Dear old Dad calls it an obsession. Now, I wouldn’t go that far. Obsession is such a dirty word. Preoccupation? Maybe. Fixation? Possibly.
But being obsessed with a secretive Greek billionaire? That’s just asking for trouble.
I find slip 52 with no problems. There’s no one around to question me, and if there was I’d just ignore them, so I quietly jump onto the boat. I’ve been on boats before, lots of them—a girl doesn’t grow up in Miami and not know a little about them. So I know enough to be able to untie the ropes, start the engine, and maneuver my way out of the marina without hitting anything. Winner winner, chicken dinner.
Once the still waters of the harbor are behind me, I plot my bearing and gun the engine, laughing like a loon as I’m hit with the overwhelming sense of freedom. Another thirty minutes and I’m in open water.
There is nothing like racing across the sea with the warm wind whipping my hair around my face. The blonde curls are a pain in the ass to manage and for a moment I wince, think of how I’m going to deal with the wind tangled snarls later.
But that’s just it... later. I like to live in the now.
Nothing can dampen my mood as I ride the wave of adrenaline. I am on my way to the biggest story of my career. I am going to sneak onto the island, which I will find, and discover all of its delicious secrets. After this, there is no way my father will be able to think of me as some little fluff reporter. I will be legit. I’ll have earned my byline on the front of Weekly magazine.
I hate having to use the family business at all, but I’m not about to shoot myself in the foot. I have my eye on Time. The fact that jumping ship to a competitor would piss Dad off is just a bonus.
Factoring in the weather, which is supposed to be clear all the way, I calculate that it should take me about four hours to reach the island. As I pilot the boat, I think about the island... and about its Master. Somehow I can’t help but even think the word with that capital letter.
There are no recent pictures of him, though I’d found plenty from before his purchase of the island. In every one, he’d been oh-so-perfectly handsome—just what you’d expect a Greek billionaire to look like. Dark and swarthy, golden skin and startling sapphire eyes. Big and hard—probably hard all over, given the fact that he seemed to have dated his way through half the supermodel population of Europe. Just the kind of man I try to avoid.
The handsome ones are the ones who’ll break your heart, and I don’t have time for that shit. Though I’m all for hot, no-strings attached-sex... and maybe, just maybe once I’m back on the mainland, I’ll have to check out one of these clubs that Mr. Master seems to like so much.
You know. For research purposes.
I chuckle to myself. My best friend, Teena, tells me one day I’m going to get myself in some serious trouble thinking like that. I just say to her that until men become telepathic I’m fine. At least I don’t say everything that’s on my damn mind all the time. I wish some of the men I’ve dated could say the same.
My spirits quickly fade when I note dark clouds rolling in on me from the south. I checked the weather forecast earlier and there was no mention of possible rain. I know weather is unpredictable, but those clouds are moving unnaturally fast toward me.
My heart starts to pound, the adrenaline of my great escape changing in tone and making my gut churn. I know the basics of a boat, but even I am not nearly cocky enough to think that I can pilot my way through a tropical storm.
I check my bearings, making sure I am still going in the right direction. From my research, I know that Eden is on the edge of the Bermuda triangle. I’ve been so caught up in my plan, it hasn’t really occurred to me until now that I don’t know much more than that.
I can all but see Teena shaking her head at me.
“Just a storm, Noelle. Deal with it.” Despite the whispers of magic that surround the island, these are real storm clouds, coming with some real rain. There’s no other explanation, because I don’t believe in that stuff. I still don’t like the look of them and my pulse begins to hammer in my throat.
I am in big trouble.
Changing my heading a little, I put on the speed. I’m still at least two hours out from the island, but maybe I can beat the clouds. If worse comes to worse... well, I’ll batten down the hatches, and try to ride out the storm below deck. I remember doing that once when I was a kid, spending a day out on the water with my parents. You know, back when my dad and I liked each other. I remember the sick churn of fear in my stomach, the nausea from the roiling waves, the bruise on my temple from being smacked into the wall of the boat with a particularly vicious swell.
But we survived that. I can survive this.
I won’t accept anything else.
Locking the boat onto autopilot, I grab my bag and open it to retrieve my jacket—at least I had the presence of mind to pack one. I slide it on, zip it up, tuck my wild, tangled hair into the hood and get back on the throttle.
The boat is bouncing now, jolting my body and jarring it painfully. Waves crash against the hull and water laps over the bow. I am fully regretting my decision to commandeer this boat and pilot it out here. I don’t know what I was thinking. I am not a sailor. I really don’t have the skills to be out here on my own.
And by the looks of those clouds closing in on me, Teena is going to have the last word—it just might be my foolish behavior that kills me.
The wind slashes across my face and hands like a steel blade as I struggle to keep the boat on the right heading. With each wall of water that slams into me, I shudder, trying to keep my footing.
For some reason I think of the Master as the next wave hits, a backhand of icy, salty sea. The ocean wants me to submit. It is pummeling me into submission, something I thought I’d never voluntarily give.
I want to fight it. I’ve never backed down from anything before. But when I think of him, I feel my resolve dissolving, like the copious amounts of salt that dissolved in the waters around me long ago.
So when the next violent wave hits me, I don’t fight it, even though I’m shaking and it feels like shards of ice slicing right down to the bone. I close my eyes and open my arms and welcome in the sudden, inexplicable warmth.
I am not afraid. The ocean will not kill me—she is in fact is delivering me to the one place I need to go. The place I know deep inside my very soul will give me exactly what I want.
Eden.
Chapter Three
THEO
The last thing I expect when I take a moment to enjoy looking out at the water is a woman washed up onto the shore. I stare dumbly for a long moment, wondering if I can possibly be seeing what I think I’m seeing.
Then I’m sprinting off the observation deck on my cliffs, my muscles burning as I tear across the soft white sand to the water.
I kick off my leather sandals before splashing into the water. My fingers find cloth, and I grab hold of her jacket and drag her out of the water and onto the shore.
She’s not wearing a lifejacket, so I press my fingers to the pulse point in her neck with dread. I’m amazed to find one, one that’s surprisingly strong.
Salt water sprays into my face, blinding me as the very much alive woman sputters, coughing up the water in her lungs... right onto me. I reach for her shoulders without thinking, offering support.
I can’t see her face, can’t look at her pupils to gauge a possible concussion .The long tangle of her blonde hair obscures her face as she spits up water.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
She nods, then sputters some more. “Where the hell am I?”
“An island off the coast of Miami.” My words are distracted, because there is a subtle but discernible vibration rumbling beneath my feet.
“Eden?” The woman paws at her hair, brushing it out of her face. “Am I on Eden? Did I make it?”
“What did you say?” This is not the answer I’m expecting. By now, Miranda and Roan, two of my employees, have abandoned their casual stroll to j
oin me on the beach. Miranda bends down to pick up a bag that has washed up as well. She opens it to find a camera and some kind of mini recorder.
“She’s a reporter.” A sneer distorts her pretty face as she holds it up to me. My staff knows my aversion to public scrutiny, and because I am very lucky, they are also protective of me.
There’s a time and place though, and something is swelling in my chest, threatening to rip free.
“How did you get here?” I demand this, my body stiffening. Whoever she is, no matter that she just almost drowned, Joely can fly her right back out.
I’m taken aback by the grin that I can just barely make out beneath the tangle of her hair as she slaps her hands against the wet sand. “Holy shit. I can’t believe I made it.”
She bursts into laughter.
I wonder if she isn’t a bit crazy.
“Did you come by boat? Who else was with it?” Because surely she wasn’t stupid enough to set out on her own.
Miranda also pulls out a thick, sopping wet file from the bag. She flips through it. “She has a bunch of information about Eden and you, Sir.”
My spine begins to tingle. I look down at the woman. She’s staring up at me defiantly through the wet strands of her hair. “Who are you?”
I thread just the slightest hint of dominance through my tone... the kind that makes my submissives sit up just a bit straighter.
This woman, though? She just smirks. “Noelle Davis.”
She’s smirking at me? She almost died trying to sneak onto my private island and she’s smirking at me? “Are you a reporter?”
“Maybe.” She tilts her head to look at me. “Are you the Master?”
How the hell did she uncover that? I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes, and I’ve paid well to ensure that I stay hidden.
“We’re going to get you dry, then my pilot will fly you back to Miami.” I can feel control spiraling out of my grip, all because of the defiant woman at my feet. This won’t do. Grabbing her hand, I pull her to her feet.
The second our hands touch, I feel something sizzle through me—an electric shock that nearly knocks me to the ground. I yank my hand back, the shock reverberating up my arm, and she nearly falls.
“Quite the welcome wagon, you are.” She eyes her own hand suspiciously before wiping it on her wet jeans.
I wonder if she felt something too.
I dismiss the thought almost immediately. I’m still off-kilter from my hopes, my meeting with Tessa Savage earlier. I’m reading into things that aren’t there.
“I’m sure we can find you some dry clothing, then you are gone.” I glower, and she stares at me. I don’t quite know what to do with the fact that here is no fear in those bright blue eyes of hers. “No one is allowed onto this island without an invitation. It’s private property.”
“You don’t really want me to tell people you turned your back on a poor, helpless woman in need of rescuing, do you?” She arches an eyebrow. I suspect she will make good on her word.
“Forgive me for being frank, but you really don’t look like a woman who needs to be rescued.” I don’t care if she tries to tell the Queen of England. I’ll bury it, like I bury everything else.
Didn’t bury everything though, did you? This insolent woman found you.
Miss Noelle Davis puts her hands on her hips, her expression mocking. Damn it, I wish she’d brush the hair away from the upper half of her face. It’s irritating speaking to only half of her face. “I don’t. But no one else knows that.”
Anger starts to churn inside like a storm on the sea. This is exactly why I don’t allow anyone that I haven’t thoroughly vetted onto the island—and never, ever reporters. They always look for an angle. An angle that makes a person look like the worst version of himself. They are never about the truth.
If they were, my ex and her lover would’ve been arrested for what they did to me.
No... they would have died.
I’ve had enough with this woman. I’m tired and I want to retreat to my estate and relax. Perhaps spend some time in my personal dungeon, practicing with my whip.
I do the one thing that I know will make her back down—I slowly, purposefully remove my mask and reveal my hideous face.
Her eyes scan my face. I know what she sees—the left cheek is smooth and golden, much the same as it was ten years ago.
The other side? It’s puckered, mottled, shades of red varying from pale pink to crimson. The skin on my forehead has formed ridges and valleys, as if it melted... which it mostly did.
My physical face—the horror of it isn’t all in my head. It’s hideous. I am barely recognizable as a man. So when I reveal it, I expect pretty little Miss Noelle Davis to flinch or step back, expect something, but she does nothing but glare back at me.
For some reason, this infuriates me even further. Snarling like the wild animal I often feel I am, I close the last remaining inch between us.
“You will get off my island, or I will have you arrested. You have not been invited. This is private property.”
“I will not be bullied, Mr. Vardalos.” The infuriating woman swipes at the hair in her face and tucks it behind her ear. “You can’t scare me. I’m not some timid little girl playing a game.”
My ears ring, the sound deafening as her face comes into view. The white sizzle of my fury transforms into a different emotion, one that’s no less intense.
It can’t be.
It’s not possible.
It’s her. This trespassing reporter is the woman from my vision. My knees nearly buckle as I look into her flawless face. Creamy skin, bright blue eyes. Then further down—a full body, clearly outlined since she’s soaking wet and her clothing is glued to her skin. Heavy breasts, full hips. Hips I once dug my fingers into, in a vision that shaped the rest of my life.
“See anything you like?” Her voice is sarcastic, but she doesn’t avert her gaze. It’s... astounding. I am staring down at her, my scars as plain as the nose on my face. She doesn’t look away.
My heart rises with hope before realization hits me, and my spirits crash down to the ground.
The island... this is the island working its magic. I’d put my rather large fortune against it, that my scars have disappeared. Yes, that must be it, because Miranda and Roan aren’t commenting, either.
I see no revulsion in her eyes, so she can’t be seeing me as I actually am. No revulsion, no pity, just defiance.
This little spitfire of a woman is challenging me.
There is little that makes me feel alive like a challenge, something so often lacking in my life on the island. I accept.
“You don’t like games, Ms. Davis?” I can feel my spine straightening, feel the role of Master coming to rest on my shoulders like a cloak.
“Not really.” I see her swallow. She is not as indifferent to me as I first thought—I am getting to her. In what way, I’m not sure yet... but I know she can’t see my scars.
“We’ll see.” I turn to Miranda and Roan. They aren’t reacting to my appearance in any way at all, so I think that likely they are seeing me with my hood still on, as well.
Out of all the miracles that the magic of the island has performed, it’s not so much of a thing. Still, I wish...
It doesn’t matter what I wish.
“Miranda, Roan. Escort Ms. Davis to Dani. Dani will take her to my estate.” Dani is the island’s tour guide. She knows the general area of the manor hidden by the island’s magic, but only Joely has ever been inside. I haven’t seen Joely yet today though, so it’s likely she’s off island.
Miranda’s eyes widen. “Not the castle, sir?”
I walk over to her and lean into her ear. “I want the woman close to me, so I can keep an eye on her.”
“Very well, Sir.” Miranda nods, but she’s still eyeing the woman with suspicion. I wouldn’t tolerate this if Ms. Davis was an invited guest, however, the fact that she forced herself onto Eden—dream woman or not—makes me find my
employee’s protectiveness rather entertaining.
Miranda silently jerks her head for the woman to follow, and Roan joins his woman. Noelle licks her lips, as though she’s nervous, then nods to the couple. “Good.”
“I hope you are ready for a story, Ms. Davis.” I’m unnerved by the way she stares so openly at me, as though she’s...
Well, as though she sees something she likes. I’m sure it’s because she thinks I have a story for her, still it’s something I’m no longer accustomed to.
“I’m always ready.” One pale eyebrow arches, and her nerves appear to fade in the face of mischievousness.
Kitten. She reminds me of a kitten. One that I very much want to make purr.
I can feel my cock start to harden in my pants at the thought of all the ways I could do just that run through my mind. Silently, I pick up my shoes, and walk away, emotions high, lust out of control.
I can sense her watching me as I trek up the stone stairs and turn a corner. As soon as I know I am out of sight, I stop and lean up against the jutting rock face.
Closing my eyes, I curse the island.
“This is who you send me?” I slam my hand back against the stone. My knuckle slices open, blood welling between the parted skin. I don’t care. “My dream woman is a reporter who wants to ruin me?”
The ground beneath me vibrates in response. I growl, and it shakes enough to knock me against the stone.
Yes, I’m talking to the island. And yes, it’s talking back. Over the years, we’ve become entwined to the point that I’m no longer sure I could survive if I moved away. And right now, Eden is giving me a clear message. Yes, this is the woman. And yes, it knows what it’s doing.
I’m crushed that I so misread the vision that I had a decade ago. It’s just not possible that this woman is... who I wanted her to be. I’m attracted to her, of course. Only a blind man wouldn’t be. But beyond that...
A reporter. While clearly the island thinks she’s here to teach me something about myself, she’s not the woman for me.
I like my women soft, pliable. Submissive. Easy to leave when the time is done.
[Invitation to Eden 20.0] The Island of Eden Page 5
