Caught Up in You (22 page)

TWENTY-ONE

Wyatt circled his arms around Kelsey’s waist and set his
chin on the top of her head, giving her puppy dog eyes in the bathroom mirror as she
re-powdered her nose. “Can’t we bail on this get-together and go lay out on the deck?
Naked. We’ve got all kinds of privacy out there. And think how fun it’ll be to lather
up with sunscreen.”

Kelsey gave him her best attempt at a stern look, though it was hard with his fingers
creeping beneath the bottom edge of her top and stroking her belly. “No way, Mister.
I danced with Mr. Fancy Pants the other night to get you this invite. You are going
to go play nice and get his business.”

“I told you, love. I don’t want Carmichael’s goddamned business.” His palms slid upward,
cupping her breasts through the thin lace of her bra. “I want
you
. Plus, I thought I’d teach you to drive a jet ski later.”

She shivered beneath his touch, her body going hot at the mere suggestion of spending
the rest of the day beneath him. But she had to remind herself that they were here
for another reason besides wanton sex and island fun. For most of the week, she’d
let Wyatt tempt her away from time with the other guests because one look and sexy
suggestion from him usually had all her resolve melting and her clothes magically
falling off. And luckily, during the few couple’s activities they’d participated in,
he’d made good contacts and had a few meetings set up, but the gold medal of clients
hadn’t been landed yet. So when it came to today’s plan, she had to turn the tables
on her dom and push the issue. He could punish her for it later.

She set her compact down and turned in his arms. He didn’t back up, but simply pressed
his hands to the edge of the sink, caging her in. “You brought me here to help you.”

“And you have. More than you know.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I don’t need to
go spend time with that jerk. You’re much more interesting.”

“So the guy’s an asshole, so what?” she asked, doing her best not to get sucked into
the vortex of temptation. “You don’t have other assholes on your client list?”

His smile dipped.

“Exactly. And this guy can help your company. You wouldn’t have gone through all this
trouble to come out here if you didn’t need this to happen.” She put her hands on
his chest. “So let me help you. Play their game. Which today is poker for you boys
and mani/pedis for we delicate ones.”

“Delicate, huh?”

She slid her hands upward and wrapped her arms around his neck. “For the record, I
could kick all of your asses at Texas Hold ’Em. I play at The Ranch with some of the
other employees. But apparently getting invited to Andrew’s exclusive poker game is
only for a chosen few . . . and those chosen few must have external genitalia. So
I’ll go hang with the girls and see if I can make any more friends for you. And you
go land yourself a whale.”

He sighed and touched his forehead to hers, but she could tell she’d already won.
“I thought
you
were supposed to be taking orders from
me
, love.”

Her lips curled. “Not in this arena. But later . . .”

He drew his hand up from her waist and gently collared her neck, his thumb tracing
the delicate skin there. Her muscles automatically went pliant, her weight leaning
onto the sink, as if that simple touch hit some liquefy button inside of her. “Yes.
Later there will be no talking back, unless it’s to beg.”

She closed her eyes, her heart hopping like she’d turned up the dial on the treadmill.
It took everything she had not to give in and let him take her to the bed right then.
She wet her lips, trying to put together her thoughts. “For the poker game . . .”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said absently as he wedged his thigh between her legs, giving pressure
right where she needed it, and kissed behind her ear.

She swallowed against his hold on her throat, her head tilting back on its own volition.
“Don’t play too well. Play good enough so that they know you’re smart and make wise
decisions about when to take risks and when not to, but don’t cut off their balls
by beating them into the ground and winning all their chips. Let them think you’re
evenly matched. Let them win some big hands against you.”

He leaned back, releasing his hold and smirking. “You’re assuming I’m some poker whiz.
Maybe they’ll beat me fair and square.”

She scoffed. “You have a genius mind for math and probabilities, and you have a poker
face that would rival a dead man’s. Are you telling me you don’t know how to play
cards?”

His smile was slow, lethal.

She smacked his chest. “You’ve never lost, have you?”

He grabbed her wrist and brought it to his mouth, kissing the inside of it. “I promise
to lose—a little—today. God forbid I injure one of the monster-sized egos in the room.”

“Watch that glass house, stud.” She pushed up on her toes and kissed him again, then
ducked out of his hold, giving him a pat on the ass as she moved past him. “I’ll see
you after the big game. Go team!”

“Sure you don’t want to come by in a cheerleader outfit? Maybe with a big
W
on your T-shirt?” he asked, following her out of the bathroom and leaning against
the doorjamb with a sex-on-the-rocks smile.

She cocked her head to the side and tapped a finger against her chin. “Hmm, I think
I may still have one of those outfits at home in the
dancer
box. No
W
though.”

“Fuck me,” he said, carding a hand through his hair and looking like she’d told him
she had the best tasting dessert ever but wasn’t going to share. “You kept the outfits?”

She shrugged. Truth was, she liked role play. She only hoped she’d never have to do
it on a stage again. “Perhaps.”

“God, I hate that you had to do that job, but hell if you didn’t just make my brain
explode a little.”

She laughed. “Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll let you see a few when we get back to town.”

The words were out before she had evaluated them, and she barely resisted a face-palm
when she realized what they implied. Wasn’t she the one who’d called him out on the
plane for alluding to future plans? Now she was doing the same. She opened her mouth
to backpedal, but Wyatt didn’t give her a chance.

“Then I think I’m going to try to be very,
very
nice, Ms. LeBreck.” His gaze showed no fear or concern, only searing-hot purpose.

She smoothed her hair, the promise sending a streamer of anticipation through her.
“I better get going.”

He pushed off the doorjamb. “Good idea, because you’re suddenly not doing a very good
job of convincing me why I need to go spend the next two hours with a bunch of blowhards
when I could be here doing unspeakable things to you.”

She blew him a kiss and gave a little wave. “Good-bye, Mr. Austin. Don’t get into
too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“No, I’ll save that for you, love.”

At that, she slipped out of their cabana and down the steps to the path, smiling so
wide her face hurt. She touched her mouth with her fingers, almost surprised to find
the grin there. When had she ever felt this . . . light?

She looked to the wide blue sky, half-expecting a bolt of lightning to take her out.

But for once, there wasn’t a storm cloud in sight.

* * *

“All in.” Scott Redmond, one of Wyatt’s father’s biggest
clients, pushed the rest of his stack of poker chips toward the pot and sent a challenging
look Carmichael’s way.

Wyatt had already bowed out of this hand, though he’d had a pocket pair he would’ve
normally played with. So, he sat back in his chair and sipped his drink as he observed
the two men. Scott was bluffing. Even with his stone-cold stare, his thumb had rubbed
the band of his wedding ring when he’d made the call, revealing his tell. But this
was how Scott ran his business—posture and intimidate until the other side gave in.

Carmichael eyed Scott, turning and turning a poker chip between his fingers as he
did, then flicked his cards toward the center of the table. “Fold.”

The older man grinned and raked the pot his way. He pushed his own cards toward the
dealer, but didn’t flip them over, leaving Carmichael to wonder if he’d been had or
not. “Smart move, son.”

“Keep it up at this rate and you’ll need to call Wyatt’s daddy to get advice on where
to invest your newest fortune,” Andrew joked, tilting his head Wyatt’s way.

“Or you could just give that big stack of chips to me. I’ll make sure it gets to him,”
Wyatt said with a wry smile.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Scott replied with a wheeze of a laugh. “There’s no one I trust
more with my money than your father, but these winnings will go straight into a new
boat I’ve had my eye on.”

The dealer dealt the next hand, and Wyatt peeked at his two cards, lifting just the
corners and cupping his hand around them—queen, king, suited. He tossed in a few chips.
Wallace and Cam Berthelot had already busted out and left, so it was only the three
of them now.

Carmichael pushed in enough chips to match Wyatt’s bet and nodded his way. “Yeah,
Scott here has been singing your father’s praises lately. Seems your firm’s making
him a lot of money.”

“Damn straight,” Scott said, shoving his own chips in.

Wyatt swirled his drink, still not trusting Carmichael. The guy had been ridiculously
cordial so far today. Not a Quiet Wyatt comment to be heard. But that didn’t mean
Wyatt was letting his guard down. And if Andrew expected him to start begging for
his business, he was going to be greatly disappointed. “We’re the best at what we
do.”

“Not what Tony Merrill says,” Andrew replied, his eyes on the dealer as the older
man turned the first card of the flop.

“Tony promises a lot of flash. If you want to be wined and dined and swept off on
their annual Mediterranean cruise so that you feel important, you go with Merrill
and Mead. If you want people who actually know the market and see what’s around the
next curve before you get there, then you go with us.” Wyatt tossed more chips in.

“And what if I need someone who knows how to be discreet?” Andrew asked, his tone
as casual as the god-awful tropical shirt he wore today. He pushed his cards in, folding.

The question was simple and not completely off the wall. People wanted ultimate privacy
when it came to their finances, but the way Andrew had said it had raised Wyatt’s
creep sensors. “Meaning?”

Andrew shrugged and glanced over at their poker partner. “Scott has told me your father
has always been good at keeping things clean. You know, even when they may not start
out that way.”

Wyatt’s attention snapped toward Scott, who only offered a ghost of a smile as he
peeked at his cards to decide what his next move was.
Keeping things clean?
What the fuck?
“I see.”

“Honestly,” Carmichael continued, “I wasn’t sure if you had the
cajones
to handle something like that. You’ve never been much of a . . . risk-taker. I mean,
you didn’t even fuck that pretty girlfriend you had in high school. Shocked the hell
out of me when she told me she was a virgin.”

Wyatt gripped his drink so hard, he was surprised it didn’t shatter in his fist. But
there was no way he was going to make a scene in front of Scott, one of his father’s
most important clients. Wyatt leveled a look at Carmichael, refusing to respond to
the bait.

“But when I saw who you brought with you as a date for this week, I realized I must’ve
misjudged you.” Carmichael tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “I mean, the Quiet
Wyatt I knew would’ve never had the gall to take a stripper to something like this.”

“Don’t fucking call her that,” he growled.

Scott coughed.

Carmichael smiled, raising his palms. “Whoa, there. Sorry.
Exotic dancer
. Forgive me. Gwen used a much less complimentary term. But she was drunk and on the
verge of an orgasm, so you know, what can you do? I got quite a chuckle out of it,
though. Mr. Buttoned-up Genius with a girl like Kelsey. And hey, who could blame you?
That girl is a looker. I mean, whenever your . . . contract with her is up, I might
have to make a little investment myself.”

Wyatt was out of his seat before the next breath. He hauled Carmichael up from his
seat by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the bank of windows overlooking
the beach. The glass rattled and Wyatt vaguely registered the dealer calling for security
and Scott calling his name.

“One more word about Kelsey and I will fucking throw you through this window,” he
seethed, inches from Andrew’s smarmy face.

“Ah, just like old times,” Carmichael said, his tone bland. “You really should talk
to someone about your anger problems.”

Wyatt’s grip tightened, and he pictured undoing all the plastic surgery Andrew had
probably gotten done in the last ten years. But Scott was grabbing Wyatt’s shoulder,
his voice calm and cajoling. “Come on, Wyatt. Let him go. This isn’t the place.”

“Don’t worry, Scott,” Carmichael said with a confident sneer. “He’s not going to hurt
me. He needs my business, and he’s too smart not to know how much my money could mean
to his company. All we need to do is agree to get this bullshit bad blood out of the
way, so we can move on.”

The clopping feet of the two security guards jogging their way sounded in Wyatt’s
ears. He punched Carmichael in the gut, sending the guy into a gasping front fold,
and released him. Firm hands landed on Wyatt’s forearms, dragging him backward. “Arms
behind you.”

Carmichael braced a hand on the window, still half-bent, and looked up at Wyatt. “Feel
better now?”

“It’s a start,” Wyatt spat out.

“Let him go,” Andrew said, waving at the security guards. “We’re just handling an
old matter. Nothing to worry about.”

The two hulking guards glanced at Wyatt, and the one on his right gave Andrew a perplexing
look. “You sure, Mr. Carmichael? We could take him to the main island, you could press
charges.”