Compromising Her Position (Compromise Me 1)

“I always wanted a sibling.”

He’d read her wrong. It wasn’t a faraway expression after all, but a wistful one. Hoping to tease a laugh out of her, he said, “Your parents denied you that one little wish?”

She smiled, but turned her perfect profile to him and stared at the view. “More like fate.” With that cryptic comment she waved a hand in front of her face as if to brush the conversation away and raised the cover on another plate. “Have you tried the macadamia nut dusted wasabi vegetable rolls? They’re a house specialty.”

The breeze blew a strand of hair across her cheek. He reached over and tucked it behind her ear. “Why no siblings?”

“My dad died when I was six. My mom never remarried, so—”

“No siblings. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “For all I know, I would have gotten a brother who taunted me or a sister who borrowed my clothes without asking. Besides, I had my mom, who’s like two parents packed into one, and my best friend Laurie, who’s like my wilder, cooler, blonder twin.”

He traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertip. “I meant I’m sorry about your father. For better or worse, mine’s exceedingly present in my life. Growing up without yours must have been difficult.”

“Don’t paint me as some poor little middle-class girl.” Though she tossed his words back at him, there was no sarcasm. “Honestly. I don’t want to make light of it, but I barely remember him. Aside from photos and some videos, I only have bits and pieces. He gave really big hugs—the kind that lifted me off my feet. He loved the ocean and swam or surfed almost every day. I always think of him when I smell saltwater and Old Spice. He had a deep voice and used to sing me to sleep with a Billy Joel song about the middle of the night.”

“Sounds like a great dad.”

Her faraway smile made an encore. “He was. I got quality, just not quantity.”

“What accounted for the lack of quantity?” He traced her jawline. Her neck. He couldn’t stop touching her. As if his touch could make up for attention she didn’t even know she missed.

“He worked as the grounds supervisor at Las Ventanas. One random Wednesday he was helping his crew plant baby palms along the walkway to the pool and he collapsed. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Apparently this strong, active guy had an undiagnosed congenital defect in his aorta, which amounted to a ticking time bomb in his chest.”

Congenital. His fingers traced her collarbone to the base of her throat, and then down the center of her chest, honing in on the steady beat of her heart. He flattened his hand against it. “Genetic?”

r />

“No.” She curled her fingers around his wrist. “My heart might be seriously messed up when it comes to, well, matters of the heart, but it pumps just fine.”

The sad little twist of her lips told him she was referring to Barrington, and he felt a strong, gut-churning urge to ruin the bastard. The man sat in his office at Las Ventanas, doing nothing of merit for the resort or the community, while Chelsea—who felt in both a connection to the father she’d barely known—had exiled herself thousands of miles away. Unfair. A part of him wanted to shake her for running, forfeiting the people and places she cared about to Paul and Cindy. Another part simply wanted to do whatever it took to wipe the sad look off her face.

Only one method came to mind. “I have another question.” Her eyes widened and turned a little wary when he stood, stepped around the table, and knelt in front of her chair. He leaned in and put his lips to the spot where his hand had been just moments ago, inhaling coconut and vanilla scents that clung to her skin. “Did you know when the sun hits you at the right angle, I can see through your dress?”

Her heart thumped under his lips, and slender fingers speared into his hair. He eased back a fraction and drew his fingertip along the top of her thigh, inching her skirt up as he went. “Tell me, what do you have on under here?”

“Nothing. You—” She broke off and inhaled as he swept his tongue along the swell of her breast. “You didn’t bring me anything.”

“Did you get a secret thrill out of sitting across from me, eating a civilized dinner while pretending not to know you were teasing my cock?”

Her eyes locked with his, and she stared for so long he didn’t think she’d answer, but then long lashes swept down, veiling her gaze, and pink tinged her cheeks. “I did.”

That demure admission had him hauling her out of the chair to get his lips on hers. He was already working her dress down to her waist and walking her backward toward the bedroom when she flattened her hands on his chest and said, “Wait.”

“We’ve been over this.” He kept moving until he had her backed up against the bed. Another small push and she landed on the mattress with a bounce. “I’m not here to wait.”

“I was thinking this could be my treat.” She reached out and ran her fingers along the front of his shorts, killing him with the delicate touch. When those fingers latched onto his zipper, he covered her hand.

“Wait.”

The irony pulled a smile out of her. “I’m not here to wait.”

And he wasn’t done hearing her cry his name while she came. The thought of those full, soft lips sealed around him held all kinds of appeal, but he’d promised to satisfy her every need, and fulfilling that promise held even more appeal. She needed a break from his energetic cock? No problem. Time to remind her he had other skills. “If you recall the agreed-upon agenda, we’re concentrating on pleasing you tonight, until you can’t handle any more.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked up at him while the pink in her cheeks turned into a full-blown blush. “I can’t handle any more.”

“You’re wrong.” With his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her down until she lay on the bed, legs hanging over the side. He used one arm to brace himself over her and watched her face while he lifted her skirt. “Care to tell me why you think otherwise?”