The Gem (D'Arth Book 4)

by Camille Oster

  The club absorbed them, drawing them in with its heady sweetness and theatrical raunch. These girls didn't do full nudity, instead relying on fishnet and garters, and the occasional tassel. This was upmarket naughtiness and Peter couldn't help smiling at the fantasy portrayed in front of him unfolded, minus the crassness. These were not drugged up lowlifes; these were girls who loved the art of the tease. A giant rocking horse sat on one of the stages and a girl was riding it with orgasmic intent, back and forth, arching back down on the wooden jump, playfully caressing herself.

  Peter couldn't help but relax and enjoy the sights. The silks, corseted mounds and creamy thighs encased in dark lingerie. The effect was one of a veritable playground and every part of him tightened in response.

  These were the pleasures in life—good wine, powerful company and gorgeous women. The effect was encompassing and Peter felt his mind drugging itself with adrenalin, endorphins and alcohol.

  Pictures started flowing into his mind as he watched, but they morphed into scenes of him rubbing sunblock onto a woman’s back—Shay's back, on a warm beach in bright sunlight. Raising his eyebrow, he considered where that came from. Involuntarily, his eyes sought out the girl who looked most like her. These girls weren't stick thin, they had curves and they looked better for it. Women didn't understand that the walking skeletons really didn't do it for them.

  The girl his eyes were drawn to straddled a man dressed in black pants and a vest, one of the young performers. Jealousy raged through him, taking him by surprise. Shay had turned him down and he'd been both disappointed and impressed. He knew under her at times less than cemented professionalism and reserve, there was a girl prone to a little naughtiness—he could feel it. He'd wanted to explore that inner girl, but she'd denied him and he'd thought better of her for it. Somehow he liked thinking of the few women who turned him down as roaming out there in the world, standing by their intentions and morals. But equally, he watched the burlesque performer straddling the young man, undoing him, feeling jealousy seep into his bones. Shay turned him down because, like Alex, she wouldn't accept what he offered—as any smart woman would. Peter used and then left, and he knew it—consuming until there was nothing left.

  But some dismissed his offer, setting their sights on some younger man, like the one enjoying the treatment of stage, who offered themselves in entirety as if being sacrificed to a goddess—being the one consumed. Sharp anger rose in him, but he didn't understand its source or meaning. Still, he resented her youth and her belief that she could have it her way without compromise. It was the belief he couldn't compete with.

  Making his excuses, he left, unable to see anything but Shay on the stage, enthralling the young man. The cool air of the streets cleared his mind and he hopped into a cab. He didn't want to go home, but he didn't want to go anywhere else either.

  The apartment was still and dark when he got home and he left it unlit. The lights of London were enough to see, only really showing themselves when the lights were off. The city moved and flowed in front of his eyes, even this late at night. He should be out there in the thick of it, but for some reason he'd retreated back here, sullen and far from sober. Sitting down on the couch, he looked out over the dark river, its currents hidden by the shiny onyx water.

  Picking up his phone, he dialled.

  "Peter?" Shay asked when she answered. There was noise around her and birds.

  "Where are you?"

  "In Bodrum."

  He'd forgotten about that, but the sunblock fantasy made sense now. Peter leaned back on the couch and placed his feet on the coffee table. "What are you doing?"

  "You know, holiday stuff." There was an uncomfortable silence while she waited for him to state what he wanted—even that, he resented.

  "How long are you staying?"

  "Another week. What's up, Peter?" she asked.

  "Just saw something that reminded me of you."

  "Did you now?"

  "Who're you there with?" It was stupid asking, but he wanted to know.

  "A friend." A male friend, he wanted to ask, but restrained himself. He wanted to say he missed her, because there had been times when he got home in the evening when it had seemed bare and stark without her there. "How are you faring?"

  "I am getting stronger."

  "You will from here."

  "Where are you?"

  "At breakfast."

  "Day’s just breaking there, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, not long ago."

  "Why didn't you stay?" he asked. If he hadn't drunk copiously, he wouldn't be asking that question. What was it that made her different—her and Alex? With Alex, he knew Marco D’Arth was the reason, in part at least, or rather what she could have with Marco, but with Shay, there wasn't a competitor there—she had just turned him down.

  "I don't know," she said. He could practically hear her shrugging, fully able to imagine her sitting in a restaurant by the beach, her toes digging into the sand. "Maybe because you didn't really want me to."

  "That's not true. I would have liked it very much."

  "Like an addict wanting a fix."

  "Are you saying I'm a sex addict?" he said with surprise.

  "No, but you're something complicated. And admit it; you didn't want me to stay."

  "Perhaps I shouldn't have let you leave."

  Shay laughed and the sound of it tickled down his spine. He really was drunk and turned on, seducing some girl hours away. "Too much effort for a night of fun."

  "It would be no effort at all. Admit it; you're curious what I'd do to you."

  Silence deepened. She was curious, it seemed. "No," she finally said.

  "Liar. It would be the perfect way to conclude an interesting relationship."

  "Not really how I conclude relationships."

  "Clears the air."

  "Or just muddles it."

  "Only if you let it."

  "I think you're just going to have to chalk this one up to not being one of your conquests."

  "Such a shame," Peter said. Again, he could practically hear her blushing. "I will be thinking of you in those warm breezes, lying on the breach, dressed in a bikini." He could feel himself tightening as he said it. "Try not to burn."

  "I will do my best, Peter. I have to go. We're making a move. Bye." Shay hung up and Peter dropped the phone down on his belly. He wanted to call her back, get her back talking to him. He knew there was a chance there. As much as she fought it, the interest was there, overridden by better judgement. He so badly wanted to mess with it, and to free himself from these urges that had suddenly stolen into him. Again she denied him, leaving him to stew in the desire.

  Chapter 18

  * * *

  Turning his fork over, Peter looked out across the street. The gentle chatter of the restaurant was buzzing in the background. Frowning, he took another bite of the beef, which was succulent and perfectly cooked.

  He hated to admit it, but things hadn't gotten back to normal. The things he used to do didn't muster the same excitement and contentment, and for some reason, he felt set apart from it. He didn't know what to do about it. Nothing had changed with his usual stomps, but he still couldn't get into it. Maybe this accident was having deeper psychological repercussions than his shallow mind was able to deal with. Mortality, self-worth and all that other existential bullshit.

  "What's up with you, Peter? You seem distracted," Casov said, wiping his chin with his napkin. His boss' eyes were studying him. "You're not losing your touch, are you? I've seen it before, spark goes out of their eyes and they lose their way—don't find their way back. Might as well bag up and leave.

  Peter was offended Casov would assume he'd lost his nerve, but there was a concern that he had, because he was going through the motions with the accounts at the moment. "Just sorting myself physically," he lied. He knew this wasn't physical as physically he was getting stronger, returning to normal state fairly quickly now. Instead, morbid thoughts occasionally came along. He could hav
e died; he had been pretty close to it, and now the rush of winning an account just wasn't there. And then there was her, creeping into his mind every time he let his thoughts wander.

  "Whatever it is; you should sort it," Casov said, returning his attention to his plate. Peter smiled. Casov didn't do empathy and Peter had always admired him for his singular determination.

  "I should," Peter said. He needed to clear all this crap off his plate and get his mojo back. It all still hung around him like a noose and he needed to exorcise it. "I might just do that."

  "Good," Casov said. "Now what did Henderson say about the Gregory Account?"

  Peter talked him through the developments, but his attention returned to the window as soon as Casov left. He needed to clear up some unfinished business.

  Shay popped her bag down on the sunbed, Jess having gone to buy them coffee. Sitting down, Shay sighed. It was early and the beach was nearly empty, lined with white sunbeds and umbrellas. It smelled like sunscreen and sea, and the sun was gently warming. It was just heaven.

  Looking back, she spotted Jess at one of the restaurants which surrounded the beach, peppered with early risers. Jess returned placing two cups and a bag down on the small table between their sunbeds. "What are we going to do today?"

  Shay shrugged. They'd gone all around the south western part of Turkey, taking a bus up to see old ruins, trekking up a hill in this other part, shopped through Bodrum and even wind surfed.

  "We still need to take the ferry to Kos."

  "That would be cool," Shay admitted. "Although it would also be nice to just take it easy for a day."

  "I suppose we could have a day off and just blob. There's a shop selling second hand books out one of the back streets. Maybe we should get some trashy beach read and use as intended, swim a little and be waited on," Jess said, laying back and looking around for the attractive young men serving the tourists. "The view is just fantastic, isn't it?" Pulling her straw cowboy hat over her face, she relaxed and soaked up the sun.

  Shay took a croissant out of the bag and bit the tip of the crescent. Yep, she could do with a day of doing nothing, taking a dip when it got too hot, letting the wind dry her off. Pulling her sunnies out of her bag, she lay back, watching the sunlight sparkle on the water. This really was perfect.

  Her phone rang in her bag and Shay reached for it. Who could be calling her? She knew practically no one and Melissa was aware she was out of action for the rest of the week. Maybe it was one of the other recruitment agents finally taking some interest. It wasn't. Peter's name flashed up on the screen and Shay frowned. It had been quite nice putting Peter out of her mind.

  "Hey," she said when she answered, after briefly considering ignoring it.

  "Hi, Shay," he said. He was walking somewhere; she could hear traffic. "I've been thinking." Shay raised her eyebrow. This couldn't be good. "We have something unfinished."

  "Well, … " Shay began to argue.

  "I think we need to talk about it. I'll come see you."

  "I told you, I'm not in London."

  "I'll see you in a few hours."

  "What? No," she protested, but Peter had already hung up.

  "Who was that?" Jess asked.

  "Peter. He wants to have a word."

  "More like a quickie," Jess snorted. "Well, too bad; you're busy—and miles away."

  "Yeah well, he's coming."

  "Here?"

  Shay didn't answer; her silence being enough to confirm it.

  Jess just stared at her. "That's more than a word and kind of creepy. Just saying."

  Shay frowned. She hadn't intended on spending her vacation with Peter, and it kind of put a crimp in the whole leave-it-all-behind thing. Suddenly the peaceful scene at the beach seemed more fraught. "I'm going to go for a little stroll," Shay said and headed off to the water's edge.

  This wasn't the end of the world, Shay told herself. In essence, she liked Peter, even with all his fucked-up ways, and was quite fascinated by him and his lifestyle, which was so completely different from hers. There was definitely a connection there—one she'd been trying to sever. It wasn't like it would be impacting on her mental balance or anything; there just wasn't a whole lot of point to their continued relationship.

  She wondered what he wanted to say, considering he was prepared to spontaneously fly across Europe to have a word with her, or a night of unbridled passion. Shay chuckled at herself with the absurdity of the whole thing. Her stomach still swooped with the thought.

  She had managed to put some distance and closure on the thing. He had been a client; someone she'd worked for and there had been an attraction there. End of story. Over the last few weeks she had mentally put a full stop to that messy professional relationship and moved on. She certainly wasn't going to be dragged back into being his nurse or support, or whatever. If he intended on seeing her, it was on new terms, but he still wasn't a horse to be backed on any account.

  In a cab, the text said when Shay picked up her phone. "He's on his way," Shay said as they sat in a café just off the beach. She had put a long, thin beach shirt over her bikini and dusted the cool sand off her sandals.

  "It will actually be interesting to have a look at this guy. He seems like a real douche."

  Shay smiled. "He has rather excelled in some of those qualities."

  Jess took a sip of her Pina Colada. "He's buying the drinks," Jess stated. "For the imposition."

  People were wandering along the promenade, checking out the restaurants or just for something to do. The dinner rush hadn't started, but the sun was weakening. The breeze was still warm and had a comforting salty smell. "I'm glad we came here."

  "It's been a cool trip," Jess said and stretched out. "I could actually do more days on the beach."

  They really hadn't done anything that day other than lain on the sunbeds, swimming and eating.

  Her attention was drawn when Peter approached. "Here you are," he said, placing his phone on the table. He had obviously anticipated the weather because he wore white linen pants and a dark shirt. She'd never seen him this informal.

  "I don't remember this from you closet," Shay said.

  "I just bought it. The suit I was wearing really wouldn't work."

  "Really not," Shay agreed.

  "Hi, I'm Peter," Peter said, reaching a hand out to Jess, who just stared at him for a moment before realising she had to do something.

  "Jess," she said, shaking his hand.

  "The flatmate."

  "You have good memory."

  "It does come in handy. Drinks anyone?"

  "A mimosa," Jess said. Peter turned his attention to Shay.

  Shay looked stumped for a moment. "Sure." She watched as he walked off to the bar. "What's a mimosa?"

  Jess shrugged. "It sounded cool. Is that really him?"

  "That's him."

  "He's fucking hot," Jess said incredulously. "I know you said he was, but I thought you meant some average dude with nice eyes or something. But he's fucking hot. Crikey, he works out, too," Jess said, craning her neck to check him out. "You have to sleep with him."

  "What?"

  "Guys like that don't come along every day, just take that puppy for a ride. Think of it as a vacation fling. It is essentially. And from what you’ve told me, he's a no strings kind of guy. What have you got to lose? Seriously. Otherwise, can I have him?"

  Jess shut up as Peter came back. Shay hadn't expected Jess to react that way, but then she'd known Peter for like two seconds. Maybe Shay would feel the same if she had just come across him in some beach bar. It could be that she had just read this whole thing into it because they were supposed to have a nurse/patient relationship. But now, he was just some guy in a bar. It wasn't like they were ever going to work together again. Shay even had a new contract lined up for when she got home.

  "So this is where you've been hiding?" he said, when he returned with yellow cocktails in champagne glasses, and a beer for himself.

  "Yes," Shay said. "Y
ou know—doing the sights, frying in a beach."

  "You're tanned."

  Peter leaned forward in his chair, considering her. She felt his eyes roam her body, making goose bumps rise along her arms. He looked so relaxed like he just fit in here. "Nice spot."

  "We thought so."

  Jess sculled her drink. "I'm going to go for a walk. I'll see you two later."

  Shay wanted to argue, but knew Jess wouldn't hear a bar of it. She watched as Jess grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder and marched down the promenade, her sandals slapping her feet as she walked.

  Turning back to Peter, Shay smiled. "So, you wanted a word."

  Leaning back, Peter lightly bit down on the tip of his thumb, his eyes sparkled as he smiled. Christ, she was in trouble. There was no way she was going to finish this night with her knickers on.

  Chapter 19

  * * *

  "How've you been?" Peter asked.

  "Good."

  "How long have you been here?"

  "A week," Shay said, feeling uncomfortable as she both did and didn't understand why he was here. "How are you? You healing okay?"

  "Getting back to normal. Not exactly gym ready yet, but I can get through the day." The silence stretched for a moment. "Thought I would take you to dinner," he said after a while.

  "Long way to come for dinner."

  "Can't beat the view though."

  "Have you been here before?"

  "No," Peter said. "I've been to Istanbul, but not to Bodrum."

  "This is the first place I've been anywhere along the Med."

  "Why did you choose here?"

  Shay shrugged. "A deal came up. It was a spur of the moment decision."

  "You look well."

  "So do you."

  "I certainly feel better than I have for a while."

  "Your injuries were a big deal."

  "Could have been worse. Could have been a lot worse."

  "That is true. I never really asked you how it happened."

  "Drunk driver."