Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me 3) - Page 17

Enough to take a daybreak pilgrimage up the side of a mountain.

In truth, she’d agreed to his invitation before she’d fully understood it. When he’d leaned across the front seat of the Jeep yesterday evening, kissed her senseless, and asked her to see the sunrise with him, she’d assumed he meant from the bedroom of her villa, or maybe the balcony of his room. A “yes” had rolled off her tongue without hesitation. She’d even basked in a moment of glory. So much for your delayed gratification, huh, Rider? Then he’d said, “Great. I’ll pick you up at five.” The next thing she knew, he’d driven off.

Sneaky.

“Did you sleep well, Czarina?”

The question pulled her attention away from the dark landscape whirring past her window. She snuggled into the thick blue hoodie he’d zipped her into first thing this morning and stifled a yawn. “Not too bad.”

The bags under her eyes probably told a different story, but hopefully it was too dark for him to see them. After yesterday’s sunset sail, not to mention her first non-solo orgasm in longer than she cared to calculate, she should have been able to pour herself into bed and drift off to dreams of gentle seas and firm hands. But no.

Her father had pinged her with a bunch of additional questions about her purchase order, and a reminder about her Saturday night date. Rafe had left a thinly disguised check-in attempt in the form of a voicemail asking her to call him. A long phone conversation with her mother hadn’t helped matters, either. She’d managed to convince Sonja not to hop on a flight to Maui—barely—by mentioning that Luc expected to arrive later in the week. Between Sonja’s uneven maternal instincts, her father’s matchmaking, and her brother’s not-so-subtle attempts to keep tabs on her, the man sitting beside her might well be the only thing saving her from a nervous breakdown.

Her eyes strayed from the purple sky to him. This morning he wore gray cutoff sweats that ended a few inches above his knees and left the rest of his long, tan legs bare. But even where they covered him, they hid nothing. Not the strength of his thighs, or the mesmerizing contours of the one thing he’d withheld from her yesterday. Would he give it to her today?

She pressed her thighs together to combat the sudden, sharp need. What if she just…took it? One tug of a drawstring and those shorts would be open and gaping. She could have his hot length in her fist. She could lower her head to his lap and kiss the smooth, blunt tip. How long would delayed gratification last if she did that?

Maybe he sensed her thoughts, because he laughed. “Get your dirty little mind out of my pants, Czarina.”

Damn, he read her like a billboard. Most people didn’t. “Don’t get cocky.”

“You like cocky,” he shot back, and then pointed to a small bag tucked into the tray in the center console. “On the off chance you also like banana-macadamia muffins, there are some in that bag.”

“Thanks. Maybe later.” Much later. Baked goods, no matter how tasty, wouldn’t satisfy her appetite. She knew this from experience. She slid her gaze back to him, to look her fill from beneath her eyelashes. In deference to the chilly air, he wore a black fleece pullover, with the three snaps at the collar open to reveal a white T-shirt beneath. The pullover had a less predictable effect on her than the shorts. It made her imagine snuggling into him.

The impulse struck her as more out of line than the urge to wrangle his dick out of his shorts. People in relationships snuggled. People on a six-day sexfest didn’t. Did they?

His unshaven jaw stirred up all her hormones—the cuddlers and the ones fueling her dirty little mind.

The Jeep hit a dip in the road and jostled her. The slap of smooth leather sent shocks to already overstimulated parts of her. She clasped both hands around her coffee cup and took a gulp.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me so early,” he said, keeping his eyes on the still-dark road.

“No”—a yawn interrupted her reply—“problem.”

“Don’t see too many early mornings in Siberia, Czarina?”

The tires bounced over another bump and sent a new round of punishment throbbing through her. She ground her teeth to keep from groaning. “I see my fair share. I work for a living.”

“Really?” He rubbed his jaw, oblivious to what the rasp of skin on stubble did to her insides. “What do you do?”

I sabotage myself by bringing up topics I don’t want to discuss. Sometimes she was her own worst enemy. For a moment she imagined telling him the truth. I’m Arden St. Sebastian. My family owns the resort where we met, along with a few hundred others around the globe. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?

But complicating their nice, simple scenario with reality risked ruining it, so she shrugged. “Have meetings. Adhere to budgets. Send emails. Nothing earth-shattering. My only point was, I don’t sleep ’til noon.”

I can’t, on account of the giant stick up my ass.

She was spared any need to elaborate because he pulled up to a National Park Service tollbooth. The conversation paused while the ranger confirmed his reservation, and he paid the entrance fee. Once they were under way again, he turned to her. “Even if you don’t usually sleep in, you probably don’t drag yourself out of bed before dawn.”

“How could I miss the best motherfucking sunrise of my life? What would my friends in Siberia say?”

He grinned and took a right into a nearly empty lot. “I have no idea, but I appreciate you being so flexible.” After pulling into a parking space, he cut the engine, and then surprised her with an unexpectedly serious look. “I wanted to see you, but I have a…um…let’s call it a prior commitment, later today and I can’t cancel.”

He wanted to see her. It helped to hear him say so, because clearly, she’d wanted to see him, too. So much so she’d put her desperation on parade by getting up before sunrise to do it, but then again, her chance at playing it cool had ended somewhere around the time he’d called her out on faking an orgasm.

What she didn’t expect was how completely uncool she wanted to play it now. Questions buzzed around her head like gnats. What was his prior commitment? She’d assumed he was on vacation, but maybe he wasn’t? Or—shit—maybe he had another date?

He reached behind her seat for the blanket, and his innocent expression told her he knew exactly what suspicion he’d planted in her brain. Was this his way of reminding her they had a temporary, no-strings-attached arrangement? He was free to play, so don’t get too attached?

Tags: Samanthe Beck Compromise Me Romance
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