Manacled in Monaco

by Jianne Carlo

  One cap sleeve slipped off her shoulder and he couldn’t resist nipping the curve there.

  Sarita yelped, whipped around, and bashed his nose with her knuckles. Rolan stumbled and grabbed the corner of the table.

  Hand clasped to her chest, she said, “You scared the daylights out of me Rolan. Don’t do that again. But, I’m glad you’re here. Look at this.”

  One long finger pointed at a newspaper headline and Rolan groaned.

  “Secret wife, secret son, secret wedding, we have all the gory details,” read the bold, black print. Next to that was another front page screaming, “Their First Fight! Is the honeymoon over before it even began?”

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Someone slipped them under my door this morning. I managed to hide everything from Tony. You live with this daily, don’t you?” She shook her head. “What kind of childhood will my son have? I never even thought about this aspect of marrying you. All my life I’ve lived in the shadows. Today I realized I like them.”

  Sheer will power kept him from shredding the damned rags. Neither he nor Sarita needed this added aggravation. Her cooperation today proved the pivotal milestone for the successful execution of his plans.

  “It’s only for the rest of the year, honey. I’m retiring, remember?” He brushed his lips across her forehead and the familiar citrus scent enveloped him, like a worn childhood blanket, safety, comfort. “Once I’m out of the game, the paparazzi won’t bother us anymore. Think you can hold out for a year?”

  “Can you retire, Rolan? Ever since I’ve known you football has been your whole life.” Head cocked to one side, she met his gaze. “I just can’t see you without football.”

  “Sarita, are you ready? We need to get a move on,” Geoff said, as he entered the kitchen. He checked the gleaming platinum Rolex snug against bronzed skin and added, “The interview’s set for ten.”

  “Let me get a sweater and I’ll meet you on deck. Is Tony ready?”

  “He’s waiting for us.”

  “I’m helping Geoff interview potential chefs for the Glory,” Sarita offered and whirled, long curls flying, out of the galley.

  “I’ll keep her and Tony away until late this evening. Good Luck.” Geoff cuffed his shoulder, gave him a thumbs up, and left.

  Rolan headed to the deck. He and Terry puffed on stogies while waiting for Geoff and his entourage to leave. As they watched the Englishman’s Land Rover slip into traffic, Rolan sighed and he exchanged a wary glance with the captain.

  “Before we leave, you should know Austen caught your ex slipping something under Sarita’s door early AM. Pretty certain it’ll come back and bite you, whatever it was.”

  “Bitch slipped her articles from the rags. As soon as Sarita showed me, my gut told me it was Shannon. When will we leave?”

  “Waiting for Austen to come back. He had to nip into town, said he wouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes or so.” Terry checked his watch. “Any minute now.”

  He heaved a weary sigh and spiked his hair. “Damn, I guess I can’t put it off any longer.”

  “Are you up for it, boyo?”

  Rolan snorted. “I must be getting old. The thought of seducing Shannon leaves me nauseous.” He stubbed out the cigar. “Let’s get this show on the road. Where’s the nurse?”

  “Incapacitated. I slipped a Mickey into her coffee. She’ll be out the rest of the day. As a fallback, I secured her cabin externally. I gave Harry the day off. That leaves you, the first mate, Austen and me. The first mate’ll be too busy with the Glory to be a witness. Rizzo’s in the media room waiting. Austen will monitor everything.”

  “No more excuses. Okay, the minute Shannon’s in my cabin, you start searching hers. I’m gone.”

  Before he could formulate another delay, Rolan spun around and made his way to the stern deck. Shannon strolled through the sliding glass doors before he could even take a seat.

  “Champers? What’s the occasion? And why couldn’t I have breakfast in bed as usual?”

  In the process of untwisting the wire around the champagne cork, Rolan shot her a glance and stopped in mid-action. “Nice outfit, Shan. Everyone’s out for the day.”

  There was a time when seeing Shannon Cartwright wearing a skintight, clinging, almost nipple-baring sheath would have sent him into sexual overdrive. Not today. He popped the cork, and champagne frothed over the top.

  “Sloppy work, Rolan, my love.” She turned around and seized a white napkin.

  Rolan tipped the small vial of Spanish fly in his hand into her champagne glass and filled the glass before she spun back to him.

  “Oh, well that works too,” she said and accepted the glass from him.

  When his back faced her, Rolan checked his flat crotch, emptied the rest of the potion in his glass and topped it with the sparkling wine.

  Half an hour later, the brew kicked into gear for Shannon. Nibbling on smoked salmon and toasted bagels, she ran her hand up his thigh and cupped him.

  “You always gave the best head, babe. That tongue of yours should be patented.” Rolan covered her hand with his and slid it back and forth, praying for an erection.

  “I’m guessing the little Hindu doesn’t cut it?” She licked her lips and leaned closer.

  Go big or go home, Rolan went for the gusto and scooped her into his lap.

  She giggled, an incongruous little girl sound coming from a face hardened and lined by excess.

  He slipped his hand under the soft jersey bodice, found her nipple, and pinched it taut. She moaned and ground her bottom against his groin.

  Sarita’s face, her flushed skin when she climaxed burned his pupils, and his cock finally responded, thickening. “Let’s take this below deck, Shan.”

  Spanish fly turned Shannon’s hands into snaking claws. He scooped her into his arms so she wouldn’t notice his disinterest.

  He loved having Sarita in his arms. Her diminutive form made him feel like a warrior king.

  Shannon’s five eight statuesque figure weighted his arms. By the time he set her on the oversized mattress in the master, his cock had become flaccid again.

  A quick glance at the digital alarm on the bedside table showed it was nearly eleven and he had to keep her occupied for at least a couple of hours. Shannon stripped in between cheerleader moves.

  Images of prom night and Sarita on the fifty-yard line danced in his head.

  She tugged his T-shirt off.

  Conducting mechanical sexual foreplay, his mind torn between guilt and revulsion, but his prick didn’t care and reacted automatically.

  As he suckled Shannon’s breasts, he visualized Sarita’s.

  “Get to the point, sweetie. My pussy needs some attention.”

  One eye on the clock, he pinched one nipple and rubbed her moist folds. Her hips lifted off the mattress and she snapped, “For Chrissake Rolan, get undressed and put that hard cock inside me. I’d forgotten how much you turn me on, baby. Either stick in your cock or a couple of fingers. I’m nearly there.”

  He’d forgotten her vocal crudity. Back in high school it’d turned him on, but now her vulgarity held no appeal. Another image burned his pupils, that of Sarita blushing the first time she’d said, “Lick my pussy.” Reaching over, he turned up the volume on the intercom and the lyrics of “You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet,” filled the cabin.

  Writhing naked on the bed, eyes closed, bottle blonde hair streaming across the pillow, Rolan worked his fingers in and out of her. Realizing she wasn’t near climax, even with the added Spanish Fly incentive, he brought the other hand into play, pinching her nipples.

  “Harder,” she commanded. “For Chrissake, put some muscle into it.”

  Bitch. He twisted one nipple, pulling on it, and she squealed like a stuck pig, arched off the bed, and drenched his fingers. A gust of cold air hit the back of his neck. He shifted and froze.

  Sarita.

  Their eyes met for an instant, hers brimming. A lone tear spilled down one cheek. />
  It’s not what you think, he wanted to scream, but couldn’t get past the lump that clogged his throat.

  Shannon’s thighs closed around his hand. Horrified, he looked down at the visual Sarita had seen. Whipping his fingers out of her, he shot to his feet, but Sarita had vanished.

  Rizzo stood in the doorway. “Frickin’ hell.”

  “Did you get it?”

  “Yep. Done. Sorry it took so long.”

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  Rolan’s gaze shifted to Shannon’s features drawn into a mask of malice.

  “I have the tape, Shannon. Your little blackmail scheme’s busted.”

  “What a stupid jock ass you are, Paxton. I have more than one copy. Either you pay me five million or that tape goes public. I have two newspapers and at least three televisions bidding for it.”

  “Game’s over Shan. I also have the three copies that were in your Manhattan condo.”

  That got her attention and she bounded out of bed. Fists clenched, she stalked over to him. “You can’t. How did you know?”

  “Does it matter? I have them all.”

  “That’s what you think,” she spat and slapped his face, hard. “You’ll pay for this, Paxton.”

  Showing not an ounce of modesty, she grabbed her clothes off the floor and stomped out of the cabin buck naked.

  “Jesus,” Rolan said and tunneled one hand through his mussed hair. He caught a waft of Shannon’s musk and gagged. “I need a shower. Jimmy, check on Sarita, will you? Jesus knows how I’m going to talk my way out of this one.”

  “If I were you, I’d go for the truth. Anything else will come back to bite your ass. I’ll get Terry to make the bitch leave and I’ll go to Sarita. I have the bitch’s copy of the lease, by the way. Didn’t want to chance anything.”

  “Good move.”

  In quick order, Rolan stripped and showered, his thoughts tangential. What had happened? The plan had been for Geoff to keep Sarita and Tony occupied for two hours, two lousy hours. Yet, here it was less than an hour later, and she’d burst in on them. Why?

  What to do? Find a plausible explanations for Sarita interrupting him bringing Shannon off? He thunked his head against the tiled shower stall Had he found his true mate only to lose her because of that bitch Shannon?

  He’d just finished dressing when the cabin door opened.

  “What the hell happened, Geoff? How’d you screw up like that?”

  And then he noticed the cast on the man’s forearm, the pale cast to his skin. “Crap. What happened to you?

  “Fender bender that went awry. Sorry, Rolan, it was out of my hands. Law got involved. Broke my wrist, had to have an operation, they put two pins in it. I came as soon as they would let me. Sarita came back to get you, left Tony with me. I tried, I really tried to make her stay.”

  Rolan sank onto the bed. “Jesus.” He buried his face in his hands.

  “But, it gets worse, chappie.”

  “What?” He lifted his head and snorted. “Couldn’t possibly.”

  Geoff held up a sheet of paper, an envelope was in the other hand.

  “Sarita and Tony are gone. She resigned.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Three weeks later, Sarita stared at the Miami Herald’s headline and her stomach flip-flopped. “Paxton High School Sex Tape a Fraud Says Expert.” The extra large bold letters seemed to emphasize the lines of exhaustion bracketing Rolan’s mouth in the accompanying photo.

  “Skipper Jack said newspapers and politicians are all part of a huge conspiracy to deceive the public.” Tony tossed a football from one hand to another. “I figure what that means is, you can’t always believe what you read.”

  “You’re wise beyond your ten years, Anthony Rolan Paxton.” Despite her moroseness, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Come here.”

  “Aw, Mom. I’m getting too old for all these sissy hugs,” Tony protested, but walked into her outstretched arms and gave her waist a football-edged squeeze. “Dad didn’t do it, you know.”

  She yanked backward and studied her son’s clamped mouth and blazing eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just am. He’s not that kind of guy. ’Sides, he’s my dad.” Tony planted the football on the Key West blue-tiled kitchen counter. “Skipper Jack’s taking me fishing, Mom, in the row boat. We’re gonna stay in the bay, so you can come and watch us if you want.” He shrugged out of her embrace. “See you on the pier?”

  Accustomed to her son’s abrupt change of subjects, Sarita ruffled his hair and replied, “Definitely. I want a nice little snapper for dinner.”

  “Aw, fish again?”

  His mouth crooked down and he looked so much like his father at that moment, her heart jockeyed with her brain and won an internal battle. Refusing to over-rationalize her actions, she booked two flights to Boston for the following day and began packing.

  Time to stop running.

  Her instinctive flight reaction, one she thought she’d eradicated, had dictated all her movements after seeing Rolan’s fingers in Shannon’s…no, she couldn’t even finish the thought. Tony believed in his father. Why couldn’t she muster the same faith in her husband?

  Because buried deep in her soul, she had internalized all the childhood taunts about being a mongrel, unworthy and unlovable. Hadn’t the past ten years taught her differently? The shock hadn’t worn off for two weeks. She’d walked around in a dazed numbed trance and not one fellow human being noticed. Reading that newspaper headline had jump-started her brain. She dusted off her hands and surveyed the two packed suitcases. Right. They’d have to drive to Miami this afternoon and stay in the airport hotel tonight.

  Thank goodness Geoff had insisted on paying her, although she’d have to return the other eighteen thousand dollars he had wired to her US account. A sudden thought arrested her fingers as she strapped on sandals. The tape the newspaper mentioned had to be of Shannon and Rolan on Homecoming night. She read the article all the way through twice. Inspiration didn’t strike, so she made her way to the pier.

  They’d taken two weeks to travel down to Key West, exploring each of the major isles along the way. Staying in mom and pop motels, they hit Key Largo, Islamorada, Key Marathon, and Big Pine Key. Tony had tanned Brazil nut brown within a couple of days because he spent every waking moment in the water or on the beach. His self-confidence now rivaled Rolan’s.

  She spied Tony and Skipper Jack, a wizened ponytailed sixtyish hippie, a flower child exile, in his Boston Whaler heading for the jetty. Tony hopped onto the pier and helped his bearded companion secure the boat. He waved good-bye, spun around, and sprinted to where she stood.

  “I caught a yellowtail, but Skipper Jack said it was too small, so we threw it back into the sea. No fish tonight.”

  His exuberant shout barely reached her ears as a wind gust blew across the wooden planks. Tony caught up to her and she told him about their flights to Boston the following day. He did a warrior’s dance, yelling, “Woo-woo,” along the narrow path to their cottage. Since she’d packed everything and checked out, they transferred their belongings to their rented Ford Focus and began the journey.

  Her son chatted all the way to Miami, flinging out question after question about Rolan, football, a new school, and being able to go to father and son night. That last one tripped her heart. Could she erase that picture of Rolan’s fingers up…but she shook her head and refused to go there.

  That night lying in bed, head cradled in her hands, Sarita acknowledged she loved Rolan Anthony Paxton, had always loved him, and there would be no other man for her. Given that fact, her options in this situation proved limited, or rather settled into one ‑‑ she had to find a way to forgive him.

  First thing the following morning, she called Geoff. Both he and Terry were staying at Rolan’s house in Salem.

  “Is Rolan there?”

  “No, he’s with Suresh and his publicist. They’re preparing for a press conference this afternoon.”<
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  “Tony and I are flying in on the morning flight. We leave in an hour. Can you pick us up, Geoff? But please don’t let Rolan know as yet.”

  “He doesn’t need any more surprises.”

  “Can you just trust me on this, Geoff?”

  “I do trust you, Sarita. I’ve seen the way you look at Rolan, as if he’s some sort of comic book superhero. He’s human just like the rest of us and he makes mistakes. We all do.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s going to be all right,” she said and set the hotel phone back on its base.

  The three-hour flight didn’t prove as nerve-wracking as she had anticipated. Tony put the Ratatouille DVD on and the charming tale kept her engrossed. Before she knew it, they had wheeled their suitcases out of the baggage area to meet Geoff.

  An hour later, they arrived at the Pats’ new headquarters, a two-storied building that took up a whole block.

  “It used to be a sports club,” Geoff said and wriggled elegant fingers in the direction of the gleaming white building. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sarita?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, gritting her teeth. “Just promise me you’ll get Tony out of there right after I make my announcement.”

  “No worries, love.” Geoff chucked her chin. “You’re one fine woman. And your faith in Rolan will be vindicated. You need to hear everything from him.”

  The man had been deliberately vague with Sarita, refusing to explain the scene she’d interrupted on the Glory. And the nebulous “everything” had the butterflies in her stomach swarming like locusts. She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

  They met no one in the deserted hallway leading to the gymnasium. A makeshift stage and podium occupied the corner of the almost empty gym. About fifteen rows of metal chairs formed a rectangle in front of the raised wooden platform. Curtains lined the high wall behind the stage and two separate sets of steps bracketed each end. Geoff, Tony, and Sarita stood behind the blue drapes on the left side.