by Rachel Woods
“Hey, if she ain’t interested, she ain’t interested,” the other guy, Hermes said, turning and heading out of the water. “This is actually very convenient for me. I got other shit I need to take care of.”
Scoffing, Hercules sneered at me as he followed Hermes out of the water. “Can’t stand when silly, scary bitches waste your time. Whatever. That bitch wishes she could take all twelve of these inches.”
“Twelve?” Hermes laughed as he pulled on a pair of cargo shorts. “Fool, you wish.”
After slipping back into their clothes, the two water gods went off down the path, disappearing into the trees, laughing and joking, largely at my expense. I didn’t care what they thought of me. What mattered was what I thought of me. I had a feeling I wouldn’t have thought very much of myself had I gone through with the orgy. I’d made a lot of bad decisions during the past six months, but I was happy a foursome wouldn’t be another irrational choice I’d have to lament and regret.
“Okay, those assholes are gone, so …” Apollo slipped an arm around me again. “Now, it’s just me and you, and that’s all it should be. Just us …”
“I don’t think so,” I said, sidestepping, avoiding his kiss as he bent his head toward mine. “Sorry …”
“You don’t think so?” He moved toward me, eyes narrowed, filled with an emotion I couldn’t identify or understand. “Why don’t you think so? Why don’t you want to have a fantasy with me?”
“I just …” I tried to swallow, but my mouth felt like cotton, and my heart was beating so wildly it was roaring in my ears. His aggression scared and confused me. I fought the urge to cry, desperately wishing I could be the woman I’d once been, the cunning mediator who would disarm a hostile witness and de-escalate a threatening situation.
“You think I’m not good enough for you?” he challenged, eyes hard, cold. “You think I won’t get hard enough? You think I won’t go deep enough? Fast enough? You think I won’t have you screaming my name? You think I won’t make you forget about every other man you ever been with?”
“No, I never said …” I took a deep breath, praying his strange anger toward me would subside and I wouldn’t be assaulted or raped. “Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just—”
“Go fuck yourself,” he spat and then turned, sloshing water as he headed away from me.
DAY THREE
Chapter Seven
“The hotel actually planned an orgy for one of your fantasies?” Lisa groaned. “Maybe you were right. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to the Heliconia.”
“Maybe I was right?” I laughed, staring at the burger and plate of fries I’d ordered. Moments before Lisa’s call, I’d been taking part in one of the hotel’s excursions, a trip to a picturesque fishing village. Scenic and quaint, the village’s main attraction was the waterfront. Colorful boats bobbed in the briny water beneath the weather-beaten wooden plank boardwalk, which was lined with a variety of souvenir shops and restaurants, one of which, the Lovely Lobster, I was sitting at right now, enjoying a lunch break from the tour.
The guide had been leading our group—seventeen women, some of them raucous, others reticent— along narrow streets, pointing out Caribbean architecture, explaining the history, for the better part of the morning, and I’d found his narration informative and interesting.
“Okay, you were absolutely right,” Lisa admitted.
“Don’t think the Heliconia is for me,” I said. “Maybe I can go over to their sister property, the Hibiscus.”
“Well, before you leave, I think you should tell Liberada how rude and nasty that Apollo guy was,” Lisa said. “Who the hell does he think he is? He needs to do something about that misplaced anger.”
“I never have to see him again, so I’m not going to worry about it,” I said, not in the mood to relive the unpleasant experience by the waterfalls.
I still couldn’t believe I’d stripped naked in front of three men I didn’t know, but I was glad I hadn’t gone through with the orgy. I suppose it might have been sinful fun. Having three men pleasure me at the same time might have been heaven. Beyond hedonistic. A salacious experience, even if there were no goats involved. Maybe I shouldn’t knock it since I hadn’t tried it.
Nevertheless, I was sure regret and self-recrimination would have replaced lasciviousness and lust. The experience would have left me feeling guilty and anguished. I wasn’t the woman I once was, but I knew I couldn’t be the kind of woman who paid for sex. I would have to find some other way to get over the anxiety derailing my career. Sex wasn’t going to help me start winning cases again.
Reaching for a lukewarm fry, I said, “Let’s talk about something else, okay? You still online dating?”
Later that afternoon, back in my suite, I called housekeeping to request a bath. The heady incense, rose petals, and slight breeze sneaking through the window was just what I needed to ease my anxious mind.
After soaking for almost two hours, I grabbed a plush oversized towel to dry off and then dropped it on the floor. Naked, I headed into the bedroom and stopped abruptly, frowning.
There was an aqua envelope on my bed.
Panic nearly knocked me out. I knew what the aqua envelope meant. Another fantasy. My heart kicked against my rib cage. I wouldn’t have another fantasy. Because I couldn’t. I didn’t want to experience any more fantasies; I didn’t care how good-looking or sexy the guy was. I was ready to leave. I wanted to get the hell off the island, go back to the United States, and maybe pop a few pills to deal with my anxiety, the way Lisa had originally suggested.
Hesitant, I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the envelope. I didn’t want to open it. I wanted to rip it to shreds. But, despite my reluctance, I lifted the flap, extracted the note, and read …
Check your phone for an important message
Frowning, slightly annoyed, I debated whether or not to comply. After all, I wasn’t going to participate in another fantasy at this damn hotel. I was getting the hell off this island as soon as possible. So, I didn’t need to check my phone to find out about the next guy the hotel had hired to bang me into oblivion. If the hotel had sent me a text, I could reply with a message of my own, telling them to send my final bill because I was checking out early.
After grabbing my cell phone from my purse, I sat on a chaise in the corner and checked my text messages. Not surprisingly, I had one, which I opened.
Video images filled the screen of the smartphone, and for a moment, I was confused as I stared at the woman in the video. She was on her back, writhing and moaning as the man on top of her thrust into her. Moving in a frantic rhythm, she clutched the man’s shoulders, and when her head turned, the camera zoomed closer and I saw her face clearly …
I knew the woman, even though I hardly recognized her as she frowned from the pleasure, her eyes crazed with lust. I knew the man making love to her, too, recognized the sensuous, animalistic power of his huge, magnificent body.
It was Icarus.
And it was me.
It was Icarus making love to me in the spa bungalow.
Staring at the video, I felt something imploding within me, as though my foundation was collapsing from the inside out, and the very essence of me was deconstructing, and decomposing, quickly being destroyed. Paralyzed, I stared at the screen. A scream churned in my gut, desperate to escape, but I couldn’t remember how to open my mouth and let it out. I wanted to throw the cell phone across the room. I wanted to smash it into a million pieces. But I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at the screen of the cell phone, terrorized, horrified.
The video ended abruptly with a still shot of my face, frozen in an almost painful ecstasy.
And then, a deep, distorted voice, like some evil malevolent being, spoke …
“Ms. Miller, you certainly put on quite a show. But I’m sure it’s a performance you don’t want anyone to ever see. However, lots of viewers will enjoy it, unless you make sure they don’t see it. But how can you make sure that your �
��Sex and the Chauffeur’ porn doesn’t end up all over the Internet?”
Horror intensified, multiplying inside of me.
“Well, Ms. Miller, it’s simple. I’m willing to sell you this video. I only have one copy, and the sale will be final. It will cost you one hundred thousand dollars. I want this money in cash, unmarked bills with different serial numbers. I’ll give you five days to get the money to me. Don’t go to the police. If you call the cops, I’ll know about it, and then the deal will be off, and your porn video, ‘Sex and the Chauffeur,’ will be immediately released to your law firm and then to the public. Don’t try anything stupid unless you want all your colleagues to know you went to a sex hotel and paid to be screwed by men you don’t even know. On day five, I will contact you and tell you where to bring the money. Once again, you will be watched. If you contact the authorities, I will ruin your life.”
The evil, terrifying voice stopped, leaving behind an odd silence, as though sound no longer existed.
At once, a strange mania came over me, and for a moment, I thought I might laugh. Maybe it was some strange joke? Maybe I was dreaming? Maybe this was some kind of hallucinogenic manifestation of my anxiety, which still plagued me? As I continued to stare at the freeze frame of my orgasmic bliss, the panic returned, pulling me under, drowning me, and I realized I was sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air as the phone slid from my hand, and I slid to the floor.
Time passed, though I wasn’t sure how much, and eventually, the tears subsided and the fear retreated. As I pulled myself back onto the chaise, one question screamed through my mind, demanding to be answered. Who had sent the text message? Who the hell was blackmailing me? How could I find out?
It took me a while to marshal my thoughts, but I remembered the damn aqua envelope. How had it gotten in my room? Who had put it on my bed? Liberada? The butler? One of the maids?
Hands trembling, I called the housekeeper and told her I needed to see her immediately and it was urgent. She showed up about five seconds later, attentive, and yet there was a nervous wariness in her gaze. Wasting no time with polite formalities, I held the aqua envelope up and asked, “Did you deliver this?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, her voice a quivering whisper. “I was told to deliver it to you.”
My heart shot into my throat. “Who told you to deliver this to me?”
The housekeeper said, “Your driver.”
“My driver?” My heart dropped into my stomach. “What are you talking about?”
“Your driver told me to deliver the note,” she said, her face clouded with worry. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. We’re not supposed to have unauthorized contact with any of the guests, but—”
“Wait a minute,” I stopped her, confused, my heart slamming. “You said … my driver?”
“Yes, your chauffeur.” Nodding, the housekeeper said, “Icarus.”
Chapter Eight
Your driver told me to deliver the note … Icarus.
I wasn’t sure how many hours had passed since I’d questioned the maid about the aqua envelope, but the shock, confusion, and rage still roiled within me. Something wicked and sinister stirred my emotions, whipping me into a frenzy of hate and fury. I was livid, outraged, seeing blood red. I didn’t understand anything. Your driver told me to deliver the note … Icarus. Why? There were too many questions and no answers. I didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do. It was still so damn hard to fathom what the maid had told me. I didn’t know how to believe the truth.
Icarus had secretly taped our encounter in the spa bungalow, and now he was blackmailing me.
It didn’t make sense. Why would Icarus blackmail me? How could he? I had thought that maybe he and I …
I didn’t want to admit what I’d thought, what I had wanted, wished, and hoped. Those longings were an indictment of my irrational anxiousness, and I burst into bitter tears.
All I could do was sob, uncontrollably, and as I collapsed to my knees on the floor, I didn’t think the tears would ever stop.
But they did.
It took about an hour, but I stopped crying. Anger replaced my sadness. But, truly, to call what I was feeling anger didn’t do it justice. I was seething with rage, all of it directed at one person—me.
I wouldn’t be filled with anger and hate if not for one person—Icarus. Did he really think he could blackmail me and get away with it? Did he think I wouldn’t confront him? I wanted to know why he was trying to extort money from me. He was going to tell me why the hell he wanted to ruin my life.
Determined to get answers from Icarus, I picked up the phone and pushed the number five, my direct line to Liberada. “Good afternoon, Ms. Miller, how may I help you?”
Her effervescent accent pissed me off, but I knew I was directing my rage at the wrong person, and so I took a breath before I said, as pleasantly as I could manage, “Hi, Liberada. If it’s not too much trouble, I would like to go for a drive.”
“Any place in particular you want to go?”
“Well, I …” Trailing off, I stammered something incoherent and then said, “I haven’t been to any of the beaches yet, so maybe …”
“Okay, no problem,“ she said. “St. Mateo has some of the loveliest beaches in the Caribbean. Copper Beach is only five minutes from the hotel, so you really don’t need to have someone drive you—”
“Oh, but afterwards, I’d like to do some souvenir shopping,” I said quickly, my heart thundering in panic. “I mean, if that’s okay?”
“That will certainly be perfectly okay,” she said, her tone even brighter, if that was possible. “Remember, Ms. Miller, your wish is our command.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said, my hands shaking, a slight tremor in my voice. “So … can you tell Icarus that I’ll be ready in ten minutes?”
The limo door opened and Icarus reached in to help me out.
I stared at his hand, hesitating. I didn’t want him to touch me. Or look at me. Or even know who the hell I was because I wished to God that I didn’t know him, that I’d never met him. I wished I had never let him make love to me.
As I allowed Icarus to help me out, the feel of his hand closing over mine gave me a jolt of excitement and ecstasy that enraged me. I felt my body betraying me, and I knew that, deep down, I didn’t regret our lovemaking in the bungalow. Just the opposite, I relished it.
I wanted more of it, wanted more of him. Which made no sense. How could I still want a devious son of a bitch who was trying to blackmail me?
Outside of the limo, the ocean breeze whispered across my face as I looked around. My heart started to pound louder than the waves crashing against the sugary white sand. The fragrance of salt and fruit swirled around me, and tears pricked my eyes.
I recognized the familiar surroundings, the palm trees and the turquoise waters.
After I’d ended the call to Liberada, I had grabbed my purse and my cell phone with the offensive video and headed out of my suite. Icarus had been waiting in the open-air marbled lobby for me, and he’d mentioned that Liberada had told him I wanted to go to the beach.
As we pulled away from the hotel, Icarus turned onto the main road, and I wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going. I was aware of the car gliding along the winding roads, but I was too busy thinking of what I would say to him once we were alone.
I was sure he knew I’d received his little blackmail note. Most likely, he thought this impromptu trip to the beach wasn’t really as spontaneous as it seemed. It would be a chance for the two of us to discuss his extortion demands.
When the limo stopped and Icarus opened the door for me, I had no idea where we were, and it really didn’t matter. I didn’t want to sunbathe or shop for souvenirs. All I wanted to do was tell Icarus I would never give him one hundred thousand dollars.
“You know where we are?” Icarus asked.
Irritated, I gazed at the palm trees and the white sand and the way the sun danced on the water. Why the hell wou
ld he bring me here? Why would he think I would want to come back to the hidden beach? To the place where we first made love? And why was this damn beach making me feel so forlorn and nostalgic, making me reminisce about things I was so desperate to forget?
Glancing left, my gaze followed the sand as it rushed toward the tropical forest. Despite myself, I focused on the wall of elephant trees, knowing that the bungalow was behind those large, waxy green leaves.
“What the hell are we doing here?” I demanded, trying not to remember our lovemaking in the bungalow. It had been an earth-shattering, exciting experience, one of the best in my life. Now, it was tainted and spoiled, since I knew he’d been secretly videoing the entire encounter.
“You wanted to go to the beach.”
“Look, I …” I cleared my throat. “I need to talk to you about—”
“My note,“ Icarus said. “You got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” I said, my voice trembling as I tried to focus on my rage and not the crushing disappointment threatening to overwhelm me.
“Well?”
His blatant eagerness was appalling. Was he so aggressively mercenary that he wouldn’t even try to be sly and subtle with me? Why had he bothered with blackmail, I wondered, scowling at him. Wouldn’t it have been easier for him to just point a gun in my face and demand that I give him my purse?
“Quinn?”
Pushing the sadness away, I let the anger take over. It traveled from the pit of my gut and over to my shoulder, down my arm, and to my hand. I slapped him. The blow was pretty hard, surprisingly, considering that he was much taller than me. The brunt of my slap landed against his lower jaw, but my nails got a piece of him, slashing his chin.
Shocked, he stared at me. Livid, I matched his gaze, even though I ran the risk of becoming mesmerized by those soulful, whiskey-colored eyes.
“What the hell is your problem?” he demanded.
“What is my problem? What is my ... how the hell can you ask me that when ... my problem is ... “ I took a deep breath, hardly able to get the words out. “You are not going to get away with this!”