HoldingtheCards

by Joey W. Hill

  “Sadistic bastard,” she muttered and snatched up her pack, refusing to give in to the familiar spiral of terror that she would always be like this, always destined to end up alone because of who she was.

  * * * * *

  “Maybe this game is what’s the matter with me,” she had suggested to Maria.

  The waitress had chuckled and laid a hand over hers, her long nails painted a burgundy color as liquid as wine.

  “Everybody plays a game to find that special someone, sugar. This game isn’t your problem, and even if it was, you can’t get it out of your blood. I’ve seen people like you try to go vanilla. They think they always fuck relationships up because they’re into kink. It’s like a person who wants kids, convincing himself he can live without them to be with that special lady who doesn’t want kids at all.

  “You’re not planning on strapping some boy’s ass until you’re both in dentures, though that’s a part of it. You need to find out what’s driving your game. You and Jonathan were playing the same game on the face, but in reality you were as different as Monopoly and Tiddly-Winks.

  “Figure that out, and you’ll know exactly what you want. Then when that lucky boy shows up in front of you—blam—it won’t be just his fine ass that will be all yours.”

  * * * * *

  Josh sat on his heels just inside the tree line, his arms crossed loosely over his knees. He had observed the woman’s approach, admiring her easy handling of the sailboat in the stiff breeze. He had watched, at first amused when she flopped herself down on the sand. He got less amused and more intent as her body responded to the sensual offering of the natural world around her. When she arched and stretched in the sleeveless polo shirt, the muscles of her thighs contracting, raising, her hand finding herself, he had thought for a moment he was having some type of prurient daydream, a common phenomenon when a man spent his days on a deserted island. Then she had exploded into rage and he watched her tantrum, his eyes widening at both the immediacy and strength of her fury.

  The infrequent visits by the residents didn’t perturb him. They were artists, naturally reclusive and devoted to their respective crafts. It was the reason the island had drawn them, and though their temperaments might be volatile or celebrated when in contact with the mainland world, here most were quiet, at peace with themselves, gods busy in their workshops with the creation of their newest worlds.

  It looked like this latest visitor had not come to create, but to vanquish demons. It would be an interesting process to watch, and maybe, to help her.

  It was an unexpected thought. Josh straightened, unsmiling, and went to find Marcus.

  Chapter Two

  The house was so Lisette. Wrapped up in the lush stillness of the maritime forest, the combination of stone and natural wood siding made the home a part of the green and brown world around it. Half of the house’s square footage was built inside the steep hillside.Though the architecture was impressive, the house was not ostentatious in size.

  Lauren found the inside the same. Quality, not quantity, was the guiding force that had furnished the interior. The kitchen area was decorated in a warm blue with white counters and clean stainless steel that invited culinary experiments. Barstools pulled up to the white counters invited observers to gather around, chat and drink wine.

  The spacious refrigerator and deep pantry had been stocked with groceries, bottled water and basic condiments. By the mysterious Josh, Lauren assumed. She had escaped responsibility in every sense.

  She carried her bags into the living area, which had deep carpeting, a cozy horseshoe of couches with recliner options and inviting chairs and ottomans gathered around a beveled glass coffee table. The glass was held up on the tail fronds and slender hands of a mermaid carved out of a pale bleached wood. A stereo cabinet was tucked discreetly in a corner, so nothing distracted from the panoramic view offered by the wall of windows before the sitting area. There was a sliding glass door out to a deck that overlooked the lush ravine below, canopied by the graceful arms of the trees, which, if one raised the gaze, framed the distant, panoramic view of the ocean.

  It made the decision of what to do with her first afternoon easy. Lauren took time to put away some of her things, but as soon as the essentials of settling in were handled, she stripped down. She wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out onto the deck, her eye on the hot tub she had turned on to heat up while she had unpacked.

  The tub was surrounded by a Japanese rock garden and a forest of exotic plants. Keeping them alive was another task of Josh’s, she assumed, since Lisette’s busy schedule only allowed her to spend a couple months a year here. Lisette had told her the plants were potted in an array of interesting cast-off pieces offered to her by another island part-time resident. Art appreciation was an avid hobby; there was not a gallery or museum floor in Atlanta, or on any of her other travels, that had not been imprinted with Lauren’s footsteps. She recognized the “cast-offs” as the work of a potter whose work went in New York galleries for four figures.

  While she soaked, Lauren looked down and watched the myriad of wildlife that roamed, unconcerned, through the ravine, and the birds that flitted from branch to branch in the trees. An hour or more passed in that simple fashion, and after a time, her thoughts left her alone, so that she could simply gaze at the world around her, and be a quiet part of it.

  Her growling stomach finally made her decide it was time to rise. She tucked a towel around her breasts and gave some thought to dinner. She had bought wine and goat cheese from a native vendor at the small airport, and there was a small box of Belgian chocolates and the makings for a green salad in the fridge that looked tempting. Savoring that meal and plunging into the first of the ten novels she’d downloaded to her handheld electronic reader sounded perfect.

  She put her hand on the sliding door and pushed. Lauren frowned, shoved again. She glanced down. In dismay, she saw that the door had a safety rod. Made to lay down in the track of the doorframe to prevent the door from being forced open, it had apparently fallen into place when she had come out on the deck. It effectively trapped her there.

  Well. She looked about, expecting there might be some way out of her predicament. There were no stairs off the deck, and no windows within her reach. Annoyance was her first thought. She couldn’t imagine why a “sticky fingered fisherman” would scale up a tree to the deck.

  There was no reason to panic. If she had to, she could pick up one of those cast off pots and smash it through the double paned glass window of the sliding door, but she certainly didn’t want to take that tack until she’d thought all other options through.

  She sat down on the edge of the tub and took another swallow of her wine, considering her surroundings more carefully.

  Lisette had kept the large trees around the deck relatively unpruned. Lauren could only imagine what it had been like to construct the house within the span of the branches. It had to have been an architect’s dream and a builder’s nightmare. She suspected there were contractors on the mainland who could not pass a Lisette Delamar book without shuddering. However, the arms of one particularly impressive specimen reached out and over the deck, so close that a terra cotta birdfeeder had been anchored there. Lauren stepped to the rail.

  The crotch of the tree would require about twenty-five feet of downward climb to reach, but the branch that could take her there was solid, with the circumference of a telephone pole. Once reaching the juncture, it would be a bit trickier, because it was about fifteen to twenty feet above the ground, and the tree’s roots clung to the steep incline, giving the trunk the one hundred and ten degree angle of a woodpecker. However, she might be able to work her way down the trunk on that leeward side.

  Just like sailing, she hadn’t climbed a tree in some time, but she climbed the rope at the gym. She climbed it with furious intent, combating her gender’s frustrating upper body weakness with a passion that she knew suggested she was fighting other, more personal weaknesses with her workouts.


  No time for personal angst. She could do this. She rewrapped the towel about her waist and knotted it on the side, leaving her breasts exposed like a bleached National Geographic native. She was isolated here, and it wasn’t likely the towel would hold firm tucked around her bosom. However, the terry cloth would provide her legs some protection from the rough bark.

  She did a couple of stretches, touched her toes, and twisted back and forth. The hot tub had already loosened her up, so with a fortifying swig of wine, she was ready to play Jane. Or maybe Tarzan. Jane would be waiting for Tarzan to come rescue her, never realizing he was banging some Amazon and couldn’t be bothered with some whiny city girl.

  She smiled at the thought and stood up on the rail. The branch was now level with her waist. It was simple to lean over, grasp it with both hands and slide herself onto it like a horse’s back. The bark scraped the tender underside of her breasts and rasped over her left nipple, leaving a red mark on the white skin.

  She looked down into the green abyss of the ravine, which was thirty or a hundred feet down, depending on the side of the branch from which she fell. She rethought the idea of going back and breaking the window. It was an acceptable option if the alternative was plunging to her death or certain maiming in the forest below.

  Nonsense. She was a strong, healthy woman, capable of climbing down a tree. It wasn’t much higher than the rope. She didn’t look down when she climbed the rope. That was the main difference.

  She managed to wriggle down a good ten feet before her foot touched a branch, an offspring of her present perch. Unfortunately, in its quest for sunlight, this branch had curved upward, so she would have to maneuver around it, an obstacle in her road. Lauren sat up, bracing her hands on the bark between her thighs, and let her legs swing. Her bare back rested against the upward curving branch, forming a chair, and she relaxed a moment, or tried to do so.

  Why was she in such a hurry? She didn’t have dinner on the stove, wasn’t expecting company. Lauren swallowed, remembering when she had expected someone.

  She and Jonathan had lived together only a month. From the first day, he had balked at anything that smacked of the “how-was-your-day-dear?” rut, as he called it, describing it in disparaging terms as the innocuous brushing of lips, the sacking out on the couch in front of the TV after exchanging less than two sentences.

  So to keep him happy, she ordered him to come home from work earlier than her, every night. He was to put away his briefcase, lawyer’s suit and tie, and make her dinner. He would then kneel by the door, eyes gazing at the floor. He would be wearing nothing unless she had specified something in particular. She would come in, dressed impeccably in her skirted suit; hose and heels take his hand and raise him to his feet. He wasn’t to lift his gaze. All subs tried occasionally, they couldn’t help themselves, and those brief, forbidden glimpses were full of such naked hunger a Dom could not help but be aroused by a single look.

  Not Jonathan. He never had a problem with that, unless he wanted to be punished. He would serve her dinner, and then she might make him kneel under the table and serve her another way while she drank her wine and caressed his hair, even as her body flushed with pleasure and she gasped at the touch of his lips or clever fingers.

  Lauren broke into a sweat, and tears pricked her eyelids. She had come here to get away from these cursed memories. She told herself it was just a physical thing. She was feeling deprived. It was the way the tree rubbed her through the towel as she sat, swinging her legs. As the thought occurred to her, she lifted herself up so that the lips between her legs brushed lightly against the cloth-covered bark. Goose pimples ran up and down her skin. What was unpleasant on bare skin was not so unpleasant when covered with a thick cotton barrier. Oh, yes, tree climbing definitely had its upside.

  She had gotten so she could get herself off with anything. When she finally came, the combination of intense physical pleasure and unbearable emotional anguish left her limp in mind and body. In those dark moments, her subconscious rose to the surface and laughed at her conscious mind’s proud insistence that it was just the fulfillment of a physical need Jonathan had taken away from her.

  She wasn’t a liar. Not to herself or to anyone else. It was just a way of coping. She knew it was more than just having him naked at her door. It was looking around the corner and seeing his briefcase sitting in their bedroom, the evidence of existing together, sharing everything. In reality, all they had ever shared was sex and the game. Why had it been so hard to see that?

  No-brainer question. Because she had wanted so much not to see it.

  What cruelty made you give your heart on a platter to someone who didn’t want it? It was so painful to have them politely dismiss it. No thank you, none for me please. She’d almost rather a lover attack her heart with knife and fork, consume it in three bites and throw it back up later. At least that was action, passion.

  Lauren shook her head. She would rather have her heart hacked up like a hairball than left intact and unaccepted. There was a mental image. She needed to get a grip and stop thinking so damn much, or she was going to drown in pathetic metaphors.

  Lauren contemplated the ravine below, all the mysteries of life moving among the foliage. The cycles of birth, life, death, beginning and ending in every moment. There was a majestic hush over it all, each sound resonating like music on a scrolled page. The calling of the birds, the rustle of the leaves in the wind, the soft snap of branches and staccato tap of animals moving along the paths known only to them. So different from the human world. Humans knew nothing of harmony with the world about them. They were so dedicated to enhancing their single note; they couldn’t begin to figure out how to make a song.

  The cool air of twilight touched her with questing fingers, as if just noticing her. Lauren closed her eyes and felt it stroke her hair off her nape and shiver down her torso, learning what manner of creature she might be. She concentrated on the stillness, seeing if she could somehow, by bringing that stillness into herself, make it dissolve the memories that refused to stop haunting her. She had to come to terms with them, and with herself.

  She became more conscious of her breathing, and could almost sense that there were others who breathed with her in the impending night, creatures with liquid brown eyes and twitching noses, and musky soft fur that smelled of earth and animal.

  Lauren slowly opened her eyes, not sure how long she had been lost in the meditative state.

  Long enough that the air had gotten colder, and the sun had disappeared into the horizon, though it still illuminated the sky. She sighed, looked down, and found she was no longer alone.

  Chapter Three

  A man stood below her tree, watching her with intent brown eyes, like the creatures of the forest. No wet black nose, but his lips were definitely twitching.

  Lauren yelped in surprise. Instinct had her arms flying up into bat position to cover her breasts.”How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.

  “Awhile,” he lifted a shoulder, studying her in a manner that was indeed animal-like. Humans didn’t have such disconcertingly intent focus in their gazes.

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  He seemed to mull that over. The unexpected silence stretched out between them. “I didn’t have anything to say,” he said at last.

  This had to be Josh. Since he was gay, he wasn’t about to turn into a rutting beast and grapple up the tree to ravish her. Oh, screw it. He was a grown man and she was sure he had seen someone’s breasts before hers. She hated the pathetic picture she imagined she made, so she forced herself to settle back against her natural backrest and readjust her arms to an akimbo position, so she wasn’t flaunting herself, but she wasn’t cowering either. His glance seemed to follow the movement of every muscle.

  “Do you intend to be around awhile?” she said, exasperated when he said nothing further, just continued to study her. His hair was a variety of rich browns streaked with blonde. It fell in uneven lengths to his
shoulders, just grazing the top of his tanned shoulder blades. He wore just a pair of jeans, so a great deal of that tan was exposed, as well as some intricate and stunning tattoos. Celtic designs manacled his biceps and wrists, and there was a dragon pattern on his flat belly just above his navel. It was beautiful work, and yet it did not quite fit him, which was a strange thought, since she had just met him.

  “When you’re safe, I’ll leave.”

  The simple and sincere statement shut down her ire and replaced it with embarrassment.

  “I’m sure I’ll be okay,” she assured him, though she felt no real assurance of that herself at the moment. “What makes you think I didn’t climb out here intentionally?”

  His gaze dropped to her bare upper torso, then slid over to the deck where the hot tub still gurgled and the closed sliding glass door reflected the last light of the day.

  “Fine,” she said crossly, as if he’d called her an idiot outright. “Just…look somewhere else if you could. I mean, it’s not like this—” she glanced down, “really does anything for you, but it’s easier to concentrate on getting down if you’re not staring at me.”

  She felt embarrassed. Josh wished she could see herself as he was seeing her. She was perfect. She sat on the limb with her upper body straight, no attempt to hide the slope of her bare breasts, now that she was over her surprise. The towel knotted at her hip gave him an unimpeded view of one leg from hipbone to ankle. With her hair piled onto her head, tendrils of it wisping around her neck, she was both delicate and powerful, inciting a strong dual desire to protect her, and serve her every wish.

  It was likely his prolonged isolation that made her so potent. If he saw her on a street corner, amid a bunch of other people, wearing jeans and a sweater, buying a paper, he’d give her no more than a passing appreciative glance. Maybe. Regardless, thinking that didn’t change his primitive reaction to her. There were no props like that here to protect the senses.