She didn’t say it as a question, but he responded anyway. “None of the above.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her soft, parted lips. “I really enjoyed the way you threw a drink at my head, though.”
“Sorry, not sorry.”
He kissed her again, more deeply. “I’m sure I had it coming, but your aim needs work.”
Here’s where he had to tread lightly. Ease her into the idea of extending their relationship beyond the close of the deal, and from there…more. Always more, because in the last six weeks he hadn’t managed to figure out the cure to this never-ending, insatiable need for her—her sassy comebacks delivered in that smooth, well-mannered way, the dimple in her cheek, her soft heart and hard head. Another six weeks, or six months, or even six years wouldn’t do the trick. He trailed his mouth along her jaw, and then nibbled her ear. “How about I come to Maui at least once a quarter and give you some target practice?”
She stilled, and then her hands flattened on his chest—not pulling him in, not pushing him away. He didn’t know what to make of it, so he nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear.
“Y-you’d commit to…coming to Maui once a quarter?”
“Give or take.” So far her reaction fell short of thrilled. Cautious was his best read. He dragged his lips back to hers, and applied persuasion.
Her breath came out in a long, slow exhale against his cheek. “I won’t be there.”
That stopped him cold. He drew back. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll be in Tahiti.”
Tahiti? What the hell? Maui was already a stretch, a five-hour flight from anywhere he could reasonably designate as his main office. Tahiti was remote. Remote to the point of running away—again. Except this time, he had no choice but to assume she was running from him. “You’re telling me this now?”
“You never asked about my plans.” She raised her eyes to his face, but for once he couldn’t read her thoughts in those dark depths. “As part of the deal liaison package, the Templetons offered me the general manager position at the new resort. You’ll have time to find a new manager for Maui, but after a reasonable transition period, I’m moving on.”
“I assumed—”
“Yes, you did, but I’m not sure why. I told you at the outset I wasn’t going to sleep with my boss. I learned my lesson the first time around. Been there. Done that. Wore out the T-shirt.”
This was bullshit. No matter what his title, he wasn’t Barrington, and he resented the hell out of her dumping him in the same sleazy, untrustworthy bucket. Another thing he resented? She’d never once discussed this with him. Why? He grabbed for the most obvious answer. “Chelsea, you don’t want to go to Tahiti.”
Her chin came up. “Yes, I—”
He used his mouth to cut her off, almost enjoying the taste of her anger and the urgent way she kissed him back. Maybe she refused to admit her feelings even to herself, but this he could trust. Their bodies had never been anything except brutally honest with each other. What the hell, he’d fuck the truth out of her. All night, if that’s what it took. He tore at the front of her jeans while she sucked his tongue so hard he felt the pull all the way to his balls.
A second later her pants were undone. He couldn’t say whether he unzipped them or ripped them, but the fabric gave way and that’s all that mattered. He set her on her feet long enough to dig a condom out of his pocket, yank his fly open, and protect her. In the time it took, she managed to work one leg out of her jeans. Good enough. He swept one hand under her sweater and tugged her bra out of his way. With the other, he reached around and got a grip on the back of her thong. “You don’t want to go to Tahiti.”
“You don’t have the first clue what I want.” The hands in his hair pulled hard, dragging his mouth down to hers.
He ripped her panties off. She gasped. Her hands dove under his sweater to latch onto his shoulders, and her hips rocked forward. He hitched her up a little higher, nudged himself into position, and let her squirm there while her small, frustrated cries floated on the wind. “Still running away, Chelsea?”
Her head whipped back and forth. “Not running away. Getting on with my life.”
Damn her. He wanted to pull back, to hold out until sheer need forced her to eat her words, but he overestimated his own restraint. The way she trembled against him, the bite of her fingernails on his shoulder, the wet, tight kiss of her body over the head of his cock obliterated all those intentions. The single, driving compulsion to be inside her superseded everything. And then he was. A surge forward buried him deep, brought her clit down hard on the base of his shaft. Her scream reverberated in his ears, desperate and euphoric at the same time. The last of his control ebbed like sand under a raging surf. She became a w
ave in his arms, arching, rising, cresting, and when she broke over him, she dragged him down, too. The orgasm drowned his so-called strategy under a crushing wall of pleasure.
Chelsea crept down the curved stairway she had no distinct memory of climbing last night, and saw her single piece of luggage sitting forlornly inside the front door where Daryl had left it last night. As if she’d really expected to have a quick, civilized dinner and then be on her way. Sore muscles in her calves, her thighs, and less mentionable places laughed at the very idea. He owned her body as soon as he touched her—a fact he’d firmly established in a supply closet at Las Ventanas—and pretending otherwise only gave him yet another opportunity to prove her wrong. He owned her heart, too, but at least that sad fact remained her secret. Determined to keep it that way, she relied on the meager pre-dawn light to guide her to the living room where she’d left her purse.
She had to get out of there. Now. Last night’s emotional roller coaster had left her reeling. Jealousy, followed by profound, head-swimming relief when he’d informed her the woman in the picture was his sister. For a few precious seconds she’d let her hopes soar, only to have them come crashing down when he’d tossed out what was essentially a, “Whenever I’m in Maui,” proposition. Admittedly, for him the offer probably felt like a commitment, but for her, it underscored the vast gap between what she wanted and what he had to give. Anger and pride had held her tongue last night, but if she faced him in the light of day, with her anger depleted and her pride fucked to shreds, she’d most likely throw herself at his feet and beg for whatever scraps he could offer. She’d subjugate her own wants and needs to suit him.
Same old Chelsea.
The thought got her moving. Carefully, she slipped her phone out of her bag, sat on the sofa, and called a cab. As she spoke with the dispatcher, she dug her compact out of her bag, opened it, and glanced into the mirror. Her listless, sleep-deprived reflection stared back at her, and a red mark decorated the side of her throat.
Branded, like one of the herd. She ran her fingertip over the tender spot, triggering the memory of his mouth on her skin. She dragged her attention back to the conversation in time to hear the dispatcher tell her they had a drop-off in Twilight Cove and the cab would be in the drive in less than five minutes. Miracle. Fate smiled on her for once.
She tossed the phone in her bag and then walked to the door. After opening it, she paused for a last look around. Stalling. Hoping he’d come down the stairs searching for her, and say some magic words that would make her feel like she could still do this.
But she couldn’t. One positive thing had come out of the last six weeks. She wasn’t ready to give up on love anymore. She knew what she wanted, though, and she wasn’t going to find it with Rafe.