For one shocked moment she stayed absolutely still, and then she sighed and melted against him, a hand on his cheek, the other curled around the slope of his neck. That’s right, Chelsea. This time it’s all on you.
But his hands were on the move, too, up the back of her dress, because only a dead man could sit there passively with her pressed against him. He opened his mouth against hers, coaxing her to do the same, and licked his way along the inner curve of her upper lip. Urgent little sounds vibrated in her throat. She leaned in to deepen the kiss, and he eased back, forcing her to work for what she wanted.
Work she did. She climbed over him, planted her knees on either side of his hips, and fused her mouth to his. Fingernails combed his scalp while her tongue searched for his. He evaded, enjoying every new angle she tried in her effort to capture him. While he kept her mouth busy, he inched her dress up—high enough to get a glimpse of blue panties—and then pushed her thighs wider so she straddled him properly. Finally, he guided her onto his lap, making sure her silk-covered center got a good, long ride down the hard ridge straining the front of his jeans. At the same time, he gave her his tongue.
Her groan flowed into his mouth and merged with his. She rocked her hips, grinding against him.
“Jesus, you feel good. Lift up and do it again.”
She made a sound of consent, but then went rogue and rocked forward for another quick grind.
“Do it now,” he prompted, and untangled her dress from around her thighs. The extra freedom only made her more restless, so he grabbed her hips and lifted her into position. “There you go, breaking the rules again. I’ve figured out something about you Miss Wayne.”
“You think so?” Those big brown eyes flashed with impatience.
“What happened in the closet wasn’t a wayward impulse. You secretly like breaking the rules.” As he spoke, he dipped his fingers into his drink, and then traced the v of her thong. She shivered when drops of the cold liquor rolled down her skin, then shivered again as he followed the wet trails with his fingertips. Her eyelids drooped, and she murmured, “Maybe.”
He stilled his hand. She lifted her hips, seeking his touch.
“Sometimes when you break the rules, you get punished.” Warning issued, he tangled his fingers into the back of her thong, pulling it tight between her legs.
Her head lolled forward. Hands clutched his shoulders. Something halfway between a moan and a sigh filled his ear. The sound waves vibrated into his brain, down his spine, and along his throbbing shaft—as palpable as a touch. He used his hold to guide her back onto his lap, then dipped his fingers into his drink again, and re-threaded them into her thong. Making a fist drew the fabric snug. He tightened and released, tightened and released until she tipped her head back and shuddered.
He kissed the vulnerable underside of her chin, her jaw, while she rocked against him. “I want—”
A knock at the door cut her off, and a melodic male voice on the other side called, “Room service.”
She froze. Long eyelids lifted and trapped him in a universe of soft, dark velvet.
Fuck it, he’d forgotten about their dinner. And now there they sat, Chelsea poised to come any second, and his cock pounding in anticipation.
Reluctantly, he removed his hand from her underwear. “Do me a favor and get that.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You want me to answer the door?”
“I’m in no condition to greet room service. I nominate you.” He rolled his hips, reminding her of his situation.
Gauging by the way her breath hitched, his reminder struck a chord, but she made no move to get up. “I don’t think you really want me to do that.”
The knock at the door sounded again. “One minute,” he called, never taking his eyes off her face. “Why?”
“You can’t be sure which side of the door I’ll end up on.”
Her assertion made him smile. How long had it been since he’d chased something besides a deal? Too long, and a primitive part of him appreciated the challenge, even though another equally primitive part would be in a world of hurt if she actually followed through on the threat.
“You’ll stay. Not just because you want this as much as I do”—to underscore the point he dipped his fingers into his rum and Coke once more, and then slid them along the warm flesh of her inner thigh, and lightly over the damp panel of her panties—“but because if you walk out the door tonight, the next time you spread your gorgeous legs for me, I won’t be such a gentleman. We’ll play by my rules.”
Another stroke. A breathless whimper. Her eyelids lowered as she gave herself over to his touch.
“I like to play dirty. I can also be very”—stroke—“very”—stroke—“exacting. I won’t give you any relief until you’re on your knees, begging, ‘Please fuck me, Mr. St. Sebastian.’”
Without another word, he removed his hand. A groan spilled from her lips before she caught the lower one with her teeth. She pinned him with a dark, frustrated look.
He met it with a smile. He had her. They both knew it. “Get the door.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
In answer, he picked up his glass and took a drink.
Her flushed cheeks turned a shade darker, and he knew she was thinking of all the curves and crevices of her body that now tasted like rum and Coke. The blush deepened when he swept his tongue over his lower lip, and he battled an odd, nearly overpowering urge to pull her back down and kiss her—just kiss her. But she turned away, smoothed her dress and headed to the door. All the better. The sooner she answered the door, the sooner he’d be enjoying the rest of his drink.
“Hi, Leo.” She moved aside as a young, uniformed man propped the door open with a small plastic wedge and wheeled the room service cart inside.
“Aloha, Miss Wayne. Would you like me to set this up in the dining area, or on the balcony?”
Chelsea tipped her head toward Rafe. “That’s entirely up to our guest.”
“Whichever you prefer.” They wouldn’t be getting around to dinner for some time, and chances looked good she’d be dining naked, in his bed, but he saw no need to share the details with the room service waiter.
“Oh, no. You have it backward,” Chelsea replied. “We strive to accommodate you. I think you’ll find our commitment to guest service unparalleled.”
“I look forward to experiencing it firsthand, Miss Wayne.”
“We invite you to do so, Mr. St. Sebastian, but I think it bears mentioning that while some things at Tradewinds are part of the service”—her accommodating smile sharpened—“some are not. Aloha, gentlemen.”
Aloha? What the fuck? Before he could utter a word, she walked out the door. Leo looked at the empty air where Chelsea had been, and then at Rafe, and then, because he was a smart kid, he looked down at his shoes and did his best to cover his laugh with a cough. “Um…sir?”
Despite the critical case of blue balls she’d left him with, he couldn’t hold back a laugh. No point denying it, she intrigued him even as she drove him insane. Some warped part of his psyche got a kick out of engaging in a sexual chess game with Chelsea—and losing. This time.
Chapter Ten
Jan. 6
5:13 p.m.
Chelsea,
Mr. Johnson in Room 310 had some kind of reaction to the paraffin in our Island Spice candle. His lady friend dripped the hot wax on his… Well, let’s just say he looks like a warning poster from an STD clinic. Know an allergist who makes house calls?
Thx.
Lynette.
Chelsea yanked her attention away from her email, took her desk phone off speaker, and held the receiver to her ear. “I’m sorry. I think I misheard you. Did you just say you want me to move into one of Tradewinds’ villas for the next week?”