by Bobbi Romans
Yowza.
Full frontal access. Yep. Even from the distance separating them, she easily made out the man had been blessed in the penis department. He had both width and length. Still, his face remained obscured as he stood tall enough that the window covering blocked her view from the shoulders up.
Damn. Maybe the dude was butt ugly and imagining the God hidden in the hut was better than truly knowing. She didn’t need another long-distance or mystery someone. She wanted the real McCoy. A man to touch, smell, and ride like she was a rodeo queen.
Someone to curl up with on rainy day and zone out with to old black-and-white movies. A soul mate to share her dreams with and someone to lean on when life got touchy.
Almost as important, a man who could make her laugh over the many “spills” life threw her way.
For now she’d have to be content with fantasy, and she didn’t need to see Mr. Sexy’s face for dreaming. Her lids drifted shut as she imagined how those muscles of his would come in handy for lifting. She peeped toward the body in the window.
Yeah, her ass against the wall…her body in his arms. Her skin tingled in anticipation of her thoughts. Oh and stamina, yeah, she bet he had lots of stamina and would go all… The man left the window, and when the small porch light came she freaked and took off. As she fled, a root in the path caught her foot and brought her down.
Hard. She wore dirt, she smelled dirt, she ate—dirt. Her fingers clawed into the earthen ground in her haste to get her ass up and moving.
Scrambling to make sure she remained out of sight in the event the porch light proved a sign the Mr. Sexy occupant was about to step out, she hobbled herself back up and limped fast as possible down the path. She didn’t even stop to grab her flip-flop, which had flown off when she’d fallen. Nope. Time to get her ass back to safety. She didn’t pause until she whizzed through the door, gasping for breath and ready to explain to her roomies where’d she been.
And lie about what she’d been up to.
Chapter Thirteen
As had become standard on this trip, she’d walked in and found herself alone. No need to explain anything to anyone.
Joy.
Her shins showed the brutality of her fall. Though the island’s ground for the most part was soft, a rock or root had managed to scrape the skin on both knees. Shower time.
She tossed her clothes in the area the maids knew to pick up for washing. Twenty minutes later she reached for a towel.
“Are you shitting me?” she squeaked, realizing the rack was empty. She’d made sure her clothes ended up in the right hamper for washing with housekeeping. Checking to make sure her deadbeat roommates hadn’t used all the towels had never crossed her mind. Hell, they were rarely ever around.
Images of P.J.’s two-towel-a-day habit, one for hair and one for body, floated back.
“Damn you, P.J.,” she sputtered to the empty hut.
Cracking the bathroom door open, she peeped into the bedroom. She’d left the door open, but silence reigned, and her pajamas sat on the foot of the bed. One quick dash. Hell, they were all like family anyway.
One-two-three.
She bolted for her clothes. The moment she passed the opened doorway, she saw them. Her roommates. All of them.
Brakes be damned, her heels dug, then flipped right out from under her. She plopped naked, on her ass like a baby deer testing its legs the first time, straight in front of her roommates. Like family. Yep, they howled with laughter as she slipped and slid her way on her bum to her nightclothes.
Mortified much?
P.J. shut the door on the guys’ laughter, appeared to fight her own snorts, and sprawled across her unused bed.
“Sorry, but if you’d seen your face. Priceless, girlfriend.” P.J. glowed, her newfound happiness at finally being with Morgan evident in her expression.
“If I owned the ability to zap myself home and not face anyone else right now, I would,” Heather admitted while heat bloomed in her cheeks.
“Oh please. We’re family. Not like shit’s never happened where we found the other in embarrassing situations before,” P.J. reminded her.
Oh yeah. True.
The memory of waking to Morgan, drunk, peeing in her closet when they’d all roomed together came back, as did the awkward flashback of J.D. during Mardi Gras 2010. They’d all pooled their money to bail him out after he and some other drunken partygoer had fought over the same strand of rainbow-colored beads. You would have thought the tiny round balls were made of diamonds instead of plastic with the way the men went into an all out street brawl. In the end, the truth came out—they were both vying for the necklace for the topless chick behind them.
Ah, fun times—not.
Dressed, she snuggled down under the bed’s soft, thin coverlet. Crisp, clean linen always lulled her into sleep.
“You’re right. They have done plenty of stupid shit.”
“Yep. You and I could do a stupid something every day of the week and still never catch up to their level of stupid stunts. Okay, I’m heading back to Morgan. I’ll catch ya in the morning.”
“Speaking of Morgan, when we get back and things settle, I want you to spill the deets.”
“You sure you want to hear all of them?” P.J.’s wicked smile told her no.
“Go.” She swatted P.J. on the ass as she moved to leave.
Seeing her friends so happy made the trip, even the loss of her texting buddy, all worthwhile.
Speaking of. She grabbed her cell off the nightstand, unplugged the cord, and powered up. Nope. No new messages.
Whatever.
A punch to the feather pillow, and she lay down, sinking into the bliss of the extra-soft bed the island featured.
* * * *
The bell to their hut jingled, signaling Khara or the Marquis most likely stood outside. There’d been no further encounters with the Marquis, though he’d not in any way avoided her. Quite to the contrary, he’d eaten an evening meal with her once he’d made his rounds of the room inquiring to the guests’ happiness with their visits. He’d even invited her to lunch with him, but with the sudden absence of Erix, she wasn’t up to any spring-break antics. She was content to bask in the happiness of her friends and daydream about the stud in the hidden hut.
She glanced at her watch—nearly noon. Hell’s bells, she’d almost slept the entire day away.
Footsteps bounded toward the door and she recognized the steps as J.D.’s. Grabbing a robe off the bottom of the bed, where she’d left it after her evening streak, she joined the others at the door.
“Tonight will be a masquerade event beachside. All visitors are requested to join, and since you were a contest winner, you receive special armbands for you and your guests that will allow for free drinks,” Khara announced with a hint of excitement as she handed over the four wristbands. Normally Khara’s demeanor remained devoid of any emotion, maybe to help prevent any unintentional attachments.
“Like true costumes? Masks, the works?” J.D. asked.
“Yes. Whatever costume you wish, or just a mask. The only requirement is you try to hide who you are.”
“Shoot, I didn’t bring anything even close to a costume,” P.J. commented.
“As this is a customary event, not announced until guests have already arrived, we have a costume shop. All sets are free of charge but must be returned before you leave the island so they may be cleaned before the next event.”
“Oh fun.” P.J. bounced excitedly. “Where is the shop?”
“Three huts down from the main office. Have fun.” Khara waved as she headed off.
Again, Heather got the impression Khara couldn’t wait for the party. Deep down, she had to admit the idea of wearing a mask and being anonymous appealed to her on some primal level.
Being as wild and free as she wanted without anyone else knowing.
They only had two more days on the island.
She lied. She wasn’t content. She wanted to go wild and crazy one last time, and
the masquerade provided the perfect background. If she was really lucky, the tattoo stud might show up. So long as any part of the tat was visible, she’d be able to recognize him.
Time to get her funky, masked groove on.
Chapter Fourteen
The costume shop should have been renamed Can of Sardines on account of how packed the place was. They’d elbowed their way past the masses and split as they each muscled their way toward any spot in the store still displaying costumes.
Heather had no clue how the others were making out, but so far she’d come up with nothing. Just bits and pieces of costumes. Then one came into view.
A black, Elvira-inspired dress, matching long wig, and small hat and veil to hide her face.
Perfect.
“Hey, how’d you fare?” P.J., came out with a dark bag. In fact, all the bags were opaque to prevent anyone from viewing the outfits within.
“I’m happy.”
“Well, what did you pick?” P.J. asked trying to peek in her bag.
“Not saying. I want to stay incognito for as long as possible.” She figured P.J. would push her on the issue, but she didn’t.
“Good for you girl. Go get your freak on.” P.J. winked and took off, pausing to quickly add, “Since the party doesn’t start until eight, the guys and I are heading to the waterslides. Wanna come and kill a few hours?”
“Sure.” A few hours in the sunshine, laughing with friends before, hopefully, the wildest night of her life, sounded like heaven. “Let’s do this.”
* * * *
Peachy. She’d managed to get a sunburn right before a big event. The tiny island store fortunately carried lidocaine, which P.J. helped douse her in. So much for being inconspicuous tonight.
Wait. She’d packed a new purchase. A thin, long-sleeved shrug. One of their regular mochaccino customers had warned her about cool, tropical ocean night air. Seemed she’d gone on a cruise, and during one of the evening island excursions in a sleeveless dress, had become uncomfortably chilled.
Her one-piece suit had covered most of her front, so only her shoulders got fried. The shrug would work perfect with her Elvira-ish outfit.
“Okay, we’re heading out. Sure you don’t want us to wait for you?” P.J. called out from the other side of the bathroom door.
“Nope, I’ll be down shortly,” she yelled back, wanting the place cleared out.
“All right. I’d say see ya there, but I guess that’s sort of missing the point,” P.J. stated as Morgan told her to hurry up. “Bye. Have fun tonight.”
“Bye.”
Finally the hut door closed. Her makeup was done and her hair dried and pinned up tightly, ready for the long, black wig.
Excitement coursed through her at the thought of gaining her desire to be unknown. To do and act like another with no one the wiser.
She slipped into the floor-length, skin-tight gown, which featured a slit from her hip all the way down. Cleavage, hell. The dress was also split from neck to belly button. Last item? The wig. Grabbing the material underneath, she pulled the mesh bottom gently over the crown of her head, tugging here and there until every hair sat perfectly in place. No way would walking in heels in sand go over, so attending barefoot seemed optimal. She wanted to enjoy herself and not be a hot, stumbling mess.
Eat your heart out, Elvira.
With one last glance in the mirror, she headed out with high hopes and a low neckline. As soon as she stepped outside, strains of music reached her ears. A live band. Wow. Nice surprise. Once she made it all the way down the path to the party, she paused to take in the magical sight.
Tiki torches lit the entire beach, along with festive paper lanterns strung from the trees along the path. Flowers that appeared to hold candles floated about in the shallows. Several bars and food tables were set up in strategic area. Island staff also walked around with trays laden with goodies. Everywhere she looked, costumed guests laughed, danced, and nibbled their way around the beach.
She understood Khara’s excited smile from earlier. The party truly appeared a magical event.
An Elvis strolled by, as did a vampire and a scantily clad cave woman. She made her way toward the bar and found Fred Flintstone nibbling a smoked turkey leg as he waited for his drink to be made.
The Marquis certainly hadn’t held anything back from this party. He’d covered every fine detail. About then the back of chubby Fred’s costume blew up.
Oh, maybe add a rule about underwear.
Chapter Fifteen
“And here you go. One amaretto sour with an extra cherry and splash of clear soda.” The bartender handed her the drink right as someone bumped into her from behind. Half the beverage sailed down the deep plunge of her neckline. No way she’d been able to hold back the shocked squeal when the ice-cold liquid hit her boobs. None.
“I’m so sorry,” a whiskey-laden voice stated from behind her.
She turned around to find a hand holding napkins out in offering. The hand belonged to none other than her tattooed mystery man. Woo-hoo for shirtless pirate costumes, as not only were they sexy on the right man, but they also exposed any recognizable waist-up tattoos. His mask appeared to be leather and only covered his upper face, but still hid enough she couldn’t quite make out his features.
“Accidents happen.” She wanted to say more but wasn’t sure how. What should she say? Hey, what’s your name, big guy with the sexy tattoo? Then he turned around again to get more napkins.
“Cool tattoo. Mind if I ask what it says?”
“Thanks. Means ‘follow your heart.’”
His voice didn’t seem to fit him. Whiskey-scratchy typically she loved, but somehow with him, she gathered he tried to hide his real tone. Odd, since they didn’t know each other, and she couldn’t fathom a valid reason for him to do so.
“Speaking of, can we talk?”
Before she could blink or even think his request odd, Candy sidled up to him and damn near purred. How did she recognize Candy? The boobs. Straight up, the knockers thrust from the teeny bikini with the heart tattoo blaring front and center.
“Hello, Mr. Pirate Man, where have you been hiding at?” she cooed, making sure to jiggle her jugs until Mr. Tattoo’s eyes dipped to check out her cleavage.
On one hand, yay, because this meant P.J. had made sure the bitch got the message to back off Morgan. On the other hand, boo, because now Candy’d set her sights on the one man she herself had become interested in.
“And what are you supposed to be?” She shouldn’t have asked but couldn’t seem to resist.
Candy pepped up even more.
“I’m the itsie bitsie teenie weenie bikini, like from the old song.” Candy shook her shoulders until her tits swung back and forth.
While granted the suit fit…
“And the mask?” Nope, the mask didn’t fit her theme at all. With all the garish-bright sequins the thing seemed more suited for Mardi Gras event than a beach costume party.
“The colors went well with my eyes,” she stated, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.
Her pirate started laughing. All-out, belly-busting laughing.
Thing was, the mask came down so far you couldn’t make out her eyes, much less what color they were. And dingbat that she was, she hadn’t a clue. When Candy turned a confused gaze toward her sexy pirate, Heather joined him in the laughter. Candy’s glare couldn’t be missed once she did.
Candy might not be the brightest bulb, but she figured out their humor was about her and stomped off. When Candy whirled around to shoot them a bird, she ran square into the volleyball net cord and went flying backward. She took down the robust man wearing only a loincloth who’d been chowing down on barbecue ribs and potato salad. He went down, his plate went flying, and when everything stopped moving, Candy lay sprawled in the sand wearing masses of red barbecue.
Seemed Heather hadn’t been the only one whose nerves Candy had stomped over, as several others joined in the laughter.
She turned bac
k to her pirate to catch him walking toward the trail that led to the huts. Disappointment clawed at her—he’d chosen to leave. She’d thought they’d been having fun and maybe things more than laughter might occur. Right as she accepted her replacement drink from the courteous and attentive bartender, a movement in her peripheral vision had her turn to see Mr. Pirate point at her, then crook his finger in a motion for her to come.
And go she did.
She sipped her sour as she made her way toward him. The closer she got, the more steps away he took, always stopping to make sure she stayed in eyeshot.
No words were needed to tell her where they headed. She knew the path all too well. She’d taken the same course once before. Of all nights for humidity to settle upon the island, it had to be the night her anxiety was heightened. Strands from the Elvira wig stuck to her cleavage. Her thoughts shot to her taped boobs. Should she remove the tape holding her boobs up to fit the dress now, somehow, or wait and see if the need really came to pass?
Gah? How do all these girls with all their fake attributes get through the night without one thing or another coming loose or free all together?
He’d disappeared into the hut, but a pale light came on and illuminated the opened door.
She paused at the small wooden steps leading inside.
This was it. Her chance to live her fantasy. She didn’t know him, nor he her. One night of ecstasy she’d never have to regret. Her chance to be wild.
Now or never.
Chapter Sixteen
The scent of jasmine hit first, then a blast of welcomed cool air.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come in,” he said as he adjusted his mask in an almost nervous fashion.
Her voice would give if she answered, so she stayed quiet and took in his room.
The entire ceiling was a window to the sky. Since his hut sat far away from the others, no light masked the breathtaking starry night view. Even the back and sidewalls of the hut were floor-to-ceiling glass.
“Wow. Nice place. You seem to have gotten the penthut.” She laughed as she took in all the lush plants that stood in every available spot.
