When he returned with their drinks he found her out on the deck. She’d slipped off her heels somewhere along the line, and stood barefoot on the bleached wood, elbows propped on the rail, staring out at the waves. As he watched, she wrapped her arms around herself. The pose made her look disconcertingly solitary.
“Cold?” February evenings in Southern California fell a good twenty degrees short of the warm Maui nights.
“A little.” Her eyes remained trained on the water.
“This will warm you up.” He handed her a glass, and then stood behind her with an arm braced on the rail on either side of her. “I wanted to meet you at the airport, but my schedule didn’t cooperate.”
“The limo was very comfortable.”
“I looked forward to sharing the ride.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I can’t stop thinking about the last time we found ourselves together in a limo.”
“Was it memorable?”
Did she think that prim voice could freeze his dick off? He retaliated by moving his hips forward so she could tell he wasn’t easily discouraged. “Yes. I remember tying your wrists to the door, bracing your feet against the ceiling, and making you come so hard you cried.”
She lifted her glass and took a sip of her drink. The tiny pause before she swallowed told him she remembered the last time they’d shared rum and Coke, too. He waited until she was done swallowing and then touched his glass against hers. “I’ve missed you.”
“Have you?”
He tilted his head to study her. “Why the doubt?” Anger or something close to it put the flush back in her cheeks. She gripped the rail with her free hand, and he got the distinct impression doing so kept her from wrapping it around his throat.
“I saw a picture of you at the Las Ventanas gala. You didn’t look lonely.”
“You determined my mindset by a single picture?”
“Yep,” she clipped the word and took another drink.
He stared out at the darkening horizon for a moment, trying to recall all the pictures he’d posed for and which one would bother her. Nothing sprang to mind. “As host, I interacted with a lot of people that night. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“No. I don’t. This conversation is over.”
She tried to shift away from him, but he didn’t give an inch. He kept her hemmed in, kept the pressure on, because something had lit the fuse on her temper and he intended to find out what. “This conversation is just getting interesting. Let’s see, the two people I spent the most time with that evening were my father and my…” He almost said sister, but bit the word back because everything suddenly fell into place. “…date.”
She’d seen the picture of him and Arden. He sipped his drink to hide a smile. Chelsea wasn’t angry, she was jealous. A better man wouldn’t find so much pleasure in her suffering. A better man would remember just how badly that particular emotion burned, and come clean. But jealousy meant she cared. She wanted a claim to him, and maybe if he pushed her she’d admit it instead of continuing to insist she was happy keeping things casual. The situation gave him the upper hand, and he didn’t plan to put his cards on the table until he’d won.
“I don’t want to talk about the party.” She turned on him, her dark eyes glittering in the purple-tinged dusk. When he didn’t back up, she added, “I’m going inside. I’m cold.”
“You’re not cold.” He brushed his hand over her furiously hot cheek.
Those dark eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Fine. I’m bored. This entire topic bores me.”
“And yet you brought it up, which makes me think you’re actually very curious—aching with curiosity. What do you want to know?”
Her entire body stiffened. “Nothing.”
Aware he risked bodily harm, he leaned in and put his mouth close to her ear. “Would you like to know who she is?”
“No!” A slender hand found the center of his chest and pushed him away with more strength than he would have given her credit for. She stalked down the deck, then swung around and faced him again. “It’s none of my concern. Date whomever you want. I don’t care.”
The last three words slapped at him like a challenge. One he desperately wanted to accept. “Who are you trying to convince, Chelsea, me or yourself?” He took a step toward her. She took a step back. “You seem a little jeal—”
Her tumbler whizzed past his head and crashed against the deck chair behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to assess the damage because her bare feet made glass shards a hazard, but the heavy crystal broke rather than shattered. He turned back to her. Wide, shell-shocked eyes locked on the glass as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d just thrown it. Those eyes shifted to him when he closed the distance between them. “To finish my sentence, you seem a little jealous. Shall I get you another?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Not a chance.”
She planted a hand on his chest to push him away again, but he simply wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to him.
“Hey—”
He didn’t let her finish, just slammed his mouth down on hers, pried her lips apart and swallowed her words until the fist against his chest curled into his sweater and fingernails raked along his neck and into his hair. Her wrap fluttered to the floor. He backed her up against the wall and hauled her into his arms. Slim thighs clamped around his hips and her needy moan slid over his tongue. And then something trickled into the seam where their lips met. Something salty. Tears.
God damn him. He drew back, cupped her face in his hands, and exhaled slowly. When he had himself under some semblance of control, he said, “She’s my sister.”
Liquid brown eyes stared into his for a good five seconds. “Your sister?”
“Yes. The woman in that picture is my sister. And for the record, you are the most stubborn woman on the face of the planet.”
“Your sister,” she repeated and made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Arden.”
“Arden. Not a friend, business associate, or lover.”
She didn’t say it as a question, but he responded anyway. “None of the above.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her soft, parted lips. “I really enjoyed the way you threw a drink at my head, though.”
“Sorry, not sorry.”
He kissed her again, more deeply. “I’m sure I had it coming, but your aim needs work.”
Here’s where he had to tread lightly. Ease her into the idea of extending their relationship beyond the close of the deal, and from there…more. Always more, because in the last six weeks he hadn’t managed to figure out the cure to this never-ending, insatiable need for her—her sassy comebacks delivered in that smooth, well-mannered way, the dimple in her cheek, her soft heart and hard head. Another six weeks, or six months, or even six years wouldn’t do the trick. He trailed his mouth along her jaw, and then nibbled her ear. “How about I come to Maui at least once a quarter and give you some target practice?”
She stilled, and then her hands flattened on his chest—not pulling him in, not pushing him away. He didn’t know what to make of it, so he nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear.
“Y-you’d commit to…coming to Maui once a quarter?”
“Give or take.” So far her reaction fell short of thrilled. Cautious was his best read. He dragged his lips back to hers, and applied persuasion.
Her breath came out in a long, slow exhale against his cheek. “I won’t be there.”
That stopped him cold. He drew back. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll be in Tahiti.”
Tahiti? What the hell? Maui was already a stretch, a five-hour flight from anywhere he could reasonably designate as his main office. Tahiti was remote. Remote to the point of running away—again. Except this time, he had no choice but to assume she was running from him. “You’re telling me this now?”