by Cassie Wild
I smelled the ocean.
I jerked upright and looked around. The second I did, I regretted it. My head felt muffled and my mouth was so dry, it felt like it had been a week since I had a drink.
Spying a bottle of water on the table next to the bed, I grabbed it and twisted off the cap. I drank nearly half of it before I lowered it and once more looked around, trying to figure out where I was.
I had no idea.
The bright room, elegant in its simplicity, had large doors that opened outward.
Slipping from the bed, I pushed open the doors and walked outside.
My mouth dropped open at the view.
I was on the second floor of wherever I was and through the lush tropical foliage, I saw a beach of soft white sand. The ocean was so blue, it hurt to look at it, that incredible blue-green shade I’d only ever seen in pictures or movies.
I was on a beach and so close to the ocean, I could hear the waves.
Palm trees and other tropical-looking plants and trees lined a path that led to the beach, offering shade from the sun. I turned and looked around, trying to get a better idea of where I was.
Brooks had gotten me on a plane, but before that, I didn’t remember anything—certainly not arriving here. Wherever here was, of course.
I had no way of knowing, not without asking somebody.
I looked around once more and that was when I noticed the small staircase that curved down from the balcony in a graceful spiral. I hesitated, but only for a minute.
The staircase ended in what looked like a carefully cultivated garden, one that gave the impression of being natural, but it was too precise for it to have happened randomly.
I found myself drawn to the water and started in the direction of the path I’d spied from the balcony.
“Hello, Miss Daria. Did you sleep well?”
I spun around at the sound of the voice, smooth, male and cultured.
I gaped at the man standing in the doorway. I hadn’t even noticed the French doors when I came down the steps. He had his hands folded in front of him and smiled at me politely. “Who are you?” I asked nervously.
“My name is Duncan.” He offered a polite nod. “This is Mr. Downing’s home—we’re located on a private island a little south of Cuba. Mr. Downing wanted you to know that he’ll be here in the morning and that you’re welcome to enjoy the island. It’s perfectly safe.” He gave a small smile. “I see to that myself.”
“You’re security?” I asked.
“I handle the security here and I manage the home when Mr. Downing isn’t in residence.”
“I thought he lived in Philadelphia,” I said softly, turning back to look around.
“He does. This is a second home, for when he wants privacy.”
“Oh.” My belly chose that moment to rumble. I covered it with my hand and blushed.
“You slept through lunch,” he said, an apologetic smile gracing his hard face. “Would you care for something light to eat now or would you prefer to wait until dinner?”
“If it isn’t any trouble, I’d love something now.”
“Of course. If you’ll follow me?” He turned back and slid inside the house, leaving the doors open behind him.
He led me through a pretty sitting room and down a hallway before we entered the kitchen. A stout, round woman stood at a big island, chopping vegetables.
She started to speak, then caught sight of me. She didn’t smile, just offered a faint nod before going back to the task at hand.
“We’re having steak, baked potatoes and a salad tonight,” Duncan said.
My belly rumbled again. I avoided red meat for the most part, but the idea of a fat, juicy steak sounded heavenly just then.
Duncan opened a fridge that looked like something from the Starship Enterprise. I surreptitiously looked around and blushed when I realized the woman at the island caught me staring. “Hi,” I said nervously.
She just nodded again and went back to her chopping.
“This is Justine. She runs the kitchen here,” Duncan said, turning back to me. He shot her a quick grin before looking back at me. “Unless you’re talking food, Justine doesn’t say much.”
“I say what needs to be said,” she replied, still focused on her task.
Duncan gestured to the table situated in front of a broad, gleaming pane of glass. I could only make out the faintest hints of blue water from here, but there was another garden just on the other side of the window, one that bloomed with riotous color. “I don’t think I could ever work at some place so beautiful. I’d be too distracted to do my job.”
I moved to the table and settled in a seat as Duncan put a plate of cheese, crackers and fruit in front of me.
“Would like some wine?” he offered.
“No.” I laughed softly. “My head is still spinning from some sleeping medication I took earlier.”
“Then it’s probably best that you stick with something else,” he said agreeably. “Water? Tea?”
“Water is fine.”
I picked up a cracker and used a small fork to stab a piece of cheese.
Moments later, a glass of water was placed at my elbow. “I’ll leave you to your snack. I’ll be back in a bit and I’ll show you around the island.”
I almost asked if he’d stay with me—I felt a little out of place. But he must have work to do. So I just nodded and stabbed another piece of cheese.
I didn’t have a chance to do much looking around until after dinner. My belly was more full than it had been in a long time and I convinced myself I needed to walk off some of the food. If I had my belongings with me, I might have gone to the small, but fully equipped, gym that Duncan had shown me during the tour.
I’d found clothes inside the dresser and closet of my bedroom, which Duncan told me had been ordered for me. But there was nothing that I could wear to exercise so I decided to settle for a walk.
I found the path I’d spied earlier and followed it out to the beach. The sand seemed to go on for miles in either direction and I tipped my head back as a breeze kicked up.
I could almost pretend I was completely alone out here.
I had a sudden, strong urge for my practice clothes. There was a melody in my head and I wanted to dance to it.
I might have done just that, too, but when I shot a glance toward the house, I noticed a figure standing in the shadows of the garden.
Security.
Duncan had told me not to worry if I saw any of the security team as I walked the island.
You’re free to go wherever like. They won’t impede you at all.
If I thought too long about the security team, and just why they might be there, I’d get panicky, so I pushed the thoughts aside.
The sun was slowly sinking closer to the horizon, giving me a chance to orient myself.
I started to walk in the opposite direction, wondering how big the island was.
I came across a dock, tucked into a small curve along the beachfront. A boat almost as big as the yacht Isabel’s father owned bobbed gently on the lapping waves.
Next to it was a much smaller boat, most likely for fishing, something I knew nothing about.
Come to think of it, other than the occasional ferry back in New York and those few hours on Basilio’s yacht I’d never been on a boat before.
It sounded terribly relaxing in that moment. Going out on that placid, blue-green sea and just floating.
With a wistful sigh, I walked on the past dock to continue my exploration.
Not far after that the beach curved and I followed it, my eyes locked on the water. I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but I thought I could just barely make out what looked like land just at the edge of the horizon. Judging by the direction of the sun, I was staring to the north. Was that Cuba?
I had no idea.
I shot a look at the sun beginning to set and realized that fat orange globe had slipped more than halfway below the horizon. Although there was still light, I h
ad been walking for quite some time so I turned around, retracing my path past the dock and back up to Brooks’ beautiful house.
It was nearly dark by the time I reached the path that led up to the house. Somewhere along the way, I’d picked up an escort. He stayed back a good thirty feet and when I turned to look at him, he offered a polite wave. He didn’t come any closer and I didn’t get the impression he was doing anything other than watching over me.
Still, when I came across Duncan loitering on the porch, I faced him and cocked a brow. “Am I being watched here?”
“No.” A bare echo of a smile twisted the corner of his mouth upward. “Domingo had noticed how far you’d wandered from the house. He wanted to make sure you were able to find your way back if it got dark. Small as the island is, it can be disorienting at night, especially if you’re not familiar with the area.”
“Oh.” I nodded, feeling a little silly then. “I just got distracted and didn’t realize how far I’d wandered. It’s beautiful here.”
“It is. Would you care for a drink or a snack before you retire for the evening?”
“No.” I’d seen the small fridge in my room, stocked with water and canned soft drinks. The only thing I needed was something to drink and I didn’t require anybody waiting on me to get it.
He nodded and retreated inside the house.
I followed after him, my mind already on the big, soft bed I’d found myself in when I woke up.
It would be nice, I thought, to have Brooks with me the next time I woke in that bed.
“When will Brooks be here? He’s still coming?” I hoped I didn’t sound as anxious as I suddenly felt in that moment.
“He’ll be here sometime before noon, I’m told.” Duncan’s smile was a little softer this time.
Noon. It seemed like such a long time away.
I didn’t get into bed until almost midnight. I’d spent a few hours watching TV, finding channels I’d never even heard of, not in Moscow or the States. Not that I’d had much time to sit down and enjoy whatever might come on the television, at least not since I’d gotten to the US. If I’d thought things were rigorous back at my school in Moscow, they were nothing like what I’d experienced since I’d begun attending the Burov Ballet Academy.
Nadia, our primary instructor, was called a bulldog by some of my classmates. A bitch, by others. Both probably applied; she was a grueling teacher.
It was thoughts of her that had me undress down to my bra and panties after my long walk so I could do a light workout. The lingerie wasn’t exacting designed for such use, but it was definitely a better choice than the long, flowing skirt I’d worn during the day.
I lost myself in the familiar workout, going from stretching to push-ups and sit-ups before rising and starting on the next part.
My muscles felt loose and easy by the time I finished and I was surprised to find it how late it was.
My mind was revved and I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep so I took a long, warm shower and scrubbed my hair. The products set up in the shower for me to use were the kind of lush, high-end variety I’d never been able to afford. I probably spent more time than needed under the flow of water as I washed, exfoliated, conditioned and smoothed.
The shower served to relax me so I thought I’d go ahead and slip under the luxurious sheets and downy comforter, even if I didn’t sleep right away.
But sleep came easier than I thought.
I slid into slumber with my thoughts focused on Brooks.
I was dreaming.
There was no other excuse that would explain why I was center-stage at the Met, dancing the lead in Giselle.
The Burov Academy was an excellent school, but it wasn’t the American Ballet Theatre. So I was dreaming, dancing to the familiar music in the big, empty opera house.
But then it wasn’t empty.
Brooks appeared on stage, wearing a severely tailored suit that suited him all the way to his toes.
He moved toward me.
I spun away, still lost in the dance.
Then I slammed into him and he caught my hips, staring down at me with raw, naked intensity.
I pressed my hands to his chest as he eased in closer, reaching for the tight knot of my hair. He freed the heavy weight, sending pins flying.
“I love your hair,” he murmured. “Dance for me now.”
He backed away a few steps.
I lifted my arms.
Startled, I realized the costume I’d been wearing had changed somehow. Instead of the costume worn by the principal in Giselle, I was wearing the bra and panties I’d worn earlier during my work out.
I pressed a hand to my chest. “I can’t dance like this,” I whispered.
“Then take the clothes off,” he demanded.
Heat flushed my cheeks as I realized he was suggesting I dance naked.
I couldn’t do that.
But apparently dream-me had different ideas. Dream-me slowly, lazily stripped the bra away, letting it fall as she spun away from the man who watched her.
Dream-me leaped, then came down into a graceful plié, arms crossed in front of my chest. My naked chest.
My heart hammered as I slowly lowered my arms, settling my hands on the waistband of my panties, the only thing that kept me from being completely naked now.
I watched Brooks as I slid the panties off, leaving them on the floor as I flowed back into the dance.
I could feel his eyes on me and it left me feeling short of breath and high on adrenaline.
I made my way around the stage until I found myself in front of him and there, I came to a stop.
I might have curtsied for him, but he moved on me, pushing his hands into my hair.
“That dance was for me…just me, wasn’t it?” he whispered against my lips.
“Just you.”
His mouth came down on mine.
I arched up, straining to be closer.
The scene shifted in that odd way dreams do and in the blink of an eye, we were no longer on stage at the Met. Now we were in the bed back in the island house and Brooks was naked above me.
He pushed my thighs apart and stared down at me, at the aching place between my thighs where I was wet and empty.
He pressed his mouth to me and I came apart.
He drove me to the edge of madness and only when I was begging and pleading for him did he thrust inside me.
Twenty-Four
Brooks
It was eleven o’clock in the morning when I reached the island.
Duncan greeted me and nodded toward the stairs. “She hasn’t come down yet, sir. I think she’s still asleep.”
“How is she?” I asked, stripping out of my suit jacket.
Duncan took it from me and folded it over his arm. “She seems well. A bit overwhelmed.”
I nodded at him. “I’ll head on up.”
“Should I ready breakfast?” A black brow winged and he added, “Or lunch.”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to eat.”
I slid into my bedroom and found Daria exactly where I’d hoped to find her.
She lay in my bed, that long, silken hair spilling around her like a veil. The covers tangled around her waist.
Approaching the bed, I found her clad, not in the nightgown I’d ordered for her, but a man’s dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and still, it dwarfed her.
The sight of her wearing my clothes did bad things to me and I blew out a slow, controlled breath.
I’d hoped being away from her for a day or so would lessen this vicious want for her. But if anything, it had added to it. Just seeing her lying there sleeping so soundly in my bed had me wanting to crawl in next to her and strip away the shirt, kiss every inch of skin that it had touched.
There were things I needed to do. I should be back in the States, doing what I could to secure her safety. Instead, here I was, being led around by my cock.
And she didn’t even know it.
I’d alm
ost bet my right nut on it.
She had no idea what she was doing to me.
It didn’t make it any easier for me to handle, though. I preferred to be in control—in all aspects of any relationship—and I didn’t even have the appearance of control right now.
I started to strip out of my clothes, eyes resting on her face.
Her mouth puckered, then parted on a sigh as I moved toward the bed. Sliding in between the sheets, I moved closer.
She rolled toward me as if she’d sensed me and I closed my eyes as she floated a hand to my chest.
My heart pounded under her light touch.
Covering her hand, I brought it to my lips and kissed it.
She stirred and muttered under her breath. Rolling onto my side, I watched her as she slowly started to wake up.
She made another moue with her lips and I told myself not to lean over and kiss it away. Not yet.
She blinked her eyes open.
A startled gasp parted her lips as she focused on me. “You’re here,” she whispered.
“I told you I’d come.” I pressed a kiss to the soft part of her palm.
She fisted her hand as if to hold onto that light touch.
I rolled her onto her back and slid down between her thighs. The wet heat of her turned cock to a shaft of hard steel as I brushed against her; she shivered at that touch, her lashes fluttering down on eyes still fogged by sleep.
Daria brought her knees up, further opening herself to me. I closed my eyes as the movement had me settling in between her folds. Just one slight adjustment and I could be inside her.
It was so tempting.
But I just moved against her, watching as that familiar flush settled over her cheeks and swept downward.
“I can make you come just by doing this,” I told her softly.
Her eyes widened.
“Would you like that?”
She licked her lips, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I want to feel all of you—inside me.”
“You will.” I set about putting truth to action, gliding back and forth over slippery wet folds, angled so that I rubbed against her clit with each pass.
