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Cassandra draped over his bed, her erect nipples begging for his attention, her eyes dazed with passion, her body flushed with need, her scent intoxicating him as he thrust heavily inside her.
He shivered violently. But it wasn’t from the cold, clammy neoprene as he peeled it off.
Jeez, Broussard, forget about last night, already. She’s the enemy now.
Everything had been fake: the sweet, sultry smile, the forthright expression, the live-wire response which had so intoxicated him, the empathy when he’d let that nugget of information about his past slip, even the possible evidence of her virginity. She’d been playing him the whole time to get what she wanted for her boss.
The heat pulsed harder and he frowned.
Okay, maybe not everything had been fake. No one could fake a response like that. She’d been as turned on as he was, the memory of her sex gripping his as she came so vivid it made the ache in his crotch painful.
Maybe some guys couldn’t tell when a woman was faking an orgasm, but he could tell Cassandra hadn’t been faking that.
But she’d still played him. And he’d let her.
He picked up the wetsuit and dumped it into the rinsing sink with a loud splat.
Get over it.
It wasn’t as if he’d been emotion
ally invested in their booty call. All he’d wanted out of their night together was great sex, and they’d both got that. So why was his stomach still jumpy and his throat still raw at the thought of her this morning, her chin thrust out, tendrils of wet hair framing her high cheekbones and her translucent skin still reddened from his kisses? Her toned thighs had been rigid with indignation while she’d stared him down and refused to admit how far out of line she was...
Why should he care if she didn’t have the decency to come clean and beg for his forgiveness? Business could be dirty. He’d done some things himself he wasn’t proud of in the past, to push Broussard Tech to the place it was now.
Temple was obviously a wolf. He got that. He could be ruthless too, when his business was at stake. But to use an employee to seduce him...
Unless...
Was she Temple’s lover?
His stomach twisted into a knot at the unbidden thought and something dark and violent rushed through him.
He strode naked into the mud room’s power shower and flicked on the jets. But then the memory of how tight she’d been when he’d entered her that first time came echoing back. And the shock and awe on her face when she’d climaxed. She’d looked overwhelmed.
He didn’t trust her, but she’d have to be an award-winning actress to fake that response.
His shoulders relaxed a little.
The hot, needle-sharp spray pummelled his cold skin, but as he scrubbed away the salt and sweat of the day’s activities the strident erection refused to subside.
Pressing his forehead against the glass bricks, he took himself in hand, jerking his stiff flesh in fast, efficient strokes. Trying to keep Cassandra out of his head, though, proved impossible, the memory of her body caressing his length still vivid as the seed exploded in his hand.
He washed away the evidence, feeling like he had as a teenager after those nights making out under the bleachers—used and dirty.
Not the same thing at all, he told himself. At least those experiences had made him wise to women like Cassandra James ever since. Those girls had shown him that no one could be trusted...that sex was a bargaining chip, just like everything else. He’d finally figured out he didn’t need their approval or their affection. And he didn’t need Cassandra’s.
Nor did he need her to admit what she’d done. All he needed to do was make sure she didn’t do his company any damage. Keeping her here for the next few days, maybe even the whole week, didn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. At least if she was stuck on Sunrise, with no cell service, it would save him the trouble of having to brief his legal team to get her to sign an NDA.
He dried himself off and dressed in the sweats he kept in the mud room.
With the edge taken off his need, and the shower having revived him, it occurred to him that he was ravenous. All he’d had since breakfast was a couple of energy bars and a flask of coffee.
He headed into the kitchen.
He had staff for the house—as well as Mrs Mendoza the housekeeper he also employed a maintenance woman and a forester—but, as he’d told Cassandra, he always had them vacate when he was on the island. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he preferred his privacy.
He huffed out a tortured breath.
