“Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow.” she said when Sash circled the boat back to the starting point. She'd have been leaping up and down with glee except jumping underwater was impossible.
“Not too bad,” Damien said.
“Not too bad? That was friggin' awesome. I done good.”
Sash drew the boat beside them and Indie clambered up the step, upper arms exhausted from the battle with the sea. She collapsed into a leather bucket seat and even grinned at Laurent, she was so proud. He barely grimaced and turned back to watch Damn come out like a bird in flight. He raised his palm in the signal to pick up speed and worked the water like a master. His taut body flexed horizontal to one side, touching his head into the wave before curving back around and jumping high into the air off the wake. Laurent and Indie watched spellbound and even Sash kept turning back from eyes on the road to catch a peek.
“He's amazing.” Indie whispered.
“He tried out for the Olympic team when he was eighteen,” Sasha shouted over the wind rush. “He made it too.”
Indie heard Laurent snort, but he too was mesmerized by Damn's virtuoso control.
He seemed to leap one-handed back into the boat and took the wheel. He drove fast along the coast, accelerating the boat off the crest of the waves and pulled up off the beach, dropped the anchor and they hopped into the water to wade up to a beachfront bar.
“Okay that was wow,” Indie said when they were seated, cocktails ordered and Laurent had finally picked his way though the water to join them, still in a huff.
“I am out of practice. How do you say it- rusted?” Damn said.
“Rusty- and no one would have known.”
“Twenty-five years practice.” he shrugged. “My father put me on a ski when I was two.”
“Wow. You too Sash, you were amazing.”
“We just have to get you out every day and you'll be wow too,” she said, with a sideways glance at Damn that implied he'd better offer to take her out in his boat again.
“So, you like art more than sport,” Indie turned to Laurent determined to draw him out.
He shrugged. Damien said something harsh in French to him. “I do not like water,” he muttered.
“That's hard when you live on an island.”
“Laurent is from Paris. He's only been here a month.”
“Oh, I was supposed to be in Paris right now except, um, I just arrived as well.” No way she wanted to open up her past here and now.
“I adore Paris,” Sasha sighed. “What do you do there?”
“He's a designer at Paco Rabanne.”
“Wow,” Indie said. “It's a day of wows.” You dumbass. You’ve said wow like a thousand freaking times.
“We are opening a fashion company together,” Damn said.
“Wow, that's news,” Sasha perked he interest at the prospect of competition. “What kind of goods?”
“Don't worry, not leather,” Damn said.
“Phew.”
“Some beachwear, tee shirts, stuff for tourists.”
Indie wondered how a designer at a Paris house ended up in tee shirts for tourists.
“If you need a fit model, that's Indie's professional capacity,” Sasha volunteered her friend's services and Indie threw her a glare until Damn turned to her.
“You're a model?”
“Er, yes.” No need to sound so surprised.
“I knew it.”
Fuck. The bloom fired her cheeks again. “Perhaps because I told you last night.”
“I must have forgotten.” Liar.
Another sleek white speedboat pulled up close to Damien's and a gorgeous couple came up the beach. The girl was tall and lithe, Nordic blonde, while the guy was the same height, muscular lean, Mauritius drop-dead, with a slick of light brown hair.
“Plein d'oeil,” Sasha said, eliciting an impatient roll of Laurent's eyes. “Just before sundown the sea goes glass flat, perfect for skiing. Everyone comes out to play,” she explained to Indie. As the couple reached the table, Indie felt Damn stiffen beside her, his jaw set like a vise.
“Damien,” the handsome guy greeted him with a curt nod.
“Marc” Damn said coldly, through teeth gritted to a grind.
“Hi, long time no see.” The girl kissed Damn warmly on the cheek and continued around the table, kissing everyone, French style. Her buoyant smile was so captivating, her boyfriend was obligated by politesse to follow her lead, although he looked as though it was killing him to be within a thousand miles of Damn. As they shook hands, each looked in the other direction, determined not to meet eyes.
“I'm Katelijn.” the girl said, “Have we met before? You look familiar,” she asked Sasha.
“I think I may have seen you at the Lune Noire with Marc on his rare foray in public. You're from Sweden aren't you?”
“Holland, yeah, I'm Dutch, from Amsterdam.” Indie liked the girl's accent and her warmth. “I've been back a week, had to persuade my father to buy me another ticket. Shall we join you?”
Damn and Marc bristled like wolf-pack leaders at the suggestion but she was already pulling up a chair on the other side of Indie and asking when she'd arrived, wasn't it fantastic. She was so authentically friendly no one would have had the heart to refuse her and another round of drinks was ordered.
The foreign girls chatted in English and the men gritted their teeth, exchanging a few words in French. Sasha's phone rang and she moved away from the table to take it.
“Time to go?” Indie asked when she finished, assuming Tolar was hollering for her to come home and deal with her children.
“I'll be back in a while,” she whispered, “Wait for me right here.” She hurried through the bar and out into the hotel reception.
When the perfect water-ski hour arrived, Damn and Marc rose to meet the boat that arrived same time, same place, from a resort down the coast. The guy who gave expensive lessons to tourists all day, ran a lucrative sideline towing the locals.
“You coming?” Marc turned back to demand Katelijn.
“No, I'm going to talk to Indie,” she replied. “I want to make a girlfriend down here.” Marc jogged down the sand to the water. “It get's too much relying on him for all my society,” she told Indie. “It leaves me too open.”
“What's with those two?” Indie asked. “There seems to be some heavy tension going on between them.”
“There is but I was, er, not here when it all happened.” Katlijn looked uncomfortable, especially as Laurent's ears were tweaking. She clearly didn't want to talk too much. “It's sad because they've known each other their whole lives and used to be best best buddies. Something happened though when Marc got divorced and even Dam's father got involved.”
“Who is his father? I met the mother today, or I should say I was in the same room as her. Kind of terrifying.”
“I think it's an act these old French families put on to show their superiority. There's a tight ring of them on the island, here since forever and they think they own the place.”
“Some of them actually do, Damien's father is one of those,” Laurent said, looking up from his notepad.
“Now I'm curious. I wish he'd been home when we were at the beach house earlier.”
“Oh, the beach house isn't home. They've got a massive estate up in the hills.”
“So is Marc's family all French aristo too?”
“Yeah, but loose since his mother ran off, couldn't stand the closed community. His dad is more laid back but still dictates how his sons should live.”
“How is he to you? Because they don't seem fond of outsiders.”
“They aren't, they hate them but he's alright. He likes me better than the last one apparently, who's giving him hell over their divorce.”
“He was married?”
“Is married, to an ex-pat who hooked him and now refuses to let go.”
“It stinks when one partner hangs on when the other is done. There's no changing a mind once it's set. When a relationship ends
it's like a switch is flipped and it's just-done.”
“Bad experience?”
“You could say so. My ex in New York is trying to get me back.”
“Well, this is a good place to hide from him. And you've got a powerful protector in Dammo.”
“Oh no, we aren't together. He just took us out for a ski.”
“Uh huh. Dam doesn't take women for a ski.”
“I think he likes Sasha.”
“I think you're mistaken.”
To hide her burning cheeks, Indie asked Katelijn about Amsterdam, where she was an art student and they chatted about career dreams until the guys jogged back up the sand and ordered more cocktails. Battling the surf had released some of their pent up emotions and when Indie said they had to wait for Sash to get back as her car was at Damien's house, he ordered another round, relaxed and enjoyed the stripes of gold play across the horizon as the sun went down.
Chapter Seven
A huge fire was set on the beach by the hotel staff. Wild drum music started up in the distance and the guys rolled their eyes in disdain.
“Sega dance,” Marc told them. “Strictly for tourists.”
“Sex dance,” Damien muttered.
“Well, three of us at the table are tourists and I have nothing against sex,” Katelijn said, she and Indie were both gyrating in their seats to the infectious music.
“I do not care for slaves complaining about their lives,” Damien replied, his eyes burning into Indie's writhing hips.
“Masters never do,” Indie said, getting a glare of amusement from him.
A makeshift raft lit by torches floated across the dark ocean up to the beach. The musicians clambered off and the African women followed, their stamping feet never left the sand and took the wanton dance around the fire. Damn was right, it was an erotic number and the women moved with sexual abandon. By the time the show was over, the sensual moves and wild drums had infected everyone. Even Laurent had loosened up and was chatting with the two men.
Sasha dashed back into the bar, relieved to find them still there, waiting for her and began to glow- Indie had a pretty good idea what she'd been up to.
“Patrice loves hotels. When I told him we were here, he said he'd be right over.” She pulled Indie to the side as the group went back down the beach to the boats. “It looks suspicious if I go over to his house. Someone saw us and word got back to Tolar in less than a day.”
“It doesn't look suspicious for you to be meeting him in a hotel?”
“No, because I sell my leather accessories in the gift shops, I'm always popping into the hotels.”
Damien and Marc rode the two cigarette boats side by side, gunning their speeders neck and neck through the inky blue water chop. The moon was almost full and the sky was pin-pricked by thousands of tiny stars. Sitting in the back of the boat with Laurent, Indie's whole body heaved a sigh and let go of all the clenched misery it had been trying to contain for months and years.
“Thank you,” she mouthed to Sasha when she looked back from her position up front beside Damien.
Marc and Katelijn peeled off and their boat arced toward shore while Damn continued straight ahead in the blackened water lit only by the moon's wide iridescent stripe. Katelijn waved goodbye furiously and made dialing signals for Indie to call her. Even Marc raised a hand with a see you later nod.
Five minutes later they turned in toward land and Damn coasted the speedboat into the sand in front of his sprawling beach house. Sasha jumped out and waded through the water while Laurent tip-toed across the engine and jumped off the prow where the water was shallowest. Indie swung her legs over the side to follow Sash, but Damien was in the water in front of her. He flipped her knees over his bicep and caught her up in the other so she was held in his arms like a maiden in a faint.
“That really isn't necessary,” Indie said, wriggling to get down.
“Shhh.” He waded through the water with her nestled into the smooth mounds of his chest. It was ridiculous, the water barely covered his calves, he was treating her like a child, but still her heart was frittering from being so close to him, wrapped so tight in his corded arms.
“There that wasn't too bad was it?” He didn't set her down into the softest powder sand until they were halfway up the beach and the lights of the house illuminated them. As Indie reconnected with earth, he held her with one arm circling her waist and a deep burrowing gaze such that she was sure, for just an instant he was going to kiss her. His mouth leaned down so very close, the salty smell of his warm skin was intoxicating and her body expanded ready for him. Then he seemed to remember something and continued walking to the house. Indie was shocked at the depth of her disappointment. Every sense ending had fired up, tingling in eagerness for his caress.
“I have to get going,” Sasha told her when they entered the sun room, now in darkness, family all retired for the night. “It's nearly midnight.”
“Okay, thank you Damien for a wonderful afternoon,” Indie held out her hand for a polite shake. His face collapsed into a well of confusion.
“You're leaving- already?” he said, looking deep into her again so her heart hurled itself into her throat and stopped her speaking. His eyes clawed across to Sasha as though she had final decision.
“Yes, I am leaving and going home with Sash,” Indie found her voice and stated firmly. What does he think-that I'm second best because Sasha had been purloined by her lover? Well screw you Mr Olympic Controller. And you can talk to me, she's my friend not my mother.
“I, well, it's still-early.” Disappointment crowded across his features, followed by a frown at being thwarted. Good. Laurent stood to the side observing the scene and his friend's discomfort. He was actually smiling for the first time ever.
“Good night,” Indie brushed Damien coolly, cheek to cheek, then kissed Laurent, who returned her embrace.
They headed along the wide, antique-lined passage and pulled the front door open when Damien ran into the hall. He pulled up short and adopted a casual stance when he saw them.
“India, can you work tomorrow for fitting the clothes?” he called.
“Tomorrow is Sunday, Damn, a day of rest,” Sasha replied. “But she'll be there Monday. Call my cell and tell her where to come.” She pulled the door shut.
“What are you my island agent now?” Indie laughed. Earning some money would be good so she could pay Sasha back for feeding her. She was mad but also already yearning to see the man who'd lifted her into the most powerful arms ever and carried her as though she were weightless up a moonlit beach swaying with palm trees.
“Just trying to keep you amused,” she said. “I won't even charge you commission.” As she started the car she was shaking her head in her own amusement. “Of the many many women I've seen and heard about with Damien, I have never once seen him this flustered.”
“He doesn't like not getting his own way.”
Indie scooched down in the comfortable big bed and pulled the covers around her even though it was warm enough to go bare. She cuddled them close in delicious excitement, marred only by the sounds of shouting coming from down the hall where Tolar and Sash were gearing up for a fight. Their dispute raced ahead fast and soon they were screaming over top of each other, neither listening nor thinking. Most of the outraged roar came from Tolar's booming voice but Sasha was doing okay with holding her own. She was able to stand up to him although it must be exhausting. Indie wondered what the problem was, maybe someone had told him about her flirting with Damien Lothaire Beauregard Bedazzleme. He must know Damn's reputation. Hopefully it was only that they had been out all day and come home late, although he hadn't been alone. The house was littered with empty whiskey bottles and filled with the stink of cigar smoke so his German bully buddies had obviously kept him company.
The delight warming her core turned cold as their dispute heated up and the tone of Tolar's rage raised unpleasant images of her past that she couldn't push back out. He was drunk, that much was for su
re, irrationally mad and spoiling for a fight. It made her shiver and wish for more covers to stave off the chill on her skin. Every growl of menace brought pictures and words back to mind that translated into shivers and quakes in her body as though it were her own husband raging for nothing and abso-fucking-lutely refusing to listen to any reason.
Oh no, no. The sound of the door smashed back on its hinges and Tolar was taking it down the hall.
“You will not making a fucking fool of me in front of everyone I know, this entire fucking island knows what you're doing and who you're fucking.” He was outside Indie's door and her heart was bashing out through her lungs making it impossible to inhale. Breath caught her throat, painfully stuck by lungs trying to push back the other direction. She cringed back into the pillow willing the door not to throw open.
“Do you hear me?” Tolar bawled. Sasha was taking the smart route and remained in the bedroom, not engaging now he was out of her face. Although that had the effect of temporarily enraging him further. “I said are you fucking listening? Because I do not have to put up with this from niggers who should know their place.”
The house went deathly quiet and Indie lay like a corpse, frozen in shock. Again. Worse this time. Did he mean Sash, his own wife in that heinous slur? His own little girls? Of course, who else was he trying to slam in the middle of the night? Indie knew how that went, how the booze made them scrape the very bottom of the barrel in the frantic search for the upper hand. In the still aftermath, Tolar had gone down the stairs and was tossing glasses around. The clatter of breaking glass broke through the night as he swore violently at his friends for drinking all his liquor– where was a fucking drink?
As Indie lay in a clench on her sore side, body clawed with all the tension she'd let go only hours before and feeling utterly alone in the world. Sadness wrapped around her tighter than the sheet and as she focused on pushing it back, the door crept open. A chink of light on a dark curly blonde head. Amber stole silently into the room and slipped under the bunched up covers beside Indie. She put her arms around her and she burrowed in tight. Moments later the door opened again and a second, smaller, darker tousled head joined them.
BILLIONAIRE Island: Idyllic Mischief Page 6