Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5) (8 page)

But her agitation resurfaced when her suitcase failed to show. They waited until the last surfboard and the final set of golf clubs had appeared and been retrieved. With the carousel empty, the driver took Honey’s claim ticket and headed for the missing luggage desk.

She bit her lip. “Now what am I going to do?”

He shifted his gaze from her swollen mouth. “They’ll locate the bag and deliver it to you if necessary.”

“What will I wear until then?”

Nothing
, the devil on his shoulder answered. Walsh cleared his throat. “Surely there’ll be shops at the resort.”

She shrugged out of her jacket. “Already this is going wrong,” she muttered.

Guilt gave him another jab. Whether she’d been a willing partner in the kissing or not, he was the one with the greater experience—he was certain of that. It had been up to him not to surrender to his primitive impulses.

When it came to her it seemed he’d lost his self-control.

Except he’d find it, damn it, because he didn’t like being the cause of her skittishness.

In a few minutes they were informed Honey’s suitcase was located—somewhere over the Atlantic. With the airline’s promise that they’d bring it to her as soon as possible, there was nothing to do but head for their destination.

And restore his relationship with his admin to normal.

The expansive confines of the limo proved to be oddly intimate, however. With the driver behind soundproof glass, Walsh took a seat as far from Honey as possible. She stared out the dusty window at the rugged landscape as if she didn’t see it.

He pulled open the small fridge and extracted two more drinks—bottles of sparkling water. “Thirsty?”

She slid closer on the leather bench seat to take it from him, her skirt riding up on her legs with the movement. Pretending to focus on opening the screw top of his own drink, he checked out the sleek length of her thighs. Spin classes, she’d mentioned. Pilates. He’d seen her in yoga gear. There should be no surprise she was in good shape.

“There’s a gym on site,” he said. Before, he’d not thought about her taking advantage of the resort’s fitness center, but now he figured she might enjoy some time there. “You’ll probably like to visit it.”

“What?” She brought her water away from her mouth. “Won’t we be too busy…with business?”

He frowned. “I haven’t exactly explained this weekend to you, have I?”

“I assumed there’d be the usual kind of meetings amongst members of the consortium…albeit in a more casual setting.”

“Well…” Walsh forked his hand through his hair. “I fully intend to corral a company officer or two and talk about some mutually beneficial partnerships.”

“York Featherstone.”

He nodded. “Number one on my list. His company’s manufacturing abilities combined with the strength of our research and development team means we could win some fat government contracts. Not just lucrative…but exciting and challenging as well. The kind of stuff our guys would love to sink their teeth into.”

“Not to mention you.”

He smiled. She knew him so well. “It was my contacts at the Pentagon and the DOJ who mentioned the idea. They want our brains. And I don’t need to reinvent the wheel by expanding MadSci’s limited manufacturing arm.”

“Which you consider to be the boring part anyway.” A little grin played at her lips. “Your interest lies on the invention side.”

“Nerd inside and out.”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “On the outside, you’re definitely more
GQ
than G-E-E-K.”

“Funny.” He relaxed against the seat and spread his arms along its back. This was the Honey from the office, the one with an understated but clever sense of humor who caught on quickly to his train of thought. “So connecting with Featherstone is an aim, but it won’t come in the form of a traditional meeting…at least not at first. The organizers intend this weekend to be more of a social affair.”

She tilted her head, a line digging itself between her brows. “Social affair?”

Now why did that last word on her pretty mouth sound so titillating? He couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to her legs again, and he cursed himself as she flushed and tugged at the hem of her skirt.

Tipping his bottle to his lips, he took another bracing swallow of cold liquid. “I mean it’s going to have a more social
flavor
. Meals during which we can mingle. Cocktail parties. A casino night…that kind of thing. The consortium coordinators have declared us to be a suspicious lot—due to the top secret nature of our work. So the idea is that by getting to know each other outside of a conference room or a corporate office we might make stronger alliances.”

“So the weekend’s supposed to be like one long golf game. Isn’t it at the country club where company heads often play and make deals at the same time?”

“If the damn eighteen holes didn’t take so many hours, I suppose I’d be on the green more often,” Walsh groused.

“It’s not a crime to be away from your desk on occasion.” She smiled. “Maybe even for an entire day.”

Your workaholic ways are sucking the humanity out of you.

He groaned. “Not you, too.”

Except he could see it, suddenly, that extended time away from work. Aimless mornings and lazy afternoons in bed with Honey. She probably liked to do the crossword puzzle, and he’d distract her from filling in boxes by filling her from behind, her pretty ass in the air, taking his cock, squeezing on it in her throes of orgasm. Her cries would start ladylike, and he’d make it his duty to wring loud sounds of passion from her.

She’d bury her face in the pillow to muffle them, but he’d fist his hand in that honey-gold air and yank back her head to watch her cheeks flush and her eyes glaze over as he pumped roughly into her pulsing sex.

Blood shot to his groin, and his dick hardened at the thought. If alone, he’d draw the heel of his hand down its stiffening length to ease the ache, but here he had to suffer.

He
should
suffer. It was time to recall he didn’t want a woman who would interfere with his work. Instead of finding someone who flung him into passion, he needed a woman in his life who would understand his priorities. Sure, he’d give her respect and pay attention to her needs, but he didn’t want
his
needs to be hijacked.

Raw desire, the kind that put a man in a fever of want and a haze of lust was too distracting.

Destructive.

“I think we’re here,” his admin said.

He glanced out the windows and saw they were driving through ornate gates painted the color of a flamingo. The greenery was lush and tropical, and to the west he caught glimpses of stretches of sand and a tranquil bay. They continued on along a narrow tract, past an elegant hacienda-styled building that he knew had been built in the 1960s by a European princess. Now it was restaurants and guest rooms.

Honey frowned as they passed the impressive old building. “We’re not staying there?”

When he shrugged, she knocked on the window dividing them from the driver. The man obligingly rolled it down. “We’re not there?” she asked, pointing behind them.

He shook his head. “Closer to
la playa
.”

Another couple of turns, and the driver came to a stop in front of a beachside bungalow surrounded by coconut trees and banana plants. Flowering shrubs flanked the front steps leading to the dwelling’s door. As Walsh climbed out, he noted the smell of the ocean and the complete sense of privacy.

Her head twisting this way and that, Honey trailed the chauffeur who unlocked the front door and threw it open. On the threshold, his admin’s body stilled.

Coming up behind her, he could see why.

Through the glass back doors, the view was of the sun setting over the Pacific. It leant rosy tones to the large living area. Off each side he could see a bedroom. Hibiscus flowers were arranged in a spiral at the center of each duvet-covered mattress.

A bowl of fruit sat on a nearby table and next to it champagne chilled in a bucket of ice.

“There must be some mistake,” Honey said, her voice tight. “This looks like the honeymoon suite.”

“No mistake,” their driver said, his expression offended. “This is yours.”

“It’s very lovely, don’t get me wrong,” she said hastily, casting a look at Walsh. “But not suitable for us.”

“This is yours,” the man insisted. He put card keys on the table and placed Walsh’s suitcase near the doorway of one of the bedrooms. With a murmured “Welcome” in Spanish, he left through the front door.

Honey’s eyes were like saucers as she took another slow look at the environs. Tropical-styled furniture sat on tiled floors. A complete bar took up one corner, a flat screen TV and stereo system another.

“I don’t think this is right,” she said, even as she walked toward the back doors and stared at the view of the waves rolling in.

“There’s plenty of space for us both.” Secluded space. Perfect for secrets. Clandestine moments.

Stolen kisses and caresses.

Shit.

He came up behind her, detecting a new scent on her skin. He’d noticed it all day. A note beyond her usual fresh soapiness that operated with stealthy effect on his libido. At first breath it smelled as wholesome as she was, but underneath it held a spicy, seductive quality.

Honey glanced at him over her shoulder. “It’s not suitable for work.”

But maybe it was perfectly suitable for what he needed―to prove himself the boss of his inconvenient, unwelcome urges. Taking in a breath, he told himself he knew what he had to do.

Yeah, it was time.

“I don’t see how we’ll get anything done,” she continued.

“Don’t worry on that score.”

She threw him a doubtful look. “Walsh—”

“I’ll prove it to you. Get out your tablet or a notepad or something.”

Moving away from the doors, she headed for where she’d left her laptop bag. “Why?”

“I’ve come to a big decision.”

From the soft-sided case she extracted paper and pen. “And that is…?”

“I’ve decided it’s time I marry.” He watched the water, each wave rolling in calm and steady. Like he wanted his life. “So I need you to help me make a list.”

She coughed. “A list of what?”

“A list of the sensible qualities I want in the woman who will be my wife.”

Honey had never slept naked. That must be the cause of her restless night, despite the steady and dulcet lullaby the waves sang as they washed upon the sand. She’d climbed between the sheets wearing the terry robe she’d found hanging in the bathroom, but after five minutes and three turns, it had put her into a full-body strangle.

So she’d struggled free from it and then spread out, flesh-to-cotton.

But slumber still didn’t come. Instead, her mind replayed on a continuous reel those moments on the airplane after Walsh’s mouth touched hers.

Staggered by that near-death experience—she’d been convinced the end was just seconds away—she’d responded without thinking, her mouth pressing hard to his. The tip of his tongue had brushed her bottom lip, and she’d opened to allow him to dive inside. The possessive, aggressive nature of it had electrified her.

She’d pressed closer, held back only by her seat belt, and as if he sensed her frustration, he’d found the buckle and released her. Then she’d been in his lap, the feel of a hard erection beneath her both satisfying and titillating.

His kiss had ground harder and hotter, and then his hand had cupped her breast with that same possessive intent.

Her body had jolted, the pleasure searing, almost overwhelming. Then his touch changed. His hand still caged the globe of her breast, but his thumb had strummed gently over the aching nipple. Moaning, she’d melted into him, wanting more of that tenderness and more of the forcefulness too, both at once.

From far away she’d heard a voice. Then Walsh tore his mouth from hers and reality had smartly slapped her in the face.

She’d been practically climbing him! In the airplane!

Though she’d quickly returned to her seat, she’d felt overwrought and too hot and completely humiliated by her unrestrained responses to him.

All these hours later, her heart still hadn’t slowed. Her skin still felt too tight.

No wonder she couldn’t sleep.

She squeezed shut her eyes and willed away all thoughts of those crazy moments on the plane. Tuning in to the sound of the surf, she synced her breathing with the slow movement of the waves.

The sound of her bedroom door snicking open brought her instantly alert. It wasn’t fear that made her muscles tense, however. It was awareness. She knew the identity of the dark shape standing in the doorway, recognizing him on an instant by his distinctive shape. His shoulders nearly scraped the jamb, and she saw that his hands gripped the sides of it, as if he was attempting to hold himself back.

Her throat tightened, so she couldn’t speak and could barely breathe.

“Honey,” he said, low and slow.

She scooted to a sitting position, holding the sheet to her bare breasts. “Is there…” She swallowed to loosen the words. “Is there something you want? Need?”

“Want?” His rough laugh tickled her jangling nerve endings. “Need?” He prowled closer. “Yeah.”

His chest was uncovered. Honey didn’t dare drop her gaze below that slab of rippled muscle. Surely he hadn’t come to her without clothes?

Now he stood beside the bed, and she tilted her head to gaze into his face. In the dim light, his eyes were dark, unreadable pools.

“Drop the sheet,” he said.

Her fingers clutched the material. “W-what?”

“You let me touch them. Now I want to see them.”

Her breasts. They swelled, the tips tightening to an ache that was equal parts pleasure and pain. Honey’s skin flamed everywhere, and she felt a rush of moisture between her thighs. Every fine hair on her body rose.

“Honey.” His voice dropped even deeper. “Show me.”

At the authoritative tone, her fingers went nerveless and the sheet slithered to her waist.

He sucked in a quick breath.