Compromised in Paradise (Compromise Me 3)

“You know Dad handed over the reins of St. Sebastian to Rafe? He’s truly stepped out of the role. He’ll be here now full time, as the general manager of this resort.”

“Oh please. Handed over the reins?” Sonja shook her head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Hey, you never know.”

Her mother leaned back, folded her arms above her head, and stretched like a cat. “You never know.” She sighed and relaxed. “I do love Maui. I could happily spend serious time here.”

“Me, too.” Rider’s face flashed in her mind.

“Extend your stay, honey. ”

“We’ll see.” Would he be interested in more? With Arden St. Sebastian this time?

Chapter Twelve

Nick hit the call button on the gate to the villa, smoothed his already-smooth tie, and caught himself before he shot his cuffs.

Nerves.

He’d laugh if it weren’t so pathetic. Not because he was nervous, but because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this restless energy before a date. When was the last time an evening had really mattered to him?

The gate unlocked with a buzz, and he walked through.

Tonight mattered. This woman mattered. It wasn’t simply lust anymore, the desire to have a little mutual fun, or even his ego-driven need to unlock her orgasm. Somewhere along the line he’d stopped playing and started falling for her. Now he had to convince her there was more to him—to them—than just a week of enterprising sex.

He walked along one side of the pool and spared a moment reminiscing as he passed his favorite lounge chair. While his pride might view that first evening as an abject failure, it wasn’t lost on him now how things would have worked out had he succeeded in delivering the soul-deep, hurts-so-good, pray-for-mercy orgasm he’d promised. That first night would have been their last. They would have gone their separate ways, smug and satiated, never knowing what they were missing. And he didn’t mean just the week of enterprising sex so much as the chance to get to know each other, to forge trust, or just to laugh at tacky souvenirs in a tourist trap.

But did she see it that way? Did she see him as someone with long-term potential? Playing to his established strengths seemed like a good way to start convincing her, and enterprising sex was definitely an established strength. He fingered the corded silk drawstring of the black bag he held—the second purchase resulting from the shopping trip he’d taken during his lunch break. Hopefully the front desk had made sure their guest in the villa received purchase number one. Enticing her to offer more while seducing an orgasm from her might not be the fairest way to fight for what he wanted, but…holy fuck.

The czarina opened the door and floored him. Nerves burned away in a firestorm of want. She’d been sexy as hell that first night at the bar in her slinky sundress, and she was way beyond girl-next-door pretty in cutoffs and a T-shirt—much less those tiny bikinis she wore the shit out of—but tonight she’d shown no mercy. She’d done something to her hair so it cascaded around her shoulders in smooth waves his fingers itched to dive into. The way she stood in the doorway with her forearm braced against the doorframe and one leg draped over the other posed her body in a graceful S across the threshold. Slippery black fabric suspended by two narrow straps hugged every curve from breast to knee. Sheer black stockings and shiny, lethal stilettos turned her legs into erotic distractions. Even with her ankles demurely together, a man couldn’t help imagining them splayed wide over tangled sheets or locked around his neck.

Lips, as ripe and red as cherries, parted as if she’d read his mind.

He closed in and took a moment to acknowledge she’d probably invested some time on those smooth waves and cherry lips, but then he pulled her into him and proceeded to wreck it all anyway.

Her breasts were a familiar weight against his chest now, and her mouth a familiar destination. He felt all of it even before she settled into place.

Strawberries, not cherries. Her lips tasted vaguely of strawberries thanks to the gloss or lipstick, or whatever it was. He dragged his fingers through her hair and breathed in a flowery scent overlaying her shampoo. “Your hair smells different,” he said against her mouth.

“Spray. For the curl.” She spoke fast between kisses. Her arms twined around his neck.

“Something you break out of the arsenal when you intend to slay a guy?”

“Do I?” Soft lips nibbled his. “Slay you?”

He tipped her head back and looked down at her. “Czarina, you slay me in the blink of an eye, just by breathing. You slay me in your sleep.”

Kiss-smudged lips curved into a surprisingly shy smile. “You’ve never seen me sleep. For all you know I’m a mouth-breathing cover-hog.”

“But a slaying one.”

She laughed and ran her fingers along his freshly shaved jaw. “You clean up pretty well yourself.” Her thumb wandered to his lower lip and swiped one side. He realized she was wiping her lipstick from the spot, and teasing his lip was merely a by-product, but his body didn’t know the difference. He dipped his head and bestowed a quick bite to the pad of her thumb, just to watch surprise and desire flare in her eyes.

“I promised you a suit.”

“So you did.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You promised me dancing, too.”

“Invite me in, and we’ll dance.”