Читать книгу The Dare Collection March 2019 - Rachael Stewart - Страница 15

LUCINDA HAD EXPECTED surfing to be a grim, brutal exercise.

Like anything else she had done to claw her way and her current position, she’d assumed it would be unpleasant and if she was lucky, she could look back on it with a certain smugness born of having survived it. There was always some or other feat to perform, so she could prove herself to whoever it was who held the thing she wanted and thereby convince them to give it to her.

There was always a test. Always a series of hoops to leap through.

She’d expected surfing, of all things, and in a micro-bikini, to be no different.

It had never even crossed her mind that she might enjoy doing something she’d always viewed as remarkably, even laughably, pointless.

But the truth was, it felt like flying.

Better.

And at some point, she would have to think about Jason’s laughter, or the way he touched her. The way he pulled her against his body and the unmistakable proof of his arousal that he’d neither thrust against her nor hidden. Nor, for that matter, apologized for.

As if all that sexual awareness that wound around the two of them was as matter-of-fact as the water. The sky. Just nature, doing its thing.

She would have to think about all of that, certainly. And she’d been firing off speeches in her head, one after the next, each more haughty and self-possessed than the last—

But then she caught that wave.

And everything changed.

Because it felt better than flying.

It felt like joy.

Something in her chest expanded, bigger and brighter than anything she’d ever felt before, until she was sure her ribs had to crack wide open to let it out.

It was that mad hurtle, blue below and blue above, in a rush of exhilaration.

When she made it to shore that first time, she turned right around and headed back out.

And did it again and again.

The truth was, she never wanted it to end.

There were too many things to think about once she came out of the water. Her position at her company. Her ambition. What she had riding on convincing an impossible man to do something he very clearly didn’t want to do. The fact she hadn’t slept or ate in a very, very long time.

Too many things, none of which seemed to matter or stick to her as she let the waves lift her and hurl her toward the sand as if she was one of them.

It wasn’t until Jason caught her by the arm, after her last marvelous ride that was still humming in her and making her giddy, that she came back down to earth with a thud. Or maybe it wasn’t earth, exactly, with that big hand wrapped around her upper arm and his dark gaze on hers.

And in her, too.

Reminding her of what had almost happened earlier with an electric jolt.

She’d lost track of how much time she’d spent out on the water. How many times she’d let the waves pick her up and take her on that amazing rush of a journey. But she knew it was enough that she’d completely forgotten to grumble to herself about what a chore it was to have to prove herself to yet another man with power over her.

That should have scared her, but she’d forgotten to let that happen, too.

She’d been aware of Jason, of course. She’d been simply riding the waves as she caught them and proud of herself that she stayed standing, but he was...art.

As if he and that board and the sea were all one, working together to create a kind of magic. Art and skill and raw beauty blended into one—

But it didn’t pay to think too closely about Jason Kaoki, Lucinda reminded herself sharply. It made her aware of the way the sun felt heavy on her eyelids, as if all that shine had weight. Of the greedy thing between her legs that pulsed and hummed, hot and ready, still.

This close, if she would just...

The fist of lust that punched deep into her gut, and didn’t let go, seemed heavier than before. But she refused—again—to let it take her down.

“Enough.” And his voice was another problem, heavy like the sun and with as much potential to scar her. “The tide’s changing. And even if it wasn’t, sunscreen doesn’t last forever.”

She might have argued with him—and she opened her mouth to do just that—but he didn’t stick around to debate the matter. He scooped up her board under one arm, his under the other, and sauntered up onto the beach again as if neither one of them weighed more than a twig.

She followed him onto the sand, scowling and annoyed that she had no other option unless she wanted to float about like a hapless jellyfish. It wasn’t until her feet sunk into the white sand again that she realized how deeply tired she was. But this time, in a different way than she’d been before, fresh off the plane.

This time it felt wilder. She was exhausted, yes, but she still felt connected to the ocean all around them. Humming with it, somehow.

For some reason, that made her even more furious.

Jason walked up to the edge of the beach to put his surfboards onto a rack there, beneath a canopy stretched between two palm trees. And Lucinda followed because that was why she was here.

But suddenly, she was outraged by that fact. There was something scooped out and hollow beneath her ribs and it was making it hard to breathe.

“Did I pass your test?” she demanded, moving from the sand onto the grass, as he wrestled the boards into their proper places.

Well. He didn’t wrestle. He was so strong the boards looked like they were made of Styrofoam.

Lucinda had been gearing up to unleash a little of her temper, but she couldn’t seem to hold on to whatever had been poking at her as she’d trudged across the sand. Instead, she was caught by the play of muscle, brown skin and dark black tattoos that made up his astonishing back.

She felt her own breath go shallow. And that hollow place inside her chest changed, too. Intensified, maybe, until it was gleaming and wild and intimately connected to that delicious ache in her pussy.

This is a professional interaction, no matter how unorthodox, she lectured herself.

But she was standing there practically naked with some wild current she barely understood streaking through her like lightning, one strike after the next, and words like professional didn’t seem to have much meaning.

Jason turned back to her at last, raking that dark hair back from his face.

He was so beautiful she thought her knees might give out. She could admit that to herself, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.

She’d already proved it once today, when she’d refused to let herself come simply because he was touching her. She would keep proving it, because collapsing at his feet in a heap of sunburned flesh and legless need wasn’t quite the power play she was going for here.

“Well?” She made her voice much sterner than she felt, and told herself feeling anything at all was a betrayal. “Did I acquit myself appropriately? This was a game to you, I assume. Did I win?”

“You got to spend hours surfing at an unspoiled beach pretty much by yourself,” he replied, his lazy drawl made of pure fire while his dark eyes glittered. “Some people would call that winning.”

“What would you call it?”

“A decent start.”

Her heart thumped at that, hard. Because that wasn’t a demand that she leave, and now. It wasn’t a smirk and a no. And anything that wasn’t a direct no was just a yes in waiting, her first boss had always said.

Lucinda had taken that to heart. She smiled at him, and reminded herself that she was, in fact, practically naked. Why not use it?

Maybe her smile got a little flirty. Maybe she shifted her weight to her advantage. Whatever worked.

“Does that mean you plan to give me more opportunities to convince you, I hope? Or will I have to fly back to Fiji on a tiny little puddle jumper wearing nothing but this?”

She didn’t know why she said that, much less in that tone—not breathy, because she was a woman of action who was never breathy, but it was close.

Until his expression changed, that was.

That smile of his turned dangerous and there was something about the way he held that predator’s body of his. She couldn’t have explained to another person what it was, or how it changed, only that it did.

With almost too much heat to bear. So much heat she was terribly afraid she would melt into a puddle right there at his feet.

Part of her even thought that would be a relief. Then she’d simply evaporate and not have to navigate this electric, sensual line with him.

“The bikini belongs to me, Lucinda,” Jason said after a long, hot moment with his gaze all over her like she was already naked and spread out beneath him. “I don’t think I’d like it to wander off to Fiji.”

She had the insane, likely overly optimistic thought that he wasn’t actually talking about a bloody swimsuit.

“Excellent,” she said, instead of giving in to all that melting. Even though her eyes felt slicked with it. And her nipples were so tight they hurt. “Shall I pick a room in the hotel, then?” His gaze darkened, which shouldn’t have been possible, and she hurried on. “To stay in, of course, while I try to convince you.”

“Only if you want to camp out with no electricity or running water.”

She shrugged, and wasn’t the only one who was entirely too aware of how her breasts swayed with the movement.

“Is that another test?” She tried to make herself sound bored. Or unbothered, at the very least.

“Why would your ability to squat in an abandoned building convince me of anything?”

“Why did you insist we get in the water? That seems even more random, doesn’t it?”

She expected a lazy smile. Some throwaway comment. But instead, something flashed across Jason’s fallen-angel face that she wished she could understand.

“I learned a lot about you out there. You’re tenacious. Stubborn as hell, in fact, but when given new information, you don’t insist on clinging to the old. You’re adaptable. And you’re not afraid to use your body. Or throw yourself face-first into new sensation.”

Her heart was acting up again, but she didn’t want to follow the sudden urge she had to reach up and cover it with her palm. Because he saw too much already, and he didn’t need to know how vulnerable she felt.

She wished she didn’t know it.

“All that from a dip in the sea and some paddling about?” It was a fight to keep her voice light. “What’s next? Will you tell me all the details of my childhood trauma after you watch me walk along a garden path?”

“Maybe later.”

He reached out then, and Lucinda knew with every cell in her body that she should dodge that hand of his. She should do whatever it took to keep him from touching her, because if he did, again, she would...but she didn’t dare finish that thought. And she didn’t dodge him, either.

Just as she didn’t question why she’d raised the issue of childhood trauma in the first place.

Or why that heat in his dark gaze gleamed with something new then that looked far too much like compassion.

She wanted to scream at that until it went away, but she didn’t do that either.

“I’m hungry, Lucinda. Are you?”

Even as Jason asked that question, his hand curled around one side of her neck, his thumb moving up and across her jaw to trace her bottom lip.

Once, then again.

Lucinda understood that she had only played with fire before. Sunscreen, his hands and jumping on and off surfboards in a friendly sort of sea the temperature of a bath. All very tame, really.

Because it was nothing next to this.

He was staring down at her, his mouth unsmiling and a blaze in his dark gaze.

As if he was daring her not to burn into ash where she stood.

Some part of her thought it was already too late.

“To clarify,” she heard herself ask in her most prissy, posh, put-on British accent, “are you talking about food, then? Or...?”

“Hunger is hunger, Scotland.”

“I feel certain there’s an argument to be made there. But either way, I like to be prepared.”

She had the sense of his laughter, that great, glorious, raucous sound that could scare the birds from the trees, though he didn’t make any noise. Still, it was there in his dark eyes. In the way he looked down at her, his wide shoulders blocking out the sky.

“I’m hungry,” he told her, his voice as black and rich as the volcanic rock scattered all over the island, looking deceptively soft when it was the opposite. “I want food. And then, like as not, I’m going to want to fuck. But I think you know that already.”

His thumb moved lazily over her jaw, as if he was already moving inside her. As if it was a preview of that thick, deep surge she was already imagining.

Obsessively.

And Lucinda’s mouth was too dry. She couldn’t seem to find her tongue. She couldn’t tell where she ended and he began, not when there was so much blazing tension between them that it felt like some kind of new element. Volcanic like everything else here.

“I take it that you mean me,” she said, what felt like a thousand years or so later. In a thin, reedy sort of voice that didn’t sound like hers at all. “You want to feed me. And then...”

“Fuck,” he supplied without a shred of shame, a hint of a curve in the corner of his mouth. “Yes, Scotland. I want to fuck you. A lot.”

“Is this how you negotiate, generally speaking?”

“It hasn’t been. But there’s something about you that makes me want to make an exception.”

She should have been horrified. Outraged and appalled, certainly. She should have screamed me too in his face and taken to the internet in a blaze of fury. But once again, she seemed to lack a certain affronted prudishness. A weapon was a weapon, after all.

And she was the one in a string bikini with her ass hanging out. An outfit she had chosen to wear, then frolic about in, when she could so easily have declined his offer and played it from there.

She hadn’t wanted to decline. She’d wanted what she’d gotten, which was his full and unwavering attention.

She still wanted it.

But she also wasn’t an idiot.

“And what happens if I fuck you?” she asked, and it was her turn to sound a little lazy. “Do I get to build my resort in all this paradise?”

He laughed at that, out loud this time, and sure enough a set of birds pelted themselves out of the nearest tree, squawking all the way. “That would have to be some fuck. Are you sure you can live up to that standard?”

“Are you afraid you can’t?”

This time, his laughter was a dark flame all its own.

And she was running out of ways to burn. Lucinda was beginning to worry that the only logical next step was implosion.

“I don’t really do tit for tat,” Jason drawled, his hand still hot and pressed against her skin. “As tempting as it sounds, I don’t use my dick as currency. Which is a good thing for you, darlin’, because I don’t think you could afford me.”

She opened her mouth, but he shifted his thumb and pressed it against her lips, shutting her up.

But she could have stepped back. She could have slapped his hand away. Hell, she could have bit him.

All of those things would require she want him to let go of her, however. And Lucinda...didn’t.

“Here’s how this is going to go down,” Jason said, all rumble and dark promise. “I’m going to take you back to my house, which has food, electricity and a shower. My buddy already flew back to Fiji today. One way or another, you’re spending the night. How you want to spend it, and where, is up to you.”

“But the resort—”

He shook his head. “I don’t do strings, Lucinda. Or bargains. I’ll let you decide if you think getting a piece of that ass will soften me up or not. I can’t guarantee it either way.”

“What if that’s not good enough for me?”

And somehow she wasn’t surprised when all Jason did was shrug, then drop his hand. “It wouldn’t be the first time I used my hand. I know it won’t be the last. I’ll live.”

And then he turned and left her there as he headed back up toward the empty hotel.

“Am I supposed to follow you?” she called out after him. “Is this yet another test?”

He turned back, though he didn’t stop walking, and his smile was enough to make her heart stop, as wide as the arms he stretched out like he was taking over the whole damned world.

Or maybe just her.

The bastard.

“You need to do you, Scotland,” he told her, but there was that laughter in his voice again, as if he already knew what she’d choose. As if all of this was inevitable. “I already told you what I want. The question you need to ask yourself is what you want in return.”