Pandora's Pleasure: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Vanessa Fewings

  “Where else would I be going?”

  “I don’t know. You seem extra pissed off today, that’s all.”

  “This is what you get when you slap a man in front of the world. At the Vice President’s residence, no less.”

  “Speaking of Vice President Palmer,” she continued brightly, “we were having a lovely conversation before it was interrupted. He was telling me how much he’d enjoyed reading my opinion piece in the Washington Post—”

  “You wrote an opinion piece?”

  “Yes, please follow along.”

  “It’s hard when I’m trying to avoid boredom.”

  “The VP invited me to go work for him.”

  My expression reflected my disbelief. I mean, that man was more cautious than the President. Pandora was far more progressive. Not to mention, he was on the wrong fucking team.

  She continued with flushed cheeks. “Just as we were discussing the details of my new role in the White House—”

  “You wouldn’t have taken the job.”

  “Maybe I would have. Maybe I’m ready to do the opposite of what everyone expects. But that’s not the point.”

  “What is?”

  She raised her index finger with indignance. “While we were discussing the details, you set off a firestorm inside my pussy. You timed it for that exact moment when I was talking with him.”

  “I didn’t have the controller.”

  “You asked me why I slapped you.” She glared up at me. “It’s because you used that despicable word.”

  I blinked as though confused.

  “You know which one,” she snapped.

  “Cunt?” I grabbed her pointing finger and gave it a waggle. “I recall elegantly describing it as a famous debutante’s cu—”

  “No!” She pulled her hand away. “No more of that in front of me.”

  Her response sparked my amusement; I kind of liked this version of her. “What did you and Theo talk about?”

  “Vanguard.” She threw me a triumphant look.

  “That’s not something he would discuss.”

  She tapped her necklace. “This gets me in.”

  Glancing at my wristwatch, I feigned disinterest.

  “From your reaction, Mr. Godman, you’ve considered taking me.”

  I smiled. “You’re not ready. I doubt you’ll ever be. For starters, you have to be able to lean into the word cunt.”

  “I want separate rooms when we get to the hotel.”

  My jaw tightened. “We have to pretend that we more than just like each other. After the New York Times printed a front-page photo of you slapping my face this morning we’ve had to fine-tune our public persona.” I threw up my hands in frustration. “The headline was Trouble in Camelot?”

  “I thought my father’s scandal was about to hit the press.” She casually took a sip of her wine. “Which meant you and I would never see each other again.”

  I studied her face. “Is that what you want?”

  Becca appeared and got my attention. “Sir, Andrew’s ready.”

  I gave a nod of thanks.

  “I doubt the staff at the resort will care how we act together,” said Pandora. “Anyway, this is my first vacation and I want it to be special.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Her father was a billionaire, for God’s sake. That didn’t make any sense.

  “This is my first trip without an escort. You don’t count.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to make it memorable.”

  I started to turn away, but she grabbed my hand and held it. “When my brother gets defensive it’s because he’s hurting,” she said. “Tell me what’s hurt you. Tell me what made you angry last night. And don’t say it was just me.”

  “This is beyond your scope of comprehension.”

  “If the Vice President, who should hate me because I’m his opponent’s daughter, can see my value, then so can you.”

  “I want to protect you from all that.”

  “That should be my decision.”

  I sighed. “They shut down the Fairfield Project.”

  She looked horrified. “Damien…oh, my God—you should have told me. I’m so sorry.”

  All that good had been suspended indefinitely. I stared straight ahead, feeling a sense of powerlessness that savaged my ego. No, it was more than that. It was about social justice and equality and about tackling corporate greed.

  Her frown deepened. “Why would they shut it down?”

  “Politics.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Just be you, okay? Let’s see if we can spend the weekend together and not kill each other in the process.” I gave a smirk. “Stick to your brand.”

  “I’m not sure what that is.”

  “Well, you have two and a half hours to think about it before we land.”

  Pulling away from her, I headed up to the front of the plane, not wanting to admit to myself that I missed the touch of her hand.

  My emotions were all over the place.

  Perhaps all the times I’d endured loneliness had been worth it; a bleak prelude to me finding a life that had purpose, one that was filled with devotion. If only we could get there. If only we could get to a place where our relationship was authentic.

  It was hard to deal with all these heart-wrenching ups and downs, trying to understand Damien’s complexity, to understand the man who’d been preordained as mine.

  Or maybe never would be.

  I sat there musing on what my “brand” actually was, and I realized I’d always gone for understated—always trying to go unnoticed. Maybe it was time to start reinventing myself, having fun with a future I finally saw opening up.

  There came a jolt and then the scenery moved outside my oval window. Within a minute, we were jettisoning down the runway at full speed. I felt a sudden panic at the thought I was sitting alone, my fingers clutching the hand rests. A shudder went through me as the wheels lifted off, that familiar weightlessness of going airborne, then seeing the shrinking views of the city off in the distance.

  In pure Damien fashion, he’d left me to endure my nervousness alone.

  Pulling the console down in front of me, I selected the menu for the onscreen entertainment and scanned what TV shows or movies might be fun to watch, looking out for something I could recommend to Damien—perhaps a nice documentary about animals eating their prey while their victim was still alive…causing no end of suffering.

  Something I could relate to.

  It seemed like it was just me in the middle of this big plane, with Damien sitting up front somewhere, probably flirting with the flight attendant.

  I sipped my wine, trying not gulp it down when the thought of him giving her his phone number sprang into my mind…or even her giving him a blowie.

  A ping announced we’d reached cruising altitude. Unclipping my seatbelt, I pushed up and moved into the aisle.

  If you’re going to dump your travel buddy, at least be courteous enough to excuse yourself first.

  I gazed over the rows of seats ahead, looking for Damien, my concern rising when I didn’t see him. I approached the restroom door and knocked.

  Becca poked her head out of the galley. “There’s no one in there.”

  “I’m looking for Damien.”

  “He’s up front.” She gestured to the cockpit.

  “Talking with the pilot?”

  “Usually we don’t allow that, but as it’s you.” She smiled at me.

  “They won’t mind?”

  “Of course not. This is his family’s jet. What time would you both like lunch?”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  “Great. I’ll put a menu where you’re sitting.”

  “Thank you.” I reached out to shake her hand. “Pandora.”

  “Becca.” She smiled brightly as she shook my hand, and then turned to tap on the cockpit door. “You have a visitor, sir. Ms. Bardot.”

  There came a muffled voice thr
ough the door.

  She pulled it open and gestured for me to step forward.

  Peering inside the flight deck, my jaw dropped open. Damien was sitting in the pilot’s seat.

  Wait.

  What.

  Another pilot sat to his right and both men were wearing headsets, looking supremely confident before the high-tech panel that was lit up before them. Lights were flashing and indicators blinking. The vast window stretched all the way around to reveal a flurry of clouds whipping by.

  Damien looked over his shoulder at me. “How was take off?”

  “Smooth?” I’d made it sound like a question. In shock, I watched him flick a switch on the panel. “You’re flying the plane!”

  The pilot to his right gestured at Damien. “You didn’t know your man can fly?”

  Yes, he’d probably mentioned something about it.

  But this was surreal. “We’re in a passenger jet! I mean, it’s big.”

  Damien laughed. “No complaints so far.”

  “But this is a Dreamliner!” I burst out.

  “Wait,” said Damien. “This isn’t a Cessna?”

  The men both chuckled.

  Feeling shocked, I realized that he’d been the one in charge of our take off.

  The first time I’d met him I’d admittedly swooned, and that had been the last time he’d elicited that kind of response in me…until now.

  It was sexy the way Damien had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to reveal firm muscled forearms as he handled the controls, chatting with air traffic control, using the lingo and showing no fear.

  “Do you want anything?” I asked, trying to act like this was no big deal. “Becca was going to make some lunch.”

  “We’ll have lunch when we get to Sanibel,” he said. “Go relax.”

  With a nod, I turned around and made my way back down the aisle, my hands using the seatbacks on either side of me for balance.

  There was so much more to this man I didn’t know.

  When it came to a weekend getaway that would suit our purposes, Sanibel Island in southwest Florida was the perfect place, with its pristine beaches, crystal waters and beautiful landscaping. It had just the right amount of exposure to the public while still allowing us some privacy.

  The luxurious beach resort promised hours of relaxation.

  If only that was on the agenda.

  I guided Pandora around our holiday cottage, showing her where she could hang out and chill.

  “Your room.” I gestured to the king-sized bed and continued on over to the window that overlooked the pool. “Will this do?”

  She studied me, as though realizing this meant we didn’t have to sleep together. I saw confusion reflected in her eyes.

  She followed me out, continuing down the hallway to the double glass frontage of the cottage.

  “Your father owns an island,” she said.

  “Your point?”

  “Why did you choose this place?” She peered out the window. “I do love it. Only, people might be able to see us.”

  “Do you want the romantic version or the truth?”

  She spun round to look at me. “This isn’t just about getting us out of Washington?”

  “When we’re in here we can spend as much time apart as we want. Out there—” I pointed to the beach. “We act like we care about each other.”

  “Why not just call off our engagement, Damien?” She gestured her frustration. “No one need know.”

  “Everyone must play their part.”

  “I’m feeling very used.”

  “Your father has many supporters. They adore you. We can’t risk losing one vote.”

  “I’m aware of my currency.”

  “Look, I know you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. But as a form of punishment, spending a weekend in paradise isn’t too bad in the scheme of things.”

  She studied me carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be flying the plane?”

  “Thought it would be a fun surprise.”

  “A jet liner, though.”

  “I once wanted to be a commercial pilot. Obviously, it didn’t happen.”

  “I thought you studied history?”

  “It’s possible to do both.”

  She looked sad for me. “Were you expected to join your dad’s business?”

  “Of course.”

  “How often do you fly?”

  “Enough to keep my license valid. I get the hours in whenever I can.”

  “It was impressive, seeing you in the pilot’s seat.”

  “Wait. Was that a compliment?”

  “Yes, I’m teaching you how they’re delivered.” Her tongue rested on her upper lip and then she pivoted away toward her room.

  I headed in the opposite direction and entered the kitchen. We could make this work. I’d take the main bedroom and den. Pandora could have the rest of the place. I’d set her up so she could stream TV shows in the entertainment lounge.

  The kitchen was fully stocked with enough meals to feed a family of four for a week. I may come from privilege, but I wasn’t as spoiled as her Royal Highness.

  Reaching into the fridge, I lifted out a chilled bottle of beer and popped off the cap. I stood sipping my beer and admiring the view from the kitchen window. Tall palm trees lined the way to the pool. A bird hopped between them as though he, too, was used to all this decadence. It was one of those birds tourists mistook for flamingos because of its distinctive pink feathers.

  “Damien, will you do my back?”

  I turned to look at Pandora and felt a spark of arousal at seeing her in a red bikini—and a skimpy one at that. She might as well be naked. I admired her toned curves and the pert nipples visible through her skimpy bikini top. She was holding up a tube of sunblock.

  With my thumb, I pointed toward the window. “Roseate Spoonbill.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a bird. Outside. You should take a look.”

  She came closer and peeked out the window. “Oh, yes.”

  “They can be confused for flamingoes.”

  “They go bald when they get old.”

  I shot her a look.

  She raised her sunblock. “You don’t mind?”

  I took several gulps of beer. “We should do that outside.”

  “I’m meant to apply it before I’m exposed to the sun.”

  “I know, but…”

  She looked horrified. “Are the press out there already?”

  My lips twisted into a rueful smile.

  “I have to change.” She set the sunscreen on the nearby counter. “I have a swimsuit that doesn’t show off so much skin.”

  I moved over and picked up the bottle of sunscreen. “You look fine. Come on, I’ll bring my Kindle and you can sunbathe beside me. Our pool is private.”

  “Not from a long angle lens.”

  “Which is why you and I are going to work hard at being nice. All that’s expected of you during this trip is for you to not show how much you hate me.”

  “Ha.” She turned and padded on bare feet to the door.

  After making a quick change into my swimming trunks and grabbing my sunglasses, I joined her in the midday sun by the pool. This might even be fun if I didn’t over think it.

  Pandora knelt to dip her hand in the sparkling pool water. She looked ethereal from here, golden wisps of her hair caught on the breeze, her big blue eyes taking in her surroundings.

  I felt a stab of guilt that she’d been dragged into this family like a bright star being sucked into a black hole.

  I walked over and placed my palms on her shoulders. “You’ll burn.”

  “Are you serious?” She hissed under her breath.

  “Give me the lotion.” I snatched it from her and gestured to the lounger. “On there.”

  She rose gracefully and then laid face down on the lounger, that thong of a bikini bottom covering nothing of her firm, round butt. I slapped her ass.

  Pandora winced. “Ouch
.”

  “Pretend you like it.” I opened the lotion bottle.

  She looked at me over her shoulder. “Can’t get over how lucky I am. The Damien Godman, Cosmo’s number one bachelor, is currently applying cream to my bum.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” With a dollop of cream in my palm, I moved down to her feet and began there, lathering it on her toes and arches, working my way up her calves and thighs, and then her hips and back. Her muscles relaxed beneath my touch.

  My fingers caressed her nape, my cock already half erect. “Turn.”

  She rolled over onto her back with her face turned away, those sunglasses on so I couldn’t see her eyes.

  Beginning at her feet again, I worked my way up her body until my fingers danced over her thong. I slipped a thumb beneath the material and caressing her clit.

  She jolted with surprise. “Someone might see.”

  “This is how it’s done, Pandora. We act like we believe no one is watching. That way our affection appears real.”

  She relaxed again, giving a nod so that I would continue. With her consent, my palms trailed upward over her belly. When I reached her breasts, I slid a palm beneath her top and caressed her nipples.

  “Unless we’re making another sex tape,” she said tersely. “You better watch where you put your hands.”

  Grabbing a beach towel, I threw it over her bottom half. “No one can see when I do this.” Exploring her hips, I eased apart the ties of her thong to free it, sweeping my hands over her pubic bone.

  Her body responded favorably as I secretly explored her pussy beneath the towel, finding her soaking wet.

  She inserted her fingertip into her mouth and suckled it in an erotic display.

  Very fuckable lips.

  Her thighs went slack in invitation.

  I eased a fingertip into her pussy and then another, setting a sensual pace of finger fucking her. Her hands clenched the top of the towel and her mouth parted, her breath hitching when my thumb rested upon her clit and swirled.

  “They’ll know,” she breathed.

  “Know what?”

  “If they see a photo of your hand under the towel.”

  “And what would it look like?” My thumb increased its pace, beating that throbbing nub.

  She peered over her sunglasses. “I mean, it looks like we’re…”