Dakota was a small town with a population under five thousand, a quaint village with a charming nature. It was nestled in the foothills of the Turquoise Mountains, having rows of picturesque dwellings and tranquil scenery. The mists were creeping in, wrapping around the pines, as the sun was soon to set. Nick guided the craft onto a path, entering the town.
“So, where is it?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your house.”
Skye winced. She hadn’t thought of that. “Just let me off here,” she tried.
“No, ma’am. To your doorstep, safe and sound.”
Skye used her quick wit as they drove by the rows of houses. She chose one with no light coming from within, and pointed at it.
“There it is.”
Nick stopped the auto and was silent. As she wrenched herself from her seat to step out, he caught her shoulder.
“Take care,” he said, his blue eyes sober.
She nodded. “You, too.”
He reluctantly released her, and he watched in despair while she moved down the walkway toward the back of the house, and disappeared beyond it.
Skye had to wait a long moment before she heard the auto speeding off. She choked back a sob and began running back across the walkway, to the road. Night was falling fast and she had best find somewhere to sleep. As she walked down the deserted street, wiping her tears from her cheeks, she came across a park, a peaceful glade. She found a fire pit and touched the panel that was embedded in stone, setting the coals to blaze.
She sat on the bench before it, rubbing her arms from the chill of the night. She moved down onto the lawn and rolled herself up into a ball, to keep her warmth—her slender shoulders quaking in her heartbreak.
***
Nicholas thought about getting rip-roaring drunk, but decided on visiting a whorehouse, instead. He went back to his ship to put on his disguise, lathering his blond hair to darkness; the dye would stay until it was removed with a special solvent. He put the dark lenses in his eyes, and then he was ready for the game.
He had heard that there was a brothel in Mulberry, a town nearby Dakota, and find it, he did. He would show that insolent twit that she wasn’t the only woman in the universe, that there were plenty more like her. He chose a buxomly blond—one made for whoredom—and went off to join her. When he entered her room, she was naked and ready for him, eager from his appearance. He took off his clothes and nudged her back onto the bed, getting down to business.
He caressed her enormous breasts, bringing forth a moan from her, but it wasn’t a sweet moan, it was a guttural, rather grating sound. He tried working her womanhood with his hand, to which she enjoyed it, but it did nothing for him. He was startled and at a loss; nothing he did roused his desire.
The whore began to notice this and she nudged him back onto the bed, and started to work him; nothing she did roused his desire. He laid his arm over his eyes, groaning.
“Ah, no,” he uttered. “Dear God ... no ...”
The whore was concerned. “Is it me?” she asked huskily.
After a difficult moment, he came to his conclusion. “No,” he groaned out. “It’s her.”
Nicholas rose and struggled into his shirt, lest he cause himself further embarrassment. Disappointed, the whore watched him while he dressed, thinking about how all the good ones eventually bite the dust.
Nicholas sat in the auto, stunned. That had never happened to him before. His body had always obeyed his will.
What had she done to him?
He placed his head on the helm and slammed his fists, producing a bevy of blinking lights that he quickly silenced. He fell back against the headrest and closed his eyes, wallowing in his misery.
Now that he'd had the ultimate, nothing else could compare. She had ruined him ... He always had to be on the lookout for schemers—but he had been in his disguise. That little lady had fooled him—she wasn’t sweet and nice—she wasn’t what he had thought, at all. He should have known that she was too good to be true. But, how could his instincts betray him so—he was always a very good judge of character, protecting his famous name.
But, she had been sweet and good-hearted—he could feel it from her presence. But, she had been on to him, knowing that he had tricked her about the ship’s helm—how long had she known? He wasn’t dealing with an airbrain—she was a little too smart.
And, he had spooked her by taking off his disguise; he should have waited until he had her set and comfortable in a house before she saw his true colors. He had moved too fast, and he had lost her. But, what did it matter, anyway? She was a materialistic gold digger ... like all the others ...
A tear of frustration reached his eye.
“She hadn’t been like that,” he uttered aloud.
But, then again, how long had he known her—a week?
But, she hadn’t been like that ... She had been as natural a woman as he’d ever known. It was almost as if she had wanted to shut him down, to turn him off and make him go away—
He straightened as the realization struck him.
“The little twit!” he ground out. “She did that on purpose!”
He knew a wave of relief, and then fell back into his confusion.
“But, why? Why would she do that?”
He concluded his thoughts with the age-old question: Who could understand women?
“Well, she won’t get away with it,” he vowed, and he powered up the auto and headed for Dakota.
When he reached her house, he parked the auto in the lane. He’d wait until morning—he’d give her a night to miss him and think about what she had done. He settled back and dozed, off and on, until the dawn lit the sky. When he saw a light on and movement in the house, he strode up the staircase, ready to give her hell.
He was surprised when an elderly gentleman answered the door; he had thought that she had no kin. The man looked at him in question.
“I’m here to see Skye,” he said.
“Skye?” the man asked.
“Yes. Skye Williams—she lives here.”
The man looked at him like he was daft. “I live here, and I don’t know any Skye Williams.”
“But—”
The man shut the door in his face, thinking that maybe he had a loon, here. Nicholas stood there a moment, baffled.
“What the hell?” he uttered.
He strode down the steps to the auto, glancing behind him to see if it was the right house; it was.
She obviously hadn’t wanted him to know where she truly lived.
He sat in the auto, wondering his next move. He set the auto in motion and drove slowly down the lanes, thinking that, in this small of a town he could probably find her ...
He searched for nigh a quarter of an hour before his good luck found him. He spied his enchanting vision walking down a pathway, moving toward him. Quickly he parked the auto and crouched down low, lest she see him. He peered over the helm and saw her moving through the doorway of a bank ...
Skye entered Civil One Bank, the place that had her father’s safe box. She would see what he had left for her.
She approached the dark-haired, middle-aged woman who worked at the desk.
“I’m here for my father’s safe box,” she said.
The woman waved at the panel on the table, for her identifying thumbprint. Skye slipped her thumb into the narrow slot, and a red light blinked and made a sound—not a good sound.
Skye was unaware of her pursuer who slipped through the doorway ...
The woman took notice of the sound and looked at the viewer screen before her. “I’m sorry, miss,” she said in quite a nasal voice. “But you are denied access.”
“Wh—what do you mean, denied access?”
“This account is locked.”
“But I’m right here, and it’s my account!” she protested.
“I’m sorry, miss, but there’s nothing that I can do for you. It won’t give me access to give you access.”
“Does it
say why it’s locked?” she asked.
The woman checked the viewer, and shook her head.
Her pursuer slipped out the doorway ...
Skye stood there a moment, exasperated. Finally, she stalked out of the doorway.
She gasped, seeing who stood there.
Nick smiled at her—back in his disguise—his dark eyes laughing.
“You again!” she breathed.
“Hello to you, too,” he greeted, chuckling.
“What are you doing here!” she cried, frustrated.
He shrugged, still smiling. “Having trouble in there?” he asked, tossing his head toward the bank.
“No—well, yes. They locked my account.”
“That’s a shame,” he said, but with no real compassion. “Whatever will you do, now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t ... know ...”
“Let me take you back to your place,” he offered.
Skye had to admit it. “I don’t live here.”
“You don’t? Where do you live?”
She shrugged, and would admit to nothing more.
“You know what? Why don’t you come with me—they’ll be no strings. Until you can figure this out ...”
“I’ll stay in the park,” she said with a sigh, dreading to spend another miserable night like the last.
“Are you crazy?” His eyes took in her wrinkled black dress, and noticed a faint grass stain on the hip. “Is that where you stayed last night?”
Reluctantly, she nodded her head.
He shook his head, bemused. “Come with me. You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”
She looked up at him, suspiciously. “Why would you want to help me? After what I said ... ”
“Let’s just say that I have a sweet spot for a damsel in distress.”
She shut her eyes tightly, as if resigning herself to a horrible fate. “All right,” she murmured.
She opened her eyes to see that his dark eyebrow had risen, in his disbelief.
“Sheesh!” he cried. “I’m a fate worse than death!”
Skye felt a rush of adrenaline bursting within her, as if telling her that everything was all right in her world, being again in his presence. She sat beside him in the auto, silent while they rode above the treetops. She wondered where he was taking her, but she didn’t really care. He had come back for her—and he was with her now. She’d worry about tomorrow, later ...
He broke the quiet. “Why don’t you like me, Skye?” he asked solemnly.
Skye was caught off guard by the question and didn’t know how to reply. “No—I like you,” she stammered. “I ... do ...”
Nicholas glanced sidelong and saw the pinkness of her cheeks. It dawned on him then, what he should have seen before. She liked him a little too much. Now, he understood.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said softly. “Very glad.”
The blush deepened in her face. He concealed his chuckle, thinking that he’d best be careful with this heart ...
Skye discovered that their destination was nearby Seascape City when she saw the metropolis’ famous Infinity Monument off in the distance. The monument was a tall and narrow white pillar with a ceaseless blinking blue light on top, one that proudly identified the city. He bypassed the city, heading off over the coast of the Aurora Sea. They passed over Beacon Hill, a lush forest where her father and she had once stayed. He traveled along the coast a ways, above the dwellings and treetops, slowing finally in a more deserted area.
Below her was a mansion, a vast estate with a long courtyard, to which she saw a hint of a blue pool. The estate had a few side buildings, and the house itself was lengthy and wide, white in color and fringed with many ornate windows. He lowered the auto down to his destination, coming into the lane that was at the aft of the house. He stopped the vehicle, parking it in an attached bay.
She looked at him, with her many questions.
“This place is owned by a friend of mine,” he explained. “He lets me use it, from time to time. He’s away, for a while.”
He stepped out of the auto, and she did the same. He ushered her up a long flight of black stone steps and stopped at the entrance. He put his thumb into the security panel, and the door slid open. “He trusts me,” he said, with a wink.
His hand prompted her to enter and she moved into the spacious abode.
Her eyes were drawn up to the high and white cathedral ceiling and then down to the long and wide row of sunny, elegant windows that overlooked the sea. A few steps down, there was a spacious room, with rows of ivory and crimson lounges and chairs set against the walls, and a few low, delicate and clear tables before them, all set harmoniously together as if with the help of an artist. A plush crimson carpet blanketed much of the floor, the rest being a hard and polished ivory. It wasn’t overly ostentatious, having a warm and comfortable feel. It was a charming decor, telling of the good taste of its owner.
“This place is incredible,” she said, taking it all in.
“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “It has twenty bedrooms—I think—and even its own gaming hall. He’s had some hell—a—cious parties here, I can tell you that.”
“Who is your friend?” she asked, thinking that he must be famous in his wealth.
“I’d rather not say,” he replied. “He’s a very private person—doesn’t want his name known.”
“How do you know him?”
“Like I said, I’ve met many people in my travels.”
Suddenly, he moved off. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry!”
Skye was hungry too, her appetite having returned. In the spacious kitchen, he found two plates brimming with bread and meat, and all the trimmings of cheese and greens and vegetables. He brought the plates out on a nearby terrace for them to eat, setting them on the ornate marble table. She took the white and crimson rattan chair across from his, and he left for a moment, returning with a frosty pitcher of dark brew and two tall glasses. He filled hers and then his, and sat back to enjoy the day.
The view was spectacular, the terrace set high on a hill, the Aurora Sea stretching out endlessly. Only a few wispy clouds floated against the blue, the sun bright and high in the sky, its warmth a sensuous pleasure. The hue of the sea was an experience—almost turquoise in color—a rich shade that shimmered radiantly in luminescence. A few white seabirds called to each other in their play, rollicking in their happiness while the waves rolled lazily to the ivory shore, falling there gently with a muffled roar. Skye felt her spirits lifting, taken by all the tranquility.
She quietly ate her meal, feeling his gaze frequently upon her, and she sensed that he was pleased that she was pleased with the scenery. When his plate was empty, he pushed it away, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes and cupping his hands behind his nape, exploring the concept of being lazy. She pushed away her plate when she'd had her fill, and rose to go to the far side of the railing where there was an even better view. She placed her arms on the marble support, breathing deeply of the fresh, salty air.
She thought of the wonderful yet disturbing turn of events, about how she was with him again. Yet another place made for lovers ...
He came to stand next to her, leaning his hand on the railing. “I’ve always loved the view here,” he said quietly. “You should see it when a storm comes, the lightning and thunder against all the blue ... You’d think that you were in Heaven.”
Skye was surprised that he loved the storms, too. She had thought that she was the only one to be so odd. While others wanted to run and hide from a storm’s dangerous onslaught, she wanted to be within it, feeling nature’s passion, knowing every gust of rain-soaked wind. She looked at him with new interest, fearing that her heart was truly in trouble, now ...
He smiled at her and pointed down, at the beach. “What do you say we go down there?”
She nodded, glad for the distraction, and followed him down the long flight of stairs that led to the balmy shoreline.
He
pulled off his black boots and left them nearby a beach patio, and she did the same with her shoes. Barefooted, they walked in the warm, heavy sand, both relishing its feel between their toes. The beach stretched out boundlessly, turning off into a cove in the far distance. Privacy was a given, the sand giving way to a rough and sloping hill that rose up in varying degrees, filled with verdant bushes and tall trees. They ambled along, in peace with the moment.
He moved closer into the lap of the surf, and he bent down and uncovered a large pink seashell. He straightened to study his prize, brushing the sand off it and motioning for her to come near. She did, and had a sudden surprise. He dropped the shell and grasped her arm, and with his other hand he gave a single gentle push to the swell of her breast, tossing her back into the sea. Her backside met the tufts with a splash and a thud, and she gasped from the assault of cold water. He laughed heartily while she sputtered—until she jumped up and grasped his wrist and fiercely tugged, bringing him down into the blue—and then it was her turn to laugh. Expecting retaliation, she sprang onto her feet and flew down the beach ... but when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that he was where she had left him. It seemed that he had found a spot to laze in, to enjoy the surf. She returned to him warily, keeping her distance.
She anticipated nightfall, when she would again be in his arms ...
He rose from the water and came to join her, touching his hand on her shoulder. They ambled on again, basking in the heat of the sun.
When dusk darkened the day’s colors, they headed slowly up the black stone steps.
He asked her, “Are you tired, too?”
She nodded, eager for bed.
He brought her to a room that was as plush as the rest, having a blue and gold scheme. There was a large four-poster bed flanked by ornate wardrobes, the velvety blue spread and many pillows inviting her ...
The Princess of the Wild Page 9