Watching Her_A Gripping Thriller with a Shocking Twist

by Harlem Dae

  I glanced at my watch. Two-forty. “Good afternoon.” I turned to my right.

  “Good afternoon.” He stood and draped his hair-coated forearms over his balcony. He appeared to study a white yacht on the distant waves, but I knew his peripheral attention was entirely on me.

  “Here alone?” he asked, still staring straight ahead.

  “Yes. You?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Want some company?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.” Finally he looked at me, his dark gaze settling on my naked chest.

  “Then I’ll see you in five.”

  Chapter Two

  My neighbour disappeared into his room, and I chuckled quietly. Day eight was turning out to be better than I’d predicted.

  I glanced back down at the pool, which had a large octopus mosaic at its base. The water was shimmering as though a handful of diamonds had been slung over its surface. A tanned couple of holidaymakers slipped in. She squealed delicately as the cold embraced her no-doubt sun-hot skin.

  Her partner laughed and pulled her close, his limbs winding with hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. They were either new lovers, honeymooners, or each had partners at home they were cheating on, which made their time together all the more erotic.

  I huffed. Yes that’s how it went. Love, marriage, cheat, leave.

  My spy was still at the bar. I knew he knew I was watching him. It was his job, after all, to be on top of this stuff—where I was, what I was up to, who I was doing. He’d had to hone his sixth sense, make use of his peripheral vision, apply his powers of deduction. I was sure it was a very skilled job, one he’d likely spent years training for at a secret spy school in the Swiss Alps.

  Alberto, still at the bar and wiping out a glass with a red cloth, saw me. He raised one hand and spoke to my spy—I didn’t have to be able to hear to know he was telling him where I was.

  Great, now Alberto was a spy, too.

  As if that mattered.

  There were no secrets on this Caribbean island, that much I already knew.

  Knock. Knock.

  Good. The man from next door was here. I had a brief thought about changing my damp bikini bottoms but it was too late now. Oh well, they undoubtedly wouldn’t be on for long anyway.

  I sauntered into my air-conditioned room. I was lax about keeping the glass sliding doors shut; it broke the rules, but what the hell, I wasn’t exactly a stranger to ignoring rules.

  The bed was made, neat and orderly—thank goodness for maids—and fresh towels were set out in the lavish bathroom.

  I opened the door. “Hi,” I said, taking a deep breath that hitched up my breasts.

  “Hi, yourself.” He licked his lips and stared at my tits.

  “Come in.” I stepped away, turned and sauntered into the middle of the room, being sure to let my hips roll.

  The door clicked shut, and his footsteps, clacking in his flip-flops, probably designer labelled, came towards me.

  “What’s your name?” He set his hot hands on my shoulders. The action was overly familiar for strangers, but what the hell, we were going to fuck so social boundaries went out of the sliding doors along with the precious air-conditioning.

  Heat from his chest radiated onto my back, and his breath tickled the nape of my neck.

  “Allegra.” I didn’t bother with a fictional surname to go with my fictional first name, what was the point? “But friend’s call me Ali.”

  “Am I in the friend zone?”

  “Just about.” I smiled and watched a bird, some type of gull with black-tipped wings, drifting in the air currents out at sea. What a peaceful existence. “Want a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  I stepped away, and he dropped his hands from me.

  The mini-bar was well stocked, and I used it frequently; why not, it wasn’t me picking up the tab? “What’s your poison?”

  “I’ll have a beer.”

  Classy. Not.

  I retrieved a bottle of beer and a small single bottle of champagne. I reckoned I deserved a little celebration for having finally spoken to my spy. Oh, and getting a man with a hard cock into my room so soon after lunch.

  “So how come a beauty like you is holidaying alone?” he asked as I popped the lid on his drink.

  “I’m not holidaying.”

  He chuckled. “No? Sure looks like it to me.”

  “No.” I passed him his beer. “This is work.”

  His eyes widened, and his attention finally lifted to my face. “Wow, good gig if you can get it.”

  I smiled and picked at the foil around the cork on my champers. I took a moment to study him. Why the hell not, he’d ogled me enough.

  He wore orange swimshorts, still containing a bulge, and leather flip-flops with a logo on the thong by his big toes. He was much taller than I’d first thought, wide, too, the type of man who likely had to stoop to get through doors on occasion and found airline seats in cattle class impossible. He didn’t have a six-pack, but that didn’t bother me. Men with six-packs tended to be so self-obsessed they were more interested in how they looked when fucking to be concerned about my pleasure. He was much hairier than I’d anticipated. A dense coating of black curls over his chest spread down to his navel and across his pecs. The hairline went so high that I imagined if he were wearing a suit and removed his tie, undid the top button of his shirt, then the hair would sprout from the hollow of his throat like a mini forest.

  “So, are you going to ask me my name?” He glugged on his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  He grinned as though amused by me. “Nathan Ryland.”

  “And what do you do, Mr. Nathan Ryland?” I freed the cork and poured sparkling liquid into a flute. It fizzed to the top but not over. I was an expert.

  “I’m in stocks.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m based in New York City.”

  “No wife?”

  “Two ex-wives.” He shrugged. “Shit happens.”

  “It does indeed.” I sipped my drink. “And did they screw you for every last penny when it all hit the fan?”

  “I wouldn’t be at a six-star resort in St Lucia if they had.” He raised his eyebrows in a cocky gesture that I actually liked.

  He’d been honest about his past, and honest about his smugness for keeping his assets. Honest about staring at my tits, too. Nothing wrong with all of that.

  “Good for you.”

  “Thanks.” He paused. “So what’s your story, Ali?”

  I gave him a small nod, acknowledging his use of my ‘friend’ name. “It’s a long one.”

  “So what else have we got to do?” His gaze slipped to my breasts again.

  My nipples were hard, the air-conditioning raining down on them had made them peak and tingle.

  “Well, if all you want to do is talk?” I swept my tongue over my bottom lip.

  Before he had a chance to reply, I turned and walked onto the balcony. I wondered if he’d be able to see that darker cerise patch on my bikini bottoms—my stain of arousal for all the men who’d been on my radar so far today.

  ‘You’re a nymphomaniac, Claudine. You need help.’

  I pushed my father’s words from my head. There was nothing wrong with having a healthy sex drive. I was a woman in my late twenties, Mother Nature intended it this way. I was supposed to have the libido of a horny teenage boy because my job was to procreate. Spread my legs, take cock, and get those ovums fertilised.

  Except I had no plans on doing that. Why bring a child into the world just to fuck him or her up?

  “Talking is overrated,” Nathan said, following me.

  I walked to the edge of the balcony and curled one hand over it. The white-hot heat of the sun on my shoulders was welcome after the cool room.

  The couple were still in the pool, frolicking. Yes, that’s what best described it, frolicking. They were splashing, laughing, their
bodies as one.

  I could imagine what their skin felt like, rubbing against each other, wet, sexy, the water slipping into her private place and cooling the heat that was building for him. I’d bet my best calatheas—my most favourite tropical flower—that they’d head back to their room for a shag within ten minutes.

  He stood next to me. “You been in?” he asked.

  “What, the pool?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A couple of times. It’s not heated.”

  “Heated by the sun.”

  “Yes, well, not very efficiently.”

  “Early in the season, I suppose.”

  For a moment we were quiet. We both knew where this was going. But there seemed a requirement to have some adult interaction first. Polite talk.

  Sweet really. Maybe all Americans weren’t crass after all.

  “How about that.” He used his bottle of beer to point to a small white speedboat racing in our direction.

  I guessed it had come from the small port to the east.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Paraglider. Have you ever been paragliding? Like that person up there?”

  It was then I noticed the boat was dragging along a person attached to a parachute. With their legs dangling it was impossible to make out if it were male or female, but whoever it was they were bloody high up.

  I swallowed. Heights were not my thing—unless I was in First Class, then I could cope.

  “No. I haven’t done that.”

  “You should. Awesome fun.”

  “You think?” I turned to him.

  “Yeah, I did it yesterday. What a buzz.”

  I’d watched his lips as he’d spoken. They were thinner than my spy’s and more visible, too, owing to the fact that Nathan only had light stubble. But they were nice lips. I could imagine kissing them in the throes of passion. “Mmm, maybe I will. Give it a go, that is.”

  “You should. Got to keep yourself on the edge of life, stare at death, if you want to truly appreciate being alive.”

  I turned back to the paraglider. The boat was leaving a foamy trail, and the sound of its engine reached the balcony. Would it give me a buzz to be up there? I had no idea.

  My attention wandered back to the bar. Habit.

  Yes, he was still there, as was Alberto, who would be until he finished his shift when the sun slipped into the watery horizon.

  Spy Man appeared to have a bottle of water in front of him now, which I thought was a good thing. Those blue drinks Alberto made were devil juice and gave one hell of a headache when consumed in the sun. I’d discovered that on day four.

  “So what’s this job of yours that makes paradise your office?” Nathan asked.

  I kept my sights on the pool bar. “This and that.”

  He huffed. “That’s not an answer.”

  I shrugged.

  “Let me guess, you’re a model. I mean wow, with a body like yours, you sure could be. In fact, don’t I recognise you? Have you been in Playboy?” His gaze roamed over me, a greedy glint flashing in his eyes.

  I took a few large mouthfuls of drink then set my flute aside. “You’re very charming, you know that?”

  “And you’re very sexy.”

  “I know.”

  My movements on the balcony must have been observed in my spy’s peripheral vision because he turned and looked up at me.

  I wished I’d been nearer, so I could have truly appreciated his expression when he clocked that I was no longer alone—that I had a big, hairy, half-naked companion. Hell, Nathan could be naked for all he knew; the balcony edge was high, his shorts wouldn’t be visible.

  I ran my hands through my hair and tipped back my head. I closed my eyes and let the light of the sun play with the insides of my eyelids.

  “Jesus Christ, are you trying to make me come in my swimshorts, woman?” Nathan said then chuckled.

  “That would be messy.” I stayed in position, hoping that if Nathan was enjoying the view so would my spy.

  “Maybe I should take my swimshorts off?” Nathan said.

  Oh, he was speeding things up, was he? Okay. I could live with that. His conversation wasn’t that interesting anyway.

  I opened my eyes again, and a glut of satisfaction went through me that my father’s spy was still observing me.

  What did he want, though?

  Not me, or so it seemed.

  Was he a voyeur? Was that what did it for him, not fucking or goddamn paragliding but watching sex? Watching me have sex? Was this his dream job, one that suited his life and his kinks?

  “I think removing your shorts is a great idea.” I stepped up to Nathan and placed my hands on his chest. The hair coating his flesh tickled my palms, and his skin heated mine.

  “Me, too.” He brushed his knuckles over my nipples. “And then maybe you’ll remove your bikini bottoms.”

  Biting on my lip, I slid my hands down his slightly tacky torso. He trembled, giving it away that he was seriously turned on and likely holding back throwing me on the bed and screwing me senseless.

  Which was just as well because I wanted the show to happen right here.

  In full view.

  I curled my fingers into the waistband of his lurid shorts and pulled outwards. Then, being careful not to catch the material on the tip of his erection, I shoved them down his legs.

  They pooled around his flip-flops, and he groaned, stroked my other nipple.

  A tremor of longing went through me. I liked his big hands, I wanted them on me, his thick, stubby fingers inside me; they were probably as big as some of the cocks I’d had over the years, but that level of intimacy with Nathan would have to wait.

  I touched my chest to his body then slowly, so slowly, I slid downwards, being sure to let my breasts scrape on his body hair. I folded my legs, and my knees hit the hessian mat that covered the balcony floor.

  Nathan’s excitement was evident and right in line with my face.

  As for my spy, well, he couldn’t see me, but he’d know exactly what was going on.

  Exactly what a treat my new companion was getting.

  Chapter Three

  Alberto handed me another cocktail. I needed it. Nathan had become a little tiresome before I’d ushered him out of my room, pestering me as to whether we could get together again. Dinner? Walk on the beach? Day trip to the Falls?

  As if…

  I sighed and shut the image of him out of my mind. “You know something, Alberto,” I said loudly so that Spy Man could hear. “You haven’t asked me for another session, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. There’s nothing worse than a man fawning all over you, expecting to hog all of your time.” I turned to Spy Man, staring at the hairs at his temple. “Following you around everywhere you go.”

  Spy Man had the grace to appear uncomfortable. Good. He needed to respect my boundaries. It was all very well being told to trail me around the globe, but bloody hell, he should have been more circumspect about it. As in, not let himself be seen. In all fairness, he had a difficult job there, what with my ever-roving eyes.

  “Thank you,” Alberto said while he stacked some clean glasses onto the shelf below the bar. “I think if you want more fucky-fucky you ask me, no?”

  He thrust his hips forward a few times, reminding me of a dog going for it with a bitch.

  “Exactly.” I smiled then sipped, the cool drink going down a treat, washing Nathan off my tongue.

  I swivelled my barstool around so I could look up at the balconies. Nathan was at his, arms draped over it, staring down on me as though keeping an eye out. Watching me. As I was mid-twist to return the stool to face the bar, my arm brushed fabric and I looked straight into Spy Man’s eyes. What the devil was he doing standing right beside me? Had my tryst with Nathan fired him up?

  I hoped so.

  He leaned in, smelling like sweat, the sun and a hint of aftershave. “You need to be careful.”

  I tipped my head to the side. “Oh, that old ches
tnut. He’s even told you what to say. I’ve heard it all before, and even with you saying it, it’s going right over my head. Please, I’m a big girl, I do this all the time.” I jerked my head towards the balconies. “And as for him, he’ll get over it. I only give out one fuck to men like him, and if he doesn’t like it, that’s tough.”

  “I don’t mean him, that man you…were with up there.”

  Spy Man perched on the stool beside mine, turning so our knees were pressed against each other. The contact was…interesting. Not a spark, per se, but…something. I brushed it off as my fanciful thinking.

  “What did you mean, then?” I might as well hear him out. One more rant about my lifestyle wasn’t going to hurt on top of all the others I’d received from my father.

  “I meant…”

  “Spit it out, will you?” I tutted.

  “Someone is following you.”

  He appeared so grave I thought I might burst out laughing.

  This poor man must think I’m lacking up top. A cucumber sandwich short of a Royal Ascot picnic.

  “Um, I know.” I rolled my eyes. “You are.” I reached for my drink and took a long draw. “Honestly, please stop whatever silly game you’re playing. Just do your job and don’t bother me with the mechanics. I don’t mind you ogling my tits.” I shook my shoulders a little; my pert breasts jiggled. “But please stop with trying to be dramatic just to prove you’re worth whatever it is he’s paying you.”

  “I am worth it.” He rested his hand on my arm and a flash of confidence shot through his eyes. “But it’s not just me. I’m not the only one following you.”

  I laughed then. Waved away his words. “Oh, that’ll probably be some other man after another romp. I’m that good, you know.” I winked and smiled to take the arrogance from my statement. For some reason I didn’t want him to dislike me. “Naturally, for many, once isn’t enough—they want more, seconds, thirds. There was this Lord in Scotland once, tight jodhpurs, ginger beard, loved having his arse whacked, you know the sort, and he kept coming back for more, every weekend, on Father’s helicopter to visit and—”

  “No.” He cleared his throat. Glanced from side to side then focused on me. “Not someone you’ve…met up with before. Not one of your…conquests.”