Island Nights

by P. J. Mellor

  He paused, midsearch, to wonder if she was a natural blonde. With her fairness, she probably was, but he’d still have a hell of a good time finding out.

  And, speaking of his meal ticket, why hadn’t she come downstairs yet? What was taking so long?

  Keeping an eye out for her shapely ass in those god-awful tropical-print Capri pants and her screaming yellow shirt, he climbed the stairs and began a search of the guest rooms.

  The idea of peeling Reese out of her soggy clothes held more appeal with each step. His dick twitched, doing its version of a happy dance at the thought of ending its current dry spell.

  With each step, his erection grew. Hell, he knew he should have relieved some pressure back at the boat.

  Where the hell was she? It was getting more and more uncomfortable to walk.

  A soft sound drew his attention.

  At the end of the hall, a glance in one room revealed nothing.

  What he saw at the next door took his breath and damn near brought him to his knees.

  Reese’s wet clothing lay in a pile near the door. On the old iron bed, she lay sprawled on his grandmother’s old Sunbonnet Baby–patterned quilt.

  She was naked.

  Weak light filtered through the old window, spotlighting the erotic show taking place on the bed.

  Eyes closed, Reese was pinching, rolling, and tugging her erect nipple while she pleasured herself with the other hand.

  Riveted, scarcely breathing, he watched her private sex show.

  The slap of her hand echoed in the quiet room. Her plump lips parted, revealing her darkening engorged labia. Her small hand stroked the glistening tissue, rubbed the clearly distended nub. Harder. Faster.

  Her breath hitched, her slender back arching off the sagging mattress.

  Ben grabbed the door frame to keep upright. His cock tried to escape through his zipper.

  Damn it, he knew he should have stuck a condom or two in his pocket before coming upstairs.

  Would it have mattered? Would Reese have been as receptive to his touch, as she was to her own?

  He closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose while he fought for control.

  In his mind, he saw her standing in front of him, smelled her arousal.

  With a shy smile, she’d tug down his zipper and slip her small hand into his boxers to measure his length and hardness.

  He’d pump in her hand and she’d lick her lips. Next thing, his shorts and underwear would be around his ankles. Reese would be kneeling in front of him, taking him into her hungry mouth.

  His muscles flexed. The soft tissue at the back of her throat would caress the tip of his penis, bringing his excitement to a fever pitch.

  She’d smile, pushing her more than ample breasts—and this was where he knew he was dreaming, because there was no way someone that skinny had boobs that big—to surround his cock, encouraging him to thrust between them.

  Close to exploding, he’d pick her up and carry her to the bed. But before he could lay her down, she would produce silk scarves and insist he tie her to the bed first. Since he knew he was dreaming, he went for it.

  Wet. She would be so hot and so wet, it would be difficult for him to stay inside.

  He’d increase his pace, slapping her pelvic bone with his, with each forceful thrust. Deep inside, her canal would contract, milking him. Against his palms, the flesh of her smooth ass would quiver with her excitement.

  She screamed.

  And it wasn’t in a good way.

  She screamed again.

  He opened his eyes to see Reese practically climbing the headboard, the old quilt clutched around her nudity, her eyes wide.

  “What the heck do you think you’re doing?” Her shriek would break the old glass in the windows if she didn’t tone it down a few decibels.

  “Me? I was just …” He noticed the direction of her horrified stare and looked down. “It’s not what you think,” he began, covering what remained of his dignity, as well as his erection, and pulling up his drawers. He didn’t speak again, until he’d zipped his cargo shorts. “Like I said, it’s not what you think. Well, okay, it probably is. But, hell, you were laying there, buck naked, getting off. What did you expect?”

  Wrapping the quilt tightly around her, she took slow steps toward the pile of clothes and picked them up. Then she backed away. “How about privacy? You were downstairs. You said you didn’t want to explore. How was I to know you’d sneak up here?”

  “Sneak! Sneak? I walked normally up the stairs and down that hallway. I can’t help it if you were so busy masturbating that you didn’t hear me.”

  “A gentleman would not have stayed and watched.” She was fumbling around under the quilt, probably trying to get dressed.

  He snorted. “Like I told you before, I’m no gentleman.” His grin was unrepentant. “And, admit it, you were putting on quite a show. Any red-blooded male would have watched.” He made an adjustment. “For what it’s worth, I liked what I saw.”

  She stared, then blinked a couple of times while her mouth opened and closed. “I. Don’t. Care. It was an invasion of privacy.”

  Dressed now, she carefully replaced the quilt.

  “Hey, you saw me too. I’d say that makes us even, Blondie.” Damn, he was so engrossed, he forgot to check to see if she was a real blonde. There was no way she’d agree to another peek, not with the way she was glaring at him. No point in even asking.

  “Yeah, I saw you.” She shoved him aside as she strode from the room. “I wasn’t impressed,” she shot over her shoulder.

  16

  Chest heaving, Reese leaned against the closed bathroom door. How could she go back out and face the grinning hyena that brought her here?

  Heat seared her cheeks at the memory. What on earth had she been thinking? It was so unlike anything she’d ever done. Now she knew why, and planned to never do anything like that again. Ever.

  Not that she’d never masturbated, she had. Well, maybe once or twice. But it had been in the privacy of her own home, not in the deserted room of a dilapidated old hotel, with a stranger watching.

  Her moan echoed from the tiled walls as she sank to the floor.

  Now what?

  She couldn’t stay in the bathroom for the duration of her stay at the hotel. Her head clunked against the door. For good measure, she did it two more times. Maybe it would knock some sense into her lust-crazed brain.

  Straightening her still damp-clothes, she stood. She had a job to do and, by golly, she was going to do it.

  Ben watched her approach with weary eyes, straightening to his full height as she came closer. “You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you, like hit me or get hysterical again?”

  With a sniff, she regarded him through narrowed eyes. “I’m not the violent type, but don’t push it.” Walking imperiously past him, she headed for the last room, near the top of the stairs. “And I was not hysterical. You just, well, caught me by surprise.”

  “I’ll say.” He followed her at a distance, wanting so badly to add he’d caught her with her pants down. But he didn’t have a death wish.

  “Oh!” Her gasp had him picking up the pace, worried she may have stumbled onto something unpleasant or dangerous, like a bum or a wild animal. Yeah, it was an island, but it happened sometimes.

  “What?” He skidded to a stop and bumped her farther into the room. “Sorry. What is it?”

  “The room. It’s beautiful.” Making a slow turn, she checked it all out.

  Ben had to drag his gaze from her and look at the room, hoping he could do it without her realizing he’d seen it before. Many times, in fact.

  It was his grandmother’s room.

  The realization brought a sharp pain of loss, causing his breath to catch for a second. Briefly closing his eyes, he could smell the faint scent of the perfumed dusting powder Gram always wore. It had always reminded him of home. Of safety. Of love.

  He’d been a damn fool to leave when he had, and an even
bigger one to stay away for so long. His resolve tightened.

  He would say anything, do anything, to keep his grandmother’s island and the old hotel she loved. Anything.

  Reese walked to the window seat and lowered reverently down until she sat in the very spot he’d last seen his grandmother sitting, almost five years ago. Reese looked out the window with almost exactly the same expression his grandmother had had too, which was really kind of creepy.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “It’s more than nice,” she replied in a hushed voice, “it’s almost spiritual. Magical. Can’t you feel the love? It’s like it’s pulsing in the air.” She inhaled deeply and Ben zeroed in on her chest, wondering if the ample bust he’d envisioned had really been a figment of his imagination.

  She had no right feeling anything in his grandmother’s room. It was like Reese was violating his privacy.

  “Blondie,” he said, deliberately sounding harsh. “I think you’re probably feeling aftershocks of a different kind of pulsing.” The grin he flashed was as close to a leer as he could get.

  She blinked. “I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like someone like you could possibly understand.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Arms crossed to keep from shaking her, he leaned against the post of the bed. “Try me.” At her widening eyes, he shrugged. “Hey, I can be as touchy-feely as the next guy.”

  “Touchy-feely? Really?” She did an eye roll, which had him clenching his teeth.

  “I was just asking you to explain. Shit, what’s your problem? Is it that time of the month or something?”

  Her gasp gave him a little satisfaction, he maintained, even if he did feel more than a little guilty for throwing out such a typical macho piece-of-crap line.

  “Okay, I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. You want to know what I find so special about this room? I’lltell you.” Hopping up, she paced from one end of the large bedroom to the other. “Well, for one thing, it’s huge. For another, the furniture is gorgeous, obviously good quality and well cared for, as well as the correct scale for the room. All of this equates to a marketable guest room.”

  “Cut the crap. Even I know that’s not what you meant.”

  He watched the movements as she crossed her arms and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Was she cold? Did he care?

  “You’re right,” she said after a few seconds. “While those things are well and good, they’re not what got to me.” She shrugged, the movement causing the wet fabric of her knit shirt to pull into a peak on top of her shoulder, then stay there for a second before slowly lowering. “It’s kind of hard to explain. There’s a warmth in the room, almost like an aura—”

  “Are you saying it’s haunted?” He looked around. He hadn’t thought about ghosts.

  “No, nothing like that! Look how the flowers on the bedspread match the flowers on the curtains, how the color of the paint matches the background of the spread just so. It’s the obvious attention to details that got to me.” She ran a fingertip over the well-polished, smooth wood of Gram’s dresser. “It was obviously well taken care of by the previous owner. It makes me wonder what happened to her. And, yes, before you ask, I know it was a woman. I can feel it, see it.” She gave a little laugh. “I even thought I imagined I could smell her when I first walked in. The room just feels, well, I don’t know how else to explain it, except it feels safe, warm, inviting….”

  He’d always felt that way about the hotel, this room in particular. Of course, he couldn’t tell her that.

  A deep breath brought the faint scent of his grandmother and a surge of regret and sadness, which almost drove him to his knees.

  17

  “I‘m telling you, Bailey, something is wrong!” Paige threw her robe into the open suitcase on her bed and stalked to the closet. “Aren’t you even worried? It’s not like Reese not to call.”

  “Of course, I’m worried.” Bailey edged to sit on the mattress, next to the suitcase. “I guess I’m just kind of surprised you are.”

  Walking back out of the closet, clothes draped over her arm, Paige stopped and stared. “Bailey Ryan, I can’t believe you’re sitting there, being so calm, when our best friend could be in trouble!”

  “Yes, she could be. But, Paige, she’s on an island, away from the stress of her crappy job. She could also be basking in the sun, sipping an umbrella drink. The auction isn’t until next Monday. She’s probably thinking she really pulled one on the Dragon Lady by convincing her she needed to go ten days ahead of time to scope it out.” Bailey’s smile was a tad wobbly. Truth be told, she was worried every bit as much as Paige. “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. Think about it. Maybe Reese would have called if she had had a problem. But maybe, just maybe, she’s having too much fun to contact us.”

  Paige dropped the wad of clothing into her suitcase and glared. “Are you serious? Does that sound like something Reese would do? No, it does not! And you know it too, Bay.” Paige gripped her shoulders and gave a little shake. “C’mon. Call in sick and come with me. I’ll write a doctor’s note. We can go, check on Reese, and be back in a week, two tops. And we both know two heads are better than one. It would be expedient for both of us to go.” She nudged her friend. “Well?”

  “Okay.” Bailey sighed. “But I can’t stay for more than a couple of days, a week at the most, or I’ll never get caught up on my workload.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Paige pumped her fist in the air and gave Bailey a one-armed hug. “Sand Dollar will never be the same!”

  The windowpane cooled Reese’s forehead. She idly watched as her breathing made a little patch of fog.

  Outside, the rain continued to pour, the wind roared, the gray sky turning darker as night approached.

  Just looking at the dismal scenery made her cold, despite the warmth of the hotel. Ben had found some wood stored in an enclosure on the back porch and built a fire in every fireplace. After the smoke had cleared, it was really quite cozy.

  Thought of Ben’s odd expression when she’d laughingly called him a Boy Scout for being so prepared made her a little uneasy. Why would he have such a strange reaction to being compared to a Boy Scout? It didn’t make sense.

  Unless he was really a serial killer.

  Or a serial rapist.

  Or both.

  Heart hammering, she looked down, scanning the area around the hotel for an escape route or somewhere to hide out, if needed, until she could be rescued.

  Rescued. Yeah, like that was going to happen. Rick had been adamant that Ben was her only transportation.

  Maybe Rick was in on it.

  And, if so, what about his wife?

  “Get a grip, Parker,” she muttered, squinting through the drips coursing down the outside windowpane. What was orange down there? Scanning as far into the overgrowth as she could see in the dwindling light, she made out several more orange spots, reflecting the low light. Must be some kind of plant, either the flowers or the leaves turning for the impending fall season.

  “Hey, Blondie!” Ben’s voice echoed in the empty hotel hall. “Did you fall asleep up there?” Pause. “Or did you decide to finish what you started earlier?” There was a definite laugh in his voice.

  Great. Now she had to listen to his stupid sexual innuendo all night.

  “Very funny,” she said as she descended the stairs. “I was just looking out at the weather.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he looked back from poking at the logs in the gigantic fireplace in the lobby. “And?”

  “And nothing.” She joined him by the fire. “It’s still raining with no sign of letting up.” She took in the glow of the room. “Where did you find all the candles?”

  “Same place I found the matches. Most of them were in the big drawer in the back room. But there are candles and matches scattered all over the place, in just about every drawer you open.”

  “Hmm.” She grinne
d up at him. “Must have been owned by Boy Scouts. Get it? Because they’re so prepared?”

  “Yeah, I get it. And I wish you’d drop the Boy Scout references.”

  “Why? What do you have against Boy Scouts?”

  “Nothing! Just drop it.”

  “Ooh. Touchy, touchy. I’m hungry,” she announced. “I have some snacks in my tote bag. Want to share?”

  “Thanks, but I found a bunch of canned food out back. Thought we could heat it over the fire.”

  After they’d dined on green beans, cured pork chops, and sauerkraut, Ben heaved a sigh. Leaning back against the couch cushions they’d stacked by the fire, he rubbed his full belly.

  “That was pretty good.”

  “Yes, it was—maybe you really were a Boy Scout.” He cut her a look. “Sorry. I’ll try to refrain. So …” She looked around the dark room. “Now what?”

  “Now we heat water to wash the dishes.”

  “How?” She stood and followed close behind as he made his way toward the kitchen, carrying the candle.

  “Same way we heated our dinner.”

  “But—oh, sorry,” she said when she bumped into him as he stopped to set the candleholder on the table. “What I meant was how are you getting the water? I tried a faucet and it didn’t work. I assumed there was no running water in the whole place.”

  “And you assumed right, Grasshopper.” Grabbing her wrist, he led her toward the back door. “Watch and learn.”

  Digging in her heels, she tugged. “I don’t want to go out in the rain again! I’m just now drying out.”

  “No problem.” He struck a match and lit another candle, this one on the ledge by the back door. “There’s a pump on the back porch.” He arched an eyebrow. “The enclosed back porch.”

  “But there’s no power—”

  “Not necessary. It’s not an electric pump.”

  She watched as he poured a small amount of water in and primed the chipped red-painted old pump attached to a tin sink on an obviously homemade counter. To her right stood two wringer-type washing machines. “I wonder if that’s how they did the laundry for the hotel.”