“Thank you. To both Roo and Tilda.”
“We’re the same person,” she whispered, as if confiding a secret.
“I know that now.” He kissed her and walked her to the elevator.
As the doors started to close she called out. “Oh, Miguel? I totally would have been into a little titty torture.”
The bark of his laugh was cut off by the airlock seal of the cool silver.
* * *
The four notes arrived that afternoon, each neatly labeled with Miguel’s elegant cursive script, with a fifth note, unsealed, instructing her to wait for each day to open them.
Demanding, even from a distance.
Feeling her lips curve with affection for his domineering ways, she opened the first note with anticipation.
Dearest Roo,
I sit here writing this note, knowing that you are not far away from me, and yet already I miss you. But we have said our goodbyes and a plane is waiting for me. You know I like to follow the rules.
For today, I planned to take you to see the Flamenco dancers. The women who do it in the traditional style are so beautiful—and passionate. But that was my second plan. When we first met, that night I wrote out my list, anticipating all the dirty, nasty games I would play with you. You were so sexy and so game that you truly fired my imagination.
So I planned to take you to the strip club, to watch the ladies dancing, and perhaps persuade you to take a turn on the stage. I bought a mask and a dress for you to wear, with underwear to strip down to.
You are right—always, yes?—and I changed my mind. That seemed too slutty for you. I began to think of introducing you to my grandmother and I crossed that off the list and changed it to Flamenco dancers.
Now my mind is muddled and I don’t know which is right. Perhaps it’s best that you explore for yourself, without my expectations. My driver will meet you in the usual place at 7. You tell him which you’d like to do. He’ll stay with you, to look after you.
Have fun. I’m sorry to miss it.
Miguel
With the notes came a box. He’d sent everything to her—the clamps, the gold rings, the vibrator. The mask and dress.
So she went to the strip club and watched the ladies dancing, wearing her mask and the barely there dress. Their young bodies moved in sleek, strong and sexy movements, the room dim, like a den of exotic sex.
Would she have stripped on the stage, had Miguel told her to? She never did use her safe word.
Perhaps not. But she would have stripped for him, back on his private deck, with the torches lighting her. She studied the way the girls moved and thought about how she would have danced for him, enjoying the burn of the fantasy.
Instead she went back to the resort and danced to the marimba music with strangers.
January 3
Tenth Day of Christmas
Ten Lords a’Leaping
She went back to her routine of breakfast on the balcony, savoring her last few days in paradise. The flowers nodded at her in the breeze and a shining white egret perched on her rail for a time, cocking its head at her in hopes of scamming some of her croissant. It was Friday and by Monday morning she’d be back to eating her steel-cut oats before taking the train to her office.
The bird was not getting the least crumb.
Opening the day’s note, she settled back in her chair, stretching out her legs.
My lovely Roo,
It’s odd, writing these notes one after another, knowing you’ll read them days apart. IF you behaved and did as I said, that is. I am operating as if you did obey, though I recognize you owe me no allegiance now.
I wonder what you chose to do last night? The wondering is killing me, to tell the truth. I think you went to watch the strippers, but did not dance. One day, perhaps, we will meet again and you can tell me if I was right. The image of you dancing, however, is seared into my brain. Is it horribly jealous of me if I confess that I hope you did not dance naked for those men and women at the club? You are a free woman with a mind of her own—you always were, weren’t you? I see that now—and you will decide who to dance for. Perhaps your next lover, whoever that might be.
I reserve the right to hate him, just a little. I hope you’ll forgive me that, too.
Today I hope you’ll move into the penthouse suite. You will have it to yourself until you leave on Sunday. I asked that it be cleaned and stocked for you. You don’t have to, of course, but it would make me happy to imagine you there.
Have a sunset cocktail for me on the deck and wait. Yes, ten young “lords” will come dance for YOU. Had I been with you, I would have encouraged you to touch and be touched by them, but only I would have had you. Now, and always, you may do as you wish.
I know I don’t have to tell you to enjoy.
Miguel
With a half-smile, she refolded the note and slipped it back into its envelope. Funny how her request for more instructions had led Miguel to say more of what was on his mind than he had in all the days they were together. Such an intriguing man.
She missed him, too.
Of course she moved into the penthouse suite. She made good money, but not the kind she’d ever pay those kind of prices with. At first it felt lonely, so large and empty without Miguel’s larger-than-life presence, but it was good for her to make this transition. Her daily life rarely allowed time for much male companionship. Better to ease back into that mode than go cold turkey. One thing she knew for sure was that she’d rather be alone than be in some eternal compromise with yet another version of Greg. No more settling for “good enough.”
Perhaps she could find a version of Miguel. Someone to play with, to shake her foundations and blow her mind and body—then let her go her way. Surely people did that.
She spent the day doing her favorite things—snorkeling, sunbathing on her private deck naked, reading, ordering decadent food from room service. She talked to the salon about a navel piercing and scheduled an appointment for Sunday just before her flight, since she wouldn’t be able to swim afterward.
Miguel’s last two notes sat side by side on the polished marble counter. So tempting to read them, if only to salve that tender part of her that kept looking for him on the terrace or for his brown limbs sprawled against the white sheets of the bed they’d shared.
When sunset neared, she showered and dressed up. The “lords” arrived with a flask of lemon-drop martinis and Russian caviar with sour cream. She got a little drunk, enjoying the private show. But, though they invited her, she kept her hands to herself.
They were young and gorgeous, but her fingers itched for someone else’s skin.
January 4
Eleventh Day of Christmas
Eleven Pipers Piping
She put the second-to-last note on the bedside table, so she could read it first thing in the morning. Okay, maybe she’d gotten a little too drunk on the excellent martinis and a bit maudlin as a result. But there was no one to witness it.
As soon as she opened her eyes—surprisingly early, but then, she hadn’t managed to stay awake much past when the dancing boys left—she opened the envelope. This one was multiple pages. As soon as she took in the opening lines, she decided this one called for coffee first. While she waited for the delivery, she took a dip in the aquamarine pool and calmed herself enough to read the rest.
Well, well, Miss Tilda Campbell, CEO of Campbell Medical Equipment,
Aren’t you full of surprises? I confess I just looked you up on the Internet. I was compiling some notes for your day ahead, should you choose to accept your mission, and checked a few things via the almighty Google. It struck me to search for you, as well, and there you are.
“Sales” indeed.
While I’m most impressed with your many accomplishments, you were most naughty to mislead me. Yes, I know I never asked—and maybe didn’t listen when you hinted, because they’re coming to mind now—but you let me underestimate you. If you were with me, I would tie you up so tightly you couldn’t move and st
rap you with my belt until you dissolved into those gorgeous tears. I’m hard now thinking about it.
Ah, how I will miss you.
I should mention that arranging for pipers in Cozumel is not easy. “Piping” isn’t really our thing. Also, I can’t think of a way for it to be sexy. I’d had vague thoughts originally of playing with eleven dildos in your various orifices. (Since I promised to tell you all the dirty things I thought of at first. Things one would never do to the illustrious CEO of a Fortune 500 corporation.) Alas, I’m not there to punish and diddle you as ROO so richly deserves and I’m loathe to ask someone else to do it. Instead I’m offering something else.
A treasure hunt.
If you wish, my driver will take you to the docks, where you can take the Oro yacht back to the island. I’ve cleared the legalities, as it is not THEIRS yet. I’ve included a map of things for you to see, places I didn’t have the...courage? I’m not sure. That I did not show you on our too-brief night there.
I understand if you have other things you’d rather do, but I’d like to share this with you.
Miguel
P.S. Yacht railings are excellent for tying up sexy women. Something for you to think about.
Swamped with both desire and a raft of emotions, she decided on another swim. The man really managed to turn her inside-out. What was his game with sending her back to his island?
Of course she wanted to go. And, duh, a yacht!
* * *
The Señora d’Oro was a classically styled yacht, with a full crew at her disposal. It felt decadent and glamorous—and oh, so fabulous. With Miguel so heavy on her mind, she wore the Marilyn dress he’d liked so much. Damn him for that postscript about the railings. Fantasies of just what he had in mind plagued her for the short journey to the island and she had to turn her mind firmly away from those images.
She wondered why had he flown her there instead of taking the yacht, then remembered his boyish delight in showing her he could fly the plane. Things had changed between them somewhere around then. He’d begun to see her as more than just a fling. He’d wanted to impress her. Men—they were forever the boys on the playground, showing off their prowess to please the girls.
He’d pleased her all right.
Over and over again.
Don’t think about that.
* * *
The “treasure hunt” wasn’t complicated. It only took a few hours to walk the map he’d drawn for her. He’d neatly numbered the various spots and had written stories for her about each. On these vines he’d practiced swinging like Tarzan and had broken his arm. His mother had wanted to ground him from visiting the island as punishment, but his Grandmother Sofia overruled her, saying the injury was lesson enough. In that lagoon he’d learned to swim and snorkel. He’d arranged for snorkel gear and invited her to follow in his footsteps and to say hello for him. The pristine waters offered the best variety and density of aquatic life she’d yet seen.
At the final spot on the map, she returned to the waterfall and the clearing where they spent the night, and read the last story.
On this spot, I failed to make love to the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. I shall forever regret it.
January 5
Twelfth Day of Christmas
Twelve Drummers Drumming
When she returned to the penthouse, quite late, she walked right up to the counter and tore open the last note.
Did you wait, I wonder, to open this note on Sunday morning? I’m betting no. I would devise an especially devious punishment for you, were that the case.
But there you have it: my final apology. What did you thank me for? “Gifts beyond price,” you said. That line sticks with me, even as my pilot is impatiently waiting for me to finish this note, so we can take off.
You gave me gifts beyond price and I was so wrapped up in the law that I failed to see it.
So, I’ve done this. I called and made an appointment with your charming assistant for Monday afternoon. Your schedule is quite packed, apparently, and she seems fiercely protective of your time. However, I persuaded her to give me 15 minutes at the end of the day to pitch what Oro, Inc., might have to offer you. She warned me that you might refuse the appointment and I told her just how well aware I am of that.
So, I leave it up to you now. No cornering. Your path is open-ended. If you don’t wish to see me again, which I would understand, I will simply leave and never bother you again.
But I hope you will see me. At least once more.
Yours,
Miguel
P.S. I almost forgot. I know you fly out this afternoon, so I arranged for Sunday brunch on the terrace. And a fire and drum show, just for you. Nothing sexy. I’d imagined I’d have tired of you by then and planned for a safe, non-emotional send-off. How very mistaken I was.
Sunday passed in a whirl, which was good. It gave her little time to contemplate Miguel’s offer. On the one hand, she longed to see him. She practically had physical withdrawal symptoms, her body savagely craving the intense erotic interactions with him. On the other, they really barely knew each other as people. Especially working people in the real world.
Would they date? Would it still be just about the sex? Would they have a relationship—rent videos and snuggle on the couch in their silly pajamas?
She couldn’t quite fit her mind around it.
So, because she had time and he’d given her the out—so out of character for him—she decided not to decide. She’d wait until she was back in her power suit and behind her big desk, back in her real-world skin. Then she’d know better if this was vacation brain that urged her to say yes or...something more.
People don’t fundamentally change.
She enjoyed brunch and the fire and drum show was truly spectacular. But she rushed the performers along in the end. She had her piercing appointment and already her brain was turning to Monday morning. It didn’t surprise her that her schedule was packed, but usually Julie tried to keep her first day back fairly clear, so she could deal with email and voice messages.
But then, she’d never taken a vacation this long, either, and she worried about what might have gone to hell in her absence.
She said her reluctant goodbyes to the penthouse and the lovely Oro resort. It was easier, in many ways, that she hadn’t had to say farewell to Miguel also. He hadn’t paid her hotel bill, after all, which showed great wisdom on his part. Though it was much smaller than she’d planned on, he’d treated her to so much.
As a parting gift, he’d arranged for his driver to take her to the airport. Splurging, she spent some of her leftover budget on a very pricey, last-minute upgrade to first class.
Then she boarded the plane, ordered one last margarita, and returned to frozen Philadelphia.
January 6
Epiphany
The first day back in the real world was always an adjustment.
Not only were the landscape, people and climate completely different from lazy, golden Cozumel, but even Philadelphia wasn’t as she’d left it. The city had been denuded of the holiday decorations that had made it so festive and everyone had settled into getting through the dark, cold days of January.
She didn’t settle back into her old skin as easily as she’d thought. She’d worn her favorite power suit—not to impress Miguel, if she decided to see him—but to rev her up for what turned out to be a seriously packed schedule, indeed. It would be a crazy day. Still, she found herself sitting with her hands wrapped around her coffee mug, staring out at the grey snowfall turning the skyline and river into insubstantial clouds.
With a sigh of impatience for her mooning, she made herself open her email. When she stumbled over the password, she gave herself a mental shake. Sharpen up, Tilda.
She got it on the second try and began sorting through the high-priority folder. Bless Julie for organizing the daunting number of messages. It would have been lowering to ask Julie for her own damn password.
Speak of the devil, Julie popped h
er head in just then. “Remember you have the Pfizer meeting at nine. I tried to talk them out of that one, but with the product meltdown over New Year’s...”
“No, that’s all right. I’m happy that’s the only major crisis.”
“And 2,003 minor ones.” Julie rubbed her temple. “I don’t know how you do it, really.”
“Practice.”
“Yeah, well, I’m done practicing for a while. I’m just relieved you’re back.”
Tilda slid her reading glasses down her nose and considered her usually perky assistant. “Did you take any time off at all?”
“Some.” Julie shrugged it off and set a folder on Tilda’s desk. “You’ll note that I do not have a Caribbean tan.”
Remembering some of the ways she’d earned that tan, she heated, then quickly cut off that train of thought.
Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) Page 10
