Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me 3)

The blush made an encore appearance, extra bright this time. “N-not a problem.”

“This rule applies to you, too, Czarina. Understand? No touching yourself here, or here, or even here.”

Her eyelids fluttered. She licked her lips. “I…Lord…how would you know if I cheated?”

He closed his mouth over hers and kissed her damp lips at the same time he closed his thumb and forefinger over the bundle of nerves Mother Nature had designed to help her enjoy sex. Want it. Need it. “I’ll know.” He squeezed firmly enough to make her gasp and clutch his shoulders. “I know exactly how ripe and ready this little clit is. Over the next five days it’s only going to get riper, and readier, unless you sneak in some relief behind my back. So here’s the deal, Czarina. For the next five days, all this is mine.”

Chapter Four

“I called last night. You didn’t answer. Where were you?”

Arden stepped to the side of the palm-lined path leading to the main entrance of the resort to let a young Japanese couple pass. They walked arm in arm, smiling and whispering to each other, lost in their own world.

Meanwhile, she stood in the middle of what had, until recently, been an upscale singles paradise, getting the third degree via phone from her father. There was something wrong with this picture. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and squinted at the gently swaying palms. Very wrong.

“I turned in early.” True, though not technically the reason she’d ignored his calls.

“It was barely nine your time.”

She refused to argue this. In her younger years, Luc had been too busy overseeing his empire to be bothered with her comings and goings. Now that he had the time, and—inexplicably—the inclination, she was way past the age of feeling compelled to account to a parent for every moment of her day. “Dad, what do you want?”

“Kindly remind your mother to refrain from using the corporate account for her personal travel. Attending a tennis tournament in Palm Springs is not a business expense.”

Arden sighed. “I think it was a golf tournament, actually.” Acting as go-between for her mother and father was another source of stress, though this one she should have been used to. Luc and Sonja got along better if they stayed out of each other’s ways, and she’d been recruited to the role of enabler a long time ago. Rafe did many things well, but he wasn’t going to manage their parents’ dysfunctional relationship. That chore landed primarily on her.

Her father greeted the reply with silence, and of course, she relented. “All right. I’ll remind her next time I speak with her.”

“Thank you. Now, I also have some questions about the amenities you recommended for the standard guest suites. Do you have a copy of the list?”

“Not in front of me, no.” She hadn’t “recommended” anything. She’d sent a request for a purchase order to St. Sebastian’s accounting office. After negotiating long-distance for the better part of a month with a Maui-based cosmetics company, and meeting with the management in person today, she’d finalized a deal that would stock every guest suite at the resort with luxurious, locally produced body and bath products. “And I’m on my way out for a few hours, so my time is limited. Are your questions quick?”

“The shampoo—”

“It’s not shampoo.” And this was a perfect example of why selecting guest room amenities was not something they did by committee. Choosing these products was her job. She did it well, and stayed on budget…mostly. “It’s a ninety-nine point eight percent natural, environmentally sound, specially blended hair cleansing product.”

“Pardon me. It’s also ten dollars per one-ounce bottle. Too much to spend on something that ends up down a drain. Shall we replace the toilet paper with dollar bills and let our guests flush them down the toilet?”

An ominous pressure settled across her forehead. The cost would have been higher had she not negotiated a volume discount

. He should be commending her on the coup of securing such an exclusive product line at an advantageous price. “A standard room costs seven hundred dollars a night. At that level, guests expect luxury in every detail of their experience. If the shampoo reminds them of something they can get off a drugstore shelf at home, they start to wonder why they didn’t stay at the Four Seasons.”

Hopefully the possibility of comparing unfavorably with the competition would quiet her father, because the company in question had already committed to increase production and create co-branded product packaging based on her order. She shouldn’t even be having this conversation. The only person entitled to question her choices at this point was Rafe.

“We have verified the necessity of this expense?”

“Of course.” The pressure decided to nest at the back of her head, a dull, heavy dragon with restless talons. She walked through the lobby to the front entrance and spied Mr. Skyrider parked under the pillared carport, behind the wheel of a convertible black Jeep Wrangler. Dark sunglasses sat atop windblown hair. He looked up from his phone at that moment, and… Howdy stranger. Come here often? He was clean-shaven. Her lips tingled with a sudden, almost unmanageable urge to trail along his smooth jaw. She took a deep breath, and her headache subsided. “Dad, I’ve got to go.”

“I have more questions, and another item I need you to relay your mother —”

“Later.” She disconnected, and then, with Rider’s eyes still on her—one brow lifted in silent challenge—she deliberately powered down the phone.

“Drama in Siberia?” he asked as the valet helped her into the car.

She rolled her eyes and tossed the phone into her tote bag like she was dropping a mic. “Always.”

“Good news. I’ve got the perfect escape.” Then he grabbed a handful of the front of her shirt and tugged her to him. The scent of sunscreen, aftershave, and vital, sun-warmed man reached her seconds before his lips brushed hers. Just a brush, then another, but all her senses succumbed to the seduction of the kiss—the firmness of his lips, the minty wash of his breath, the male growl rumbling from the back of his throat. Somehow, her hands ended up tangled in his hair, all the better to cling to him when he slowly eased back.

“That definitely worked.” And because he was strictly a temporary diversion, she didn’t need to care how crazy she looked when she followed her original instinct and ran her lips along the underside of his jaw—or when she closed her eyes and breathed him in.