Chapter Seven
Derek opened the cab door for Stephanie, then slid into the seat after her. He kept his distance. She made him lose control, and he couldn’t afford that. He’d nearly snapped in the restaurant and disgraced himself—and her—in public. He wouldn’t treat her so cheaply.
And he wouldn’t forget his place.
Always be a gentleman in public, or no one will take you seriously in life. His father’s memory was a devil on his shoulder, reminding him how inappropriately he’d behaved. He despised his father and everything he stood for, yet his conditioning still remained. Every time he wanted to relax. Every time he so much as dared to smile. That voice was there, telling him if he wanted to get ahead in the world, he had to forget the joy that had once been in both their lives.
Forget his mother, who’d been just as bright and vivid and full of unrestrained warmth as Stephanie. When his mother had died, his father had changed. He’d forgotten how to live, and it was as if Derek—who took after his mother in coloration, who shared her softly inflected accent—reminded him every day of what he’d lost. His father had done everything he could to eradicate every trace of the woman from her son, under the pretense of preparing him for the business world.
He was starting to think he’d lost something more valuable than a sense of humor.
He was starting to crack. And it was because of Stephanie. Aaron’s sister. Aaron would have him dumped in a federal prison if Derek touched her, and he’d kissed her without a second thought.
In just a few days she had turned him upside down, and he kept going back for more. She drew him in, made him forget his propriety, made him forget everything but how much he wanted her. Even now, the sight of her fiddling with the skirt of her dress roused an unfamiliar fondness, a warmth that felt almost alien. She thought he’d been laughing at her.
No—he’d laughed with her, because of her, simply for the delight of being in her presence.
And it made no sense to him.
He dragged a hand through his hair and made himself break the silence. Made himself speak, with an honesty he was accustomed to repressing. “You’re right about me. I’m too serious. So serious that I don’t normally do things like that.”
She was still trembling. It did nothing for his self-control. “But you just did.”
“But I shouldn’t have.”
She stiffened. “Right. Gotcha loud and clear. Thanks.”
“It isn’t you.”
“Then what?”
“I…” He could hear the loud squeak of his teeth grinding. How could he explain a lifetime of conditioning, when he could barely force two words out? “My father wouldn’t approve of such unseemly behavior.”
“Aren’t you a little old for Daddy issues?”
“Probably.”
“Then stop letting them control you.” She unbuckled and climbed over to him, resting her hand on his chest. “Maybe it’s time to be your own man. Do you even know who you are, under his brainwashing?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He took a ragged breath. “I thought I did. You confuse that and make me lose my way. When I lose my way, I usually do something stupid and rash.”
She withdrew, leaving him cold, and looked out the window. “Like kissing me?”
“Like kissing you.”
“Ouch.”
“I don’t mean it that way. I just…” He fought to find the right words. “This isn’t how this is meant to work.”
“Then how is it meant to work?”
“I’m doing a favor for my best friend’s little sister. Nothing more.”
Her eyes closed. Her lashes were like crushed black diamonds against her cheeks. “Nothing more.”
“I’m not supposed to feel anything,” he tried to explain.
“So don’t.”
She fixed her gaze out the window. The rest of the cab ride passed in chill silence. The tense set of her shoulders told him everything he needed to know. He’d hurt her. He’d turned something as simple as attraction to a beautiful woman into something more complicated than it needed to be, and he’d hurt her because he needed to keep his careful distance.
How would Aaron feel about that, he wondered—his best friend telling his little sister she wasn’t good enough for his father’s standards?
When the cab stopped, she fumbled for her purse without looking at him. He rested his hand over hers.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“No. You paid for the cab ride there.” She dug deeper into her purse, the tense line of her jaw trembling. “I’ll handle this.”
She couldn’t afford her rent, but wouldn’t unbend enough to let him take care of the cab? Her pride would be the death of her. He doubted she even had the money in her purse. Without waiting another moment, he pulled a twenty from his breast pocket, passed it to the cabbie, and slipped out of the car before she could manage more than a splutter of protest.
By the time he circled the cab to open the door for her, she was already on the sidewalk and closing her door. Of course. Stubborn thing. He bit back a sudden and unexpected urge to smile. She clutched her file against her chest and worried at her lower lip, her gaze turned on a point somewhere far down the sidewalk.
Away from him.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, her ears turning pink. “I’ll get the next one, though. Whether you like it or not.”
He stepped closer. She was like an undertow, dragging him deep, dragging him into her. “It’s not a problem. I don’t mind helping you.”
She stiffened and backed away from him. “I don’t need help. I can handle things on my own.”
“You have a bit of a complex, bella.”
“Pot. Kettle. Or maybe I should come up with some endearing name for you.” Her lower lip thrust out. “Rhino sounds about right. Big, dumb, obstinate, and slow.”
“The rhinoceros is actually a very fast-moving creature.” He refused to let her retreat, and took a swift step closer. “Shall I demonstrate?”
“No!” She gripped her file folder against her like a desperate shield, her eyes round, glimmering in the soft light of the street lamps. “I…I mean…that’s not necessary. I believe you. What are you, a narrator for Animal Planet?”
“You’re a horrible subject-changer.”
“Is that even a word?”
He considered this, then nodded. “It is now.”
She took another step back. Her feet tangled like they were on a tripwire, and she dipped with a little shriek. He moved without thinking. One arm looped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The other caught the folder before she could drop it, and pressed it securely against her chest. Through the manila, her heartbeat thumped against his palm, wild and ragged. She stared up at him, breathless, her body stiff and so very deliciously curved against him.
“Thanks,” she whispered, her tongue darting over her lips.
“Klutz,” he murmured, and followed every damp trail left by her tongue until he’d nearly memorized the curve of her mouth. She chuckled, throaty and sweet.
“Thought you knew that already.”
“Thought you didn’t need help.”
“If the choice is between this and leaving a bloody smear on the pavement, I’ll take this.” Her eyes drifted over his face. Under the street lamps, they were nearly silver. “You…you can let me go now.”
The flutter of her breath against her throat compelled him. Her throat fascinated him, sleek and soft and vulnerable, waiting to be kissed until she threw her head back and arched her neck, inviting him, needing him. He could almost taste her, his mouth tingling with the need.
“Derek…?” she breathed.
He pulled back to his senses sharply as a slap. She was still watching him, waiting. Trembling. The temptation was almost too great, and only a supreme effort of will allowed him to release her, step back, put distance between them.
The sweltering Miami night was almost too cool against his overheated skin, and though he forced his voice to steady, he couldn’t take his gaze away from her. Detachment. He needed detachment. “Would you like me to go over Wheeler’s file with you? I might know a thing or two about marketing.”
Her gaze flickered with…was that disappointment? “Speaking of changing subjects…so much for the ever-obstinate rhino.”
He chuckled. “Can you be serious for one second of your life?”
“Tonight? No. Not after finding out my so-called fiancé is practically Bruce Wayne.” She looked away from him. The flush in her cheeks tempted him to do terrible things. “Do you have a Batmobile, too?”
“Hm?”
“Bat-mo-bile. Black. Spiky. Goes vroom-vroom. Sometimes has a flamethrower. I think I want one for our wedding.”
He said nothing. He was distracted by her lips, how they moved, how they shaped sounds that had less and less meaning with every moment, when all he could think about was how close he’d come to claiming that soft mouth again.
“Derek…?”
He dragged his gaze away from her mouth. Her eyes were no less alluring, wide and smoky and confused. Her hands trembled subtly against the file folder. Could she feel it? Could she feel how deeply she affected him?
“Right.” Focus. Focus. His voice came out hoarse, each word scraping against his dry throat. “Batman wedding. My Little Pony honeymoon. Do you want me to look at the file or not?”
It took a few moments for her to answer. She watched him as if she expected something from him, then abruptly looked away with a scowl, her blush deepening. “Is it sunny at night?”
“During an Alaskan summer.”
She threw her hands up—and nearly dropped the file folder. “First it’s Animal Planet, now it’s National Geographic.” She fished her keys from her purse. Her movements were uncoordinated, her fingers still shaking. “I can do it—”
“—by yourself. I thought so.”
Their gazes locked. He could think of one thing she would accept from him. One thing he could offer her. But what good would it do? He had to return to D.C. soon. Hell, he was supposed to go back tomorrow, and now he would have to call his office and make up some kind of excuse. He wasn’t the kind of CEO who took off for week-long trips to Cancun on a whim. People expected him to be there. People depended on him.
Just like Stephanie was depending on him now.
She ducked her head. Her eyes flicked to his mouth. The air between them sizzled, crackled, grew tighter, as if the very atmosphere urged them closer. He clenched his hands into fists and stepped back, breaking the spell.
“Goodnight, Miss Miller.”
She smiled, a bit sadly. “No more bella?”
“Not tonight. I’ve been too forward already.”
“…yeah.” She swallowed and dropped her gaze. “Goodnight, then.”
She turned and walked away from him, while he stood immobile and cursed his damned restraint. She vanished up the steps and into her building. For one impulsive moment, Derek pictured himself following her up the stairs and pulling her into his arms, just for one night. Just to get her out of his system.
But he was starting to think that wasn’t possible.
…
“It’s been four days.” Aaron’s voice came through the speaker on Derek’s cellphone, clipped and cold with an echoing trace of static that hinted at some kind of signal interference. “You were supposed to go sightseeing. Not get engaged.”
Derek leaned back in his seat and watched the ocean from the balcony of his hotel room—a wash of gold and blue and green, sky and sand and sea blending together into a vivid explosion of color so ultra-real it burned his eyes. His laptop was open on the patio table, but he hadn’t looked at his CFO’s variance reports in a good hour.
“Tapping my phone now?” he asked.
“Satellite surveillance.”
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere where it isn’t illegal to kill people for touching my sister.”
“She needed help. It was an accident, and if it helps her at work…” Even if it was sending his work into a tailspin. He’d called the office that morning, and they were losing their minds, panicking right before a major acquisitions deal. His VP was more than capable of handling it, but they were used to Derek having a hand in everything. Maybe a little too used to it. He’d been nannying competent people so much, he’d probably made it impossible for them to do their jobs without going through his red tape.
He closed his eyes. Maybe he could get used to this life—the sound of the sea whispering over him, the hot sun beating down on his face, Stephanie tripping over the sidewalk until he wanted nothing more than to hold her and keep her safe.
But he wouldn’t be here if not for his business trip—the business trip he’d been neglecting, his “market analysis” little more than a newly-acquired knowledge of local takeout joints—and he couldn’t let his company flounder for the sake of an indulgence.
Aaron pulled him from his reverie with a sigh. “Is her boss bullying her again?”
“That’s a kind word for it.”
“I keep telling her she needs to get out of there.”
“That’s a decision she needs to make for herself.” Derek sighed and opened his eyes again. “Neither you nor I can make it for her.”
After a silence, Aaron said, “You like her.”
“As if that wasn’t your intent all along.”
“I’m as innocent as a judge.”
“The phrase is ‘sober as a judge,’ and you are neither.” He wouldn’t put it past Aaron to set them up. He wasn’t a bad boy, after all. Not Stephanie’s type—even if she tempted him to be a very, very bad man.
His phone beeped. He glanced at the caller ID. Stephanie, calling as if thinking of her had summoned her. “I have another call incoming. Stay safe, Aaron.”
“You want me dead. Because if I come back alive, you’ll wish I’d been shot down over North Korea by the time I’m done with you.”
“I think you just violated about six different Homeland Security information acts.” Derek chuckled. “Goodbye.”
He hung up before he caught more than the beginning of a “Fu—” and caught the incoming call a second away from hanging up.
“Good afternoon, bella.”
“Hello, dear,” Stephanie said, her voice light. “Miss me?”
“Like the deserts miss the rain.”
She laughed. “I’m divorcing you just for quoting that song.”
“Divorce before the marriage. That has to be a record.”
“I’ve always liked to be efficient.”
He waited her out. She’d been so adamant about not needing him, she must have waited to call until she had absolutely no choice. It had been three days—and it had been irritating as hell when he’d realized he’d been counting. He’d missed her. Missed laughing with her. It made a difference, and left an emptiness behind when she wasn’t there.
He couldn’t let her be this important to him, this quickly.
Finally she said, “Are you busy right now?”
“Only if torturing Aaron is a full-time job.”
“…an unlisted number is calling me. He’s the only unlisted number that ever calls me. What did you do?”
He grimaced. “I didn’t have to do anything. He knows everything.”
She groaned. “I might have to start taking him seriously about that surveillance crap. I’m not answering it. He can stew. Or eavesdrop, since he’s so nosy.” She paused. He heard the sound of a copier with its repetitive click-shush. “Don’t you answer, either. Let him suffer.”
“Deal.”
“So…” Her breath was loud through the speaker. “Are you doing anything tonight?”
He took his time answering. “I have a date.”
“…oh.” She sounded so crestfallen he almost wished he hadn’t said it. “You met someone that fast?”
“It’s a long-term thing, really. Her name is Sofia. Have you ever seen Modern Family?”
Dead silence—and then she spluttered. “You are such a dick! Why couldn’t you just say you’re going to sit on your ass and watch TV?”
“This way was more amusing.”
“You—I—never mind. I don’t want to see you. Forget I called.”
“Bella…” He laughed. “I’m teasing. You like me when I tease, yes?”
“…maybe not so much when you tease me,” she grumbled.
“But you wanted to see me.”
She let out a huffy sound. “God. You are just so—hmph. Whatever. Meet me at my place at five. I’m getting out of here soon.”
“Was that an order, or a reasonable request?”
He could practically feel her glare through the phone. “I’m hanging up on you now. My place. Five. Bring a bathing suit.”
“Wait.” He sat up straighter. “Bathing suit? You didn’t say anything about swimming.”
“Problem?”
“I don’t have a suit with me.”
“You’re rich. This is Miami. If you wanted to you could buy every bathing suit in the city. Or blow your entire fortune on a pair of couture Versace trunks.”
He covered his face with his palm. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m hanging up.”
The phone went dead—and immediately lit up again with a call from Unknown Number. He sent it to voicemail, dropped the phone on the patio table, and stared at it.
This woman was going to drive him out of his mind.
He pondered calling the concierge, but he hated using his position to be pretentious to the point of helplessness. He could navigate the gift shop without a butler shepherding him nonstop.
One pair of black trunks, sandals, and a souvenir T-shirt later, and he almost didn’t recognize himself. The man in the mirror looked like a tanned surfer, hair disheveled into loose spikes, and the weathered lines around his eyes could almost be mistaken for laugh lines. His reflection seemed to mock him with who he could have been.
He might not have been as rich, but he thought he just might have been happy.
He arrived at Stephanie’s place ten minutes early. She answered right when he knocked, but threw the door open without even looking back. “I just need to change. Then you can help me—oh. ”
She’d glanced at him—then stopped, turned back, and just stared, color creeping up her cheeks. He cleared his throat.
“I can’t look that ridiculous.”
“No. No, you…” She looked away and retreated into the apartment. “You should dress down more often.”
“Doubtful.”
“Not from where I’m standing.” She shook her head. “Come on in. Let me dig out my two-piece and I’ll be ready to go.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His gaze roved over her little tank top and barely-there shorts, nearly a bikini in their own right. “Was that what you needed help with?”
“Don’t be crass.” She grinned over her shoulder. “I only need a man to help me get out of my clothing.”
Before he could retort, she was gone—slamming her bedroom door, followed by the distinct click of the lock. That little damned tease. No, worse than a tease—she was a minx, plain and simple.
But when she stepped out of her room, everything about her screamed vixen. Her saucy red two-piece slid over her curves and pale skin until she was as sweetly delicious as a candy-cane. He lingered on the supple flow of her legs.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Don’t you want to cover up a little more first?”
“Prude.” With a laugh, she retrieved a flimsy white sundress from the back of the couch and slid it on. The curves of her bottom peeked at him under the flirty little hem. “There. Happy?”
“Infinitely so,” he muttered.
He was in hell.
And Aaron was probably watching from somewhere overseas, pitchfork in hand.
He cleared his throat. “So is this another strategy meeting? Hardly fitting business attire.”
“No, I…” She fidgeted and suddenly found the space over his shoulder very interesting. “I felt bad. I promised to take you sightseeing and make this week fun, and instead it’s been all about me and my problems. I wanted to take you to the beach to just relax and catch the last of the sun.”
“Stephanie…” He touched her cheek, the fine skin sweet under his fingertips, and gently nudged until she finally met his eyes again. “I really don’t mind helping. You don’t need to worry.”
She made a flustered sound. She was still entirely fetching when she blushed, even if it only seemed to irritate her.
“I mind,” she said. “I owe you big time, so you are going to have fun, damn it.”
His grin crept up on him before he could stop it. “Yes, ma’am.”
She muttered peevishly, pulled away from him, and scooped up a tote with two towels—but he took it from her, slung it over his shoulder, and followed her from the apartment.
She shot him a look and slid on a pair of shades. “I could carry that.”
“It’s a bag. It’s not a charity handout. Learn to accept that much, at least.”
She put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. “Are you really going to turn this into a lecture?”
He eyed her. “Are you really going to refuse to let me carry a bag for you?”
“Point. But you haven’t won yet.” She laughed. “If you think I’ll trust you with my life’s work, you have another thing coming. I don’t want to owe you another favor.”
Her work was the last thing on his mind right now. But he bit his tongue, slid his sunglasses on, and followed her from the elevator, down the sidewalk, to the beach. Even past his tinted lenses, the sun reflected off the sand brightly enough to sear afterimages into his retinas—but it wasn’t enough to blind him to the appreciative glances several men threw her way. He gritted his teeth and held his silence. He was only pretending to be her fiancé. He had no claim on her.
She found them a spot in the sand, and he helped her spread out their towels. She wriggled out of her sundress and left it in a puddle on the sand. He closed his eyes and looked away.
Aaron’s sister. Guantanamo Bay. A team of government assassins breaking into his D.C. condominium and garroting him in his kitchen. He wasn’t wholly sure he was exaggerating.
“Come on.” She wrapped both her little hands around his wrist and tugged. “You don’t go to the beach just to stand around.”
“I thought that was the purpose of tanning.”
“You sit for that. I don’t want to sit. I want to swim, and you’re tan enough.”
“You want to burn. You’re too pale.” He snagged the bottle of sunscreen poking out of her tote’s side pocket and tossed it to her. “Lather up.”
“I already did at home. I just didn’t get my back.” She tossed the bottle back to him. It landed in both palms with a heavy smack.
“If you say ‘do me,’ I’m leaving.”
“Even my jokes aren’t that bad.” She turned away, glancing over her shoulder and gathering her wind-tossed hair against her neck in a soft tangle of dark curls. “But if you wouldn’t mind…”
He minded. He minded knowing he could touch her, and yet it could never be more than that. He minded that even now his father’s voice was in his head, calling her a low-class woman who was just out for his money.
She’s not like that, he thought fiercely, then nearly smacked himself. And now I’m arguing with the voices in my head.
“Lay down,” he said, and flipped the bottle of sunscreen open.
She stretched out on her towel, her head pillowed on her forearms. The sloping valley of her back flowed in a graceful curve like music made flesh, dipping low before rising into the soft-swelling peak of her bottom. He brushed her hair aside. When his fingers grazed the nape of her neck, she shivered, and he toyed with the knot tying the bikini in place. So easy. So tempting. He pulled his hand away and coated his fingers in sunscreen. When he rested his palms against her back, she hissed and arched.
“Cold,” she murmured.
“Give it a moment.” The flex and pull of her lithe body under his fingertips was hypnotic. Slowly, he began to stroke the sunscreen into her skin, kneading her as if she were clay beneath his sculpting fingers, shaping her to his touch. She let out a sighing sound of pleasure and rolled her shoulders.
“Bonus massage,” she nearly purred. “Is it my birthday?”
He couldn’t answer. Not when he was utterly absorbed in the fascinating tracery of her spine, the way the shape of her waist drew his hands so naturally to rest on her hips, the way the sunscreen gleamed on her skin. He wanted. He needed. And to hell with what anyone else thought.
She twisted onto her back, looking up at him. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but her lips were parted, her breaths shallow.
“I think I’m covered,” she said. “Your turn.”
He was barely aware of taking off his shirt. She sat up, her tongue caught between her teeth. A shudder rippled through him as her delicate fingers traced over his skin.
“Ink,” she said. “You are full of surprises, Derek.”
He almost didn’t remember what she was talking about. His tattoo, graceful letters flowing across his chest. His one act of rebellion, a teenaged attempt to get his father’s attention. It hadn’t worked. He’d kept it anyway, because it felt like the one little piece of himself that still belonged to him.
“It’s from a long time ago. A lifetime ago.”
She followed the arc of one stylized letter, the teasing touch of her nail raising goosebumps. “I don’t understand Spanish. What does it say?”
“Nothing important.”
Her lips parted further, but she let it go. She picked up the sunscreen, coated her hands, then rose up on her knees to begin smoothing it over his chest and shoulders. Her every breath, loud between them, brought the swell of her bosom close to brushing his skin. Her scent surrounded him, that soft sweetness tinted by the creamy sunscreen. His fingers dug into the sand. His gaze never left her face. She grew redder by the moment, and he burned to feel her beneath him, trapped between the hot sand and a need so intense it scorched him with its fire.
Her long, caressing strokes slid beyond his shoulders, down his back, until her arms were almost wrapped around him. Her lower lip was calling him like a beacon, a plump red fruit he needed to nibble and suck. He leaned closer. Her head tilted, her mouth so close to fitting to his.
And then she stole his sunglasses—and shoved a sunscreen-covered hand in his face, leaving a wet handprint that dripped over his eyes.
She giggled. “Race you to the water,” she yelped, then took off running at full speed.
Her laughter had him like a leash, and he grinned, swiped a gooey handful of lotion off his face, and bolted after her. She peeked back, shrieked, and nearly tripped over two sunbathers, then righted herself and bolted. Derek almost couldn’t catch up. He was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, panting as he vaulted over a child’s clumsy sandcastle and caught her at the water’s edge. He captured her waist, swinging her around and into his arms. Grinning and out of breath, she clung to his neck.
“Did you really just do the long jump over a toddler?”
“Did I? I didn’t even see him.” I only saw you. He scooped her up until he was carrying her, and waded into the warm, gentle waves. “You nearly stepped on someone’s head.”
“I’m a klutz. It’s fact at this point. I don’t think I can be prosecuted in a court of law.” She snickered, pushed her sunglasses up, then flicked a strand of his disarrayed hair. “You’re still dripping.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Totally yours.”
“Not only are you impossible, you’re unbelievable.” He tightened his hold on her. Her fingers twined against the back of his neck. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.
She was no longer smiling. He absorbed her like sunlight, taking in every detail of spray beading on her skin, the way her hair clung to the damp spots and painted dark lines that drew his gaze over her skin and snaked like runnels of chocolate syrup. He pulled her closer, lifting her tight against his chest, her softness filling his arms until there was only one thing he could do.
He dumped her in the water.
She came up sputtering and drenched, her hair straggling into her face. He dissolved into helpless laughter. She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You think this is funny?”
He doubled over, gasping for breath. “No, I think it’s hilarious.”
“Oh, it is on.”
That was his only warning before she yanked his ankles right out from under him. By the time he splashed his way to the surface and took a deep draught of air, she was swimming away from him.
He lunged and snared her again, spinning her into his arms with every intention of dunking the little wretch again. But when she wrapped her arms around his neck, her laughter washing over him, he forgot everything. The waves. His promises. Everything but her.
And he kissed her.
She opened to him as if she’d been made for him. They floated together, the ebb and flow of the tide pushing them against each other until she wrapped her legs around his hips and he fell into the weightless warmth that lifted him up more than the waves. She’d wanted to thank him, she’d said—but he was ever grateful to her for this moment, breathless and taut, that made his heart beat like a savage piston.
He held her tight, her naked skin beneath his hands, her mouth an endless well of heat and sweet, bright emotion that he drank of ravenously. Once he’d tasted her, he had to have her.
And he didn’t want to ever let her go.