“I don’t want to talk about the party.” She turned on him, her dark eyes glittering in the purple-tinged dusk. When he didn’t back up, she added, “I’m going inside. I’m cold.”

“You’re not cold.” He brushed his hand over her furiously hot cheek.

Those dark eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Fine. I’m bored. This entire topic bores me.”

“And yet you brought it up, which makes me think you’re actually very curious—aching with curiosity. What do you want to know?”

Her entire body stiffened. “Nothing.”

Aware he risked bodily harm, he leaned in and put his mouth close to her ear. “Would you like to know who she is?”

“No!” A slender hand found the center of his chest and pushed him away with more strength than he would have given her credit for. She stalked down the deck, then swung around and faced him again. “It’s none of my concern. Date whomever you want. I don’t care.”

The last three words slapped at him like a challenge. One he desperately wanted to accept. “Who are you trying to convince, Chelsea, me or yourself?” He took a step toward her. She took a step back. “You seem a little jeal—”

Her tumbler whizzed past his head and crashed against the deck chair behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to assess the damage because her bare feet made glass shards a hazard, but the heavy crystal broke rather than shattered. He turned back to her. Wide, shell-shocked eyes locked on the glass as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d just thrown it. Those eyes shifted to him when he closed the distance between them. “To finish my sentence, you seem a little jealous. Shall I get you another?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Not a chance.”

She planted a hand on his chest to push him away again, but he simply wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to him.

“Hey—”

He didn’t let her finish, just slammed his mouth down on hers, pried her lips apart and swallowed her words until the fist against his chest curled into his sweater and fingernails raked along his neck and into his hair. Her wrap fluttered to the floor. He backed her up against the wall and hauled her into his arms. Slim thighs clamped around his hips and her needy moan slid over his tongue. And then something trickled into the seam where their lips met. Something salty. Tears.

God damn him. He drew back, cupped her face in his hands, and exhaled slowly. When he had himself under some semblance of control, he said, “She’s my sister.”

Liquid brown eyes stared into his for a good five seconds. “Your sister?”

“Yes. The woman in that picture is my sister. And for the record, you are the most stubborn woman on the face of the planet.”

“Your sister,” she repeated and made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Arden.”

“Arden. Not a friend, business associate, or lover.”

She didn’t say it as a question, but he responded anyway. “None of the above.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her soft, parted lips. “I really enjoyed the way you threw a drink at my head, though.”

“Sorry, not sorry.”

He kissed her again, more deeply. “I’m sure I had it coming, but your aim needs work.”

Here’s where he had to tread lightly. Ease her into the idea of extending their relationship beyond the close of the deal, and from there…more. Always more, because in the last six weeks he hadn’t managed to figure out the cure to this never-ending, insatiable need for her—her sassy comebacks delivered in that smooth, well-mannered way, the dimple in her cheek, her soft heart and hard head. Another six weeks, or six months, or even six years wouldn’t do the trick. He trailed his mouth along her jaw, and then nibbled her ear. “How about I come to Maui at least once a quarter and give you some target practice?”

She stilled, and then her hands flattened on his chest—not pulling him in, not pushing him away. He didn’t know what to make of it, so he nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“Y-you’d commit to…coming to Maui once a quarter?”

“Give or take.” So far her reaction fell short of thrilled. Cautious was his best read. He dragged his lips back to hers, and applied persuasion.

Her breath came out in a long, slow exhale against his cheek. “I won’t be there.”

That stopped him cold. He drew back. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll be in Tahiti.”

Tahiti? What the hell? Maui was already a stretch, a five-hour flight from anywhere he could reasonably designate as his main office. Tahiti was remote. Remote to the point of running away—again. Except this time, he had no choice but to assume she was running from him. “You’re telling me this now?”

“You never asked about my plans.” She raised her eyes to his face, but for once he couldn’t read her thoughts in those dark depths. “As part of the deal liaison package, the Templetons offered me the general manager position at the new resort. You’ll have time to find a new manager for Maui, but after a reasonable transition period, I’m moving on.”

“I assumed—”

“Yes, you did, but I’m not sure why. I told you at the outset I wasn’t going to sleep with my boss. I learned my lesson the first time around. Been there. Done that. Wore out the T-shirt.”

This was bullshit. No matter what his title, he wasn’t Barrington, and he resented the hell out of her dumping him in the same sleazy, untrustworthy bucket. Another thing he resented? She’d never once discussed this with him. Why? He grabbed for the most obvious answer. “Chelsea, you don’t want to go to Tahiti.”

Her chin came up. “Yes, I—”

He used his mouth to cut her off, almost enjoying the taste of her anger and the urgent way she kissed him back. Maybe she refused to admit her feelings even to herself, but this he could trust. Their bodies had never been anything except brutally honest with each other. What the hell, he’d fuck the truth out of her. All night, if that’s what it took. He tore at the front of her jeans while she sucked his tongue so hard he felt the pull all the way to his balls.

A second later her pants were undone. He couldn’t say whether he unzipped them or ripped them, but the fabric gave way and that’s all that mattered. He set her on her feet long enough to dig a condom out of his pocket, yank his fly open, and protect her. In the time it took, she managed to work one leg out of her jeans. Good enough. He swept one hand under her sweater and tugged her bra out of his way. With the other, he reached around and got a grip on the back of her thong. “You don’t want to go to Tahiti.”

“You don’t have the first clue what I want.” The hands in his hair pulled hard, dragging his mouth down to hers.

He ripped her panties off. She gasped. Her hands dove under his sweater to latch onto his shoulders, and her hips rocked forward. He hitched her up a little higher, nudged himself into position, and let her squirm there while her small, frustrated cries floated on the wind. “Still running away, Chelsea?”

Her head whipped back and forth. “Not running away. Getting on with my life.”

Damn her. He wanted to pull back, to hold out until sheer need forced her to eat her words, but he overestimated his own restraint. The way she trembled against him, the bite of her fingernails on his shoulder, the wet, tight kiss of her body over the head of his cock obliterated all those intentions. The single, driving compulsion to be inside her superseded everything. And then he was. A surge forward buried him deep, brought her clit down hard on the base of his shaft. Her scream reverberated in his ears, desperate and euphoric at the same time. The last of his control ebbed like sand under a raging surf. She became a wave in his arms, arching, rising, cresting, and when she broke over him, she dragged him down, too. The orgasm drowned his so-called strategy under a crushing wall of pleasure.