Page 67 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

"Beautiful." His voice comes from behind me, low and appreciative. "You follow instructions well."

"Only yours." The admission emerges breathier than intended.

His hand touches my shoulder, a feather-light contact that sends electricity racing across my skin. "I read your proposal."

That's not what I expect him to say at this moment. "And?"

"It's brilliant." His fingers trace my collarbone, a maddening caress that makes concentration difficult. "Like you."

"You want to discuss business now?" I can't keep the incredulity from my voice, though it dissolves into a gasp as his hand slides lower.

"No." The word carries a smile I can hear rather than see. "I want to celebrate that you're not going to Paris."

My breath catches. "How did you?—"

"Miranda was quite vocal about your 'career suicide' in the lobby earlier." His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back gently but firmly. "Something about choosing a 'mountain fling' over the opportunity of a lifetime."

"That's not why I declined." It's important that he understand this, even as his proximity makes coherent thought challenging. "I declined because I found something better. A vision I believe in."

"I know." His lips brush my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "That's what makes you extraordinary. Your ability to see possibilities others miss."

His praise warms me in ways distinct from, but complementary to, the physical desire building between us. His hand traces down my back, following the curve of my spine deliberately.

"Now." His voice drops lower, taking on the commanding edge that melts my resistance. "Are you ready to surrender your brilliant mind for a while? To let go completely?"

"Yes." The word emerges without hesitation.

"Good girl." He reaches up, and I hear the soft clink of the restraints being adjusted. "Hands above your head."

I comply, anticipation tightening my muscles as the silk wraps around first one wrist and then the other. Not uncomfortably tight—I could escape if I wished—but secure enough to reinforce the surrender of control.

"Tell me if anything feels wrong." His voice softens momentarily, the caretaking dominant checking my comfort. "Your safe word?"

"Chardonnay."

"Perfect." His approval sends warmth coursing through me as his hands resume their exploration, tracing patterns across my skin that make me arch toward his touch. "Now, about this business proposal of yours..."

I laugh despite the intensity of the moment. "Seriously?"

"I take business very seriously, Ms. Hayes." His tone carries mock severity, belied by how his hands continue theirmaddening journey across my body. "Particularly partnerships that hold such... promising potential."

His fingers find the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, drawing ever closer to where I ache for his touch without quite delivering relief. "I think we should negotiate terms, don't you?"

Understanding dawns through the haze of desire. This is his way of confirming my commitment—to staying and building something together, both professionally and personally.

"What terms did you have in mind?" My voice breaks as his touch grows bolder.

His lips brush against my shoulder, then move toward my neck in a trail of feather-light kisses. "Exclusivity, for one."

"Granted." The word emerges as a gasp when his teeth graze my pulse point.

"Long-term investment." His hand slides around to my stomach, fingers splayed possessively against my skin. "I don't enter partnerships lightly, Amelia."

"Neither do I." I strain against the restraints, seeking closer contact with his body behind mine.

"Complete transparency." His voice drops to a whisper directly against my ear. "No more masks between us. Just truth."

The request penetrates deeper than physical desire, touching the core of what's grown between us these past days—the recognition of someone who sees beyond my carefully constructed façade to the woman beneath.

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