Parker’s Price (7 page)

It would serve him right if she chose a chick flick, Parker thought. However, she’d have to suffer through it, too.

She could play with him a bit, though.

“Well,” she drawled, trailing a fingertip across the slim spines of the plastic DVD and Bluray cases, “I feel like a classic. A movie I know that always make me feel better after watching it.”

He eyed her warily.

“Let’s see,” she murmured as she continued her perusal, enjoying his silent agony. She thought she heard a faint whimper when her finger moved over some Kevin Costner movies and nearly smiled. A few more spines, then her finger came to a stop and she pulled out a DVD case and held it out for him to see like she was showcasing it on a game show.

“Die Hard?”
She heard the relief mixed in with the astonishment. “Automatic weapons, explosions, and mayhem make you feel better?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “
Die Hard
’s a classic Christmas movie.”

He chuckled and took the DVD from her. “I knew there was more to you than a beautiful face.” He gave her a light shove toward the sofa. “Sit down, relax, and I’ll get set up.”

Not knowing why, Parker was feeling strangely decadent and more relaxed than she had in longer than she could recall. Maybe she had needed a vacation. Deciding introspection wouldn’t benefit her here and now, she finished the remaining wine in her glass and stretched out on her side on the sofa, letting her body sink into the cushions and using one armrest as a pillow.

The movie started and Dean came to loom over her. She was feeling too comfy to sit up.

“You told me to relax.”

“So I did,” he murmured. “Another man would take your pose as an invitation.”

Parker was very aware of the three glasses of Merlot in her system. “You promised I would call the shots while we’re here.”

“So I did,” he repeated, looking too thoughtful for Parker’s liking. Or, rather, too much to Parker’s liking. Then he lifted both her legs up, sat down and let her limbs fall across his lap. He wrapped his hand around one foot.

“Your feet are tiny.”

She looked down. His hand, from heel to fingertips, was longer than her foot by a couple of inches. “I’m short and small and you’re big and lumbering.”

His thumb stroked up and down the high arch of her instep. She inhaled deeply and bit down on a corner of her bottom lip. Her toes curled and she tried to jerk her foot away. He didn’t release her. “Lumbering?”

“Okay, maybe not lumbering,” she quickly conceded. “Now, let go of my foot. It’s rough and callused from running and too many years of high heels…and sometimes running
in
high heels.”

Dean ignored her request. His thumb moved to the center of her foot. Parker had never known how sensitive that center line could be.

“How often do you run?”

“Five days a week. I…uh…try to do it early in the morning before I get ready for work.”

“Central Park?” He released her limp foot and picked up the other one.

“Um hmm,” she sighed. Her conversation skills were quickly deteriorating and the man massaging her foot looked like he knew it and was thoroughly enjoying it.

“There’s no park here, but one of the beaches should work for you. There’s six on this island. You can take your pick.”

“Um hmm.”

“Or you can do them all. Six days, six beaches.”

“Um hmm.”

“And I’ll run with you tomorrow.”

“Um hmm.”

“And we can strip down and play doctor afterward,” he added dryly.

“Um hmm.”

He chuckled and, to her disappointment, ended the impromptu massage, settling her foot in his lap. “Watch the movie.”

Despite having slept the day away and the gratuitous violence as Bruce Willis shot his way across the screen to save his wife and a group of hostages from highly organized thieves, Parker slowly drifted toward sleep, her internal clock apparently trying to adjust to the new time zone.

Dean watched her, taking note that the dark circles under her eyes weren’t as pronounced as before, and felt guilty because he wanted to cover her body with his, her mouth with his, and wake her up and keep her up until they were both exhausted. But she needed sleep more than she needed him proving to her just how much of the Neanderthal he actually was.

As the credits rolled, he powered off the television and DVD player with the remote controllers. Then, sliding one arm behind her back and another under her knees, he lifted her up, keeping her against his chest. She was light in his arms, fragile, and he resolved to feed her until she had another ten pounds on her slender frame.

Like earlier when he’d carried her from the private jet to the waiting SUV and from the SUV into the house, she snuggled up against him, burying her face in his neck. Warmth spread within his chest. Awake, she didn’t trust him as far she could throw him, but asleep, those barriers came down and her instincts took over. And he had less than six days to convince her to trust those instincts.

Parker glared at the figure backlit by the early morning sun twenty feet ahead of her. She continued running, putting one worn running-shoe-clad foot in front of the other, each step marking the powdery sand that bordered impossibly blue water. But she couldn’t enjoy her surroundings, not when that competitive side of her was smarting because of the man waiting for her, looking like he’d done nothing more strenuous than enjoy a stroll along the beach instead of a hard run on two miles of sand.

“Are you sure you spend all day sitting behind a desk?” she asked when she slowed to a halt, breathing heavily, but, thankfully, not panting. That would’ve been just too humiliating to bear.

Looking amused and pleased with himself and a smidgen indulgent, Dean handed her a blessedly chilly water bottle. She twisted off the cap and downed half the contents without pausing to take a breath.

“I never said I spend all day sitting behind a desk,” he countered easily when she came up for air and rolled the sweating bottle across her forehead. “You just assumed that. All I need to broker a deal is a phone, so I can talk on the phone while lifting weights or doing squats if I want to.”

His glance trailed down her trim body, showcased in low-rise running shorts and a grey, fitted T-shirt with the letters
N, Y
and
U
stitched across the front.

“For a magazine editor, you’re in pretty good shape yourself.”

She lowered the plastic bottle and turned to face the ocean, shoved back the sweat-dampened strands of hair that escaped her braid and let the salty air cool her skin. Her eyes drifted shut as she let the breeze carry away her soft, drawn-out sigh.

Without looking at him, she said, “At the office, I live on hot chocolate, granola bars and bananas. For dinner, I usually hit a sushi place on the way home and order takeout. If I need something more substantial, I boil a little pasta, heat up some marinara sauce and maybe toss in a piece of grilled chicken breast or maybe a small handful of prawns.”

He made an unhappy noise in his throat. She cracked open one eye and squinted at him without turning her head.

“You’ll be eating a lot more substantially while you’re here. You need it.”

“Did I mention that I work out religiously?”

He grunted in the way men do when they don’t actually have a response.

She laughed, then toed off her shoes and peeled off her socks. Barefoot, she walked toward the water, loving the feel of the silky sand under her feet and pushing up between her toes. Water lapped her feet, warmer than the pool she’d trailed her fingers through earlier.

“You might want to take off your clothes before going in,” he suggested.

She threw him a glance over her shoulder. “I just want to cool off a bit before going back inside.”

“You’ll cool off faster if you take off your clothes.”

“You first,” she dared before she could stop herself.

His eyes gleamed wickedly. And she knew she’d walked into that one.

Dean whipped his T-shirt over his head and Parker’s mouth actually watered and her fingers itched to touch him. She bit down on a corner of her bottom lip, oddly breathless. He obviously spent a lot of time making deals while in the gym because acres of tanned skin were stretched over taut, corded muscles—from flexing biceps to hair-roughened chest to abs she’d only seen on athletes. Her gaze followed the thin line of hair, a darker shade of blond than the hair on his head, that bisected his navel down to the elastic waistband of his running shorts, saw his thumbs hook underneath it—and knew her willpower wouldn’t stand up to seeing him completely nude.

“Stop!” Her voice was an embarrassing squeak, but he paused. She cleared her throat, then managed to glare at him. “Have you no modesty?”

“You’re the one who’s still staring,” he pointed out, laughter threaded through his voice.

Her mouth opened, but there was nothing she could say to dispute that statement since she was avidly taking in every inch of him with her eyes. He closed the distance between them, placed a finger underneath her delicate jaw, and closed her mouth for her.

Parker took a hasty step back, but not hasty enough to evade his hands. He caught the bottom edge of her T-shirt and tugged. “I took mine off,” he murmured. “It’s your turn.”

She slapped his hands away. “I can do it myself.”

Chuckling, he braced his hands on his hips and waited. Her eyes met his challenging ones, and, in one swift movement, she pulled her T-shirt off over her head and tossed it aside. His eyes fell to her breasts—and the silky, black sports bra that covered them. A dark blond brow inched up.

He slipped a finger under a wide shoulder strap, his skin unbelievably warm and rough against hers, and her pulse jumped. “This needs to go, too.”

“You took off a shirt, I took off a shirt. We’re even.”

“I wasn’t wearing anything under the shirt. You are.”

“Well, tough. Next time I’ll lend you my spare one so you won’t feel so exposed.”

He chuckled again. “Next time you can leave it off.”

“I will n—”

Parker broke off with a gasp. “Stop that!” She captured the trailing finger that brushed the side of her breast and dragged his hand away from her. Before she could pull back, he twined their fingers together. A single tug and they were skin to skin. Parker couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her lips. Or her free hand from coming up and flattening against his chest. Her fingers curled, digging into skin that was as warm and supple as it looked.

Soft lips nuzzled her ear and she heard a low, needy sound, only belatedly realizing that it came from her. Her lashes drifted down, narrowing her world to the scent and feel of him around her, and heat and desire stirring under her skin and in her blood. She felt the scrape of teeth on the outer rim of her ear and was forced to lean further into him because her knees were suddenly jelly. His arms went around her waist, tightened, arching her body into his. His erection, hot and hard, pressed into her belly, separated from her bare skin by a thin barrier of nylon. Air rushed out of her lungs and past her lips in a sigh.

Stretching up onto her tiptoes, she turned her head, blindly seeking his lips with hers. She found them and sighed into his mouth.

He kissed her, soft and slow, his tongue tasting her in gentle forays that she mimicked in turn. He broke the kiss, trailed damp, searing kisses along her jaw back to her ear. And whispered something that sliced through the fog surrounding her.

“Say yes.”

He immediately noticed the sudden tautness of her body and his own went still. Her name was a desperate, whispered question.

Gathering the remnants of her tattered strength of will, she closed her eyes and gave a single shake of her head.

He cursed vehemently, his voice hoarse. His hands tightened reflexively on her flesh. He sucked in a breath, cursed again and said, “I need a minute.”

So did she. She managed to uncurl her fingers so she was no longer clutching at him, but she couldn’t make herself break all contact.

For an endless space of time, they stood there with his body wrapped around hers, the warm water caressing their feet and the breeze and warmth from the sun caressing everything else. Their harsh breathing intermingled with the pounding of heartbeats and filled her ears, a strangely lulling mix.

After long seconds, with stiff movements, he withdrew his arms, his body, his warmth, leaving Parker feeling more cold and naked than if she’d been standing in her birthday suit on the ice in front of a capacity crowd in Madison Square Garden.

Without a word, Dean ventured into deeper water and, when it reached his hips, cleanly dove in.

After a long, silent moment, Parker scooped up her damp T-shirt, socks and shoes and made her way back to the house.

By the time Dean returned to the house, water dripping from his hair and glittering on his bare upper body and legs, Parker had showered and changed and was making herself at home in the kitchen. She had the electric waffle iron out and plugged in and a large ceramic mixing bowl filled with smooth, creamy batter beside it. A smaller bowl of puréed strawberries sat next to an empty serving platter.

She’d heard footsteps on the deck and glanced up to see Dean coming through the kitchen’s open French doors. Just as quickly, her eyes dropped back down to the LED screen on the waffle iron.

“They should be ready by the time you shower and change,” she said.

“I’m not angry,” said Dean, startling her enough to make her look at him. He stopped with the island between them. “Frustrated as hell, but I’ll deal with it.” His lips twisted ruefully. “A lot of laps and a lot of cold showers, but I’ll deal with it since I promised that you’d call the shots while we’re here.”

Her lashes lowered, veiling her eyes. “There’s a simpler solution.”

His eyes hardened. “You’re not leaving early,” he stated, his fierce voice brooking no argument. “You agreed to six days and I’m going to have those six days.” His tone softened. “Is it so bad here?”

No,
she thought, and knew she couldn’t tell him that.

“If I stay, we need a few ground rules.”

He didn’t respond right away.

She waved a hand toward the beach beyond the French doors and, in a rush, said, “What happened out there can’t happen again. I don’t want it to happen again.”

“Spell it out,” he said, his face and voice both devoid of emotion.

She gripped the edge of the thick granite slab that topped the island until her fingertips went white. “I want you to stop touching me. I don’t want you to touch me even casually.” Because even the most casual touch from him could lead to so much more.

He studied her face, his own still a shuttered mask.

“Anything else?” he asked finally with a blandness she couldn’t decipher.

She stared at him blankly, not fully grasping that he hadn’t outright objected to her condition.

“You said ‘rules.’ Plural.”

“Oh.” She glanced away. “Nothing else. Only that one rule.”

“Good. I’ll see you in fifteen.”

“Why did you start the auctions?”

Parker paused in the act of cutting another square of strawberry-laden cinnamon waffle and looked up. Orange juice spun around like a mini-whirlpool in the tumbler Dean held in his hand. His empty plate was pushed toward the center of the table, knife, fork and linen napkin carelessly tossed on top.

“Because I knew only something outrageous would draw in people and their checkbooks. The city has more than its fair share of charity dinners and galas and silent auctions and marathons.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a Gallic shrug. “People want to be entertained, and the auction definitely entertains.” Her mouth pursed and she eyed him pointedly. “Especially this year.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “You didn’t leave me a lot of room to move.”

She flushed but kept quiet, not willing to touch the double entendre. Very deliberately, she took off the piece of waffle pierced on the tines of her fork with her teeth and chewed.

“Why do it in the first place? Or is this a publicity gimmick?”

A frown marred her features as she swallowed. “You’re a little cynical.”

“You said yourself that New York has more than its fair share of charity events. Every time I turn around, there’s someone wanting me to write a check.”

“And you write them?”

He scowled, looking uneasy. “It’s the easiest way to get them to leave me alone.”

She picked up her tumbler of juice and hid her smile behind it. “Right,” she murmured before taking a sip of the tart liquid.

“Well?” he prompted.

She set the tumbler back on the table. “It’s not a publicity gimmick. I know how difficult it can be to be a single mom struggling to raise a family.”

“You’re not one.”

Her gaze became considering. He wasn’t asking but stating.

“No, but my mom was one,” she told him.

And my sister.

“Where was your father?”

“He took off one day after my sister turned two and never came back. Guess he decided he couldn’t handle it.”

Dean’s lips thinned. “He should’ve thought of that before having kids. If you have children, your own wants and needs should come in second.”

Parker stared at him, her lips slightly parted. Those weren’t the words of a man who would callously tell his lover to abort a child.

“What? You don’t agree with me?”

She shook her head. “I completely agree with you. I—I…”

He lifted a brow.

“Nothing,” she murmured, realizing she couldn’t go any deeper. “It’s nothing.”

Appetite gone, she set down the utensils on her plate, stacked it on top of his, grabbed both and stood up. He followed her to the sink with the tumblers. Taking refuge in the mundane task, Parker was silent as they followed last night’s routine and scraped the dishes before stacking everything in the dishwasher.

“I still have to place a call to my mom,” she reminded him as she closed the dishwasher door and turned it on.

“The satellite phone’s in the library,” said Dean over the low hum of the dishwasher and the sound of running water. “I’ll show it to you.”

“Why were you there that night?” asked Parker.

Dean finished rinsing his hands and dried them on a dishtowel. “My sister needed an escort.” He offered the dishtowel to Parker after she killed the water. “It was either that or baby-sit for her.”

A dark brow arched questioningly.

“Vanessa has a fifteen-year-old daughter who’s going through a pink and fluffy stage and likes to get together with her girlfriends and giggle hysterically over everything. Escorting Vanessa to your event sounded like the lesser of two evils.”

She laughed. “Did your niece watch
Legally Blonde
one too many times and take it to heart?”

“Something like that,” he said with a disapproving shake of his head.

Parker leaned back against the counter, enjoying the image of the man before her hopelessly lost when confronted with a gaggle of teenage girls. “She’ll grow out of it,” she reassured, open amusement threading her voice. “They all do.” She paused, then corrected herself, “Well, most do.”