Desire for Ecstasy

by Adira August

  “He was this unique kind of person. No sympathy at all and all the compassion in the world, but he never showed it.”

  “Then how did you know?” Woodward asked.

  “Because he did it. He gave me so much respect, but he was never a servant in any way. He was duty-bound, but he always thought about my needs. He gave me so much care, but he never evinced even the slightest interest in me as a woman.”

  “Were you attracted to him?”

  “Hank?” she smiled. “No, not at all. I should have been, he was beautiful, like a weapon made of flesh and bone. Maybe on some level I knew he was gay, but he never mentioned it. I don’t know. I just liked him so much.” She stopped, listening to an echo in her mind.”That’s funny. That’s how I felt about Ben when I met him.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I adore him. So much. He’s a delight to me. I just hate that I’m so weak.”

  “Weak?”

  “I can’t do anything for him. He does it all. He has all this money and power, and if I need anything he sends a text and … stuff appears. He fixed Hunter’s car and paid my rent and took care of my sister”—she grinned— “got me a babysitter.”

  “He’s a billionaire and you aren’t.”

  “Right.” She frowned. The conversation was feeling familiar to her.

  “If you were also a billionaire, you wouldn’t need anything?”

  She studied him. He was just sitting calmly, waiting for her answer. It felt almost like he was a reporter interviewing her. Almost …

  She jumped up. “You! You’re a therapist!”

  “Answer my question or hand me your brush.”

  A quick retort came to mind. Bad idea. She closed her mouth and sat down—canted sideways on one foot because her ass was still sore.

  “I’d need things.”

  “And?”

  And? She twirled her cube around on the tabletop. “Do you think men need the same things women do?”

  “I imagine your mother knows the answer to that question.”

  “But … Why don’t I?”

  The cube was unmoving between her hands.

  “Because your father died.”

  Oh.

  He let her sit quietly for a few minutes digesting the conversation, occasionally working her cube. Mostly looking quietly toward the window and the park beyond.

  He stood up. “Put your cube away. You can practice after dinner.”

  She did, slinging her bag over her shoulder to follow him out.

  “Avia?”

  J.J. Johnson was in the hall about to enter the room perpendicular to the one Avia and Woodward had been using.

  Wood stopped and put a hand out to keep Avia from leaving the room. But she’d already halted, a huge smile on her face at the sight of Carson Sanchez, her friend and former racquetball partner, behind J.J.

  “Avia! Holy shit, girl!” Carson’s face was swathed in a wide grin. He started toward her, oblivious of Woodward.

  Avia’s instinct was to tell Wood it was alright and throw herself into Carson’s arms for a big hug. She’d missed him so very much. But she made no choices now. She took half a step back, wanting to reassure Wood of her obedience, not certain why it seemed so important.

  “Hey, Dude,” she greeted Carson. He hesitated, looking from her to Woodward. Carson wasn’t a stranger to Hart security, though he hadn’t encountered Woodward before.

  Avia wondered how Ben’s stand-in would handle it. As she had the thought, he stepped aside so she could pass, as if he wasn’t her substitute Dom. She caught his eye, and he gave her a very subtle nod.

  At that she did throw herself into Carson’s arms. Over his shoulder, she noted J.J. was obviously curious about Woodward.

  “Jeez, Rivers, did you stop eating? You’re way too skinny.”

  She pushed back from him.”I’m sure that’s an oxymoron.” She gestured to Wood. “This is Mr. Woodward. He takes care of me when Ben’s not around.”

  Wood didn’t offer a hand as she introduced J.J. and Carson. “A pleasure.”

  “I called you, today,” J.J. said. “Ben answered. Did he tell you about the story? Tell you I need you back at work to write it?”

  “No, I don’t have my phone.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “So he said.” She glanced at Wood. “Avia, this is bigger than Watergate. Bigger than the Boston Globe priest scandal. Ben said there was a Pulitzer in it and that’s no exaggeration. This is what you do, Avia. This is who you are”—she waved toward the room she was about to enter—“and it’s time to get back to work. Come speak to me alone for a minute.”

  “We were on the way out. I’m not sure I have time,” Avia said, looking to Wood for guidance. Or maybe rescue.

  “We don’t have a minute right now,” he said and ushered her down the hall.

  J.J., a small but very determined woman, tossed her bag at Carson and hurried after Avia. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know Ben Hart has you incommunicado and this guy seems more like keeper than protector. Do you need help?”

  They bypassed the elevator alcove for the stairs, crossing the open entranceway to the religion section. Woodward seemed to realize J.J. was going to follow them downstairs and stopped, moving them back, out of people’s way.

  Avia shook her head. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Prove it. Walk away with me.”

  Avia shook her head.

  “Do I have to call the police to get you away from this guy?” J.J. demanded.

  “That would be redundant,” said a deep male voice from behind her.

  HUNTER LEANED against the wall, hands in his pants pockets. “Hey, Wood. Avia. And Ms. J.J. Johnson, I believe. I know you from The Week. We haven’t met. I’m Detective Lieutenant Hunter Dane.”

  Hunt came off the wall with a lopsided grin and held out a hand. J.J.’s mouth hung open a little. “You’re Deke Stone.” Her hand came up, and he captured it with his own.

  He kept her hand as he took a step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her body, and lock in her wide-eyed gaze. “I’m just a cover guy,” he told her. He gave her a slow, speculative once-over. “You enjoy it. Reading Miranda Devers.”

  She flushed. Miranda Devers books were all BDSM Romance.

  “I see you do.” Hunter cocked an eyebrow and moved his thumb against her palm. She gasped a little but didn’t pull away from him.

  Oh, how Hunter Dane loved powerful women. And this one was perfect. Strong, independent. Willful. And like a lot of strong women, looking for an Alpha male to submit to. She was likely attached to a clueless nice guy she’d never told what she wanted. She got what satisfaction she could from books and movies.

  Right now, restrained by a look and one hand on hers, shifting her hips against the heat he knew bloomed between her legs, she’d stumbled on the possibility of getting everything she ever wanted.

  The crotch of his slacks tightened as he imagined her token protests, wrists clamped in one hand, while the index finger on his free hand drifted lightly along the slick seam between her legs, finding her swollen pink pearl.

  Her eyes widened, unfocused, as if she could read his mind. She licked her lips. He really loved strong women. The study room behind the elevators didn’t have any windows.

  “J.J.?” Carson Sanchez had drifted up the hall behind Hunt.

  She jumped and tore her gaze away to look for Avia, but she and Woodward were gone. J.J. snatched her hand away from Hunter. “You son of a bitch,” she hissed at him.

  Sexy comebacks raced across his consciousness like a high-speed chyron beneath a Fox fantasy news broadcast. He wouldn’t use any of them. He might need this woman someday. Or she him.

  He settled for silence and giving her the last word and watching her fine ass jiggle as she stomped all the way to the end of the hall, where she and Carson turned into one of the study rooms.

  Returning to his table, he wondered which Deke Stone novel she’d read that night wi
th which of Ben Hart’s toys in her hands. Or maybe she just used her fingers. Too, bad. He had fingers.

  Hunter checked the time and wondered what subs might be hanging around the club.

  Maybe he’d go look for himself.

  Saturday, March 11th, 2017

  “So we have no problems with building permits and you think we can be ready for principle photography by”—Ben checked his calendar— “June one?”

  Ray Luvaas, whose name was fit for a porn star, scratched his hairy belly pooching out of his open Hawaiian shirt and yawned widely. “Sorry. Something about this place makes me want to snooze the afternoons away.”

  He looked around Ben’s Kauai office as if he might find a bed. “It’s pretty straightforward. Your empty buildings are almost sound studios now. Big old barns and whatever. We’ll get the lighting, cables, all that in. You ain’t exactly got A-listers lookin’ to park luxury trailers. It’s your property so you don’t need permits to shoot.”

  He grinned. “Man, I do like movie makin’ in Hawaii. Ya know Elvis shot Blue Hawaii here on Kauai.”

  “I did know that. You were here for …?” Ben already knew Luvaas’ film history; he wanted to see if the man padded his resume.

  “Couple documentaries,” he said. “Pretty interesting. You know that hula thing, that’s a lot more than girls swinging their hips around.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “Made a video for a guy selling a yacht.”

  That hadn’t been in the report Ben had received. “He brought in a Hollywood film crew to make a video about his yacht?”

  Luvaas yawned again. “Brought me in. Rest was local. Helluva boat. Had a swimming pool and a landing pad for a helicopter. Wanted sixty mil, as I recall. One of you guys.”

  “My guys?”

  “Billionaires.”

  “You don’t approve?”

  He looked genuinely surprised. “Mostly companies own ‘em is what I meant. This was just one guy.”

  “I see.” Ben liked Luvaas, knew he was experienced and had a good professional reputation as a line producer. Ben also knew he’d gone bankrupt speculating on a land deal and taken a few others down with him. He was persona non grata in the industry right now. Good luck for Ben who’d been able to hire an experienced man grateful for the chance and happy to move to the islands for a year.

  “You found me a director?”

  “He’ll be here for the auditions. That’s when you want the demonstration, right?”

  “In a week.”

  “Okay,” said Luvaas, pushing himself up out of the chair and stretching. “I’ll get a corner of the barn set up and a skeleton crew.”

  “Good. And Ray?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re the associate producer, not a line producer on this, so hire yourself one. And an assistant. And anyone else you need. This isn’t basement porn with black rectangles over the eyes.”

  Luvaas sat back down.

  “No, it’s Fantasy Island meets Secretary. I got Floros’ treatment for the pilot. Good stuff. Really good. Humor. Pathos. Kinda writing and concept could make a mainstream hit.”

  “Could?”

  “I also saw your audition list. You picked ‘em all personally?”

  “I did. From the videos the casting people sent me.”

  “Yeah. Here’s the thing, all your female picks? They’re character actors. They aren’t really eye candy.”

  “Neither are most people. The men are the fantasy, the eye candy. I want women real women can identify with.” Luvaas looked skeptical. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s signed. Anything else in my way?”

  “One thing I’d call it leaving money on the table,” Luvaas said.

  “Oh?”

  “It’s all boy/girl. You need a couple guys. Maybe more than a couple.”

  “You want me to try for an expanded demographic?”

  “No, I want you to convert all of the ones you’re after, every straight woman you can get to watch the thing. This is soap opera. Romance. Gay romance is getting big in your world.”

  “Which world? The billionaires club?”

  “Ebooks. Your people didn’t tell you?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Most of the readers and writers of gay romance are women. Brokeback didn’t have legs because gay guys were going back to see it again. It was the women. Your audience. The same ones weeping over Queer Eye.”

  “You talk to George about this?”

  He nodded. “Said one of your writers tried to bring it up in a meeting and you cut her off. Thought you had a thing against it.”

  A thing.

  “I don’t figure you for a homophobe so-”

  “Why not?” Ben interrupted.

  “What?”

  “Why do you assume I don’t hate homosexuals?”

  “Your brother’s married to a guy and you still work together.”

  Ben cocked a dark, winged eyebrow. “You have me checked out, Ray?”

  “You have me checked out, Ben?”

  Ben laughed.

  “Hey. I don’t have the money to check people out; I used Google. It ain’t exactly a secret.” He stood up. “I’ll get a corner of the barn set up for auditions.”

  Ben stood as well and walked him to the connecting door to the outer office. “Good. And have George write in a gay couple for the pilot. Maybe one of the regs is bi. That’d be interesting.”

  “Okay. What about lesbians?”

  “We’ll save ‘em for sweeps week.”

  Luvaas guffawed himself through what would soon be a reception area and waved as he left. He passed someone coming in: a tall, blond man with a slash of a scar through his eyebrow.

  “You’re a day early,” Ben said.

  The man stepped toward him. “Yes, sir.”

  “You don’t follow orders worth a shit.”

  “No, sir.”

  Ben opened his arms and wrapped his erstwhile gardener in a huge hug. Henry Eustace held his boss and friend tightly, very glad to be home for good.

  THEY WERE NOT playing racquetball.

  Woodward rousted Avia out of bed at dawn and told her to dress for a hike.

  “It’s March,” she mumbled sleepily, swinging her feet over the side of Ben’s big bed.

  “Breakfast in ten,” was all he said.

  Breakfast turned out to be something he’d made in the blender. It was a dull yellow-brown color but tasted surprisingly good. He did not make coffee. When she eyed the empty French press balefully, he told her caffeine was a vasoconstrictor and she was going to need all the blood flow she could muster.

  While some ice and hardened snow survived in the shadow of tumbled rocks and boulders, Chimney Gulch Trail, itself, was clear. And steep. Avia’s heart tried to pound its way through her chest wall. Even Woodward had to stop once to catch his breath.

  But the climb was worth it. Climbs were always worth it. They sat on sun-warmed boulders near the top of Lookout Mountain, Mt Zion off to the side, the city and plains spread out below. Avia finished a bottle of water and ate a handful of nuts and chocolate chips from a baggie Woodward had packed.

  “Thanks for this,” she told him.

  “I had a text from Hart last night,” he said, not looking at her.

  She was surprised at his use of Ben’s last name without the honorific.

  “He told you to take me hiking?” She had a feeling that wasn’t it.

  He shook his head, watching a bald eagle sailing on the updrafts. “It was a change in travel plans and a message. Two words: ‘Tell her’.”

  She waited as he finished the rest of his water and put the empty container in the backpack he’d brought along. Her stomach fluttered. Tell her ….? Not to bother coming to Hawaii? See you in a few months—maybe?

  He looked at her. “Your collar and the Total Power Exchange are serious. This isn’t simply some sex game. You understand that?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Woodward. And you are some kind of t
herapist, aren’t you?”

  He turned back to the view over the foothills and plains. “I was a mental health counselor for a Forward Surgical Team in Afghanistan.”

  “Isn’t that a stitch and ship kind of thing? You could really do some good for the wounded?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe once. I wasn’t there for the wounded. I was there for the surgeons and nurses.” He smiled at her. “And I can hold an I.V. bag above my shoulder for three hours.”

  “Is someone dead? Is Ben okay? My family?” She wrapped her arms around her knees. “Whatever it is, I learned enough to know I’d just as soon have you in charge as me. I’m not doing that part well, yet.”

  He looked directly into her eyes. “You will not leave this rock until I say so. You understand?”

  “Yes, Mr.Woodward.”

  He studied her for a moment, satisfying himself she was being truthful. “Henry Eustace is alive.”

  Her leg jerked as if to help her rise. No. “What?” She must have misunderstood.

  “He’s alive, Avia. He and Hart faked his death. You and I leave for Hawaii at noon. We’ll get to the ranch around three local time.”

  Everything stopped. She hadn’t really heard anything after “faked his death.” Something inside cracked.

  Her hand went to her collar. Her fist closed around it. She didn’t need a key to get it off. A hard twist. Maybe it would cut her skin. That would be okay. The enormity of the betrayal …

  Everything had been for nothing. She was nothing.

  After a while, she became aware her hand was warm. The rest of her wasn’t. The warmth generated by the climb had dissipated in the cool breeze. Cold, really. She was mostly cold.

  Avia looked at her hand. He was holding it. Woodward had her hand in his. Firmly. Not tightly. He held her hand firmly. His hand kept hers warm. Why didn’t his get cold? She started to reach her other hand toward his, to see if the top was cold where it was exposed to air.

  But her hand was caught on something. Her collar. She had her fingers wrapped around her collar. His. His property.

  Her fist opened. Her fingers were stiff. She placed her hand over his. Cool. So the only place that was warm was where his skin touched hers. She frowned. He must be cold.