Page 9 of High Stakes (The Morrison Brothers #2)

"I try to be. Not always successfully."

Her hand rests on mine, small and warm. We've barely touched during this trip, occasional brushes of hands when passing items, that brief moment when I showed her how to adjust her snorkel mask. But this contact now, her palm against my skin, feels monumental.

"You're too hard on yourself," Elena says softly. "It's obvious how much you care about your brothers."

I struggle to focus on her words rather than the sensation of her touch. "Caring isn't always enough. Sometimes they need more than I know how to give."

She squeezes my hand gently before withdrawing hers, and I immediately miss the connection. "Sometimes just being there is what matters most."

The sun beats down on us, intense even under the shelter of our beach umbrella.

Elena's skin has taken on a golden glow, but I notice pink beginning to tinge her shoulders and cheeks.

My eyes trace the elegant line of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the dip of her waist above her modest swimsuit.

I've seen beautiful women before, dated models, executives, women who cultivated perfection, but none of them have affected me the way Elena does in this simple one-piece.

My body responds instantly to these thoughts, and I shift uncomfortably on the blanket, grateful for the casual shorts I'm wearing over my swim trunks.

This physical reaction to her isn't new, but the intensity of it here, alone on this secluded beach, is overwhelming to the point where I can feel beads of sweat trickling down my neck.

"You're getting pink," I say, voice slightly trembling. "Do you need more sunscreen?"

She touches her shoulder and winces slightly. "I think you're right. I can feel it starting to burn. Would you mind? I can't reach my back."

My heart rate spikes. "Of course."

Elena turns away from me, presenting her back.

She reaches up to gather her hair, lifting it off her neck, and the simple movement is somehow the most erotic thing I've ever seen.

The curve of her spine, the slight dimples at her lower back, the roundness of her ass cheeks in that swimsuit…

I have to take a steadying breath before reaching for the sunscreen.

"Tell me if I press too hard," I say, squeezing lotion into my palm.

"I'm sure your touch is perfect," she replies, then clears her throat. "I mean, I'm sure it's fine."

I place my hands on her shoulders, feeling her warm skin beneath my palms. She shivers slightly despite the heat.

"Cold?" I ask, beginning to spread the sunscreen in slow circles.

"No," she murmurs. "Not cold."

I cover her shoulders, the nape of her neck, and her upper back.

Her skin is soft and smooth beneath my fingers.

I can feel her relaxing into my touch, her head dropping forward slightly.

Every instinct in my body is screaming to pull her back against my chest, to press my lips to that spot where her neck meets her shoulder, to discover if she tastes as sweet as she smells.

Instead, I move lower, tracing the edge of her swimsuit where it cuts across her back. My fingers dip just slightly beneath the fabric to ensure no skin is left unprotected.

"Is this okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," she breathes. "More than okay."

I move lower still, to her lower back, just above the swell of her ass.

Part of my brain—the CEO part, the rational, strategic part—is screaming that this is inappropriate, unprofessional, potentially disastrous.

But that voice is increasingly drowned out by the heavy rhythm of my heartbeat and the soft sounds Elena makes as I touch her.

"Elena," I say, my hands stilling at her waist. "I should probably stop."

She turns her head, looking at me over her shoulder, her blue eyes dark and questioning. "Why?"

It's a simple question with a complicated answer. Because you work for me. Because there are power dynamics at play. Because I don't want to take advantage. Because I'm afraid of what might happen if I start and can't stop.

But the truth that emerges is simpler: "Because I don't want to do anything you might regret."

"What if," she says softly, turning to face me, "I'd regret not doing anything more?"

We stare at each other. The decision point. Cross this line, and there's no going back to what we were before.

"Are you sure?" I ask, giving her one last chance to retreat to safer ground.

In answer, she reaches up and places her palm against my cheek. "I've never been surer of anything."

That touch breaks the last of my restraint. I pull her toward me, one hand at her waist, the other tangling in her hair as our lips finally, finally meet.

The kiss is everything I've imagined in my most private thoughts and nothing like I expected. Elena's arms wind around my neck, her squishy breasts pressed against my chest as the kiss deepens.

I've kissed many women in my thirty-eight years, but none have made me feel like this, like I'm simultaneously losing control and finding something essential I didn't know was missing. Elena moans against my mouth, and the sound has my cock pleading for freedom.

When we break apart, breathless, her eyes search mine. "That was..."

"Long overdue," I finish for her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She laughs softly. "I was going to say 'incredible,' but yes, that too."

I lean my forehead against hers, still processing what just happened. "We should talk about this."

"We should," she agrees, then kisses me again, more boldly this time.

Rational thought becomes increasingly difficult as her hands explore my chest, my shoulders, the nape of my neck. My own hands wander down her sides to her hips, pulling her closer until she's practically in my lap.

"Elena," I murmur against her lips. "If we don't stop now—"

"Then don't stop," she whispers back, shifting to straddle me properly, her thighs on either side of mine.

The movement brings her center directly against my obvious throbbing cock, and we both gasp at the contact. Even through our swimwear, the sensation is electric and undeniable. I can feel her heat against me, can see the desire darkening her eyes to the color of the deep ocean.

"Here?" I ask, glancing around our deserted beach. "Are you sure?"

A blush spreads across her already pink cheeks. "Maybe not everything," she concedes. "But I don't want to stop completely."

I smile, relieved she's maintaining some rationality even as mine deserts me. "We have hours before the boat returns," I remind her. "We can take our time."

She settles more comfortably in my lap, her arms looped around my neck. "I like the sound of that."

I trace the curve of her jaw with my fingertips, still somewhat disbelieving that this is happening.

"You're so beautiful," I tell her. "I've thought so from the first day you walked into my office."

"Really?" She looks surprised. "Even when I spilled coffee on your quarterly report?"

I laugh at the memory. "Even then. Especially when you didn't apologize but immediately started listing all the ways digital copies are superior to paper ones."

"I was terrified you were going to fire me on the spot," she admits.

"I nearly offered you a promotion instead," I counter. "Not many people stand their ground with me like that."

"I've always been stubborn," she says with a smile.

"It's one of the things I admire about you." I brush my lips against hers again, marveling at how natural it feels. "Along with your intelligence, your efficiency, your compassion..."

"Sounds like you've given this some thought," she teases.

"More than I should have," I admit. "Especially during board meetings when I should have been focusing on financial projections."

She laughs, the sound filling me with unexpected joy. "And here I thought you were always laser-focused on business."

"You're very distracting, Ms. Carter," I say, allowing my hands to wander down her back again, tracing the dip of her spine.

"I could say the same about you, Mr. Morrison," she replies, her fingers toying with the hair on the nape of my neck. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate when you roll up your sleeves in the office?"

This surprises a laugh out of me. "My forearms? Really?"

"Really," she confirms, running her hands down my arms as if to demonstrate. "It's very... affecting."

"I'll keep that in mind," I promise, making a mental note to roll up my sleeves more often when we return to New York.

If we return to normal in New York. The thought brings me up short. What happens when this vacation ends? When we're back in the real world with real consequences for crossing professional boundaries?

Elena must sense my shift in mood. "What is it?" she asks, drawing back slightly to see my face.

"Just thinking about what happens next," I admit. "After this island."

"Ah." She nods, her expression growing more serious. "The real world."

"Elena, I need you to know… This isn't just a vacation fling for me. Not some exotic island fantasy that ends when we board the plane home."

Her eyes soften. "It's not for me either, Michael."

"But it complicates things," I continue. "You work for me. There are policies, ethics considerations."

"I know," she says quietly. "I've thought about all that too."

"We'll figure it out," I promise, not entirely sure how but determined nonetheless. "If this is something we both want to explore."

"It is," she says without hesitation. "For me, at least."

"For me too," I assure her, pulling her close again. "Definitely for me too."