by Eden Bradley
“Come on, beauty. Into the shower with you.”
He led her across the living room of the apartment. Enormous windows overlooked the island and out to the sparkling blue sea. Inside was nearly as breathtaking. More marble floors punctuated by white faux-fur rugs, the furniture all sleek black leather, more of the modern pewter-framed mirrors everywhere, one standing floor-to-ceiling. Everything slick and cool, a perfect contrast to the lush tropical setting of the island—even the cool, white orchids in tall vases set around the room.
She had to pause and stare. “This place is beautiful.”
He moved in close and murmured in her ear, “You’re beautiful, Miranda.”
She turned to look at him, and something passed between them, something that made her legs tremble. Then his dark brows furrowed, his fingers flexing around hers as a shadow crossed his features. He started to shake his head, but then smiled instead and turned to lead her further into the luxurious apartment, leaving her a bit giddy and confused.
Was she imagining all of this? Was it all some lovely fantasy that would come crashing down around them?
Relax. Just enjoy it.
But suddenly it was all too much and she knew she’d been wrong—she needed that moment to breathe. To think without his gorgeousness and his dominance clouding her vision.
She laid a hand on his arm. “Roan? I think…I think I need a minute. I don’t know. Maybe I need the day.”
“What?”
She pushed her hair back from her face. “This has been amazing. But it’s also been a lot. I need a little down time to process.”
He dropped her hand, making her stomach twist. “Of course,” he said, all cool manners—so cool, almost cold, that it made her chest ache at the suddenness of the shift. “I’ll see you back to your apartment.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m just an elevator ride away. I’ll be fine.”
“Of course it’s necessary.”
“I’ll be fine,” she repeated a little more harshly than she intended. “I’m sorry. I just need to go. Okay?”
He nodded, gestured toward the door and walked her across the room and back into the foyer, where the elevator waited. She moved toward it but he stopped her with a feathering touch on her wrist. “If you need anything, Miranda, don’t hesitate to let me know. Just call the reception desk downstairs and ask for the penthouse. They’ll know to allow your call through to me.”
“Thanks.”
She turned before she could change her mind and allow herself to sink back into those green eyes, into his strong arms. Because she knew something was wrong, and it wasn’t only with her. She didn’t dare look at him again before stabbing blindly at the buttons.
Her heart was racing as the elevator slid soundlessly down and by the time she’d crossed the building lobby to the bank of regular resident elevators she was in a full-blown panic. She closed her eyes as she rode up to her floor, nearly running down the hall to her door, grateful that the locks in her building were fingerprint coded since she didn’t have her keys. She laid her fingertip on the plate and sighed with relief when the door opened and she slipped inside. She leaned back against the door, taking in air in big gulps.
What had she gotten herself into? There were reasons why she’d shut herself away from the world. Had she really thought she’d be able to get involved with another man—another Dom—without the old fears coming back to haunt her? No matter how many years it had been since she lost Daryn, any connection came with risk. And the intensity and complexity of a D/s connection? It was multiplied tenfold. And it was that connection she feared as much as she’d always wanted it. Always. Before Daryn. And God help her, even after. Maybe especially after.
She was a mess.
She pushed off the door and headed into the bathroom, turned on the water and stripped before stepping under the cool spray. But the water only served to remind her of being in the ocean with Roan. Of his hands on her. The way they’d laughed together.
“You cannot be falling for a man you met two days ago,” she muttered to herself as she stepped from the shower and dried herself with a towel. Then, catching her reflection in the mirror, she told herself, “You are totally losing your shit, Miranda.”
She sighed. She needed help.
Moving into her bedroom, she flung herself on the bed, grabbed the phone on the nightstand and dialed the one person she could confide in.
“Hey, Miranda, I was just thinking about you.”
“Joely, hi. I’m glad you answered. Are you flying today?”
“I’m heading out in a few minutes to bring some new guests back to the island. But I’m going into Miami tomorrow. Want to come with me? I’ll even let you take me shopping.”
She could almost see the sparkle in her friend’s eyes.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean… Shit, Joely, I’m kind of in trouble here and I thought—”
“Well hell, why didn’t you say so? Whose ass do I have to kick?”
That made her smile. “No one’s. Mine, maybe.”
Joely snorted. “That’s not gonna happen. Tell me what’s up.”
Miranda explained as quickly as she could about everything that had gone on with Roan, omitting the more intimate details.
“Wow, you got an invitation? Very interesting. I know Roan. He’s a fascinating guy in that sort of silently bossy way, if you know what I mean.”
She groaned. “God, do I.”
“I suppose that’s why he’s the guy Vardalos hired to… Oh! Wait. You know what I mean.” Joely paused for a moment, then laughed in wicked delight. “Miranda Royce, you’ve been holding out!”
“A little. It’s not exactly a topic of ordinary conversation.”
“You’d be surprised.” Joely let out another low chuckle. “But Roan is a good guy, trust me. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t. Vardalos doesn’t hire dicks. He’d lose his favorite pilot if he did.”
“That’s not the issue, Joely. It’s me.” She paused, let out a small sigh. “And it’s him.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “I’m kinda waiting for you to make sense, hon.”
Miranda bit her lip. “I’m trying. Look, I don’t know how to talk to you about this without bringing up the kink, so I’ll skim over as much of that as I can, but it’s got to be a part of the conversation. Even if all you do is listen while I talk this out.”
“Think of me as your island bartender, Miranda. Only much better at keeping secrets. Don’t let my innocent face fool you. It’s camouflage. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve done or the things people talk to me about while I’m flying them to and from the island—I’m officially unshockable. And I’m listening.”
“Okay. So, you know I’m…a widow. My husband Daryn and I were into the kink scene. He was my Dom.”
“This is me not being shocked.” Joely’s voice was more subdued. Kind. “Still listening.”
“I haven’t tried any kink play since he died. I feel like I’ve processed losing him as much as anyone can, but the kink was…that’s another matter. Finding someone I have that level of trust with felt…impossible. I’ve dated one guy since my husband died. One. It was only three months later and it was a disaster. But now there’s Roan, and things with him are already so intense. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around how quickly things are escalating. Emotions. Trust. The things we’ve done together—things I never even let Daryn do.”
“Well now you’ve got my attention.”
“God, mine, too. He has my attention. To a ridiculous degree.”
“You’re scared. It’s happening too fast. Makes perfect sense to me.”
“Yes, I suppose. How is it possible to feel the way I do after only three days? Three days, Joely.” She pushed her hair from her face, hot all over suddenly as her pulse picked up even more. “This is insane.”
“This is also the island. Insane comes with the territory.”
“I don’t know that I believ
e the whole island thing can explain this.” Though it would have been easier to blame her impossible reaction on Eden—the way everyone else seemed to—she knew it was him. Roan.
“Have you talked to him about it? What does he think?”
Pulling a deep breath into her aching lungs, she said quietly, “He says if it’s not the island magic then all that’s left is just…us.”
Joely sighed. “Sounds pretty damn romantic.”
“Yes. Damn it.”
“The bastard.” Joely’s voice held a smile. “So let me get this straight. Roan is romantic, kinky, and pushing all the right buttons. So what’s the issue?”
Miranda twirled the ends of her damp hair around her fingers. “I’m fucking scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared, Miranda. Normal even. The question is, are you going to let fear stop you from allowing yourself to enjoy something you obviously want?”
“I don’t know, Joely. This all just seems like it’s too good to be true. It seems impossible.”
“Yeah. But if you’ll take a little advice from your favorite flying bartender, maybe sometimes you have to believe in the impossible. Maybe sometimes the good things are true and there really is some magic that wants you to be happy, even if we don’t understand how it works.”
“Maybe.”
“Here is my prescription. First of all, you need to have a stiff drink. I can hear you hyperventilating from over here.”
Miranda laughed. “Excellent idea.”
“Alright. Have your drink. Call me if you need me. Calm the hell down. And then go back to him. Talk it out. From what I know about these Dom characters—the good ones, anyway—communication is something they’re pretty open to. Which automatically makes them better than most men, in my book.”
“Thanks, Joely. I’m still freaking out, but I think… I think you’re right. I have to try this. Daryn wouldn’t have wanted me to spend my life alone. And even if it’s just this week the invitation specified, I’m learning things about myself in the process—things I needed to know. Things I need to still work through.”
“God, I love being right.”
“You’re really going to milk that for everything it’s worth, aren’t you?”
“You know me so well,” Joely replied cheerfully.
They hung up and Miranda realized she was already a lot calmer simply having been able to say the words out loud—that she was scared. But as she’d told herself from the very start of this thing with Roan—whatever it was—maybe it was time to stop running. Because she suddenly realized that no matter where she ran, she was still there. Her and all the issues she needed to acknowledge and deal with.
She went back into the bathroom to get ready, to lose herself a little in the ritual of preparation that would put her brain in the proper headspace for seeking forgiveness from the man who was, for the time being, her Dom.
Roan ran a towel over his wet hair, then dried his skin. He’d needed the cold shower. His body had been a complicated mess of desire and anger and threads of some old shit he hadn’t known were still there. Shit about Kerri dying. About who he’d been since then. About how deep his defense mechanisms ran. It had taken Miranda to make him see it. Miranda and three days in the island paradise that did some strange things to people, if the rumors were true. And they damn well seemed to be. But it was all coming to nothing if Miranda couldn’t handle it.
Miranda.
All that sleek, tanned skin and those big blue eyes that fucking made his cock and his chest ache in equal measure. So much so that he felt…guilty. He hadn’t felt anything since Kerri—nothing more than a fondness for the women he played with, slept with. This whole situation was a shock to his system.
And then there was Jenna to consider.
He hadn’t thought of Jenna and a woman he played with in the same sentence since he’d lost Kerri.
Fuck.
He’d give Miranda some time, but he was going to see this through. Whatever the hell he meant by that.
Roan scrubbed a hand over his chin, which always seemed to help him think. But no luck today. He shook his head at his reflection in the big mirror over the sink as he wrapped the towel around his hips. “You are royally fucked up, aren’t you?”
“So am I”
He whirled to find Miranda standing in the doorway, dressed in nothing but a shy smile.
“Miranda, how the hell did you get here naked?” he asked, understanding how absurd it was that those were the words coming from his mouth at that moment.
“The guys at the security desk know me, and they know I was here with you—they let me come up. And then…I dropped my clothes in the foyer. I wanted to… present myself to you properly. And apologize for running out like that.”
He shrugged. “I understand why you did.” But inside he was overloading—physically, mentally—so damn fast it was all he could do to keep his features neutral. To keep himself from dragging her into his arms.
Oh yes, that dangerous combination of lust and emotion threatened to make him do something very stupid—lose control completely. He swallowed hard, commanded himself to get it together.
“Thank you,” she said. “But Roan, I need to say something here.” She put a hand on the doorsill, as if to balance herself. “I need to tell you this whole thing is freaking me out pretty badly when I stop to think about it. And I don’t believe I’m the only one.”
“You’re not.” Control slipped a fraction of an inch. He pulled it in with a long breath.
“But I’m going to make another effort to be in the moment,” she said, “if you’re willing to allow me to try. Because somehow I’ve come to believe this isn’t happening without reason. Which is pretty strange for me because I haven’t really believed in anything for a long time.”
He stepped forward and took her hand, his fingers automatically sliding up to feel the hammering pulse in her slender wrist. “We have too much in common. No, not too much, Perhaps just enough.”
She nodded, her blue eyes enormous. Gleaming. “Enough that maybe you’re the one person I can do this with. Explore who I am now in kink. Who I am as a woman beyond being a widow. Does that make sense without sounding completely pathetic? Can we do that, Roan?”
He pulled her in then, holding her tight, bare skin to bare skin. It felt so good he almost wanted to sigh. “It makes absolute sense. And it will be my great pleasure. I have to admit, I need to rediscover myself, as well.” He held her at arm’s length, watching her lovely face, the hope in her eyes that seemed to reflect every impossible thing he felt himself. “You didn’t need to come here naked to say this, Miranda.”
“No, I did need to. Because that’s sort of what this is about, isn’t it? Us being naked with each other? Literally. Figuratively.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. I’ve always said that BDSM—that sex—is all about people being their most raw selves. It’s that peek inside at who we truly believe we are and what makes us who we are, warts and all. At who we want to be, sometimes. It has to be that raw, to some extent. To the extent we allow it.” He had to smile. “And sometimes it happens on those deeper levels in spite of ourselves.”
She tilted her head. “You, too?”
He nodded, pulled his gray cotton robe from a hook on the wall and draped it around her. “Come with me, Miranda. We’re going to sit down and talk a few things out. And believe me, I can’t quite accept that I’m instigating this, but these last few days with you have caused a mind-fuck I haven’t been able to fight my way out of, and I know now the only way out is to go in. In deep, where I don’t want anyone to see. I suspect it’s the same with you.”
“Yes. I feel as if I can’t…do this until I get it all laid out on the table. Before I lose the courage to do it.”
He squeezed her hand as he led her to the big living room, where the scattered lights of the island’s grounds lay like a scant sea of amber jewels against the twilit sky.
They sat down on one of the thick fur ru
gs in front of the window, the light outside the only illumination. But it was enough to see the soft gleam of her blue eyes, the fall of her hair that looked like golden silk, making him want to touch it. He leaned against the sofa, and she curled her legs under her, doing the same.
“Talk to me, Miranda. Talk to me about those strange, quiet moments you had after you lost him.”
She shook her head and at first he thought he’d asked too much. Then her shoulders dropped and she raised her gaze to his.
“Trying to recover from being widowed is sort of like having one stunted, malformed epiphany after another. Like…you think you’ve discovered something important as you recognize each level of grief, only to find out it was total crap. That all it comes down to—in those first months, anyway—is that gaping wound where your heart used to be and nothing makes sense. Nothing is going to for a very long time. And that’s the epiphany. That you’ve been abandoned and your whole existence sort of sucks, end of story.”
He nodded, his heart aching for her. For what he himself had lost. “There’s this entire language—no, that’s not right. Maybe it’s more like a vocabulary—for those of us who have experienced loss. Other people can’t understand. They don’t have any idea of how to talk about it. How to think about it. Oh, they can be sympathetic…”
He remembered his sister’s face, his mother’s, at Kerri’s funeral. They’d tried, he supposed. But there was all that British stiff upper lip crap in his family, which he’d come to find out really was crap when someone died and nothing ever truly was dealt with.
“Right,” Miranda said. “But they won’t really understand the strange things I just said to you. Yet I see that you do.”
“Loss changes us. Forever.” He took her hand, stroked his fingertips over the pad of her thumb, the soft, fleshy part of her palm. “But Miranda, it doesn’t have to change us as a whole, which I’ve only just realized. It changes pieces—that’s unavoidable. But the rest we have some choice over.”
There was a sheen of tears in her eyes when she asked, “Do we? How?”
