Mr. Rook

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  He continued. “A man must gently peel away the delicate petals of the flower to reveal the truth.”

  “That sounds to me like just destroying a perfectly beautiful flower.”

  He smirked. “Sometimes a woman must be stripped down to nothing in order to find the truth.” He looked at me with those intense eyes. “Isn’t that why you are really here, Ms. Brenna?”

  My already racing heart kicked it up a notch. He knows why I’m here. He has to. Or he wanted to play head games.

  I buckled down, determined to keep control of my nerves. “I think I’m here for a vacation on the infamous island of Mr. Rook, where every woman’s fantasy is your business. So I suppose I’ll leave you to figure out what I need, being that you’re the expert.”

  He smiled and cocked his head. “Right you are, Ms. Brenna. Which is why I have a proposal for you.”

  “Okay?” Do you want to murder me like you did my sister? ’Cause the answer is no.

  “I am going to put you on our VIP list. I will personally see to your fantasy this week. And if by the end you are not completely satisfied, your money will be refunded.”

  I thought they didn’t give refunds. Why so generous?

  “So you mean you want me to sit over there at that table?” I glanced at the group of silver foxes, who now sipped martinis like they were taking calming elixirs for their nerves.

  Rook laughed, and his deep masculine voice rumbled in his chest. “They are VIPs, yes. And you are very observant, Ms. Brenna; however, your needs are quite different from theirs. I assure you.”

  Really now? “Two questions: one, why are you upgrading me? And if I accept your kind offer, why would you assume my needs aren’t the same?” I asked, unable to pass up the opportunity to see what he’d say.

  “I own the island and can do whatever I please, including pampering a woman who seems to be in dire need of a life-changing experience, which happens to be our specialty. As for your second question, let me ask: what exactly is it that you think those women are getting?”

  Dammit. He’d bounced the ball back into my court.

  “I couldn’t say,” I replied. “But I heard they paid a million dollars each to be here, so I’m sure their fantasies must be amazing. Except, they don’t look very happy, so something probably went wrong. Either way, I bet you’ll fix it.”

  “You are a keen observer.” He chuckled arrogantly. “And I am liking you more and more by the minute.” He twirled me several times. His overly cocky demeanor translated well on the dance floor because his body moved flawlessly. I suddenly wondered how he moved in bed.

  Christ, Stephanie. Stop it already. You’re not here for that or for him. As heart-stoppingly beautiful as he might be.

  He smoothly pulled me back, pressing me into his body. I tried not to notice the warmth of his chest seeping through his shirt and how only a few layers of fabric kept me away from what my body craved. His contact felt good, a complete and utter shock to me.

  “So,” I said, “are you going to tell me what the other VIPs’ special fantasies are?”

  “I think we’ll leave that information off the table for now. However, by the end of the day tomorrow, if you are unsatisfied with my efforts, then I will give you the option to make a change.”

  “And why are you going through so much trouble for me, again? I don’t think I caught your reason.”

  Rook stepped in closer, pushing his firm body against mine. My heart raced faster, and his eyes simmered with carnal hunger.

  Jesus, it’s like we’re tuned into the frequency of each other’s bodies. And he kept playing with my knobs, turning up the heat.

  Of course, he had to know how damned good looking he was. He probably used it to his advantage all the time. Everything he’d done so far was an effort to dominate me and the situation—forcing me to dance, touching my body like he owned it, controlling the conversation and speaking to me like he knew everything.

  Damn. The man is good.

  I stepped back a few inches, away from the heat, away from the sexual urges spiking through me. It didn’t make one lick of difference. My body continued heating up—breasts, neck, between the legs.

  “So what is it exactly that you’re hoping to get out of pampering me?” I asked.

  He stopped moving and leaned in to whisper, “You are my guest. I want you to be happy.” His hot breath licked the side of my neck, and I became painfully aware of how close his lips were to my mouth.

  “Mr. Rook, sorry to interrupt,” said a brash female voice.

  Rook turned his head, breaking whatever hold he had over me. “Ah, Mrs. Day. Just the person I wanted to see.” He released me from his grip and stepped those shiny black shoes a foot back. “Mrs. Day, this is Stephanie Brenna. She has been upgraded. Please be sure she’s on my calendar, as I will be her fantasy guide for the week.”

  “Yes, Mr. Rook.” Mrs. Day was an older woman, maybe in her sixties, with kind eyes and a sweet grandmotherly look about her—silver bun, below-the-knee skirt, white blouse with lace trim. She wore big 1950s-style glasses with rhinestones on the rims.

  I found it somewhat odd to see this woman working in a place like this. They weren’t exactly baking cookies.

  “Wait,” I said, my brain kicking in. “Did you say that you’re my…” I searched for the words. “You’re my fantasy guide for the week?”

  Mr. Rook frowned. “I said I would be taking care of your needs, did I not?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t think you’d be personally involved.” I’d thought he meant he wanted to be my Julie.

  “If you object, then I can make arrangements to—”

  “No. No objections. Thank you.” This was better than I’d hoped for. It meant more time with him.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Mrs. Day said. “And, sir, if you have a moment, I need to discuss a very serious matter. Someone put all of our kilts in the drier.”

  I bit back a laugh. Oh no. Scottish laird emergency. What did they need kilts for anyway? The guys’ll only be wearing them for a few seconds, I’m sure. The women on this island were only here for one thing. Fucking hot men.

  Oh crap. Speaking of fucking. It dawned on me what Rook assumed he’d be doing as my “guide.” Was that why I’d been upgraded? He thought he’d be wining, dining, and fucking me for the week?

  My body reacted with a flood of cold-hot sweat. The thought of this man naked, on top of me, inside me—

  “Ms. Brenna? Did you hear what I said?” Rook asked, sounding displeased.

  I shook my head from side to side. “Oh, sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed.” I looked up at him. “By your generous offer, I mean.”

  “Well, we shall see how generous.” He took my hand and brought it to his mouth, plying it with a lingering kiss. His lips felt silky and warm on my skin, only eliciting more unwelcome, erotic sensations deep inside. “Have a good evening, Ms. Brenna. I’ll see you for breakfast.”

  With Mrs. Day on his heels, Rook walked away, those broad shoulders catching my eye while every woman in the room had their mouths hanging open with hard lust.

  The moment he disappeared from view, I released the breath I’d been clinging to. I rubbed my face, no doubt smearing my makeup. I didn’t give a crap.

  Mr. Rook would be my fantasy for the next six days.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After the welcome dinner, I returned to my bungalow, discovering my phonebook-sized contract had been replaced with a single red rose and a note.

  Looking forward to addressing your needs. See you at 8:00 a.m.

  Sincerely Yours,

  Rook

  I had to read it three times, because there was a cluster inside my pounding head. First off, why had Rook really chosen me for this special treatment? Maybe he selected a different plaything each week. Maybe he knew who I really was and wanted to make me disappear, too. Or maybe Julie had told him about my threat of telling my journalist “friend” about this place if I wasn’t made happy.
I didn’t know, but one thing was certain: I didn’t buy for a moment that he cared about my “needs.”

  So fine. I had to proceed with caution and figure out how to work him for information. Really, there were four things I needed:

  - His real name, address, DOB, etc.

  - A list of contacts who helped him keep the island hidden.

  - Any other personal information Warner Price could use as leverage.

  - The truth about Cici.

  The last one I couldn’t live without. The first three would cost me my life if I didn’t deliver.

  In any case, his proposal presented the ideal opportunity to get close to him. I just couldn’t sleep with him. I wouldn’t sleep with him. Not when he likely had something to do with Cici’s disappearance. And even if he didn’t, the thought of getting back on the physical-contact horse made my legs lock up. It had been over a year since I’d slept with my ex, Tim—not at all pleasurable, but no different than my previous exes—and after Cici went missing, anyone touching me triggered panic attacks.

  Except Rook. Even now, I felt his rough hand on my back, stroking my delicate skin, warming me in places that had my pulse rate soaring.

  Stop. It’s wrong to even think of wanting him. Think of your sister. Think about how much you miss her laughter and her smile. Think about how empty your life is without her. With a profound hollowness in my chest, I finally began drifting off to a memory of Cici. One spring, she’d planted strawberries in the backyard, promising the biggest, reddest berries. “If you behave, I’ll let you have some, twerp,” she’d told me. She then forgot to water them—typical Cici with her big dreams and no follow-through—so I secretly dumped a few cups of water into the planters each day after school. Honestly, I didn’t do it to be nice. I simply liked messing with her.

  “You didn’t water them, right?” she’d ask, scratching the back of her head.

  “Water what? Your stupid strawberries?”

  She’d then looked at the planters overflowing with fruit. “Wow. I guess strawberries don’t need much water.”

  I loved pulling one over on my big sister. It was the natural order of things. I miss you, Cici.

  Lying in the king-sized bed in my pink cotton nightie, my head throbbing from the tequila, I whisked away a tear.

  “Stephanie,” whispered a deep voice.

  Holy sh…“Hello?” I popped up from bed, my heart leaping.

  Something scratched at the window, followed by another “Stephanie.”

  I sprang to my feet and flipped on the lights. “Who the fuck is there?” The voice sounded like it came from inside the room.

  I reached for the cell phone on my nightstand, hesitating for a moment. Who should I call, Julie or Rick?

  Rick. He was a guy and probably wasn’t pissed at me, so he’d answer.

  I dialed R-I-C-K, but it went to voice mail. “Shit. Shit. Rick, this is Stephanie Fitz—Brenna. Stephanie Brenna. There’s someone outside my bungalow. Please call security.”

  I ended the call and then dialed Julie. That went to voice mail, too, so I left another message.

  I looked around the room for anything I could use to defend myself. Save for a lamp, there wasn’t much. I went into the walk-in closet and found a black umbrella with one of those metal points on the tip, but it was rounded.

  Better than nothing. Umbrella in hand, I went to the living area and flipped on the lights.

  I held my breath. Not a sound came from inside or out.

  You were dreaming, Steph. I had to be. The stress of being on this mind-fuck of an island was getting to me.

  I hissed out a breath and ran my hand over the top of my head. Don’t be an idiot. There’s nothing to be afraid of except, well, probably Mr. Rook.

  Wanting to prove it to myself, I popped open the shutter to look outside. “Holy fu—!” I jumped back.

  Standing among the trees, near the path leading to the restaurant and spa, was a man in a dark hooded robe, a lantern hanging from his fisted hand.

  I slammed the shutters closed and ran to the door, ensuring I’d locked it. I had.

  Not good enough. I went for the chair next to the small table in the kitchenette and shoved the back underneath the handle, hoping that would help keep whoever the fuck was outside right where he was.

  An hour went by, as did five more attempts to reach Rick or Julie. I even tried dialing 0, 9-1-1 and R-O-O-K. Nothing worked on the goddamned cell phone and there was no landline.

  “What’s with this fucking place?”

  Terrified, and my head pounding, I dug a bottle of water from the fridge and gulped it down. “Someone will come for you. Someone will come,” I told myself.

  A loud hammering on my door the next morning woke me with a heart-attack-worthy startle. I jumped from the couch, where I’d dosed off, lunging for my umbrella.

  “Who’s there!” I yelled, hoping it was the cavalry.

  “Who the hell do you think, Ms. Brenna?”

  Rook. I removed the chair, twisted the lock, and jerked open the door. “Oh, thank fuck. What took you so long?”

  “I’ve been knocking for ten minutes. And why are you not dressed?” He sounded pissed, his cool grey-blue eyes drilling into me.

  “Dressed for what?”

  “Our breakfast date, Ms. Brenna.” He said my name like it was a loathsome critter—a diseased rat who’d wandered into is home, asking for death.

  “Date? You’re here for our date?” I lost it. “What the fuck! I’ve been waiting for hours. And what the hell is up with security on your island? You have insane, psychopathic stalkers walking this jungle, and you don’t warn people?”

  Rook’s square jaw clenched and his nostrils flared a little. “What are you talking about, Ms. Brenna?”

  I pointed outside, over his shoulder. “There was a man! Right there. He was calling my name and scratching at my window. I was horrified. And what happened to the twenty-four seven service?”

  “I assure you, Ms. Brenna, there are no prowlers, stalkers, or psychopathic murderers roaming my island.” His masculine pride seemed dented. How dare I insult his precious resort.

  Nevertheless, he stepped inside, shut the door, and dug a phone from his pocket.

  It was then that I noticed his clothes—he wore navy blue linen pants, pressed to perfection, and a short-sleeved matching button-down shirt, open halfway, revealing a bit of his undershirt. His shoes were those navy-colored boat shoes I completely hated on men unless they were older—like grandfather older—with white piping and a little knot on top. Still, despite my dislikes, his clothes fit his tall, muscular body perfectly with just enough tailoring to show off his chiseled physique while still allowing the air to circulate around his olive skin. Everything about him, even the way he placed his strong arm on his waist as he spoke into his cell phone, screamed power, money, and sexual prowess.

  “Ask me if I care,” he growled into his phone. “You do as I say or there will be hell to pay.” He ended the call and returned his phone to his pocket. “My people are looking into it; however, I assure you that no one comes or goes from this island without my knowing.”

  My heart cramped inside my chest. His words meant that he would know the day Cici arrived. He would know that she’d never left.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t an employee outside?” I asked.

  “I am sure.”

  “Well, then who the hell was it?”

  “We will find out, but now I must ask that you calm yourself. You are safe and—”

  “No!” I pointed my finger in his gorgeous, frowning face. “Don’t tell me to calm down. There’s some fucking creep running around in a hooded robe, harassing your guests.”

  Rook’s expression transformed into an oasis of calm. “Robe.” He crossed his muscular arms over his chest.

  “Yes! And a lantern and—”

  He shook his head side to side, hissing under his breath. “You had what is called a nightmare, Ms. Brenna.”

  �
�That was no dream.”

  “How much did you drink last night at the dinner?”

  “A lot! I drank a lot. But I still know the difference between dreaming and being awake.”

  “What did you do when the man showed up at your window?” he asked condescendingly.

  “I called Rick and then Julie.”

  “I just asked Mrs. Day to check the phone logs; she said that there were no security alerts, and nothing unusual was logged last evening, including messages to our staff.”

  “How would you know?” I asked.

  “We have a state-of-the-art communication system. If an employee does not verify they’ve responded to any guest communications within five minutes, then a flag goes into our system and another employee is dispatched.”

  “So what? I called, and no one came.”

  “Show me the phone,” he demanded.

  “Sorry?”

  “Show me the damned phone, Ms. Brenna,” he repeated.

  “Yeah, I got your stupid question. But why are you asking?” Obviously, I knew the answer. He didn’t believe me.

  He held out his impatient hand.

  “Fine.” I grabbed it from the coffee table where I’d left it and handed it over. He toggled and then turned the screen to me.

  “There. You see? No outgoing calls last evening.”

  Huh? I felt a cold slap of shock across my face. How was that possible? I…I… “But I know what I saw.”

  Rook stepped closer and placed a large hand on my shoulder.

  Not wanting to be touched, I stepped back to free myself. A bit of anger flickered in his pale eyes. Maybe he didn’t like being rejected like that. Or perhaps he wasn’t used to it.

  Well, too freaking bad.

  “Ms. Brenna—”

  “Stop with the Ms. Brenna. My name is Stephanie.”

  “Very well, Stephanie. You probably overheard some of the stories about the island while on your tour yesterday. You wouldn’t be the first woman to dream of our monks.”