The Thrill of You

by Celeste O. Norfleet

  All she had waiting for her in her apartment in New York was silence. She remembered the last time she’d played her violin. Her manager, Donna Van Kelp, had stood by her side in her studio. Donna’s words still echoed in her mind.

  “Cyanna, it’ll come back. Trust me—you’ll see. You can’t just give up your career and walk away.”

  “I’m not just walking away, and I’m not giving up my career. I’m taking a break. I’ve been performing since I was eight years old. I need a break.”

  “Cyanna, look, I understand your pain. You lost your brother and you’re still mourning. You’ve been going through emotional whiplash. I understand that, but listen to me. You can’t just up and quit a tour. Your reputation will be ruined. I’m no lawyer, but I’ve dated enough of them to know that this may be a breach of contract. You could be blacklisted.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. And even if I am, I’ll be okay.”

  “Fine, you won’t be blacklisted, but you’ll miss it.”

  “I know I will. And it’s not forever. But I have to do this first, for me.”

  Now, months later, sadness still filled her heart. She had played and performed for over twenty years and now she had nothing. Her playing was off, and she couldn’t fix it. No matter how hard she practiced, she didn’t have it anymore. Few noticed, but she did. This was a waiting game, and she was losing.

  There was a knock at her door. It was probably a bellman with the room charge she’d requested.

  Chapter 2

  Mikhail Coles steered his boat parallel to the Overseas Highway skirting Florida’s southern coastline. Earlier that morning he had stopped in Marathon to see his parents and now, midafternoon, he was on his way home. As soon as he saw Key West in the distance, he smiled. It was good to finally be home again. There was nothing like seeing the white sandy beaches and verdant coastline with its protruding piers and harbors, docked boats and colorful buildings set against the elevated spikes of whitewashed luxury hotels and resorts.

  He continued to Key West along the western coast around a couple of massive cruise ships and then steered back, going northeast to the small private marina he had owned for the past five years. MC Marina was his pride and joy.

  He was home and already he felt the tenseness of the past few days wash away. He had been sent by his former employer to gather information from one of his past acquaintances, who would only speak with him. It was a simple enough assignment, but of course it had turned into more drama than expected. Finally, after aggressive negotiations, a deal was made. He’d done his job, and just like that it was over.

  He maneuvered his boat through the private marina in a slow, controlled coasting speed, heading to his personal slip. He alternated between Idle and Neutral until he got the boat exactly where he wanted it. Momentum carried him the rest of the way as the cruiser eased into place. The first person he saw was Jumper, walking down the dock toward him. Jumper had been with him since the beginning, and his services were invaluable. He cut the engine, grabbed his bag and went down on the deck. Jumper was there with the rope in his hand.

  “You make docking this baby look too easy,” Jumper said, pulling the braided nylon rope tight. He secured the boat’s stern to the dock’s horn. The back of the boat bumped several times against the dock’s fenders, then stilled. Mikhail, with a second rope, secured the bow the same way.

  “After you do it a couple hundred times, I guess it is.”

  Jumper looked up at the white cruiser and nodded. “There’s nothing like a Bayliner Cruiser on the water.” Then he turned to Mikhail. “You’re early. We didn’t expect you until six o’clock this evening.”

  “Actually I’m late,” he said. “I meant to get here at six this morning, but I decided to stop in Marathon to see the folks.”

  “How are your folks?” Jumper asked.

  Mikhail pulled the rope tightly and then looped it several times around a horn, securing the boat. He stood up and sighed as he looked around. “They’re doing well. How’s it going around here?” he asked, and the two men shook hands.

  “Eh, you know the drill, same old same old, they come, they go and a week later they come back. Number three left yesterday, number six came in late last night and number two called. They’re gonna be a day late. Numbers four and five decided to extend their stay for another week.”

  When it came to the eight private beachfront bungalows, Mikhail’s rule was simple and absolute—no names ever. They only went by the cabin number in which they stayed. Over the years they’d had some of the most influential, recognizable and notable people in the world staying there. But the charm was nobody knew it. The guests even came with their own private security and personal staff. Mikhail nodded. “Where’s Cisco?”

  “He’s off the clock. He left out of here five days ago.”

  Mikhail nodded. He knew exactly what that meant. “Okay, so what’s happening today?”

  “I’m taking a rental out later, on a half-day sightseeing and fishing trip. We’ll be back this evening before sunset. We also have a night cruise scheduled. With a slow hurricane season, it seems like everybody wants to be out on the water. They keep coming and we keep renting, especially the sunset cruises. Luther’s taking them out tonight.”

  “A night cruise—is he ready for that?”

  “Oh yeah, he’s certified and good to go. The weather’s supposed to be clear and the sea calm. He should have no problems.”

  “Good, I’m glad to hear he’s ready.”

  “Hey, boss,” Luther said, hurrying toward Mikhail and Jumper.

  The two shook hands. “Luther, how’s it going? I hear you have a midnight cruise this evening.”

  Luther beamed proudly. “Yeah, I did a couple last week and they went great. I’m ready for this. I can do it.”

  “Good for you,” Mikhail said as he began walking down the dock. Jumper followed.

  “Oh yeah, right, you had a visitor,” Luther said.

  Mikhail stopped and turned around. Jumper waved his hand. “Now don’t be bothering the man with all that nonsense. Grab the other bags from the boat’s cabin and get them over to number one.”

  Mikhail watched as Luther nodded and scrambled on board to grab his bags. The two men continued walking. “So, how’s my baby doing?”

  Jumper shook his head. “I had problems with the engine throttle sticking all morning, and it looks like the carburetor’s acting up again, I think it’s gonna have to be taken out and replaced. No sense trying to breathe life into a fifty-year-old corpse. We’re not talking about some outboard twenty-five horsepower model engine here. You got a real engine in there, and it needs to be handled right.”

  Mikhail grimaced. That’s not what he wanted to hear, but he knew Jumper was the best when it came to marine engine mechanics and repair. “All right, order the parts and do what you have to do to restore it.”

  “Yeah, well, I already did. Plus I got a part on hold. I’m gonna take a look at it this afternoon and see if it’s any good.”

  Mikhail nodded again. “So, what’s all this about a visitor?” he asked Jumper.

  “A woman stopped by a couple of times looking for you.”

  “You get a name?”

  “Nah, but she’ll probably be back tomorrow. Been here every morning for the past five days. She’s persistent—I give her that. But not like the others from before. She’s got more class, but mind you she’s still a pest. Walking around in places she doesn’t belong. Luther had to shoo her away from the back dock this morning. Must have left the gate open and she just walked right back.

  “It’s been a long time since we had to deal with the craziness—reporters everywhere, nosing around where they don’t belong just to get a story on you. They don’t care a hill’s beans about people’s lives and what they do to them when it’s all over. All th
ey want is a story. If you ask me they should all be...”

  Jumper continued to grumble about people having no respect for privacy and how the media fed into the fishbowl mentality that everyone’s life was an open book.

  Mikhail nodded his head. It had been a long time since his face was on the cover of every newspaper and magazine in the country. He’d saved four lives and in the process had ended his career. Being recognized wasn’t exactly conducive to working undercover. So now his job was to go out to negotiate and gather information, hardly the action-packed life he had once led.

  “But, like I said, it’s been a long time since all that nonsense went down. I say good riddance,” Jumper added, finally ending his extended tirade. When they got to the end of the dock, Mikhail headed to the office and Jumper turned toward the parking lot. “I gotta head out and pick up a few things. The mail’s on the desk along with a few packages you were expecting.”

  “Okay, I’m gonna stop at the office, then head over to the crow’s nest. I’ll see you later,” Mikhail said, then walked down the narrow path to the marina’s office.

  Fannie, his office manager, was behind the counter, speaking with a couple of customers about taking a fishing boat out. She glanced up and did a double take, then smiled, waved and mouthed the words, “Welcome home.” Mikhail smiled, nodded and kept walking to his office.

  Fannie Hart had spent her entire life sitting behind a desk in Washington, D.C. When she had retired, she’d headed south for a life of leisure. She bought a small house, married the first man who asked her and in less than six months was promptly conned out of everything she had, including her life savings.

  She had worked for the marina’s previous owner and practically run the whole operation. When Mikhail had bought it, he’d kept her on, giving her a well-deserved raise and making her office manager.

  He opened his office door and headed to the desk. He sat down, turned on the computer and then checked the schedule. Just as Jumper had said, they were booked solid. A few minutes into reviewing next week’s schedule, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said, glancing up briefly.

  Luther walked in with a package and more mail for him. “This just came. Also I put your bags in number one. You’re all set.”

  “Thanks, Luther.”

  Luther nodded and turned to leave. Then he turned back around. “Uh, boss, about that lady that’s been stopping by...” he began, then paused.

  “Yeah, what about her?” Mikhail asked.

  Luther shook his head. “I talked to her. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I did.”

  Mikhail stopped and looked up. “You talked to her about what?” He reached over to grab the stack of mail on his desk. He began flipping through, separating it and tossing most in the trash. It may not have appeared that he was paying attention, but he definitely was.

  “Um, she told me her name. It’s Cyanna.”

  Mikhail stopped flipping for a brief second, then continued again. “Cyanna,” he repeated with a smile. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir. I remembered because I once knew this girl from Sierra Leone in Africa, and she was cute and at the time I had no idea where Sierra Leone was, and then I looked it up and I found out it was in Africa and then we had this big—”

  “Uh, Luther, thanks, man,” Mikhail said, stopping him from going on with his story.

  “Oh right, yeah, I, um, just thought you might know her. She said she knew you and that whatever she needed to talk to you about was pretty important.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. Did she say where she was staying?”

  “No, sir. Sorry, but she might be back later today.”

  “Okay,” Mikhail said then watched as Luther walked out and closed the office door behind him. He tossed the stack of mail on the desk and leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Cyanna Dupres,” he whispered aloud, then smiled again. Her brother had worked with him on a couple of assignments. The last time he’d seen her was the day after her brother’s memorial service.

  He reached into his top drawer and pulled out the note she’d left him. He had no idea why he’d kept it but he had. He often wondered what might have happened had he gone back to the hotel room and stayed.

  He stood up, grabbed his bag and the stack of mail, then headed back out front. Fannie was still talking to the same customers. Mikhail paused and nodded to her. She excused herself and walked over. “Hey, welcome back.” She looked his face over more thoroughly. “Some fishing trip—you look exhausted.”

  “Thanks, I’m rested enough,” he said. “Everything okay here?”

  “Oh yeah, we’re good.”

  Mikhail nodded. “I need you to find someone. Cyanna Dupres. She’s probably staying in one of the high-end hotels on the island.”

  She nodded her understanding. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Thanks, call me when you have it. I’ll be in the crow’s nest,” Mikhail said.

  She nodded again.

  He walked out and headed to bungalow number one. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw that Luther had placed his two larger bags in the small foyer just inside the front door. He stepped around them and continued to the kitchen through the living and dining room. Finding everything in place, he grabbed a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator and headed up to his bedroom on the second floor. He took a quick shower, changed and walked up the winding steps to the crow’s nest.

  His office took up the entire top floor. Beams of brilliant sunshine illuminated and bathed the open-air room. He walked over to the huge hurricane-glass window behind his desk and looked out the center pane. The nearly 180-degree scenic waterfront view from his high perch was breathtakingly spectacular. Still he closed the blinds, lessening the light in the room.

  He grabbed his bag and removed his things, locking them safely away. When finished, he sat down and opened his laptop, preparing to get back to his life. As soon as he did his cell phone beeped. There was a text message from Fannie. She’d found which hotel Cyanna was staying at and had her room number and how long she’d been there. “Thank you, Fannie,” he said to the empty room.

  Ten minutes later, Mikhail steered his car through downtown Key West. He pulled up in front of the Key West Gateway Hotel and handed his car keys to the valet. He walked in and continued up to the room number Fannie had given him. He knocked and waited a few seconds. The door opened, and he smiled warmly. He hadn’t seen her in months, but she still looked the same, stunning. “Cyanna.”

  She gasped slightly at seeing him standing there. She had forgotten just how majestic he looked. He was tall, regal, polished and too gorgeous for words. She smiled and sighed. “Mikhail.”

  “So, I hear you’re looking for me,” he said nonchalantly.

  She nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I need your sperm,” she said quickly.

  He froze.

  Chapter 3

  Mikhail had always prided himself on having a keen sense of smell, stealthy movements, perfect vision and flawless hearing. Apparently he’d been mistaken all this time. He’d obviously heard wrong. “Uh, um, excuse me, you what, you need my, uh...what?” He bumbled and rambled, obviously taken completely off guard by her out-of-the-blue request.

  In Special Forces you quickly learn that getting caught off guard and showing emotion of any kind at the wrong time could be at the very least detrimental to a mission, at the most, detrimental to your continued health. And as such, Mikhail was the ultimate stone-faced poker player. He showed nothing—ever—until now. The expression on his face was pure stupefied shock. Of the dozens of requests Cyanna could have uttered at that moment, needing his sperm was the last on his list. No, strike that, it wasn’t even on his list.

  “I need your sperm,” she repeated, more slowly th
is time. The door opened across the way, and an older gray-haired couple stepped out into the hall. They smiled politely then turned and walked toward the elevator. Mikhail hadn’t even noticed them. He just stood staring at Cyanna like she had lost her mind.

  Seeing his reaction, she frowned. Perhaps blurting it out like that wasn’t the best idea. Saying it the second time hadn’t helped the matter much. “Um, maybe you should come inside.”

  He nodded and followed her into her suite. She walked over to the desk and picked up an envelope. She turned, seeing that he had come inside but hadn’t quite recovered from her pronouncement. Well, at least he hadn’t run off. “Okay, yes, I know this is a surprise and a very unusual request, but please hear me out before you say anything. I don’t want anything from you, well, other than the obvious, your sperm. But no child support, no birthday cards, nothing that would attach you to my child. This is just a onetime donation, no ties, no obligations and no commitments. You don’t have to worry. You’ll have nothing whatsoever to do with the child.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly stopped him. The last thing she wanted was for him to turn her down flat before she even got a chance to explain exactly what she needed from him. “Wait, before you say anything, please let me finish. This will be strictly business, totally professional. I even consulted an attorney and he drew up a contract for us to sign. Of course, I didn’t give him your name. We can do that later on or you can have your attorney look it over and fill in the appropriate spaces. I understand that your part of the process is quick and painless and I will of course generously compensate you for your time loss at the marina.”

  She eased closer to him. “I have a list of several facilities around the country that specialize in the in vitro fertilization process and I will fly you to any one of them you feel comfortable with. I’ll pay for everything. All you have to do is...well, you know, and walk away. Men do it all the time.”