Gauntlet thrown. Game on. He didn’t bother restraining his satisfied smile. Playing games with Chelsea had become his diversion of choice. Hers too, he suspected, because beneath her impressive reserve, he heard a thread of excitement. He wouldn’t hand her such an easy win this time.
“We’ll see. What about the upholstery. Is it smooth or textured?”
The faint rustle of cushions indicated she’d taken a seat. “It’s a sueded cotton. Very durable, if that’s your concern.”
“My concern is comfort. If the fabric is highly textured, too much friction will leave red marks on delicate skin.”
“I see.” Her audible swallow brought another smile to his face, and sent his blood flowing south. “It’s very smooth. I’m sure your delicate skin will suffer no discomfort.”
“It’s not my skin I aim to protect, Miss Wayne, but you’ve put my mind at ease.” And his cock at attention. “The dimensions are adequate for two?”
“Um…yes. It’s long enough to stretch out on.”
“I’ll need a couple of pillows too. Sometimes the perfect position requires extra cushioning.”
“There are three pillows. If you need additional shoring up, perhaps you’d like to request orthopedic pillows? We gladly provide them. Even at a singles resort, not every guest is…ahem…in his prime. But sometimes, I’m afraid, the perfect position is simply out of reach.”
Oh yeah, he could almost see her fist-pump over that one. Not in his prime? Hilarious. “The three standard pillows should be sufficient, but you’ll be the first to know if I’m wrong. Speaking of perfect positions, tell me about the arms.”
“The arms of the sofa?” Confusion laced her reply. She’d expected more pillow talk. He congratulated himself on keeping her guessing.
“Exactly. Do they look sturdy?”
“I—I suppose. It’s a rolled arm style.”
“So I could drape, oh, let’s say a hundred and ten pounds, over the arm of the sofa and it would support that weight, and bear up even if subjected to a slow, thorough pounding?” A heavy, relentless ache started deep in his balls as he pictured her over the arm of the sofa, with her face buried in a cushion and him buried in her heat. He closed his eyes so he could focus on her voice.
“Yesss.”
The single word came out whisper soft, like delicate fingers teasing their way up his cock. Phone sex, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so caught up in a woman he’d resorted to a long-distance tactic. All he knew was the sooner he cured the long-distance part, the better, and made a mental note to move up his flight. He intended to be testing the sofa with her, in person, by tomorrow afternoon.
Reckless. The warning played through his mind, in his father’s voice. His attention slid to the stack of paperwork on his desk—fuck it, he’d get through every sheet, even if it killed him. “The villa sounds promising, so far, but I’ll need a few additional details before I can confirm it meets my needs.”
“You’re an exceedingly high-maintenance guest.”
Despite the criticism, she didn’t sound too perturbed. “Miss Wayne, you have no idea. Are you prepared to assist me with my remaining questions?”
“I’m confident I can handle you.”
“I’m counting on it. My questions pertain to the master suite. Please go there.”
Chapter Eleven
Chelsea walked toward the bedroom on unsteady legs. Her heart pounded. She didn’t know how far he intended to take this game, or how far she was willing to go. All she knew was she felt like playing. “Okay. I’m in the master suite. I’m staring at a hand-carved canopy bed.” Her fingertip itched to trace the intricate scroll winding along one of the four posts.
“Tell me about the view.”
“The view?” Maybe they weren’t playing the same game after all?
“I imagine there’s a view from the master suite?”
She tugged the pulls until the drapes whooshed open, and then she stared out at the setting sun. “Yes. The room features a floor-to-ceiling ocean view, similar to what you get in the main living area.”
“Sounds nice. It’s probably dark now, though.”
“Almost.”
“Can you see your reflection in the glass?”
“I can…” Where was this going?
“What are you wearing?”
Now she smiled. “Really? We’re down to that?”
“It’s a simple question.”
“White blouse, navy blue skirt, navy heels.”
“High heels?”
“I’m five feet, five inches tall. I take all the extra height I can get.”
“Thank you. Go sit on the bed please.”
“Wait a second. What are you wearing?” She’d never done this before, but a mutual exchange of information seemed reasonable.
“Santa suit.”
“Very funny.” For some reason, she envisioned him in his tux, which seemed equally unlikely, but sexy as hell. “Okay. I’m sitting on the bed.” She bounced a bit, and then glanced up at the canopy and saw her reflection staring down from the large mirror mounted there. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“Problem, Miss Wayne?”
The amusement in his voice touched off tingles in overly sensitive territories. She had to give herself a moment before she replied. “No.” The word sounded thick to her ears. She cleared her throat. “I just hadn’t noticed before. The bed has an interesting feature.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“There’s a mirror directly above me.”
“That is interesting. You see yourself sitting on my bed, perhaps in the very place I’ll be soon.”
His words were hushed, but the implication came through loud and clear—where we’ll both be soon. She could almost see him there with her. Leaning in, lowering her to the mattress. Removing her clothes. A pulse began to throb between her legs.
“Any other interesting features I should know about?”
She looked at the slender, turned posts of the bed with new eyes, and swallowed hard as her imagination looped a couple of silk ties around them. “N-nothing springs to mind.”
“Tell me about the mattress. Would you consider it firm or soft? I’m very particular about such things.”
“Of course you are.” Her attempt to be flippant didn’t fool either of them.
“I prefer firm. Too much give prevents me from getting deep…sleep. Lie down and tell me if you feel supported.”
As if her body took its commands directly from him, she slipped her shoes off and stretched out on the bed. The mattress groaned a little as she moved, so she suspected he knew she was doing as he asked, but he didn’t wait for her answer.
“Can you see your reflection?”
She looked up at the canopy. A glassy-eyed woman floated there against a satiny white ocean of bedspread. “I— Yes.” She could very easily see him there, too, a dark-haired predator in his deceptively refined suit, slowly making his way up her body, pushing her skirt out of his way, undoing her blouse…
“I’m getting the most fascinating picture of you, lying on my bed, your hair spilled across my pillow, your eyes open and riveted on the mirror as you watch everything I do to you.”
“What would you do to me?” The question escaped before the nice, rule-abiding part of her could play censor. Her hand took an unauthorized trip down the center of her chest, over her stomach, and under her skirt. The woman in the mirror bit her lip and squirmed into her own touch.
“Depends. Tell me, Miss Wayne, is the bedframe solid?”
“It’s Koa,” she managed. “I’m sure—”
“Let’s be very sure. Get on your knees, hold onto the headboard, and give it a good, hard, shake.”
Images filtered into her mind. Rafe kneeling behind her, wrapping her fingers around the top of the headboard and telling her to hold on. The sensation of his hands traveling all over her, readying her for the moment when he’d put the bedframe to his own, personal evaluation. She tightened her hips and rocked into her palm, barely conscious of the instinctive move to relieve the ache building under her hand. She may have moaned.