by Nina Pierce
“You told him about Marc and me?”
Ethan flinched as if she’d hit him, and Sara immediately regretted the angry question.
“You know better than that,” he said evenly. “It’s not my story to share.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just this…Last night… I…” She couldn’t push the words past the fear and anger burning in her throat and bringing tears to her eyes.
“Sara, no one, least of all me, expects you to be able to completely trust the first Dom who sees your pain. All I’m saying is give it a try. There’s real love out there if you’d just open your heart to the possibility.”
A watery laugh bubbled out. “You don’t ask too much, do you?”
“No more than you’re capable of giving.”
She rolled her eyes again. The man had more faith in her than she could find in herself.
“Sara, you’re one of the strongest women I know. There aren’t many who could’ve endured what you did and come out whole on the other side.”
“I don’t know how whole I am.”
“Come to the Masters’ lodge tonight and prove to yourself what some of us already know—that you’re ready to put yourself out there.”
“What if I can’t and I disappoint like last night?”
“Don’t misunderstand, you didn’t disappoint. On the contrary, it was your Master who felt he had failed.”
“Derek didn’t fail,” she said quietly.
“Then come tonight and let him prove himself to you.”
“That man has no desire to be in a dungeon with me.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.” Ethan’s gaze searched her face, the scrutiny more intimate because he knew the truth. “Trust me when I tell you that Derek needs you to be there tonight. Pleasing a submissive is as much a part of him as that arrogant swagger. Don’t forget who wields all the power in the dungeon. Your rejection was quite a hit to his confidence.”
She choked on the coffee she was sipping “My rejection?”
“A submissive who offers nothing more than her body to her Dom rips at the very core and substance of who we are. All the orgasms in the world aren’t as satisfying as having your sub’s complete trust.”
“I trusted him. I obeyed every command.”
Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “Did you really trust him?” He grabbed the strawberry off her plate and plopped it in his mouth.
She fell back against her chair, realization pushing away her confusion. “I gave him my body and not my pain.”
“Bingo. Ding, ding, ding, ding, you win the big stuffed teddy bear.”
“I’m scared, Ethan. I don’t know if I’m ready to take that big a step this weekend.”
“You never know until you try.” He shrugged and downed the last of his coffee. “But it seems to me Derek may be just the guy with the patience and desire to help you push through.” He leaned forward and once again took her hands in his. “No one wants to see you put the past behind you more than me, Sara. Cut the guy some slack and give him another shot at it. Only this time believe he’ll be there to catch you.”
“Shit. And this morning I’ve been feeling sorry for myself that he rejected me.”
Ethan laughed. “Derek’s a big boy with a bigger ego. He’ll recover.”
“Maybe I should go find him.”
“Nah, give both of you some time. Wait ‘til tonight.”
“Then what the hell am I supposed to do until then? Sit and think about all the ways I’m screwed up?”
“There’s a private lagoon calling your name on the other side of the island.”
“A lot of memories in that direction.”
“Might make some new ones.” Ethan winked. “Who knows what you’ll discover while you’re there.”
“There’s only so much flogging a gal can take, Ethan. I’d hate to wear myself out before the main event tonight.”
Ethan laughed. “I meant snorkeling. Is everything about sex with you submissives?”
* * * *
Sara pulled the red kayak up the sandy beach and out of the gentle wash of the surf. Though it was only a thirty-minute paddle around the backside of the island to the private lagoon, it had taken her well over an hour to get here.
Trepidation and fear had battled her determination to face her past.
She’d turned back nearly as many times as she’d pushed forward. But stubbornness to finish what had begun had gotten her this far. And now that she was here, her bare feet shifting nervously in the warm sand, Sara wasn’t sure why she’d thought she could take this final step alone.
The secluded bungalow, barely visible through the lush tropical foliage, had been both her paradise and her hell. It was the purgatory of memories that Sara had intended to purge when she’d left the main lodge. All she had to do was go in, slay the dragons causing her nightmares and close the book on one ugly-ass chapter of her life.
Two years. Two years of intense therapy. Two years simply putting one foot in front of the other. Two years battling to survive the ghost of her late husband had taken its toll.
The manacles Marc had put around her soul imprisoned her as completely as any physical bindings that had held her captive. If she could manage this one last task, this one last look at the ugliness Marc had made of their marriage, then she could banish him once and for all into the dark corner of her heart where life’s other hard lessons had left their scars.
But the little excursion down memory lane seemed impossible to face at the moment. She needed to work off a little nervous energy before braving the bungalow. Perhaps a swim in the warm Atlantic would help her shore up her defenses before facing the beastly memories.
Feeling the need for a little adventure, she slipped off the red tankini bathing suit and dropped it on the sand. Though she knew from experience this secluded cove was usually deserted, Sara felt delightfully naughty as she grabbed the mask, snorkel and fins from the storage compartment in the back of the kayak.
The salty breeze danced with her hair and slid wantonly over her skin like a lover’s caress as she walked into the ocean. When she dropped into the surf on her back, the normally serene water rolled into gentle waves that cradled and rocked her. Comfortable in the water, Sara easily slipped on her swim fins and mask, putting the snorkel in her mouth before rolling onto her stomach.
With practiced kicks of the fins, her thighs rubbed pleasantly together and water drifted over her breasts and belly as she headed out into the lagoon. Cool water stroked heated flesh, pebbling her nipples. Despite the heartache that had driven her here, the simple swim had turned into an erotic experience. Her laugh echoed strangely through the snorkel at how proud Ethan would be that his paradise caused such salacious thoughts.
Then again, Paradise Cove tended to keep a person’s libido on high alert.
As she swam toward the rock outcropping where sea anemone and fish were plentiful, Sara lost herself in the beauty of the undersea world. The gentle roll of the ocean lulled her as she watched the sea fans placidly sway below. She filled her lungs and dove expertly down to check out the colorful fish darting in and around the coral on the ocean floor fifteen feet below. She stayed for only a moment before kicking back up, breaking the surface and blowing the water from her snorkel. Sara laughed at herself. Despite the years of not working with the equipment, she hadn’t lost her skill.
She’d learned to snorkel as a child during her vacations in Cape Cod with her parents. That young girl gliding lazily next to her father over rocks teaming with sea life had had fanciful dreams of becoming the next Jacques Cousteau when she grew up. But illness and tragedy had a way of stealing dreams.
Damn, this place was filled with ghosts.
Refusing to let her melancholy ruin her adventure, Sara shook off the sad memories of her deceased parents and swam farther from the shore, diving and exploring as she headed out. Several times a rogue wave washed over and filled her snorkel, but she cleared the water without any trouble. The rocks were les
s than one hundred yards away when a particularly large wave washed over her, rolling her in its wake enough to prompt Sara to poke her head up.
Angry gray clouds that had been hovering on the horizon had rolled in and replaced the white cotton clouds and azure sky of thirty minutes ago. Sara treaded water for a moment, assessing the size of the squall. Afternoon rain showers were common in Key West and she was already wet. So when the fat drops pocked the surface of the water, she shrugged and decided by the time she got to the beach, the storm would have blown itself out and she’d have missed this opportunity to enjoy what she’d come out to see. She forged ahead.
By the time she reached the outcrop of rocks, the gentle swells had become tumultuous whitecaps that broke on the rocky barrier and buffeted her from all directions. When they repeatedly swamped her snorkel and she couldn’t clear it to catch her breath, Sara panicked. Spitting out the snorkel and clawing the mask off her face, she promptly lost both in the crashing surf.
The raindrops had become a torrent that pelted her with icy barbs. She chided herself for not wearing the life vest still tucked into the kayak. Stupid arrogance. At this point, swimming back to the beach safely would be nearly impossible without it.
Her only hope was to get out of the water until the squall passed. She swam toward the sturdy outcropping, a large wave cresting and breaking, rolling her in its power, ripping off one of her flippers. Realizing too late the folly of her maneuver, Sara was slammed into the jagged rocks with the backwash, pain stealing the air from her lungs on a bubbling scream of pain.
Stupid. She broke the surface, managing to fill her burning lungs with precious air before another wave smashed into her, bruising her tender flesh once again as it pushed her against the rocks.
She had to get away.
The ebb and flow of the waves over the rocky ledge was stronger than Sara anticipated. In a last-ditch effort to save herself from the tempest, she dove below the surface and kicked away from the rocks, stroking hard with her arms. She swam until her muscles burned and her lungs screamed for air. When she broke the surface to catch her breath, a wave crashed down on top of her, pushing her under the water again. Sara fought her way back to the surface, working to control the panic overtaking her.
The tranquil ocean had become a maelstrom of chop. The wind whipped it into a foamy frenzy that seemed intent on drowning her. Once again it slammed her back against the ledge and she lost the other flipper in her struggle to protect herself.
Fear wrapped icy tentacles around her aching muscles as she fought to keep her head above water. She gasped for air but found only the cold slap of salt water filling her mouth and nose, making her cough. Despite the pain, she kicked off the rough rock wall once again, bursting from the surface and finally filling her lungs.
Calling for help in the secluded lagoon would be a foolhardy waste of energy, but she cried out in angry frustration nonetheless. The raging storm simply swallowed the pitiful sound. Her arms flailed as she tried several more times to catch her breath, praying the squall would pass before she succumbed to the ocean’s fury.
Fatigue took over, clouding her mind.
Rest.
If she could just rest in the tranquil water below the surface for just a moment, then she’d find the strength to swim to shore. The warm arms of the Atlantic Ocean wrapped around her, pulling her down. She sunk into its comfort, giving herself over to the peaceful rocking of the waves.
Rest.
Chapter Four
Derek’s white-knuckled grip on the Jet Ski had carried him over the choppy water to the edge of a rock outcropping. He feared it was Sara’s blonde head he’d seen bobbing among the whitecaps, but it had disappeared as he’d neared the rocky ledge. He hoped to God he’d been imagining things and that she wasn’t caught in this wind-driven tempest.
He hadn’t planned on spending the afternoon with Sara—quite the opposite in fact.
He’d filled his restless morning hours by working out in the gym, hoping to exorcise thoughts of Sara and how badly he’d screwed up. But even the weights and a run on the beach hadn’t taken the edge off his jumpy nerves.
He’d headed for the dock, planning to fritter away the afternoon in the sun, stewing in his misery in private. The encounter with Ethan had seemed unintentional, his suggestion of a Jet Ski and the secluded lagoon innocent enough. It hadn’t been until Derek reached the beach and saw the kayak that he’d been set up.
His gut had told him the small craft belonged to Sara.
When he’d found her red bikini abandoned on the beach thirty minutes ago, he figured she’d been the one pulling the strings. But a trip up the sandy path to the empty beach cabana and he’d realized the manager’s intentions had been less than subtle. There was no question the man had engineered a coincidental rendezvous¸ and Sara was no doubt as oblivious to Ethan’s machinations as he had been.
Derek hadn’t decided whether to wait for Sara or drag his tail back to the resort when the gray clouds had rolled in, turning the tranquil turquoise ocean into a menacing pewter gray. It wasn’t until the snorkel and mask washed onto the beach with the rising surf that panic had sent him out into the choppy waters. When he’d finally broken through the largest waves, the rain was coming down in sheets, the angry storm churning the surface of the ocean into a dangerous mix of swells and whitecaps.
Now the small craft bucked and reared in the choppy water, as if intent on throwing him. He’d just come to the conclusion that he’d been seeing things when an arm flailed out of the water before being swallowed again by the waves. He pulled on the lanyard around his wrist, ripping out the safety key and shutting down the engine before diving in after her.
The normally clear water was boiling with sand and seaweed, dropping the visibility to a few feet. It was only by luck and sheer fate that his hand found an arm. He hauled her weary body close to his and kicked off the rocks. With a Herculean effort he broke the surface of the water and managed to push Sara’s body onto the seat of the Jet Ski, relief washing over him when she pulled herself to sitting position.
Another wave crashed over them, tossing the tiny craft, jamming him between the ledge and the bucking Jet Ski. Knife-edged rocks sliced across his legs as the heavy craft slammed into his chest, stealing his breath.
Ignoring the pain, Derek shoved the Jet Ski away. He got one hand on the steering column and used the power of the next wave to pull himself onto the small craft, maneuvering in front of Sara without knocking her off.
The rain and wind drove the storm, sending two more waves crashing over them, nearly capsizing the small craft. They slammed into the rocks with the outgoing wash even as he shoved the tethered key in place and restarted the engine.
Sara’s nails bit into his stomach, but her embrace was pitifully weak. He wrapped an arm around her forearms in a vise grip and hit the throttle. With a silent thanks to the fates, the Jet Ski pushed through the next wave without losing its forward momentum.
He worked to control the erratic Jet Ski with one hand while keeping both him and Sara upright on the seat. Normally having a woman naked, leaning against his back would have had Derek’s heart racing with anticipation, but the cold press of her body had only adrenaline and icy fear pumping through his blood.
He had no idea if hypothermia was an issue in the tropics, and if she succumbed, how the hell he’d deal with it. His medical experience was limited to submissive aftercare, not life-saving measures. Broken bones he’d deal with, but internal injuries from being battered against the rocks would mean a dangerous trip through the storm back to the main lodge.
With the rain pelting his face and the ocean boiling in a tumultuous white foam, slamming the watercraft from all directions, it seemed his only choice was to bring Sara ashore. He’d deal with whatever trauma had happened when he had her safe.
Another large swell hammered the side, ripping at their legs, threatening to tear them from the Jet Ski. As if cursing its loss, the storm sent a bolt of lig
htning streaking from the clouds, an answering clap of thunder bellowing in frustration. Visibility was next to nothing, and it was only quick reflexes that kept Derek from smashing into the overturned kayak bouncing in the waves.
Gunning the engine, he held on tight and ran the craft up on the beach. In one fluid motion, he hit the kill switch, jumped off and scooped Sara into his arms.
Blood covered her legs and torso. Jesus.
He ran the hundred yards to the intimate bungalow, grateful he’d scoped it out before heading into the storm. The lush foliage protected the little hut from the worst of the rain and the howling wind. Still, he heard the angry storm lashing at the windows and pounding on the roof as he kicked open the door. The hut held little more than a plush bed and a hot tub. It had obviously been meant for a love nest and not the emergency triage shelter he needed.
“Derek, I’m fine. I’m not hurt.” Sara’s raspy voice was weak, but he was happy to hear it.
He set her gingerly on the ceramic tiles surrounding the tub and knelt in front of her. Her skin was cold and clammy as he checked her legs and back. “There’s blood everywhere. I need to find where you’re cut. Does it feel like anything’s broken?”
“Derek.” She gripped his hands, her icy fingers stopping his nervous search. “It’s not me. I’m fine.”
“No, it’s everywhere. You—”
Her finger shook and his gaze followed where she pointed. The outside of his right thigh was gaping open just below his swim trunks. Blood dripped on the floor in a watery pool. The adrenaline coursing through his veins had kept him from feeling the pain.
Sara stood, urging him to change places with her. She grabbed a folded white towel from the pile on the edge of the hot tub beside him. “Keep pressure on it.” Laying the towel over the wound, she put his hand on it and pressed. He clenched his teeth against the pain surging up his leg.
“Let me see what they have for first-aid supplies.” She disappeared into the bathroom, flicking on a small bedside lamp as she went, pushing away the gray shadows of the storm. “Don’t move.”