Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5) (18 page)

It gave her time to explore her reaction to what they’d done together the night before. It had been beyond exciting. God, so thrilling. Not just the pleasure, but to discover that he’d been drawn to her physically, and that their desires dovetailed in such a gratifying—okay, explosive—way that the memories were still smoldering all these hours later.

“Regrets?” Walsh asked now, pulling her from her reverie.

Her chin jerked up and she met his gaze. Those dark eyes that had watched her with such intent last night were staring at her with the same concentration. Her spit dried in her mouth, and she felt stripped of every defense.

Regrets?

Only one. That he couldn’t be hers forever.

No.
No.

Rejecting that thought, she shook her head.

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, and she held them with her own, attempting to mirror his own insouciance. Of course she could be as carefree about this as he.

“Good,” he finally said, rising. He glanced at his watch. “I’ve gotta go. Meetings.”

“Oh.” She placed her mug on the table and sat up straighter, struggling to return to her admin role. “I can get ready in a flash.”

“You’re off until the afternoon.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Had her suitcase arrived? Email needed to be checked immediately. She mentally added a few other items to her business-day agenda as she swung her legs out of bed while keeping the sheet—mostly—intact.

Walsh clapped a big hand to her bare shoulder. “Honey.”

She froze, her gaze jumping to his face as the sensation of his skin against hers flushed out goose bumps over her naked flesh.

“It’s not necessary, but it’s an order.”

Her breath hitched, her eyes widened.

One corner of his mouth curled up. “Yeah, baby. I’m still the boss of you.”

Thank goodness he left before she lost all semblance of sophistication and slid off the bed into a puddle of blushing, wanting woman.

By lunch, Honey needed to get out of the villa to give the housekeeper time to clean and to give herself a reprieve from wallowing in all things Walsh.

Certainly a sophisticated woman would manage to take her sexual escapades in stride, and she was determined to be that kind of female. Or at least she’d fake it until she made it. In any case, she needed fresh air.

Under the shade of an umbrella on the hacienda’s second-floor terrace restaurant, Honey picked at her lunch and checked through email on her laptop. The scrape of chair legs being dragged across tile caught her attention, and she smiled at York Featherstone, who stood above her.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” she asked, nodding to the seat.

“I supposed I should ask first. You look engrossed.”

“Please join me.” She shut the computer’s cover. “I could use a distraction.”

York settled into the chair. “Now how could I distract you any better than that?” He gestured, indicating the sparkling blue-green water that stretched toward the horizon.

She made a face. “You know, I hadn’t even looked up.”

He
tsked
. “You young people.”

“As if you’re so old,” she scoffed.

A server came by right then to take his order, which gave her time to study the CEO. Late forties, fit, he had a kind smile and a laidback manner not often found in very successful people.

She supposed it might be due to the tragic death of his wife. He’d learned to enjoy the moment…and to see the monkeys. She smiled a little, remembering that thought was the one that had tipped her over last night…straight into Walsh’s arms.

“You look happy,” York said, turning to her once again. “And I should tell you how much I like your new hairstyle.”

“Please do,” she said, smiling as she touched the curls.

They’d pleased her all over again in the mirror that morning, and she’d found to her surprise they needed little tending.

York laughed. “How glad I am that I went off the consortium’s schedule and escaped up here. Spending time with a pretty young woman is much better for my mental health.”

They chatted after that, gliding from topic to topic. He was an easy person with whom to while away the warm afternoon. She wondered if he’d find another romance some day. A man who knew how to completely love a woman—that had been obvious in the way he spoke of his late wife—was a beautiful thing.

He’d never make a list of necessary qualities in a life mate.

“Now I’ve made you frown,” York said.

“Oh, no.” Reaching out, she put her hand over his. “My mind went somewhere else.”

“To him, maybe?” York asked, nodding in the direction of a long-legged man striding onto the terrace toward them.

The sight of Walsh put everything and everyone out of her head. His gaze was fixed on her, and she found herself instantly beginning to rise. Then she grabbed for a little semblance of cool and settled back in her chair.

His greeting to the other man was surprisingly curt, and his expression wasn’t any warmer when he looked down at her. Her eyebrows rose as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Figures were scribbled on it.

“I need you to run these for me while I catch the next program on the schedule.”

“Of course.” She reached for her laptop.

“You’ll concentrate better back in our villa.”

“I…sure.” Rising, she scooped up her computer.

It wasn’t as if she could confess her rube status and say she couldn’t think of anything besides sex within the walls of that place. So she bid York goodbye and headed back to their rooms, the space between her shoulder blades itching, she thought, from Walsh’s strangely displeased stare.

As the afternoon wore on, she figured she must have imagined it. He didn’t return with any further instructions, so after doing what he’d asked, she sat on the small outdoor patio with a bottle of sparkling water. This time, she allowed her gaze to play on the tranquil ocean and breathed deeply, trying to put herself in that same serene state.

Enjoy the moment…

But when the ding of her laptop signaled an incoming email, she thought she’d better attend to business. No matter what had happened with Walsh the night before, she was still here as his admin.

When she sat on the couch in the living area and opened the email, she found it wasn’t about MadSci. It was from her little sister.

She was rereading the words when Walsh walked through the entry door.

Glancing up, she tried pinning on a smile. “Oh, hey.”

He frowned, and strode right to her. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing to do with MadSci. And I ran those numbers like you wanted. They—”

“What’s the matter?” he repeated, dropping to the cushion beside hers. He glanced at her computer screen. “And who’s writing to you in all caps?”

“Lucy.” Though Honey shut the cover and set the laptop on the coffee table, she couldn’t get her mind off the email.

“That delinquent ex-boyfriend of hers isn’t around again?”

“No, thank goodness. He’s still locked up. But Lucy…” Honey waved a hand. “Both she and Jeb are mad at our mother. They stayed out past their curfew and now aren’t allowed to leave the house this weekend.”

“What are you supposed to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could advise them on how to handle things with our parents better.” Not that she was any more adept.

Walsh frowned. “I don’t know why they always dump on you.”

“They don’t,” she said, her defense automatic. “I—”

“Never mind. All teenagers are self-absorbed and do foolish things. I know I did.” He sat back on the cushions.

“I want so much for them to be happy.” Frustrated, she buried her hands in her hair, her heart aching. “They should be enjoying this time in their lives. Instead, they seem more miserable every day.”

“Which, when they complain to you about it, makes you unhappy, too.”

She grimaced. “They’re saying next fall when they apply for colleges it will only be to out-of-state schools. And that when they leave California, they’re never coming back.”

“Maybe that would be good for them,” Walsh said.

But it would be terrible for Honey. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “It would be difficult to let them go. I practically raised them.”

He pulled her into his arms, and she tried resisting, but his hold was strong.

“Come on,” he said, patting her back. “It’s not so bad.”

“You don’t understand.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. “They’re…they’re all I have. Before them, no one ever loved me.” Hearing herself, Honey’s spine shot straight.

Oh, God
. She sounded like a pitiful loser. Jerking free of him, she jumped to her feet and cleared her throat. “Please excuse the whimpering,” she said. “Probably delayed jet lag or something.”

Her feet double-timed it toward her bedroom. Once inside, she’d lock herself away and be pathetic alone.

“Honey.”

At his deep voice, she paused. Turned. “Um, yes?”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

She glanced down. “Oh. My suitcase showed up.”

Inside were the resort clothes she’d picked in L.A. Now she was comfortably dressed in a pair of loose capri pants and a camp shirt that might be a bit too big, but it allowed a nice air flow. Not that Walsh would know, but underneath she was wearing her very own practical cotton panties and bra.

“Strip,” he said.

Her gaze flew to his. “What? Why? I’ll change before dinner to something less casual.”

“If it comes out of your suitcase, I don’t want to see it. And right now, I don’t want to see you in anything at all.” He rose from the couch, looking dark and intimidating. “Now
strip
.”

Honey’s stomach flipped, and all thoughts of her brother and sister and, well, anything beyond the hot look in Walsh’s eyes, vanished. Any semblance of sophistication disappeared too as her knees trembled, and she felt a flush begin at the roots of her hair. He looked so…so bossy.

“What’s going on?” she managed to ask.

“It seems you need to spend some more time in our bubble.”

She swallowed, excitement making her heart race. “Really? Why?”

“To remind you you’re a desirable woman. One who doesn’t need to hide behind anything.”

The next afternoon, Walsh called to Honey through her closed bedroom door. “We’re going to be late.”

She called back. “Maybe I should put on the one-piece I brought from L.A.”

He rolled his eyes. “When we get back from this little field trip, I’m going to cut that one-piece from L.A. into strips I can use to tie you to my bed.”

The ensuing silence made him worry. He rapped his knuckles on the door. “You alive in there?”

“I’m not sure,” came her faint voice.

Grinning, Walsh shook his head. These past couple of days had been the most fun he’d ever had in the sack…and in the shower…and on the sofa. Honey was unfailingly easy to arouse, which pleased him to no fucking end. Turning her on was his absolute delight.

“Hurry up,” he called again.

Now was not the time for their games. Now was the time to return to his number-one priority—business. The day before, he and Honey hadn’t made it back to the hacienda until the casino night was in full swing—and then York Featherstone was nowhere to be found. When the other man suggested at breakfast this morning that Walsh and Honey join him and his niece on a private excursion to a nearby island later in the day, he’d leaped at the chance.

It was important they have the opportunity to take each other’s measure. Featherstone’s long years of experience and excellent track record told Walsh pretty much all he needed to know. But though he’d had his own successes, his fewer years in the industry made him a lesser-known quantity. The more lucrative and interesting government contracts currently in play would more likely be sent in his direction if he could convince Featherstone they should join forces. That meant the other man’s good opinion of him was imperative.

Honey’s door popped open and she emerged, a hat on her head and dark glasses in her hand. The strings of a tropical print bikini top were tied around her neck and at her back. A matching sarong was knotted at her hips, and he could only assume she wore the bikini bottoms that completed the set. With effort, he acted unmoved at the sight of her dainty body so revealed.

She cast him a look. “If I get a nasty sunburn, it will be all your fault.”

“I volunteer to apply sunscreen,” he said, allowing himself to grin again. “To every exposed inch.”

“I took care of that myself.” Then she warily skirted his body. “Coming?”

He decided not to tease them both by commenting on that word. Instead, he followed her to the designated meeting spot. York and Dayna were standing on the beach near a freshly-painted
panga
boat rocking in the shallow surf. The four of them waded into the ocean. Taking hold of Honey’s elbow, Walsh boosted her over the gunwale.

The short trip to their destination made only small talk appropriate. The four conversed about the perfect temperature, the warm breeze, the fish they could see in the clear water over the sides of the boat. In a short time they were delivered to the banks of the island. Colorful hammocks hung between trees, the delicious smell of hot oil frying fish and tortillas was in the air, and the bright sound of Mexican music drifted from the beachside eateries that lined the sand.

Tourists were less in evidence than locals, and Walsh noted Honey watching the groups of cute kids chasing each other up and down the beach. Her expression looked wistful, and a sharp pang stabbed him as he recalled her upset of the day before. An ultra-responsible older sister, her teen siblings’ issues were a constant source of trouble for her.

They’re…they’re all I have,
she’d said.
Before them, no one ever loved me.

He didn’t feel a jot of guilt for having distracted her with sex.

But hell, right now he had nothing as sure-proof to divert her.

Still, he strode to her side. Dayna Featherstone beat him there.

“I hear they have a great selection of silver jewelry and embroidered clothes for sale. Let’s go check it out.”