Impulse (Isola dei Sogni)

by Raven McAllan

  Just Ink Press, LLC

  A Just Ink Press novel

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or were used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Just Ink Press, LLC

  1016 S Roosevelt Street

  Tempe, AZ 85281

  Impulse

  Copyright 2013 by Raven McAllan

  Edited by Leona Bushman

  Senior Editor: N.L. Gervasio

  Photo Copyright conrado

  Cover design and interior images by N.L. Gervasio

  All rights are reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First electronic publication: May 2013

  For information, address:

  Just Ink Press, LLC

  justinkpress@gmail.com

  www.justinkpress.com

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Other Books by Raven

  Special Preview

  What on earth am I doing here? Mia McKenzie stared around the somewhat over-the-top bungalow. It was better than looking at the silver–haired man standing by the door and letting him see how scared she was. She knew fine well why she was on an island in the Indian Ocean instead of at home with a good book.

  Meryl had asked her to come, and she couldn't think of a way to say no without hurting Meryl's feelings. Her little sister meant the world to her. Not that she was so little anymore; she towered over Mia by a good four inches. What Mia couldn't understand was why Meryl, after stating emphatically the holiday and all its connotations wasn't for her, had changed her mind and come along.

  Isola Dei Sogni. Island of Dreams, for goodness sake. After all, why should Meryl need to come to an island to fulfill her dreams? I know she's been hurt, but still. Bloody men. I'm well past all this stuff, and men. But Meryl? Her life should be full of . . . . Well, anyway, it's our holiday, and she chose it. So shut up, Mia. And put up.

  That wasn't difficult, Mia mused and accepted a glass of champagne from the tall silver-haired man dressed in a dark grey suit. Why on earth did they make the poor guy dress up like a city gent in thirty degrees heat? It seemed silly to her. Everyone else they'd seen so far wore casual linen trousers and a collarless shirt. Smart, but casual. She thanked him, and he bowed. Poor man, oh so formal.

  She wandered over to the open patio doors and looked out over the immaculate garden. The sun shone through the leaves of the palm trees and created dancing rays on the unblemished lawn. The scene was chocolate box perfect, and Mia was annoyed with herself for not appreciating it more. But for heaven's sake, an island of dreams. What dreams had she got anyway, apart from wanting to be four inches taller and two stones lighter? As sure as the sun set every day, there was no way that was likely to happen. Not without starvation, liposuction, colonic irrigation and the rack. Mia wasn't up for any of them. She'd long come to terms with the fact she was who and what she was. After many years of angst, Mia was happy in her skin.

  To be twenty years younger? No, no way. Definitely not. No way do I want to go back to that age and all the crap that went on again. I'll stick in the here and now. Well, a good bout of hot and sweaty sex wouldn't go amiss, but that's as likely as the age loss. So, nope. I'll stay as I am.

  The man coughed to get her attention. "Will we see you in the lounge in twenty minutes, miss?"

  "What?" Mia blushed. She'd forgotten there was anyone else in the room. It was a habit of hers and one Meryl often moaned about. Mia could drift off into her own world without any problems, and ignore anyone or anything around her.

  "Oh, er, yes, thank you. Um, hold on." She grabbed her purse.

  The man shook his head. "All taken care of. Enjoy your stay. Don't forget, if you want anything, press the bell."

  Mia went red. Duh. He'll think I'm a right innocent abroad.

  "I don't, you know. I think you're a lady." He touched an ornate bell in the wall that he'd pointed out to her earlier, and with a half bow, turned and left the room. The door closed with a soft whoosh.

  Oh lord. Mia covered her hot face with sweaty hands. Why on earth had she blurted her thoughts out loud? She couldn't believe she'd said that about herself to him. Surely she hadn't? But then how had he answered? The whole thing was screwy.

  Mia sat on the overstuffed chair with a thump. The cushion billowed up around her and made her giggle. She'd be hard-pressed to get out of it without a hydraulic lift. I really must start exercising. Ditch the spare tire and get fit. It was a pity the one way people reckoned gave you a good work out, and made you satisfied, wasn't on her agenda.

  Damn it, I must stop feeling sorry for myself. She was older—more than a few years older—than the rest of the party, and if Mia was honest, she felt a bit intimidated by most of them. Maybe that was why she was being so introspective all of a sudden? Whatever, she needed to snap out of it.

  They were all young, pretty and confident, and judging by their chat on the boat, all successful. There had been a mix of languages, and even without the age difference, that had set Mia apart. She didn't speak half their languages, just a bit of tourist French. Well, I can say please and thank you, can I have a beer, where's the toilet, and may I please have the bill, in a few more, but don't think that really counts.

  Mia decided there and then that no doubt she'd be the party pooper without even trying. Whilst the others all went off and did their thing, she'd decline gracefully to participate in a dream or a fantasy or whatever, and spend the week reading and sunbathing. That thought hit her like a sledgehammer, and she almost dropped her glass. Add in a couple of glasses of good champagne every day, chocolate and rich tea biscuits, and she had it. Her dream and her fantasy. What about the kidnapped by a hot bod and riding off into the sunset?

  With an inward snigger, Mia scrabbled around for the sheet of paper she'd been sent before she'd left home. She'd taken a quick look at it, blanched, giggled, shoved it in her suitcase, and promptly forgotten about it. There was one heading 'Dream Desires', and another 'Fantasy Fulfillment', and then several paragraphs outlining some of the themes that were catered for. Damn, there is a kidnapping one. I'm not even going to look at that page. Or the shapeshifter one. Good grief, tell people to get a life.

  She opened the slim booklet and turned the pages. Oh sheesh. Mia blushed as she read some of the other headings. I have led a sheltered life. Then she grinned at the thought of some of the things she had got up to in her younger days, before . . . her mind shied away from the after . . . that was well over and done with. Although before, there was that Arabian third son of a sheik, and . . . Okay, well, not that sheltered, and now I remember where this kidnapping stuff came from. Amal was choice. But really, Maid and Master . . . please. Mia sniggered and rolled her eyes as she looked at the next heading.

  Thank goodness they had all been given their own suites. There was no way on earth she could read this in front of her sister. It was one thing knowing what you had or hadn't done in the past, or would like to do in the future, but another thing for your family, or even friends for that matter, to know. Obviously a good reason to guarantee
each guest total privacy from anyone whenever it was wanted.

  Though that could prove difficult if everyone wanted to use the gothic castle at the same time, or decided they wanted their own personal shapeshifter. Mia's mind wandered off into the logistical nightmares she imagined could be caused, before returning to the leaflet she held. A thought hit her like a brick in her back. Meryl had muttered something about bloody shifters. At the time, Mia had thought her sister had meant removal men, but now, seeing the brochure, Mia wondered. Not that they existed, of course. What mushrooms do they give you to make you believe in all that rubbish?

  The room shook. Damn, not an earthquake, please. She grabbed hold of the bedhead, and decided she was imagining the "wait and see" she fancied she heard. Once she was sure there were no aftershocks, Mia returned to the information sheets.

  Ah, this bit looked better, 'Our wish is your command'. Nice. I command peace and quiet. Champagne and books. And, well, I wouldn't mind a nice hunky waiter to bring me the champagne and kinda—for goodness sake, stop it already. Mia mentally shook her head, and looked at her watch. Enough of the silliness, it was time to join the rest of the group in the lounge for the last formal get-together of the week.

  She put her now empty glass on an ornate table, and wriggled her feet into a pair of flip-flops. No stilettos or wedges for Mia. She was the most un-coordinated person she knew, and even baby heels, as Meryl called them, were a no-no on anything but the most important occasion. Mia had long realized she preferred her mum's hippy ideals to those of present day society.

  * * * * *

  "Have you checked out the stables?" One of Meryl's friends—she could never remember who was who—spoke to her as she wandered into the lounge. For once it was a room which wasn't over-decorated. Not like her bungalow. The room that shouted fantasy and sex to Mia, which she guessed it was supposed to, but she didn't need the trappings. The lounge was classy and minimal. Mia preferred it.

  "Shades of Jilly Cooper there . . . the best bits," Jo, or was it Sarah, went on.

  Mia smiled and remembered she was not going to be a party pooper, just not a joiner-inner.

  "Not yet," she said cheerfully "I've been too busy admiring my villa." Liar, liar pants on fire.

  "Ooh, yes."

  Mia was fairly sure it was Jo who spoke.

  "And deciding on my choice of dream or fantasy, of course. The props and presents are amazing, don't you think?"

  Not prepared to admit that, as far as she was aware, because she hadn't sent in any ideas, she didn't have any props and presents, Mia murmured her agreement. Then she apologized to Jo, and murmured something about looking for Meryl, before she made her way to where the middle-aged man was pouring champagne into elegant flutes. Christophe, she remembered as she smiled at him, grateful to see someone else over the age of thirty.

  He smiled back and handed her a glass. "Feeling a bit overwhelmed?"

  "Totally. I'm just not the right person for somewhere like this. Meryl might be my sister, but I'm old enough to be her mother. And with all these bright young twenty-somethings, I so feel it." Mia sipped her champagne. "I'm more of a put-my-feet-up-and-read woman than a kidnapped and ravished one." He raised one eyebrow, and Mia blushed. She could all but hear him calling her a liar. "Though I do appreciate the champagne."

  He looked at her closely. "Never deny your desires, Mia. Dreams and fantasies come in all manner of guises. I'm sure we can fulfill yours."

  Christophe winked briefly, so briefly that Mia wondered if she'd imagined it. However, before she could ask him what he meant, he turned and spoke to an impossibly manicured and buffed blonde. Mia smiled. In that girl's case, she had no reason to be jealous, unless she once had shares in a hairspray firm and sold them. The Barbie look-alike must use at least two cans a day. Mia was glad the resort had a no smoking indoors policy. It was a good bet that a match anywhere in a three-foot radius would start a fire to vie with a bonfire at night. She closed her eyes so no one could see her roll them. How Meryl got on with Felicity, she never knew. They were chalk and cheese. Nevertheless, they'd been friends since nursery, and Mia knew fine well not to judge people by appearances. Felicity headed a law firm in London.

  With her glass in hand, Mia turned and wandered over to the open doors, which lead out onto a narrow swath of lush grass and the beach beyond. How on earth they managed to keep everything so abundant, Mia had no idea. The island had its own desalination plant, but it must be a full-time job watering the greenery.

  Somewhere a bird called, and was answered by another farther away. The palm trees swayed gently in the soft breeze and waves rolled lazily across the white sand.

  Good grief, I'm in the middle of a romantic novel. So where's the tall, dark, and handsome man? Or should that be men? And why can't it be short, craggy, blond, or middle-aged, rugged, red-headed or . . . oh, stop it.

  Mia looked to her left where she thought she could see another building in the distance. She sniggered to herself. If half a mile was distant. Nothing was far from anything on the island, it seemed. Once again, she wondered how they could guarantee the total privacy bit. Although Meryl had mentioned that this meet-up thing wasn't normal; it was only because they knew each other. So perhaps privacy was easy? She looked at that far away structure again. Perhaps her fantasy was to see what was up there? If anything. Mia groaned as a wave of weariness rolled over her. How soon could she go to bed? Alone.

  Oh well, it's only for a week, and I've enough books on my eReader to keep me going. Mia blessed the day she treated herself to it. Now she could read anything she wanted without getting embarrassed. What was wrong with Peter Rabbit or shapeshifting in Scotland anyway? It was all fantasy. Argh, there's that bloody word again. No one blinked an eyelid if she had something hot and raunchy uppermost—and she often did—but see a kid's book and she was treated as if she were weird. Mia had long decided if that was how people perceived her that was up to them. At least it gave her a lot of breathing space, and not many people asking how to borrow said books.

  She finished off her glass of champagne and exchanged it for another one that had been left on a tray along with a note saying 'please help yourself' just as Meryl approached her.

  "Hi, amazing place, isn't it?"

  Mia had the unpleasant thought Meryl's animation sounded forced. She quelled the shot of panic that hit her. Why was Meryl not happy?

  "Yes it is, though I'm surprised the idea's to your taste." Mia stared at her sister. Was she paler than usual? Meryl never had a lot of color, but she looked as if a puff of breeze would blow her over.

  "It's not, really, but I got sent details through the post, and it's an amazing deal." Meryl fiddled with the belt of her dress. She went pink and then chalky white again. "I showed it to a couple of the others, and hey, they wanted to come, so." She shrugged. "And I thought the break would do you good, sister. Early birthday present or something. Especially as there's no forced socializing. Well, except this and you could've ducked out if you wanted to. Now please, Mia, remember, forget home, forget scales and healthy food shopping and chill. Ignore the world and do what you want for a change."

  Mia laughed. How well Meryl knew her. "Too true. Lead me to the chocolate and the library."

  Meryl shook her head. "Oh no, if that's your fantasy, you go for it. I'm here for rest and relaxation. I've been dreaming of a stress-free week with no thinking for ages. Reading requires my mind in gear." With a smile that didn't reach her eyes, Meryl wandered over to talk to one of the other girls.

  Mia glanced round the room to calculate how soon she could get away. She was surprised to see how few of the group had turned up. Obviously, the fantasies had started flowing.

  So, what does Meryl think I'm here for, then? They might have an Arabian stud here and . . . Oh help, that doesn't sound right. I'm thinking stallions and . . . zip those thoughts now. Is it the champagne or is the atmosphere getting to me? What are they pushing through the air-con? Pheromones? Time to go back to my
bungalow, open my eReader, and decide on dinner. And I suppose a blasted fantasy.

  * * * * *

  Mia shut her bungalow door behind her—really, bungalow was a misnomer; palatial suite or villa more like—and took a deep breath. Several deep breaths. Then she had her first proper look around. Her original thoughts were confirmed. If hedonism were your thing then you'd be well suited. 'Suited in a suite!' She was definitely losing it, whatever 'it' was. Dark green and gold drapes over sheer white muslin at the windows. They were perfect to let you see without being seen, and then to retreat behind. Thick cream carpet and upholstery shouted 'ware the wine'.

  Mia cringed. As clumsy as she was, could she really go the whole holiday and not spill something on those furnishings? She studied an elegant goblet and the bottle of pink champagne tucked into a wine cooler, and grinned. Why not? If she drank it, there was less chance of spilling it. With a well-remembered deftness, she popped the cork and filled the glass with the soft rose-colored liquid, careful not to spill any. Fizz like that was too good to be wasted. Glass in hand, she wandered around the villa.

  There was a plethora of tables with books and plants on their surfaces and an unusual looking footstool in front of an imposing armchair. What that could be used for conjured up all sorts of X-rated images. Mia felt a warm glow run through her as she remembered a similar stool and . . . Argh, stop it. That was then, more than twenty years and twenty pounds ago. She sniggered. Sometimes a good memory was a hindrance, not a help, and sometimes very definitely the opposite.

  Mia wandered through the archway into the bedroom. Luxury again. A super king bed, filmy drapes and heavier curtains, following the previous color scheme. And—

  What on earth? Oh my, now that is . . . er, well, interesting. And I must stop talking to myself. Mia studied the large ornate bath, almost big enough for not quite a football team, but maybe a five-a-side? It wasn't tucked away in a secluded bathroom, but stood proudly in front of a window. A window that not only stood open but looked across the lawns she had been admiring earlier. Did that mean anyone could see in? Her body tingled at the thought.