Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me 3)

She took it from him, sho

t him a look that managed to be panicked and apologetic at the same time, and muttered, “I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

Then she stepped away without a backward glance and intercepted the Charlize Theron look-alike with a resigned, “Mom. You look beautiful. What are you doing here?”

Mother embraced daughter, and he felt the brief inspection of blue eyes before the older woman drew away and focused her attention on Arden.

He kept moving, crossing the lobby and walking into the lounge to commandeer the seat at the end of the bar. From there, he could watch the mother-daughter reunion in the lobby without being too obvious.

Coloring aside, they resembled each other. Same profile. Same Nordic cheekbones and wide-set eyes. Of course, there were plenty of contrasts, too. Her mother looked smooth and elegant. Meanwhile, the wind had blown waves into Arden’s dark hair, and the sun had put pink in her cheeks. Instead of silk she wore bikini top and those little shorts that made every guy in the vicinity check out her ass. Still, she had her mother’s bone-deep elegance.

It was impossible to know if she sensed his attention, but she never looked his way. Apparently there would be no introductions. The czarina might invite him to spend the night with her, but invite him into her actual life? Nope. The bitter taste of disappointment brewed in the back of his throat. He swallowed it.

She hadn’t even told him her name. Why would she introduce him to her mother? How the hell would that even work?

Hi Mom. Meet Rider, my vacation fuck-buddy. We’re going to go at each other for two more days and then be on our merry ways.

No wonder he could practically feel a footprint on his ass, kicking him out the door. The bitter taste came back. He caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a beer. Sex was the extent of their deal. And while he’d never gone into something with the boundaries so well spelled out before, a short-term, mutual exchange of laughs and orgasms was his typical deal. One that worked for him perfectly well. Maybe he’d lost sight of the limits for a minute when she’d asked him to spend the night, but—he glanced across the room to see mother and daughter still standing together in the lobby, an island of two in an animated conversation—she hadn’t. Her mother hugged her again, and then, arms linked like conspirators, they walked off toward the elevator bank. She clearly wasn’t looking for more. Not with him.

The bartender put a beer in front of him. He picked it up and took a long swallow. Fine by him. He didn’t want more. He wasn’t good at more.

You’re not good at it, and she doesn’t want it, so contact Evelyn and cancel the date. Arden St. Sebastian will not think it’s funny if the guy her father is trying to set her up with turns out to be the czarina’s temporary sex toy.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and delayed the inevitable for a moment by checking his messages. Nothing urgent. One of the residents was looking for someone to take her Saturday shift in the ER. If he believed in signs from fate, he’d call it one. He texted his aunt.

I can’t make it Saturday after all. Please tell your friend I’m sorry. Buy you dinner Sunday to make it up to you?

He’d barely taken another drink when his phone buzzed. Wincing at the ordeal to come, he answered.

“What do you mean you can’t make it?”

His aunt’s exasperation carried over the line. “Somebody asked me to cover a shift at the hospital.” True in fact, if not spirit.

“Say no. You’re busy. You have a commitment.”

Resolve replaced the exasperation in her voice. Aunt Evelyn wasn’t giving up without a fight. This could go sideways on him if he didn’t proceed carefully. “A senior resident aiming for a staff position can’t get too busy with other commitments.”

“Phooey. You’re entitled to a life, and the hospital knows it. You’re the one avoiding commitment.”

And boom. There it was. He wanted to avoid this conversation, but it was speeding toward him like a runaway train and he was stalled on the tracks. He shifted on his barstool. “I’m not avoiding it, I’m just…”

“Avoiding getting involved with anyone,” his aunt interjected, but more gently now. “You’ve been doing it since medical school. Since Lisa.”

His ribs squeezed in on his lungs. “Aunt Evelyn, I’m fine. Honestly. Don’t worry about me. I have plenty of”—Jesus, there was no good way to say this to his aunt—“involvements.”

“You have a revolving door for a social life. That’s not involvement, it’s just another form of avoidance.”

So much for phrasing things delicately. “Evelyn—”

“I understand. I really do. You needed time to heal after what happened. Not only did you have to withstand the shock of the loss, Lisa’s death left you with unanswered questions. You’ll never have good answers for those questions, but instead of accepting that and moving on, you choose not to take the risk. You don’t want to fail anybody.”

God, it was hot in here. Sweat beaded his forehead. He took a slightly desperate gulp of the cold beer. “I know my own limits. Is that so wrong?”

“It’s wrong to sell yourself short, Nick. That’s a form of failure, too. You’ll end up letting something good slip right through your fingers.”

Was that what he was doing with Arden? Letting her slip through his fingers rather than trying to make her see him as something he hadn’t even seen himself as for a long time? The questions landed a little too close for comfort. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to deflect his aunt. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right girl yet?”

His mind rejected the words as soon as they left his mouth.