Dylan half-smiled at her analogy. It was like a red rag to a bull.
"And don't you dare smirk at me. Not if you're fond of your balls as they are."
The smile disappeared. Dylan ran his finger over her cheek and rubbed her tears away. That one small gesture went a long way to calming her.
"Hold on, love. They're fine. Don't gun for anyone yet. Let me find out what happened, and then we can both gun for them." He nodded toward the dock. "Look, the boat's tied up and here they are."
She looked at him in silence for so long he developed a tic at the side of his eye. Then she sighed. "I guess so . . . whoa, Meryl, honey." She pulled up short as Meryl ran across the grass, flung herself at Mia, and burst into tears.
Mia glowered at Dylan. Why couldn't he take a hint?
"Don't you have somewhere to go? People to lie to," she said pointedly to Dylan. He must have realized that discretion was definitely needed, and he nodded, gave her a fleeting kiss on the top of her head, and moved off into the darkness.
"Oh, Mia." Meryl wept into her sister's collar, and sobbed the whole story out. Mia listened in silence, and then turned to Dylan when she realized he had only moved a short distance away. He must've sensed he may be needed.
"Can I trust you to take her back to her room?"
He nodded.
"Thank you. Meryl, go with this . . ." the word gentleman stuck in her throat. "Go with him, and he'll see you back to your suite. Have a good sleep, and I'll see you later."
It was a sign of Meryl's distress that she didn't query the request, or ask what Mia was going to do. She just nodded obediently, and as Dylan took her arm, followed him back to the house.
Mia turned, and walked toward the man standing alone on the dock.
"Hello, Mia."
Mia stood silently in front of him.
"Well, at last," she drawled. "I finally have the chance to tell you what I think of slime like you." She looked him up and down, slowly and insultingly. "And I've always thought actions speak louder than words."
She hit him. Hard! His head swung back, and Mia took the opportunity to hit him again.
Split second awareness must have made him realize she was aiming for his groin and he blocked the blow. His mouth turned up at the edges, and once again Mia was reminded of a big cat.
"Nice to see you too, Mia."
"Not mutual," she said shortly. What on earth is he doing here? Asshole males of the world unite? That's all we need. A tribe of them! Heaven help us.
She saw her hand-mark on his cheek, and momentarily felt ashamed of herself. But only momentarily. He deserved it for upsetting her sister. In fact, she only wished she'd managed to get her second blow in. Then that would have been one area she wouldn't have to worry about. No hanky-panky. The thought of hanky-panky brought Dylan to her mind.
Oh shit, balls, boll . . . language, Mia. Is this not a case of pot, kettle and black? Probably but—
"Why are you staring?" She asked Marloth belligerently.
"No reason. Except you look magnificent when you're on the boil, Mia."
"You . . . you jerk." She pointed her finger at him, and poked him in the chest. "And who the fuck is your friend?"
"Blaine Sturgess, I'm Dylan's cousin." He smiled.
"Ha, another asshole, then." Mia poked him in the stomach as well for good measure. Hard. Damn it, what is it with this island and me poking people? "Believe me, both of you, you've never ever seen me 'on the boil'. And believe me, you don't want to. What I want is for you to leave my sister alone. Understand A. L. O. N. E. She deserves better than you. I cannot see her humiliated by the likes of you again. You broke her, Marloth Ducaine, utterly and totally destroyed her. No sane, rational, and good person would ever behave like that to someone. Especially someone they'd professed to love. Ha. Love, you couldn't even spell it, let alone act on it." Mia needed to get away before she broke down and totally disgraced herself. She glared at him and then glanced back to where she had last seen Dylan. She'd forgotten he'd taken Meryl back to the house.
"Looking for someone?" Blaine enquired. His eyes were the same darkness as Dylan's. He'd come up close to her and Marloth. "Who were you with? He looked familiar."
"Oh puleese, you know fine well who it was. A fellow gigolo of yours. Note I'm classing you with these other shites until you're proved different, and do I think that's likely? Not a chance. So, Dylan, your fellow all-round-asshole, and non-good guy cousin."
"Dylan!" Blaine sniggered, and his grey eyes went from the color of slate to that of a dark storm-tossed sky. "No wonder he looked familiar. Who's up to what, eh? He's the big bad disapprove of everything around here person. So who's doing what?"
Mia glared at him. She had no idea what he was talking about.
"You're nuts. And if you mess with my sister you won't be. Because I'll snip them off with garden shears."
Blaine winced and covered his balls with his hands.
Marloth sniggered.
Blaine looked pained. "I was just the rescue party, Ask shi . . . er, Marloth here what went down."
Mia looked at him through narrowed eyes. She turned to Marloth.
"Hey, I just work here and do as I'm told." Marloth copied Blaine's hand action.
"Yeah, yeah, and if you think I believe you really didn't have anything to do with this crap and were only acting on orders, I'm the queen of Sheba."
As one, both men bowed and spoke, "Your Majesty."
They looked so ridiculous one hand cupping their cock and balls the other behind their back that Mia giggled before she shook her head and walked away.
"Shitebags." It was lame, but the best she could come up with without bursting into tears and having a full-blown hissy fit. She knew now why it wouldn't do any good.
Okay, I can cope with this crap, surely? After all, this is me on my way to my villa, not my fantasy. Let's face it, who would want assholes in their fantasy? Well. Grief, that is . . . damn and blast it, oh shut up. Her stomach churned and she still wanted to punch someone—anyone. Especially someone whose hands or cocks had a mind of their own.
Slamming the door brought great satisfaction, but the apologies to the various heads, bodies and whole people that appeared from other villas didn't. Who would have realized the sound echoed? Thank goodness inside sounds didn't. Well, she hoped to hell they didn't. Mia sniggered—if they did, she was the only one who'd gotten any satisfaction. Under any other circumstances her description to herself about independently operating body parts would have raised more than a small smile. Not this time, though. There was no way she wanted the rest of the group to know just how ridiculous and naive she—and for that matter, Meryl—had been.
Oh lord, the garden and the pool. What echoes from there? There was no answer in her mind to that tricky and potentially embarrassing question. She gave a mental shrug. So don't think about it, then. It's a dream island and I bet most of the dreams feature a rip-roaring, screaming orgasm.
She entered her room and turned the lock with great satisfaction. She swiveled round to go punch a cushion, imagining it would be Marloth—or Dylan—and bumped right into Dylan.
"You," she said, and almost spat with loathing. "You, mate, are the last person I want to see. Why are you here? Just clear the fuck off."
"Now, Mia, and no, no-one can hear anything from your garden, the glass bounces sound back." No doubt his tone was meant to placate, but to Mia in her temper, it did the exact opposite. She saw red, a film covered her eyes and her fingers itched with the effort of not connecting with his face.
"Now 'Mia' nothing. Nada. Nein. Zilch. Go away. Far, far away. Get it? And stop making me talk out loud."
Dylan must have been taught discretion was the better part of valor. With a brief nod, he went.
"Later, Mia, we need to talk."
Mia watched the door close behind him, flung a cushion at it as hard as she could, and wanted to cry again. Damn him, she was going to invest in waterproof mascara and bill the bloody isl
and. Of course they needed to talk, but not now, not when she felt so betrayed. There was only one thing to do. After eating all the chocolate she could find, Mia sulked. Not that she called it that. Her description was a strategic retreat and ignoring assholes. She decided she wasn't sulking, just regrouping.
With a grim resolution, she put the 'do not disturb' sign outside the door and took the phone off the hook. Then she got into her Pj's, made a cup of tea, and climbed into bed. For the rest of the night. And, except for forays to the fridge and the loo, stayed there until the following day.
And Dylan stayed away.
Well, I'd have thought he would have at least had the decency to come and check I was okay. No, thinking about it, I wouldn't have. Because he's a man. And men only think with their dicks, not their brains. Well, duh, their brains are in their gonads. How's Meryl? She's keeping low as well, and the rest? Hope they are enjoying their fantasies! I'm sure as hell not. But then, come on, Mia, be honest—you didn't want a fantasy. Not at first, but then . . . .
"Stop this." Mia said. "Put up or shut up."
There was a discrete knock on her suite door. She'd ignored the last half dozen or so, but maybe it was time to resurface and not just use her mobile to tell Meryl she was fine.
Mia walked to the peephole and looked through. Christophe was outside. Slowly, she opened the door, and stood back to let him in.
"Mia," he said gently." May I call you by your name?"
She nodded.
"Thank you. Mia, you must eat. I can only apologize for my son and staff, but . . ." He rolled his eyes, and handed her a glass of wine. "Maybe not the best thing on an empty stomach, but I think you need it."
"Your son?" Mia interrupted him. "So, Dylan is your son, Blaine your nephew and stupid Marloth works for you? You poor thing, how on earth do you cope? You have my deepest sympathy."
Christophe laughed, and streaks of lightening flashed in his eyes. "I can assure you there are times when I need it. But seriously, Mia, they are good men, just a little—"
She raised her finger to her lips. "I can fill in the rest, Christophe, but the words really shouldn't be spoken by a lady. Not that I'm a lady, but you know what I mean?"
"Oh, yes." He shook his head in amazement. "Sometimes I wonder what they think with. Well, no, I know what they think with, and that's the trouble. And believe me, Mia, you are a lady. Don't sell yourself short."
Mia studied him. What a nice thing to say. Not the selling herself short bit—she knew that was something she needed to sort out—but the lady bit. That was nice. "So what happens next? Should I stay or should I go?" she said, quoting a song she remembered from years before.
"The Clash," Christophe said.
She looked at him in amazement.
"You were wondering who sang that song."
"Did I wonder out loud again?"
He laughed. "Something like that. Food?"
Mia sighed. "I guess so. What do you suggest?"
* * * * *
Dylan looked at the grandfather clock as it chimed the half hour and decided enough was enough. She'd had a day to get over her snit. Time to move on. He'd sorted out several issues, and had a chat with Faran, who, as far as he could see, had more problems than the rest of them put together. It seemed even tiger shifters could have problems, not the least of which was lovesick staff. Blaine was still immersed in his snit over someone and Marloth was in despair and wouldn't say why. Except he had a 'how to win Meryl over' scenario and could think of nothing else.
Whatever he was going to do, Dylan decided he didn't want to know. Then he could tell Mia in all honesty, that he didn't have a clue. If Mia ever gave him the chance, that was. He appealed to his father for help.
Christophe advised waiting a while. "If you're really serious about her, then woo her. If not?" He'd shrugged.
"Oh, I'm serious, sir. And that's a good idea. Can I have the cottage for a few days?"
"Of course. It is yours."
Dylan nodded his thanks. The cottage had been his since they'd bought the island. But disapproving of what went on there, he had never used it. For all he knew, Blaine could have commandeered it to use for the guests' fantasies.
"No," Christophe read his mind and rebuked him. "The cottage is yours. Not to be used by the business. I'm saddened you'd think otherwise."
"Oh hell, Papa. I forgot about that blasted gift of yours. Which is strange seeing as you passed it on to me. Bloody hell, I'm glad you weren't around the other night."
Christophe laughed. "I didn't need to be. I have faith in you and your abilities, even when you chose not to use them knowingly. Now, do you need any help?"
"Nope, I'll have it under control." He hoped he would, anyhow. Truth to tell, Dylan wasn't at all sure of anything. He daren't even think what Christophe meant, but his father didn't need his gift to know what Dylan meant. The thought of his father knowing what he was thinking, and even worse, what he was getting up to, was scary.
There was a knock on the door. Faran put his head around it.
"Hey, D? I need to shift, and I'm off for a run. I'll do a security check whilst I'm at it." He winked. "Marloth is away in the clouds. He said he'd do the reverse direction, but I'm not holding my breath. I only told him to try and get his senses working again. It's pitiful. Never let me be swayed by a woman."
Dylan nodded, even as he wondered why Faran had told him, not Christophe, before realizing what the wink meant. That part he didn't envy Faran at all. From what he gathered, shifting was uncomfortable, and fraught with problems, not the least was how you told a lover that you just needed to become a tiger and go off into the night for an hour or two. Although, in this case, his help would be invaluable to Dylan, if everything went according to plan.
He wandered around the control room, and checked the spotlights were all on. What he really wanted to do was to go to Mia and love her senseless. Instead, he was stuck in this boring bland room waiting for someone who really wanted to be there, and knew what they were doing, to come and relieve him.
'Damn that man. Why couldn't he just have gone all Rudolph Valentino and whisked me away on his horse?'
Mia's thoughts filled him as clearly as if she'd been speaking to him. Dylan grinned, ignored all the tenets of polite magic he'd ever been taught and listened in.
He listened as Mia muttered to herself. She couldn't sleep, didn't want to read, hadn't really wanted the fluffy omelet Christophe had brought her, but managed a few bites to satisfy him. She had absolutely no idea where her sister was or how to contact her, and she was worried. She felt Meryl was fragile enough without Marloth annoying her. To her disgust, even Christophe had been unable—or unwilling—to help when she asked him. And shit, Blaine was another asshole.
Dylan grinned at her thoughts on the way Christophe had simply answered he 'wasn't at liberty to say'. It seemed his Mia was frustrated, in more ways than one. And to his delight, she wanted him. His cock hardened, and he imagined just what they could do together.
'Here. Now. Under me! Over me! Actually, I don't care how, I just want him. First to ask what the hell he is up to and then . . . well, shoot, I didn't think he'd give up without a fight or whatever.'
It was getting harder with every word he heard for Dylan not to high five. Only the thought of how ridiculous he'd look if someone came in and saw him stopped him. Along with the thought that he'd been bloody annoyed if someone came in and knew why he was acting like a hormone driven teen. Instead of a hormone driven thirty-something.
' Hell, he could even have read my stupid fantasy page where I ticked the romantic kidnapping bit or something. So he obviously didn't care enough to check that out.'
That cheered Dylan up even more. Little did she know . . . .
'Oh my god, what's that whooshing noise? Shit, I can hear a bloody snarl. A snarl for goodness sake, and I'm sure there's something outside the window. Hell, my heart's doing its jackhammer impression. Shall I be brave and look?'
Damn, Far
an. Couldn't he have made Marloth wait a few minutes? No matter, he was doing as Dylan asked him; Dylan wished for once he'd be a few minutes late.
He heard her heart beat faster and had to grip the table to stop himself from going to her. Where was someone to take over? He didn't much care who it was as long as they turned up soon.
'Ye gods! I really am hallucinating. What the hell is going on? I could have sworn I saw a tiger in the curtains. I'm definitely going gaga. Now I'm imagining a voice telling me this is a fantasy Island. Well, duh, it said so in the brochure blurb. But tigers, with eyes like that security guy, and come to think of it, voices that sound like Dylan. What were those mushrooms in the omelet?'
The door opened and Blaine entered. "Sorry, Dyl, to leave you in the lurch like that, but I'm here now." He looked old and tired. Dylan felt like crap for asking him to take over, but he had things of his own to sort out. And he needed to eavesdrop.
Mia opened her mouth to scream, but barely managed a croak. That was a tiger—a bloody tiger, for fuck's sake—in her room. Spots danced in front of her eyes, and there was a roaring noise in her ears. She rubbed her eyes and shut them rapidly several times in a way she'd have giggled about in any other circumstances. When she looked up, the animal was still standing, unblinking and staring at her.
A deep rumble came from his throat and he swished his head from side to side. Mia decided it was a threat, not a hi-pleased-to-meet-you growl. Pleased to eat you, maybe.
Oh shit, surely I'm not going to faint. I'll be a tiger's dinner, no doubt about it. Oh shit.
The tiger moved, and Mia experienced the surreal feeling of being lifted by the jaws of a big cat. I bet not many people can say that and live to tell the tale. I hope I'm one of them. She shrieked as the room spun.
This has to be a nightmare. I'm in a fucking tiger's mouth and he's sodding carrying me. That's got to be bullshit, it can't be happening. It has to be those flipping mushrooms. And, oh bollocks, he's jumping outside. This is so not the fantasy I wanted. I don't like wildlife. Not even in a zoo. I didn't mean literally kidnapped by an animal. Not an animal animal, I meant a hot-bod-six-pack animal, not a furry, four-pawed one. And I'm damned sure I didn't write that dream down anyway.
Impulse (Isola dei Sogni) Page 5
