Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation)

by Beck, Samanthe

  She stepped out onto the cobblestone, but he didn’t sense her presence. The phone conversation absorbed all of his attention. And hers. She didn’t come out with the intention of eavesdropping, but she heard him say her name. Moving closer, she waited while the person on the other end of the line spoke in what reached her ears as a tinny, indecipherable ramble.

  Luke’s response, however, was clear enough. “I’ll square it with her. Tear up the contract, Eddie. There are a lot of things I’ll accept from Quinn, but money isn’t one of them.”

  Tear up the contract? Their contract? Something he’d said last night replayed in her mind.

  I’ll deal with the lines we have left.

  She waited patiently and silently while he concluded the call, and then asked, “What did you just do, Luke?”

  The hesitation of his thumb over the screen of his phone offered the only outward indication she’d startled him. He raised his head and turned to look at her, eyes calm, but full of resolve.

  He didn’t need to respond. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Her real question wasn’t what, but why. “Why did you tell Eddie to cancel our contract?”

  …

  Paradise Bay ought to hire Quinn to model their robes. They’d sell a million with a single image of her standing in the courtyard with her hair tumbling down in sexy disarray, and her body drenched in white silk that the first rays of daylight turned semitransparent. Fierce eyes glared with what could, at first glance, look like pure, unadulterated sexual heat, but he knew better. She was riled up, all right. To fight.

  “You know why.” He stood, and slid his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Feel free to argue yourself breathless. It won’t change anything.”

  She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, but he caught a shadow of something else in the blue depths of her eyes. Anxiety? Fear? Instinct told him to drill down on it. He closed the distance between them, and took her proud little chin in a light grip. “What’s wrong?”

  “You just took a big loss, because of me. What’s right about that?”

  Okay. Apparently they’d have to get through this first. “This is what’s right about it.” He covered her stubborn lips with his. A little pressure broke the stern line. They opened on a sigh, and admitted him with the eager escort of her tongue. He moved in, bodily, holding the back of her neck, cupping her ass through the slippery silk, trapping her against him until slender thighs parted for his and lush breasts plumped against his chest. Quick hands trespassed into the back of his jeans, and held. Her heartbeat vibrated through him like an echo of his own. When he lifted his head, she didn’t move, except to let out a soft breath.

  “I can’t think when you do that to me.”

  And he could, with her snuggled against him, head tipped back, lips wet and swollen from his kisses? “You don’t need to think right now.” He kissed her again, and again, suddenly starved for the hot slide of her mouth under his. Following a half-formed notion of laying her out on the chair where she’d bestowed one of his fondest memories and returning the favor, he turned them and then backed her up a step.

  His phone pinged from his pocket, signaling a text.

  She froze. He cursed. “That’s Eddie. Don’t worry about it.”

  Wide, serious eyes stared up at him. She stepped out of his arms and wrapped hers around herself. “I do worry. Luke, I know you think you crossed some kind of line with me, and…look, I don’t know if you’re canceling the contract to make this better for you, or for me, but either way, it’s crazy. It’s not fair to you, and I’m not okay with it. You provided me with your time and professional expertise. I got the benefit of both. You earned your fees. We have a professional relationship—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “We never had a professional relationship. We were far over that boundary before we even got started.”

  “You didn’t want me as a client.”

  “I sure as hell didn’t,” he agreed. “Any more than you wanted me as a trainer. But I wanted you.”

  “A neurotic, narcissistic actress,” she said softly.

  “Seems I’ve got a weakness for your kind of trouble, Trouble.”

  He understood what she was pointing out, though. Not every issue was solved by tearing up a few sheets of paper. She loved what she did. She excelled at it, and he was going to have to deal with her career if he wanted to this to work. If he couldn’t, then canceling the contract really was just a pride-saving sacrifice on his part. “You’re mine.”

  He wanted to say more, tell her more, but more wasn’t fair to her. Not yet. Despite being thousands of miles from home, they weren’t on neutral ground. They were on his turf. And despite canceling the contract, they weren’t on equal ground. Telling her he wanted her was one thing. She’d made no secret of wanting him, too. But as long as she was relying on him to attain her goal, telling her he was falling in love with her smacked of emotional blackmail. He’d convinced her she needed him, and used it as a mechanism for gaining her compliance. But forcing his feelings on her now took unfair advantage of that need. He could eliminate the contract, but he couldn’t eliminate the rest of it quite as easily. He’d have to be patient. “You’re mine, and it has nothing to do with a contract. I don’t want it between us.”

  Pink crept into cheeks. “Luke, I love a grand gesture as much as the next girl, but this has real consequences for you. For your business. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “It will work out. I have a contingency plan.” He’d have to hustle a bit, cut back on his personal time to take on some additional clients, but he’d manage. “I’m not worried.” He ran a thumb over the line between her brows. “You shouldn’t, either.” But neither his words nor his touch made the line disappear. He eased back and took in the stiff set of her shoulders. Time to tackle whatever had put the anxious shadows in her eyes. “Something else on your mind?”

  She nibbled her lower lip, clearly debating.

  Frustration roughened his voice. “Tell me, Quinn. You don’t need a contract in place to trust me with whatever’s worrying you.”

  “I got a call from my mom this morning.” Then, on a long exhale, she spilled out the rest, ending with, “I probably ought to call Eddie now, since he’s awake, and let him know what’s going on.”

  Luke pulled his phone from his pocket, hit the number for her, and handed it over. He waited again while she paced the courtyard and ran through the situation for Eddie, listened to her respond to a few questions, and add a grateful, “Thanks. I really appreciate this.”

  Eddie spoke again, and apparently shifted the conversation, because Quinn stopped wearing a path along the cobblestones and turned her attention to him. “Yeah. He told me.” Eddie said something more, and she laughed. Her first real laugh of the morning. “Yes, I realize I still have to do what he tells me to do.” She sent a smirk his way. “For another week. Then he can do what I say for a change.”

  He simply lifted his brows in reply, but battled back the smile that kept trying to lift the corners of his mouth at her casual reference to a future with him once she returned to real life. Only an idiot would read too much into the comment—especially one intended more as a joke than a guarantee—but he read it as a good sign anyway. When she said good-bye and handed the phone back to him, he took stock of her. She looked better. Not cool, scratch-resistant Quinn Sheridan by a long shot, but less upset.

  He aimed to keep the trend going. “What do you say to a beach day?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “This is your idea of a beach day?”

  Quinn extended her arms and straightened her legs until she stood on the bike pedals. The position gained her enough leverage to continue her slow ascent up the millionth steep hill. She could see the beach—seen plenty of it, in fact, during their meandering, three-and-a-half-mile run around the resort to get to the bike rental place, and plenty more during their bicycle trek to the other side of the island. Stupid her, assuming a beach d
ay meant parking her ass on a towel and sticking her toes in sun-warmed sand.

  Luke looked back at her, his eyes unreadable behind dark sunglasses, but something in the set of his brows told her he was laughing at her. “This is part of it.”

  “The worst part,” she muttered under her breath, and struggled to maintain enough speed to stay upright.

  “Keep pedaling. We’re almost there.”

  “There? It’s an island,” she argued. “We’re surrounded by seashore. The resort has its very own beach right on the property. Chilled drinks, full-service cabanas, and best of all, no bike ride required.”

  “I don’t think you really want a bunch of resort guests and staff underfoot when I peel you out of your bikini and apply sunscreen to all your hard-to-reach places.”

  Oh. Well, maybe not.

  “Besides, the view is worth the trip.” He faced forward again, and she had to admit the current view did not suck. Late morning sun played over a mouthwatering arrangement of bulging delts, angled traps, and strong scapulae before tapering down long, lean lats partially obscured by the dark-blue backpack strapped to his shoulders. The bulk of it shaded the lower half of his back, casting shadows into twin dimples at the base of his spine. Then he raised his body higher on his bike as well, treating her to an eyeful of rock-hard glutes bunching and flexing under a thin veil of blue and white hibiscus print swim trunks. Sweat darkened the waistband just below the small of his back. She had a quick, naughty urge to tug the damp fabric down and lick the salty skin. Licking and licking so the taste coated her mouth, and then spearing her tongue into the tight crevice at the top of his ass until he cursed and threatened her with toe-curling…consequences.

  She was so lost in the fantasy, she almost didn’t notice they were cresting the hill. Her speed picked up as she followed Luke down a slight decline, and then squeezed the brake when he said, “This way.” He leaned his body into a turn in the absently graceful way of someone accustomed to riding, and disappeared into what looked like a wall of jungle. Seconds later, she coasted to the same spot and saw he’d steered his bike down a dirt path. She followed, clutching the brakes with white-knuckled intensity as greenery whipped by on either side of the narrow, rutted path. Trees and vines formed a canopy above them. The ocean breeze gave way to thicker air, and thicker scents—rain-soaked soil overlaid with a steaming perfume of wild growing fruits, exotic flowers, and an invisible zoo of animals and insects.

  Just as her ponderings about the animals and insects part of the equation started to freak her out, the vegetation ended. They shot into sunlight so bright and startling, she blinked behind her polarized sunglasses. Drifts of sand encroached on the path, shushing her tires. She sort of stalled to a stop beside where Luke stood straddling his bike. He took hold of her handlebar in a caretaker move that wasn’t necessary, but made her heart stutter anyway.

  “What do you think?”

  She forced herself to relinquish the sight of his big, masculine hand wrapped around her bike handle, tendons raised in an unconscious show of strength, and looked at her surroundings. The curtain of green they’d traveled through surrounded a small cove. The beach slanted gently down to where knee-high waves foamed out to an iridescent sheen on pearly white sand. Beyond, blue-green water stretched all the way to the horizon. Puffy white clouds sailed there like a distant regatta.

  “Breathtaking.”

  “Yeah.”

  She turned to find him looking at her, his dark glasses pushed to the top of his head so she couldn’t mistake the fact that she was the object of his attention. He was calling her beautiful, and it was nothing she hadn’t heard hundreds of times from hundreds of people, but from him, it went beyond an acknowledgment of lucky genetics, or even a compliment. It meant something. Or she wanted it to, at least. Swagger was her only defense against that stare of his—the one that saw so much more than she’d ever shown anyone. She dismounted and walked her bike toward an outcrop of rocks. “If you’re trying to make me forget you dragged me through the better part of an Ironman under the pretenses of a beach day, you’re going to have to try harder.”

  He walked his bike over and parked it beside hers. The corner of his mouth lifted. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Dance with me.” The request flew out of her mouth before she realized what she’d intended to say.

  He looked as startled by the request as she was. The breeze rustled through the palms while he shrugged off the backpack. The waves lapped the sand. From the depths of the trees came the warble of birds. “We don’t have any music,” he finally said, as he unzipped the center compartment and busied himself digging around inside.

  “Are you blushing?” Delighted at the thought, she moved closer.

  “No.” Without looking up, he handed her a towel.

  She tossed it to the sand. Her sunglasses and slouchy tank top followed. “I’ve got at least twenty different playlists on my phone.” She didn’t give a damn about music. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t really danced in months—not since the knee sprain—and she missed it. She felt like dancing, and she wanted his arms around her when she did it. “What’s the matter, Luke? Afraid to dance with me? Worried you can’t keep up?”

  She kicked off her shorts and twirled away, loving the sheer freedom of the movement, knowing her hard-won shape made the most of the little black bikini she’d chosen. Thanks to Luke’s coaching…browbeating…whatever, and her own determination, her body had returned to the slender, camera-ready condition she’d taken for granted most of her life. Experimenting, she did a fluid turn and took it into a leap. The familiar weightlessness left her giddy. She landed ankle deep in a wave and sucked in a quick breath as tiny droplets of cool water splashed her.

  Deciding to deal with the painful part sooner than later, she leaned over, scooped up handfuls of water, and poured them on her arms, chest, and middle. In the process, she couldn’t help noting with satisfaction that five weeks of work and sacrifice were definitely paying off in the form of lean limbs, a flat stomach, and an ass tight enough to star in its own close-up. Weight training had put new definition in her arms and torso. She’d always had dancer’s legs, and at this moment, she wanted to use them.

  Her chosen partner, however, stood barefoot at the waterline, arms folded across his superhero chest. “Seems like a partner would only get in your way. How about I be the audience?”

  He needed convincing? She could be convincing. Especially since she’d caught the admiration in his eyes, not just for her body, but her ability. She wanted more of that. Because they had the spot all to themselves, she did another twirl, whipped off her bikini top in the process, and covered herself with her arm. Aware of his eyes now locked on her partially hidden breasts, she flung the top at his feet. “I prefer audience participation.” She skimmed a foot through the surf and kicked water at him.

  “Careful what you ask for.”

  “I don’t think I need to be careful.” To prove it, she turned her back on him, stretched up onto her toes, and twined her arms behind her head, lifting her hair and letting it tumble down her back. “You know what I do think?”

  “If you’re smart, you’ll think about how fast you can run.”

  “Ha. I think big, bad Luke McLean doesn’t know how to dance.”

  The next instant quick hands spun her around. She found herself caught in strong arms and pulled against unyielding contours of an unmistakably male frame.

  A hot, hard ridge carved space for itself along her fluttering stomach. Very male.

  Her limbs turned leaden and heat dripped like melted caramel from low in her abdomen to a place between her thighs.

  “This is how I dance,” he murmured.

  A burly hand sank into the back of her bikini bottoms, cupped her ass, and lifted her. Stranded her against him. “Dirty dancing?” she panted.

  His mouth nuzzled her ear. “I guess that’s one name for it.”

  “Okay. I can work with your skillset.�
��

  He hitched her higher and let her slide down the length of his cock. “Good to know.” His teeth sank into her earlobe.

  Her eyelids threatened to close, but she mustered up some willpower and squirmed out of his hold. “Uh-uh. I meant dancing. This is my area of expertise, so I’m in charge. I get to be the trainer. You’re the trainee.”

  The look he gave her told her he was about three seconds from throwing her over his shoulder, carrying her up the beach, and showing her who was in charge. She slapped a hand to the center of his chest and aimed her best nobody-puts-Baby-in-a-corner look at him. “Or are you afraid to put all these big, strong muscles at my mercy?”

  He lowered his brows in a scowl. “Quinn, I’ve got two left feet and a dick as hard and heavy as a ten-pound free weight throbbing in my shorts. You really think you’ve got what it takes to turn me into Patrick Swayze?”

  “You bet your two left feet I do. Now take your ten-pound dick and go stand over there.”

  …

  Luke waded knee deep into the surf and stood where Quinn indicated. “Here?”

  “Face me.”

  “Never turn your back to the ocean,” he grumbled, but did as she asked. Nothing the Caribbean threw at him could be more dangerous than Quinn standing ten feet away on the sand, wearing a reckless smile and a tiny black scrap of a bikini bottom. Sunlight bathed her, turning her skin luminous, and shimmering off her blond hair like a halo. His chest tightened just looking at her. Words he’d promised himself he wouldn’t say yet echoed in his mind. He shook his head to silence them.

  “When I say ‘up,’ I want you to plant your feet, bend your knees a little, and put your arms up like this,” Quinn instructed, and raised her hands over her head, palms up, about shoulder width apart. The move lifted her breasts like an offering. His cock jerked so hard, he nearly groaned.