Compromising Her Position (Compromise Me 1)

She frowned at her phone, sliding her thumb over the screen and tapping as if calling up an email. “No. Everything’s fine.”

Disappointment settled in his gut. He needed to get a grip. They shared a professional goal, first and foremost. Yes, they also shared some incredibly entertaining sex, but he could practically hear his father lecturing him for letting sex distract him from his primary purpose. “If everything’s so wonderful, why are you giving your phone a dirty look?”

Wary brown eyes found his. “Lynette emailed me a reservation confirmation. We’re scheduled with Undersea Escapes for a dive at the St. Anthony tomorrow morning.”

“I know. I asked her to set it up. Tradewinds has a multi-year contract with the vendor, which St. Sebastian will have to assume or pay off.”

“Guests routinely give them four or five star ratings.”

“What do you give them?”

“I…um…” She tapped the touchscreen again, and her frown deepened. “I haven’t done that particular activity yet.”

“You’re certified, right?”

“Yes, but the St. Anthony is sixty feet below the surface. That’s a little out of my depth.”

“I’m a dive master. I’ll make sure you know which way is up.”

She made a noncommittal sound and squinted at her screen.

He rose and stretched, then wandered over to where she sat, still focused on her phone. Crouching, he took hold of her wrist and adjusted the angle of her screen until he could see what concerned her. The dive company’s website filled the view, featuring a photo of the St. Anthony. A sleek gray shape with white-tipped fins took up one corner of the shot. Mystery solved. Chelsea was worried about becoming part of the food chain. He took some satisfaction from knowing it wasn’t thoughts of Barrington and his potential breakup distracting her. “Are you chicken?”

Her eyes locked on his. Beneath his fingers her pulse quickened. “I’m cautious.”

“That’s a reef shark, you know. They’re not man-eaters.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I know. Do they know?”

He smiled, tightened his hold on her wrist, and pulled her closer. “I’ll protect you. The only creature likely to bite you tomorrow is me.”

Chapter Sixteen

Rafe firmed his grip on Chelsea’s wrist, effectively stopping her retreat. The bubbling hum of their oxygen and the water itself muffled her protest, but he knew full well she wanted to bolt, and he knew why. They were midway through their second dive of the day, suspended in the cool depths of the open ocean, surrounded by a group of sharks.

The school was small. The sharks were not. But they were minding their own business, not paying much attention to the human interlopers, at least not until Chelsea saw them and promptly forgot every bit of training he and their dive master had given her regarding how to react in the event of a sighting.

Was she staying calm? Nope. Keeping her arms in and making as few movements as possible? Not even close. As soon as she’d spotted the sharks, she’d screamed and thrashed around in the water like a cartoon character running off a cliff.

No real danger loomed. The big fish couldn’t have been less interested, but her panic handed him an excuse to play protector to her damsel in distress. Letting go of her wrist, he pulled her into the circle of his arms and held her there while the school swam past, some close enough to reach out and touch, if you wanted to lose a hand. But only guilt attacked him as her body trembled against his.

She really was terrified, and he felt bad because this particular excursion had been his choice. The only reason she’d joined him was because he’d assured her shark sightings were rare, and then he’d played the deal liaison card.

Didn’t the Templetons instruct you to introduce me to as many of the resort activities possible?

They sure had.

He should have cut her some slack. In between juggling her regular job and facilitating the kind of direct, first-hand access to the operations even his father couldn’t criticize, she’d toured the entire resort with him, and most of the rest of the island.

She’d let him drag her out of their warm, cozy bed in the pre-dawn hours so they could share coffee and a sunrise on Mount Haleakala, and afterward, ride mountain bikes down the steep slope of the sleeping volcano. She’d kayaked miles of coastline, and snorkeled with turtles and manta rays at Molokai.

Action-packed as the days were, they paled in comparison to the nights. And yet he couldn’t get his fill. Too many times over the last five days he’d found his thoughts—hell, his priorities—straying to her instead of the deal. During a conference call, she’d fiddle with a blouse button, or run her tongue over her lower lip, and suddenly he’d be bending time and space just to get her alone. Touch her, taste her, lay claim to every inch of her in some primitive attempt to satisfy an addiction that only seemed to be growing. She held nothing back, but he still craved more. And every time her heart pounded under his, he heard that damn clock ticking in his mind—an annoying but relentless countdown to his departure.

At the

moment, however, her heart pounded furiously against his chest for an entirely different reason than normal. A large shark, about six feet long, broke away from the school and lazily circled back. He rubbed his hand over her arm.

When the shark approached, she gave a little squeal of dread, squeezed her eyes shut and tucked herself into him. Either her noise or boredom quickly drove the animal off, but he held on to her because her body plastered against his felt too good. Conscience battled libido.