by Quin Zayne
“I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to lose them all.”
“It tore me apart. I still feel part of me missing.”
He put his hand over hers.
“You’ve done well for yourself.”
“No, I haven’t.” She closed her eyes. “I got into modeling due to some pushing from a friend. I needed money, and it seemed like it would beat most jobs by miles. It was hard for me, and wrong for me, in a lot of ways. I got into taking pills, drinking too much. I liked to blank it all out at the end of the day. I hated the staring, the guys trying to touch me. I got more destructive, and finally I stopped.”
“You got into college. You got a place of your own.”
“Yeah. I did that.” She rubbed her foot along the rock. She didn’t like talking about herself. “It’s hard to believe you were there. I mean, I believe you, but it’s weird. Why didn’t you tell me before?” Sea spray hit her face. Her eyes watered. It had to be the spray. This bastard was not making her cry.
It wasn’t my fault. Her chest hitched, the stabby ache easing.
“When would have been a good time? It seemed like too heavy of a thing to bring up first thing. I’m still not sure if it was the right thing, to say anything at all.”
“No. I appreciate it. You helped me put the pieces together. It’s okay. Sounds like you helped save my life.” She kissed his cheek, awkward, taken back to her past self. She closed her eyes, channeling Rose. Maybe if she played the part long enough, she’d believe it.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” He kept his hand on hers.
They sat there like that, watching the sun set. Ripples of gold and bronze spread on the aqua sea.
She wanted to ask him, ‘why all of this, why the whole ad and audition, the modifications and the stories?’ It seemed the whole thing was a set up, but what did it mean?
She didn’t know how she felt that he was there when her life shattered.
He was there to find her. And he came back for her—with a huge agenda. What was she supposed to do with all of that?
She felt unsettled, and sort of grateful—something let loose when he said they were already dead. Becca, Mom, and Dad—gone before she could have saved them. At last, none of their deaths were on her. She felt herself rising from the bottom of the sea toward the sun.
Survivor guilt is a strange thing. It’s not rational. I always felt their being dead was my fault. It wasn’t, but deep inside, I felt guilty as sin.
From the corner of her eye, she peeked at his too-handsome, so-composed face.
Where do I go with him from here? What did he want from me?
He opened his arms. She stepped across the chasm in the rocks. For the second time, she considered she might be making a deal with the devil.
Mandy pressed her face against his chest, breathing in his masculine essence.
It was too late. I’d already signed in blood. I was already his.
She shivered.
“Come on.” He led her into deeper into the cave. He spread his cloak on the sand and spread her open on it. The sand cradled her and his hands rocked her against him. He kissed her, slowly, tenderly, seducing her as though they’d never raged at each other, as though they were two different people. As though they were in love.
He caressed her breasts and teased her nipples, playing her like a master musician, making her ride her excitement to peaks, and drop gently before pushing her higher. He gave her thrills and butterflies, back to being pushed high on a swing set, then reaching the top on a rolling coaster and racing down, part of her flipping up, out of her body. Coming on her fingers the first time.
He had her in his hands. He met her with his mouth on hers, kissing her with his breath, breathing her.
He licked her nipples, brought her higher again, so tight, so hot inside, she wanted to burst.
My toes gripped the sand. My head whipped side to side as his heavy cock trailed down the inside of her thighs, away from where she needed it.
Damn, damn, damn. How long was this man going to torture me?
He grabbed her hands, pinned her down, and lowered his mouth to feast between her legs.
She growled, losing herself in how amazing his mouth felt on her, how intimately he licked and kissed her, finding her clit and loving it with his lips and tongue.
This was a different man than the monster she knew.
He kept her pinned and took her, his mouth mastering her, not allowing her to get away from his talented tongue. He anticipated her need to speed up, reading her body, responding to her like some magnificent sex toy.
In a flash, she lost her judgments of what he wanted her to be.
Why not want a living doll who looked and acted the way you wanted, who pleased you, excited you, and made you come?
Her body shook hard, thrusting at his face, tensing and letting go with a burst of hot juice.
He lapped her up, staying right there, following her down as she collapsed under his sexy lips.
Releasing her hands, he shifted her off the wet spot and slid beside her.
Damon held her in his arms, sheltering her, breathing with her, cherishing her.
He had with one magnificent act entirely changed how she saw him and what he wanted from her.
She felt so completed, so boneless, it took some time to notice that he had again refrained from taking her virginity.
A nagging thought kept her from surrendering to joy in the day. As the setting sun turning the palm trees golden, she touched his arm.
“Damon, try to see this from my point of view. Your entire story is difficult to believe. I have to ask for the truth—why didn’t you contact me sooner?”
“You’re younger than I am.” He averted his eyes. “It’s hard to describe how I felt, seeing you there, so innocent and vulnerable. It felt wrong to feel attracted to you.” He raked back his hair.
“Truth,” she repeated.
“I wasn’t ready. It’s difficult to trust anyone after growing up in my family. By the time I admitted to myself I’d never stop wanting you, my father demanded my presence. I indulge him, because he’s—” he closed his eyes. “Reaching the end of his life.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I was required to go through my family’s rigorous version of boot camp in preparation for taking over the helm of our empire. They’ve groomed me much as I’ve groomed you. That isn’t an excuse. You’ve been right from the beginning, you have a right to exact details.” His faint, crooked smile held a hint of his boyishness.
She leaned close, peering at his magnificent golden eyes.
“I don’t see any eyeliner,” she quipped.
“I was spared that.”
“Oh. Your eyes. The color.”
“Yes, enhanced.”
It was an odd letdown. Those lion eyes had exerted a powerful attraction. Yet knowing he’d been deemed in need of enhancements helped her feel less—lacking—in the Karl world. She blushed, wondering if his cock was enhanced.
“When they let you go—released you from your empire’s boot camp—you looked for me.”
“I followed you. Online and off. I would have made quite the criminal if I hadn’t been born into wealth.”
“You realize this is creepy, right?” Did some wealthy people have no grasp of morality and boundaries at all?
“Yes. I do now. Obsession and compulsion are powerful magnets. I can understand how people believe in demonic possession. Again, I don’t mean this as an excuse, only that at times my desire to control you was like an addiction.”
She nodded, torn between how deeply disturbing it all was, and the secret deep desire to be wanted this much.
“You’re such a take-charge man, yet you let so much time pass, time that we could have been getting to know each other.” She bit her lip, not willing to say, time when I needed someone to care for me.
“There is another reason it took me so long to reach out to you. I’m—not the best with emotions. I had no idea how to help with yo
ur grief. I didn’t think pushing my way into your life in the wake of your tragedy could be anything but selfish, and, selfishly, I knew I’d be awkward at providing comfort. I hoped time would help you recover. From a distance, I checked on you every few weeks, to make sure you weren’t in need.”
“Oh.” Given my living conditions and the strain of trying to support myself while attending the university, I had to wonder about his definition of need. I would have liked to see him try working as many hours as I did, every day of every week. And I was alone.
Her face must have shown what she thought of him and his explanation.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wish now I’d done more.”
“You’ve done plenty.” She sprang from the rock and sprinted down the beach. She couldn’t stand for him to see her cry.
Hot tears ran down her face. She ran into the jungle and kept running.
He was a monster. A total, despicable monster.
Secret Entrance
Emerging from the walk-in closet, freshly dressed in exploring clothes, loose slacks, soft linen blouse and sneakers, she took a slow walk around the suite.
Without thinking, she’d traced the same path Damon searched the night she had the nightmares. Something about his actions nagged at her.
He’d believed an intruder was in her suite.
It didn’t seem likely a killer would saunter up the master staircase and down the hall to her door. If anyone did want her dead, how would he, or she, get into the room?
Given what he’d told her about family’s murderous bent, as crazy as it felt, she might be a target for murder.
Slipping out the French doors, she gazed down from the balcony. It projected over an enormous drop. Falling from that would be a sure death. The smooth wall offered no hand holds, nothing for tying off a rope. The dense jungle and the rocky volcano at the villa’s base were the true guardians of her sanctuary. No one could have reached the suite that way.
Checking over her shoulder as the absurdity of what she intended to do warred with her compulsion to do it, she tapped at the wall. Cocking her ear, alert to any change in tone, she made her way slowly around the bedroom.
Yes, it was silly, but he had that secret entry to the vault, the villa might well have other—. She stopped and tapped again. The wall next to the bath sounded different, the tone had a resonance. Putting her ear to it, she tapped again. Definitely.
Starting as high as she could reach and working down, she worked her way along the wall.
Click.
The wall slid, revealing a secret passageway. Her heart thrilled. Unlike his vault, this wasn’t a secret Damon meant her to know.
Did he enter the room while she slept?
She hadn’t expected to find such a low-tech means of spying. It might have been a servant’s corridor, but she didn’t think so. Holding the wall, she craned into the dark. The passage ran along the wall in both directions, for as far as she could see.
Sliding the panel back into place, she ran her fingers over it. Spy holes cleverly hidden in the wall’s texture confirmed her suspicions. The holes were higher than her eyes. Someone put them there for a man.
It put her in mind of a jealous ruler keeping an eye on his wife. People used to be blatant about maintaining separate bedrooms. Of course, marriages in the privileged classes weren’t usually matters of choice. They were more often strategic: for gaining wealth, title, land, privilege, alliances. Aside from a few notable queens and women who ruled as men, girls and women were in many times and places treated as chattel. They belonged to their fathers and their fathers bargained them to their next owner—a husband, or in some cases, a master.
Guilt shot through her. Here it was the twenty-first century, and she’d taken an enormous step backward.
She’d sold herself. For a good price, at least.
His talk of an engagement didn’t convince her. Her finger slipped into her mouth, tempting her to bite her nail. She evicted it and wrapped it in her shirttail to keep it out of trouble.
The more she thought about it, the less she believed his tale of wanting a fiance. Not only was it far-fetched—it seemed out of character. The Damon Karl she’d studied wasn’t as concerned with other people’s opinions as the fake fiance strategy suggested. He’d be more likely to tell people to fuck themselves than to put on a show for anyone. Unless there was someone he had a soft spot for, maybe an elderly relative. Or he cared for his father more than he’d revealed.
She shook her head and paced. That didn’t seem likely.
Was it part of his game with her? Was he that cruel, or that out of touch with human emotion, that it struck him as a good idea to manipulate her with the prospect of a public society engagement and spectacular wedding?
Horrible. He was a horrible person.
One thing rang true in what she managed to learn of him. He did have a problem with women. Whether it was fear, anger, or perhaps what her secret romantic heart imagined—that he ached for true connection—he’d armored himself the way an oyster defends itself by creating a pearl.
He did seem, in moments, worth breaking through to reach.
But he wasn’t making it easy. She rubbed her ass, wishing it was sore from him.
Steeling herself, she opened the panel again and stepped through. She hesitated. She’d leave it open. No way she wanted to risk getting trapped in here. Just a peek, then she’d go right back to the suite and shut it. She was almost certain the panel was outside the field of the cameras. He probably didn’t want his security team to see him use it.
Shielding her eyes from a bright sun ray shooting through a narrow slit in the stone, she marveled at the play of dust motes. They might have been in the hidden passage since the time of bows and arrows.
What an odd conceit, to create this castle-like villa with catacombs on a private island.
In some moments, Damon impressed her. In others, he struck her as being out of his mind.
This morning, stun from his treatment of her, she didn’t feel charitable toward him. He was a monster. An over-privileged, over-indulged, arrogant—creepy toad.
A laugh sputtered out before she could stop it. Too often, he made her feel like an adolescent, annoyed at some besotted asshole who pulled her hair in the hall between classes. Something in him cavorted more like a boy than a grown man. She’d caught the manic gleam in his eye, the strange intensity of a boy up to no good.
Taking a tentative step away from the arrow niche, she rubbed her clammy hands on her slacks.
He was obsessed and strange, but was he evil? She didn’t think so, or at least, she didn’t want to believe he was. He had run to her rescue when she screamed from the nightmare.
That might only be because she was his possession.
A qualm went through her. He’d ordered her not to open doors.
This was different, though. The sliding panel was in her suite, and it wasn’t technically a door.
That probably wouldn’t work with him as a defense. She must not get caught.
Feeling her way deeper into the darkness, she wished she had a flashlight.
Ah, if he’d been spying on her, this corridor might lead to his room. She could return his attention in kind, and maybe she’d finally learn something about the mysterious billionaire.
A part of her that clamored for self-assertion wanted to get her hands on that tablet and erase the contract.
Of course, she wouldn’t do it. The whole point of all this—inconvenience and torment—was to get through it and get the money.
What she wanted to avoid focusing on was the torment wasn’t so bad. She’d creamed like crazy, wanting more than ever in her life to come right then when he spanked her. It was so primal and wanton and consuming. He was consuming. The bastard was eating her alive, and he wouldn’t even take a bite.
Her mind refused to return to his latest rejection.
She walked faster, not allowing the dark to intimidate her. He shouldn’t intimidate
her, either. Two could play games in a villa full of hidden passages.
The girl in her was thrilled to be living out a mystery story. Fuck Damon Karl, she’d have some fun here. She was Mandy. She wasn’t going to be his Rose every freaking minute of every hour. There was nothing in the contract that required that.
She did her language lesson this morning. She practiced her posture and enunciation in front of the mirror. She watched another First Lady video, and she’d already been out for a run. She was in no way shirking her duties. For right now, she was on her own time.
The dust coated her throat. She swallowed wrong and clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a cough. Her hand tasted of dust.
She stumbled and put out her hand. The wall creaked. Too excited to be quiet, she thumped on it. A tapestry muffled the blow. The wall sounded hollow.
Pulling aside the tapestry, she ran her fingers where she guessed his eye level would be. Those might be to make sure servants weren’t in the room. She raised up on her toes, but couldn’t get high enough to peek. Gritting her teeth, she resorted to jumping.
She’d come this far, she had to know what was beyond the wall. This spy station was too close to her suite to be his room. Her belly clenched at the possibility that there was someone nearby he liked to watch.
She flinched at the sounds she made, but curiosity drove her. It took three jumps to reach the right spot to see through the eye holes. Crouching from the last jump, she held her legs and pressed her lips shut.
The room was pristine and white, that’s all she could see. Daring it, she felt at the wall, seeking the release.
She shouldn’t, but she had to see what was there.
The click sounded loud as a gun shot, and the panel slid open.
She glimpsed a medical lab, and stifled a shriek at the sight of her surgeon putting a brain into a jar. He stepped sharply around her and snapped the panel into place, trapping her. She scrambled away from him.
