Dirty Games (Tropical Temptation)

Callum clean and sober.

No. That needed to be Callum’s wish. She couldn’t make it happen.

Okay, keeping the role.

Work? Really? When confronted with the power and magic of the cosmos, she’d waste a wish on something largely within her control?

Come on, Quinn. You know what you really want. Wish for…

Inevitably, she blinked. The streak of light disappeared before she could finish the thought, leaving her to wonder if something so rare and special had ever been intended for her at all.

…

Luke emerged from a ridiculously good dream of Quinn snuggled against him, with her soft breath caressing his throat and her hand tucked inside the waist of his pants, to a waking nightmare of Quinn snuggled against him, her soft breath caressing his throat and her hand tucked inside the waist of his pants.

And a hard ridge behind his zipper angling to meet it. Strangling a groan, he shifted until her hand fell away, and used his own to shove his relentless cock back into his underwear. Quinn mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “Gotta wish quicker,” and burrowed her face into the curve of his neck.

No doubt. Or sleep deeper. Or best plan of all, not consume fifty ounces of beer before nodding off so he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night with a bladder the size of Delaware.

At least that situation was easily solved, as opposed to the one presented by the woman cuddled against him, breathing in a slow, even rhythm that signified she’d slipped effortlessly back into dreamland. It figured Quinn slept with the same abandon with which she did most everything else. He carefully settled her on the sand and went to deal with Delaware.

Standing at the water’s edge communing with nature, with no one to answer to except the ocean, the sky, and the salty air, he confronted the truths he’d hoped to evade last night with the help of barrel-aged stout.

First truth? He was here to do a job. Eddie and Quinn were relying on him to transform her into convincing action-hero form safely, and he intended to do it.

Another truth? Quinn was a beautiful, complicated, fascinating woman, and against his best intentions, he’d developed feelings for her. Strong feelings. Strong enough to warn him he wasn’t getting out of this unscathed, and worse, a reckless part of him didn’t care.

That said, getting personally involved with a client broke certain fundamental rules he’d learned the hard way a long time ago. It turned him into someone he didn’t want to be—someone he’d have a hard time respecting—even though he wasn’t a twenty-two-year-old up-and-comer anymore, and Quinn wasn’t a self-absorbed diva prone to treat him like an accessory she’d bought and paid for. The fact of the matter was, for the term of their contract, he worked for her. In a town as small and thirsty for gossip as Hollywood, others would say it, and the clichéd whispers were hard for people to ignore. Particularly people like his employees, or the network of doctors and other health providers who referred clients to him, and staked their reputations to his by association, or his existing and potential clients, who might stop to question his professionalism.

So, no, as long as the contract remained in effect, he had to keep a lock on his emotions and behave like the fucking professional he was. Luckily, this issue resolved itself in two lousy weeks. Surely he could hold his shit together that long?

And afterward?

Well, hell. Who the fuck knew if there would be an afterward? Irritated, he tugged his zipper up and dragged his sorry ass back up the beach to where Quinn slept. He couldn’t forget there was some petulant motherfucker on the end of a phone line whom she missed. She didn’t want to talk about him, and insisted she wasn’t involved with anyone, but she still took his calls. She still talked to him, which meant whatever they’d had wasn’t over.

Maybe that was for the best, because his track record with actresses wasn’t stellar, and time had only eroded his tolerance for the petty dramas of the Hollywood game. From his pocket, he dug out the card key that got him into the gym every morning. He palmed it, then bent and slid one arm under Quinn’s knees, worked the other under her shoulders, and lifted her smoothly to his chest.

“Yes,” she murmured as he got to his feet with her cradled in his arms. A quick glance down confirmed she still slept. Yes to whom? Yes to what? A hot spear of jealousy gouged a jagged path through his gut, but the burn subsided somewhat when she curled into him and exhaled his name in a dream-laced voice brimming with desire.

Parts of him responded immediately to her husky, completely unconscious invitation. He carried her up the walkway toward her villa and tried to keep his hormones in sync with reality. Quinn thought she wanted him, but hey, he was also pretty much the only man in her world right now, not to mention someone she needed to help her attain something she desperately desired. He basically had her confined to a cage—a gilded one, but still, the fact that he was currently letting himself into her villa with his access key only underscored the point. And accepting more from her than trust in his

expertise without giving her a chance to view their relationship from a vantage point free and clear of the current dynamic amounted to an abuse of that authority. Completing the contract didn’t magically resolve the issue.

Only time and him affording her some distance resolved the issue, and that flat-out sucked.

She’d left her bedroom light burning. He settled her on the wide, netting-draped bed, and eased her running shoes off. As soon as her feet were free, she rolled to the middle of the fluffy white comforter, gave the baggy running shorts she wore a restless tug, and then curled into a fetal position that put her back to him. The shorts draped low on her hips, and her jog tank rode up several inches. For about half a second, he considered stripping her out of the little shorts and top, but decided against it. However sandy her clothes might be, a little discomfort wouldn’t kill her, but the sight of Quinn Sheridan sprawled naked over a big, roomy bed might do him in.

Right. Time to go. He had to stop noticing how the glow from the bedside lamp highlighted the shallow V of ass cleavage peeking out from above those low-riding shorts. Stop imagining kissing her just there and then running his tongue up every inch of her spine until he reached the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Stop standing over her like a fucking creeper. He retreated to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water on his way out, but then snagged one for her as well. It was the least he could do, he justified, as he climbed the stairs, considering she hadn’t abandoned him on the beach. Subjecting himself to another eyeful of Quinn all pliant, relaxed, and unaware was far less of a threat to his sanity than conscious, deliberately seductive Quinn.

As soon as he walked back into her bedroom, he realized how wrong he’d been. Pliant, relaxed, unaware Quinn had kicked the covers to the foot of the bed and shucked off her running shorts sometime over the last two minutes, and was now face down on the sheets, snoring lightly into a pillow, with the shorts tangled around one ankle and her bare ass taunting him with its pale perfection.

In his mind, he saw himself crawl over the mattress, brace his arms on either side of that vulnerable prize, and coax her awake slowly, by degrees, with fleeting kisses, and teasing breaths until she arched and moaned in her sleep, begging for more. Then he’d introduce tongue, and teeth, to drive her higher, pull the need tighter. And then, when she put it all right there within his reach, he would wake her—whip her straight out of her dreams and into an orgasm so real, she’d scream his name before she even opened her eyes. Then, Jesus, then he’d flip her around and…

“Lizard,” she mumbled, flinging an arm across the mattress.

And they were having very different dreams right now. He took a painful step closer, and put the water bottle on the nightstand before leaning over and smoothing her hair from her cheek. “Shh. No lizards.”

Then he pulled the sheet over her, turned off the light, and retreated. On his way out of the villa, he faced up to one final truth he hadn’t managed to confront earlier in the evening. He was a hard-charging, take control kind of person. When he wanted something, he went after it with discipline and intensity until he achieved the goal. It wasn’t in his nature to back off. But when their time here ended, he would have to back the fuck off and give Quinn space. Being fair to her, and to him, meant letting her figure out what she wanted, and needed, once she was free of the cage.