Filthy Desires: A Romantic Suspense Collection

by Parker, Kylie

  I put on the red-and-white bikini Michael has bought me, still uncertain about my next move. And, as I step back outside, I realize that he has made this even harder for me. He’s already in the pool, facing me. Water is dripping from his hair, over his curly eyelashes and onto his lush lips. The underwater pool lights reveal his entire torso: ripped abs and a massive chest beckon, testing the limits of my restraint.

  A heart of gold in the body of a Greek God… how in the world can a woman resist that combination? Keep it together, Stacy; and your distance, too.

  “It looks fantastic on you,” Michael compliments once more as I make my way towards the pool. “I wasn’t so sure about the size, but I think I got it right.”

  “Yes, you did,” I admit. “How’s the water?”

  “It’s perfect,” He retorts, his chin brushing the surface, causing my heart to skip a beat. I wrap my fingers around the handrails, dragging my gaze away from him. I lower myself into the pool and move over to the left corner as liquid warmth engulfs my body.

  “Why don’t you come closer?” Michael suggests, wiping the water from his forehead. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  “How did you decide to learn to play the guitar? I pitch my voice higher, ignoring him.

  “That’s …” he falters, dropping his head as he squeezes his lips together. “That’s a very long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I shrug my shoulders, my voice coming out slowly.

  “This, uh, friend of mine…” Michael starts, his gaze shooting up to meet mine. “He grew up with this girl, named Pauline. She was French-American. Her father was a military man. She had red, curly hair. Kids used to make fun of her freckles, but not my friend. They went to school together. They were very close. Anyway…” he sighs, floating closer to me. “He was just eight years old, when he saw this video on MTV. It was Bon Jovi’s ‘Always.’ He fell in love with it so much that he begged his old man to buy him a guitar. The kid learned how to play it but, when he went over to her place, he discovered they were packing their bags. Pauline’s father had been reassigned to Bosnia.”

  “That’s really sad,” I comment, the darkness in his eyes breaking my heart.

  “There’s more,” he claims, his voice thick with emotion. “About nine years ago, she moved back to New York. She showed up in the same surveillance company he worked at, looking for a job. He thought it was fate. They started dating each other. He’d never been happier. Eighteen months later, he proposed to her. She said ‘yes.’ Pauline wanted to tell her folks the good news in person. They’d stayed back in France. On the eve of their flight, he got appendicitis. He told her to go, and that he’d take the next flight out after he’d had that operation. But…” He stops narrating altogether and squeezes two tears out of his eyes. “Her plane crashed in the Atlantic. After they’d brought her body back to the States, the coroner told him she was five weeks pregnant.”

  “Oh, my God,” I whisper in disbelief, his story sends my heart into a downward spiral. I can’t believe how two people who seemed to belong together lost each other like that. Yet, even in my state of shock, it’s clear to me who his so-called friend actually is. “There’s no friend, is there?” I ask him, my tone wobbly as tears rise up in my eyes.

  “What gave me away?” Michael croaks, his reddened eyes snapping open.

  “I’m so sorry,” I sniffle, regretting the decision to ask him in the first place. “I shouldn’t have insisted.”

  “Nah, it’s okay,” he waves his hand in front of his face. “You couldn’t have known.”

  “I am a little confused,” I confess, stepping nearer him. “Why did you tell me this? I mean, you could have just said ‘It was all because of a girl.’ You didn’t have to pour your heart out.”

  “Take a look around you, Stacy,” He urges me, his tone calm and steady. “I’m in the house of my dreams, on a date with an absolute knockout. She’s more than just a pretty face. She’s smart. I just danced with her, and her eyes told me more than her mouth could in a month. It’s perfect in every way. I hate lies; the way I see it, lying to you would ruin everything.”

  His last confession pulls at my heartstrings. A piercing ache emanates from my chest at the sorrow that I see on his face. I’m dying to offer him at least some kind of comfort, but I can’t force another word out of my throat. I just gaze upon him, admiring his will to make this night unforgettable for the both of us. He doesn’t let his own pain stand in the way. On the contrary, he confides in someone he barely knows, just because he wishes to be honest with her.

  “Kiss me,” I urge him, my voice a breathless whisper as a tear rolls off his face.

  “What did you say?” he breathes, his chest still rising up and down.

  “Kiss me,” I repeat, more urgency creeping into my tone. I close my eyes, just before a gentle splash fills my ears. I feel a strong touch on my shoulders, pinning my back against the wall of the pool. Just then, Michael locks his mouth with mine, sending me into the sea of emotion that I’ve been struggling to avoid since I arrived at this place. I taste the saltiness of his tears, letting desire and sensation consume me. He has broken through the walls I’ve been trying to put up, and I’m powerless to stop him.

  24

  Michael

  A feeling of regret strikes me the next day, long after Stacy and I have left that extravagant heaven. I shouldn’t have broken down like that in front of her. It’s not that I don’t like it when other people see me cry. I’ve never had a problem with that. It’s just that I shed tears for another woman. As heartbreaking as my story was, perhaps I should have kept it to myself. A night that was supposed to be all about the fun, turned into a festival of sobs and sniffles. It didn’t last more than ten or fifteen minutes, but I should have avoided that altogether.

  Nevertheless, that dreadful feeling is soon overshadowed by something, much, much more pleasant: bliss. I feel lighter, as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. And the reason why could not be simpler. I delivered my promise to myself and to Stacy. I made a memory; a sweet, delightful memory that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Our kiss in the pool was just the beginning. Four drinks later, we were all over each other in the master bedroom. Our passionate encounters were only interrupted by a little conversation, some hugging, and a lot more eye contact. I hope my gesture has the same impact on Stacy as it had with me, but even if it doesn’t, I’ll try to ensure that my next gesture is even more impressive.

  That night, Ray and I decide to go on a trip east. It’s the only part of the island that still eludes us both. We enter the freeway in high spirits, because some locals have praised Agios Nikolaos and Elounda, two, major tourist destinations. The former is a scenic town, filled with great nightlife, whereas the latter is a jet set haven. All kinds of celebrities visit it every summer, from sportsmen to oil tycoons. Neither of us is interested in running into LeBron James, Eva Longoria or the army of paparazzi that follow them around all the time. We just head there out of sheer curiosity.

  “Come on, admit it,” Ray teases, nudging me with a heightened shoulder. “You’d just love to take a selfie with Scarlet Johansson. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Selfies? No,” I say, speaking my mind, giving him a wicked smile. “Maybe a naked picture after the sex: of her, not me.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, meet Michael Donovan,” he gestures towards me, raising his tone as if he’s presenting to a crowd of some sort. “Computer geek, guitar player extraordinaire, ladies’ man and all business.”

  “I wouldn’t sell that picture, you know that,” I reply, as his Cherokee speeds under the freeway bridge. “I’d show it to my son someday. He’d be proud that his old man got to sleep with such a beautiful woman.”

  “What if his mother saw it?” Ray goes on, holding back a sneer. “I’d like to see you talk your way out of that.”

  “Isn’t it sad that women can’t understand our need to show off our success in that area?” I wonder, a touch
of disappointment in my tone.

  “Sure, but imagine the roles being reversed,” he suggests, turning his head right to face me. “What if we found a naked picture of Brad Pitt in her nightstand? I bet that would bum hard.”

  “I guess you’re r…” I don’t have enough time to finish my sentence. The racket of a Harley’s thunder-headers pierces my ears, causing the windows of the SUV to rattle and vibrate. It picks up even more in volume and intensity as I roll down my window. I lean forward and check the passenger mirror. I cover my eyes to protect myself from the reflection of the motorcycle’s headlights. My stomach chills in fear when I see Dean’s silver Harley. In the blink of an eye, it speeds past Ray’s Cherokee. Our eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then he returns his attention to the road up ahead. However, we’re in for a bigger surprise. Our little brother is not alone. Stacy is sitting behind him, her blonde hair flowing in the wind. She whips her head around and glances beyond our car. Within seconds, I discover what she had focused on. A deep grumble of an engine compels me to check the passenger mirror once more. This time, a black Range Rover is hurtling towards us. Before I can utter a word, it bypasses the Cherokee with ease.

  “Something’s wrong,” remarks Ray, urgency creeping into his voice. “The kid doesn’t run for no good reason.”

  “Floor it,” I urge, my gaze following the monstrous off-roader. It’s on the fast lane, roughly three hundred yards behind Dean’s motorcycle. The engine of the Cherokee roars along the road as my pulse rises. “Fuck!” I cry out, banging my fist against the dashboard. “Who did he piss off?”

  “I don’t know, man,” Ray replies, his tone weakening as he swerves left and into the fast lane. He overtakes a massive truck, not leaving the Ranger Rover out of his sight. “Keeping up is going to be hard. That’s a goddamn monster. I don’t think we have enough power.”

  “Give it everything it’s got,” I command, glancing down at the speedometer. We are doing eighty miles per hour.

  “Michael, this is a Cherokee, not a Porsche!” Ray groans, gripping the stirring wheel tighter.

  “They are chasing Dean and Stacy!” I shout, pointing out the windscreen. “What are we going to do, give up on them?”

  I may be waiting for a reply, but my friend doesn’t speak. Instead, he frowns, breathing faster as he shifts down. A massive amount of torque slams us both back into our seats as I throw another glance over at the speedometer. We have just exceeded ninety miles an hour, and the needle is climbing fast.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” I praise, but my joy is short-lived. Alas, Ray has a point. Our Cherokee may be accelerating, but we can’t draw nearer the Land Rover. To make matters worse, the strangers have closed the distance between them and Dean’s Harley. The huge SUV blocks the motorcycle from view as the road up ahead straightens out. Our little brother swerves right, in an obvious attempt to let the Range Rover pass. The driver indeed overtakes them; yet, what he does next freezes the blood in my veins. He swerves right, getting right in front of Dean’s Harley. His taillights flash red for a fleeting moment. And it is this moment that wreaks havoc upon our brother and Stacy, leaving us to watch in horror and utter disbelief. The motorcycle sways to the right first, and then drops to the road with a bang. Hundreds of sparks rise up in the air as hot metal makes contact with the asphalt. Stacy lands hard on her side and rolls away to the right, heading straight for a short bush. Dean is catapulted forward, arms flailing in the air. He falls flat and hard on his chest, banging his forehead against the road.

  All four wheels of the Cherokee lock up as Ray hits the brakes, just a few feet away from Dean. I lunge from the passenger seat, my adrenaline in the ozone layer. The headlight of the Harley is illuminating Dean’s leather outfit. His long hair is all over the sides of his neck and his cheeks. I drop to my knees beside him, and reach down to his shoulder. With a firm grip, I manage to flip him over. The sight that fills my view makes my heart plummet into an abyss of horror and sorrow. His eyes are shut. Blood is gushing from a large wound on his forehead, just below his hairline, soaking tendrils of his hair and skin alike.

  “No…” I whisper, my voice cracking as I lean over towards him. “Wake up, kid. Come on,” I urge, swallowing hard. “Stay with me, you hear?” This is all I have the heart to tell him. Gazing up his lifeless face, I bite my lower lip, struggling to hold back the tears, to no avail. A river of tears rises up in my eyes. Before I know it, two of them topple off the edges and land on his jacket. Life is slipping away from the boy I found on the street one day, and raised as if he was my brother. The very image of him in filthy, torn-up clothes, holding a tin can returns to my mind. “I didn’t save you so you could die on me, kid,” I whisper, caressing the side of his neck with shaking fingers.

  “The ambulance is on its way,” Ray shouts, rushing over to our spot.

  “How’s Stacy?” I ask, putting some force in my voice.

  “She’s banged up, but she’s conscious,” He informs me, coming to an abrupt halt over Dean. “Oh, shit…” He sighs, clasping his hands behind his head, elbows pointing outward.

  “And to think coming here was his idea,” I utter, my gaze settled on his eyes, another tear streaming down my cheek.

  “Don’t talk like that, Michael,” Ray advises, squatting down beside me. “He’s tough. He’s going to pull through this.”

  At that, the sound of a siren rips through the atmosphere. I whip my head around, curious as to the ambulance’s exact location. The blue light is just a spec, but it’s on the fast lane, hurtling past a huge row of cars.

  For once, I wish I could be like Ray. I wish I could share his optimism and have the same, calm approach on everything. Still, I’m not. I can’t help fearing the worst. And I can’t even begin to imagine what our lives will be without Dean, the little brother we have been raising for years. I cannot picture our apartment in New York without the flamboyant biker we both love with every single cell in our hearts.

  25

  Ray

  Despite Michael’s will to ride with the ambulance, the paramedics refuse to let him, maintaining that his presence will put more stress on the doctor. He hates it; he yells at them; but they’re adamant.

  The drive to the hospital is nothing more than a frantic dash along the freeway. I don’t even bother checking my speed. Michael and I are right behind the ambulance as it forges a path through the traffic. Neither of us dares to speak. A cloud of concern and fear has descended upon us, taking away the desire to talk about anything. This long silence presents an opportunity for me to recall the entire incident. The grumble of that engine is still echoing in my brain. I may not know a lot about cars, but I know a high-end car when I see one. Its twin exhausts mean that it’s supercharged. That roar was indicative of a vehicle with a lot more horsepower than the 2liter Cherokee I was driving. Horsepower always comes at a steep price.

  “You’re going to pay for this.”

  Laura’s threat comes rushing back into my mind. Yes, dear old Laura must have orchestrated this. She has the money to hire someone and take out a loved one of mine. And in this case, that someone was a goddamn professional. He didn’t ram the Harley. He didn’t even let the bike crash into him. Instead, he slowed down enough for it to brush his rear bumper. I doubt the wheel of the Harley even made a dent in it. After that, its course was rather predictable. It may be one of the most stable bikes in the world, but its balance at a high rate of speed is still fragile.

  Orderlies rush out of the emergency ward, as soon as we arrive at the hospital. Both Dean and Stacy are loaded onto stretchers and hurried inside. She seems to be in a better condition than he is. Her jeans are torn at the knee and the waist, large chunks of her t-shirt have been ripped off, but her eyes are wide open. Strangely enough, she is looking up into the sky and doesn’t even risk a glance up at Michael or me. A minute later, we’re pacing up and down in the waiting room.

  Halting by the window, I google “Range Rover” on my cell phone. Th
e information on the screen confirms my fears. Prices on that beast start at $85,000, and that’s the basic model. There’s even a supercharged version that costs almost $20,000 more. It’s got more than twice the horsepower of my Cherokee. In a way, I’m amazed that we were able to be within a couple hundred yards of it.

  “Take a look at that,” I urge Michael, tossing the phone over to him.

  “Damn…” he whistles at the amounts. “No wonder we couldn’t keep up with them.”

  “Laura threatened me again the last time we saw each other,” I announce, my voice darkening. “She said: ‘You’re going to pay for this.’ I don’t know about you, but I think this has got her name written all over it.”

  “I’m too upset to start pointing fingers,” Michael states, handing me back my phone. “The kid’s all I can think of right now.”

  His response convinces me to stop talking. My friend has a point. Now is not the time to ponder who could have done something so terrible. At any rate, I have no doubt about their identity, and I’ll try and prove it to him later on.

  The click-clacking of high heels resounds through the walls of the hall. Within moments, I see two, familiar faces as a brunette and a redhead enter the waiting room. Emily and Karlie stride past Michael, without saying a word. They head towards the closed door of the emergency room, when he decides to address them.

  “It’s polite to say ‘hi’ where I come from,” he protests, slipping his hands into his pockets.

  “Who gives a shit about polite?” Emily grumbles, whirling her head around to face him. “Did you see what happened?”

  “Alright, relax everybody,” I interject, assuming a calm tone. “We did,” I add, moving slowly towards her. “Some big-ass SUV blocked their way. They both took a nasty fall. Dean’s in serious condition. I think Stacy’s in much better shape, but I don’t know for sure.”