yours. I’ve got another one in the bag for me.”

  “Oh…come to mama.” She swiped the treat out of his hand before he could change his mind, and tore the small, wooden spoon from the side of the carton. An instant later the sweet, cold magic of dark chocolate and heavy cream melted on her tongue. She didn’t bother stifling her moan, but quickly scooped up another spoonful.

  “You’re going to give yourself brain freeze.”

  “I’m going to give myself an orgasm. Don’t ruin it for me. I’m almost there.”

  He laughed and popped the lid off his. “Enjoy your reward, Quinn. You’ve earned it.”

  She did. Every ounce of it, in about five seconds. All too soon, she was scraping the bottom of the container, and silently sighing. Ice cream orgasms—so good, but so fleeting. She looked over at Luke.

  He was in the process of bringing a spoonful to his mouth. A big spoonful. As he parted his lips, he caught her looking. His eyes narrowed.