Return to the Island (Island Duet Book 2)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Manipulating me. In person,” I barked.

  Branson looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “Let me ask you something. You say what you experienced with each other was intense—“

  “It was. It was real. It was—” Branson stopped me with a look.

  “Let me rephrase. You’re Tack Corbin. Do you honestly think you could be played by that girl? The same girl who you took advantage of first.”

  My mouth popped open to speak, intending to refute him, but Branson’s eyes narrowed, warning me not to argue the point.

  “Do you think she could turn around and take advantage of you?”

  I’d love someone to care for me. About me. Her words whispered through my memory. She didn’t seem like she had the capability to be heartless. I didn’t want to believe she could, but too many times over the course of the past two years, I didn’t know what to believe.

  + +

  As she entered the private dining room, my breath hitched. The air around her was different. Confident. Radiant. The white halter dress she wore accentuated her breasts, narrowing at her waist and flowing softly over her hips. Her hair hung long and loose, a touch lighter from the bark-brown color of years ago, but the curve of her neck held my focus. I hadn’t nibbled her there often enough. The sight of her skin reminded me how she smelled. Tropical. She redefined passion fruit in my mind, because I was tempted by her, and I wanted another bite.

  She hadn’t looked at me yet, but I watched her. I stood my ground, waiting for her to cross to me. She smiled politely as she greeted each person in the room. She hesitated, standoffishly shaking hands with Grover and Mitzi Huffington, an older couple dressed in island fare, from Cap It Off. Their organization focused on knitting, a skill easily taught to women in deprived areas, selling their wares for educational material and teaching women sex education. Juliet’s Mouse Trap was closely related to their group, and I hoped by inviting them she might have the opportunity to discuss strategies and feminine societal reforms within repressed cultures.

  Next were Tom Cross and Mike Alberts, both tattooed and rugged-looking, from RainbowFair. Their organization worked on continuing HIV education, finding experimental drugs and implementing distribution. I liked their group, but they weren’t who I was looking to sponsor. Tom and Mike were smart businessmen, as well as geographically knowledgeable, and I hoped they could help Juliet find additional resources and gain political understanding of segregated groups. When she reached the dark-haired, Native American-looking man near the windows, I had to step forward.

  She twisted in my direction, her head tilting over her shoulder. I’d kissed that exposed shoulder blade the last time I took her, bent over a large tree trunk, slamming into warm heat to fill her. My dick was solid from the memory. I’d been struggling since the moment she entered the room. If I’d only known then that was the last time I’d feel her, have her, I’d never have let her leave my sight. Her eyes raked over my suit-clad body before flipping up to mine. Without thought, my knuckles traced down the length of her sun-kissed arm.

  “Colton Edwin, may I present to you Juliet Montmore?”

  I looked up to Colton for his reaction, ignoring Juliet’s stare. He and I had come to an agreement of friendship when I learned our family’s history with each other.

  “The Juliet,” I enunciated. Colton’s dark brows rose in surprise.

  See asshole, I wanted to say, she is real.

  “Such a pleasure to meet you,” the stunned Colton shook her hand, holding on a bit too long for my comfort. He was doing it on purpose, sensing my displeasure. I eventually reached out and pressed at his arm to release her.

  “I’m sorry. I seem to be at a disadvantage. Do I know you?” she addressed Colton. I spoke for him.

  “Colton Edwin was on my restoration team,” I offered. We hadn’t even said hello yet, and this was the first address I’d given her. This wasn’t going how I’d envisioned.

  She finally looked directly at me, those violet eyes piercing me to my soul and making my palms sweat.

  “Don’t you mean your sabbatical team?” There was a nip to her question—an insinuation. Her remark prompted me to introduce myself, as if we’d never met. In some ways, I wasn’t certain I recognized the woman before me.

  “Terrence Jackson Corbin the fourth,” I offered, extending a hand to shake hers. “But you can call me Tack.” The k-sound snapped as I returned her glare and winked.

  “That’s because he can be a prick,” Colton hissed under his breath, but smiled at Juliet.

  “Juliet Monte. I no longer go by Montmore. That name doesn’t exist for me.” The edge in her voice took on new meaning, and we stared at one another, our hands still holding tight, but the distance between us was longer than the miles between the islands and the mainland.

  Dinner was called to service and I sat at the head of the table. Juliet was escorted to sit to my right, and I made certain her friend Miller was at the opposite end of the table near Abby. As the salad was served, introductions returned anew, each organization sharing tales of their adventures in not-for-profit work.

  “So,” Miller spoke up from his end of the table. “Have you met my beautiful Juliet before? You seem familiar with one another.” I cringed at him calling her his. She was mine.

  “We haven’t met before,” Juliet spoke up immediately. “I’ve never met Terrence Jackson Corbin the fourth.” I noticed her clutching her butter knife, holding it upward as her wrist braced against the table. She slowly reached up and scratched at her neck, eying Miller with a death glare.

  “I see you still aren’t afraid to wield a knife.” I murmured in a voice low enough for only her to hear. Her head whipped to face me, her eyes flaming. I’d seen that look before—the same night she pulled a knife on me. Ignoring me, she turned back to her plate. A strange tension surrounded us and I didn’t like it. This wasn’t the reunion I wanted.

  “Mouse Trap, right?” Tom Cross asked. “That’s an unusual name for a jewelry company.” Juliet seemed to be waiting for her partner to speak, who appeared a bit star-struck with the bearded business man across the table from him. She finally answered herself.

  “Well, it is a bit unconventional sounding, but it has personal meaning. It’s based on the fact that many women are trapped in a situation they can’t get out of or don’t seem to know other options exist out there for them. Our hope is that jewelry design and sales will give them some income and the ability to discover avenues outside their difficult situations.”

  I’d already extensively researched her organization. Her website explained the details of her personal struggle being a woman without much means. She found education to be her avenue toward success. When a difficult situation propelled her off course, she had limited choices without money. She felt trapped. A thought struck me, and the long list of questions I wanted to ask her grew.

  When dinner arrived, I put up my hand to her plate before it was set on the table.

  “She doesn’t like rice. Take it back and remove it from the plate.” The table fell silent at my demand, and I looked up to find several eyes staring at me, one set of which was Juliet. Her brows pinched and her eyes softened.

  “You remember...” Her voice drifted off in question.

  “Everything,” I whispered. Her eyes shifted away from me again. Each time she looked away, I felt the loss and my irritation grew.

  Dinner conversation resumed as plates were passed, but my concentration was scattered. She seemed so distant from me, even sitting a foot away. I wanted to clear the table of dishes and feast between her thighs despite the other guests, reminding her who I was to her. I wanted to do anything that would break this cold war happening between us.

  “You own this resort,” Gordon stated, stuffing green beans in his mouth. Somehow the discussion had shifted to me. “Redemption Resort seems a bit ominous for a vacation spot.”

  I sat back in my seat, tapping a finger over my lips as I looked at him, eying his greased-back, gr
ay hair.

  “I sought redemption once. I ran out of time to prove myself, so this resort became the first of many promises to rebuild things.” I paused. The weight of Juliet’s stare pressed on me, but I didn’t look at her. “I repaired many of the buildings on this very island after the last hurricane.”

  “Calliope? I remember that one. Two years ago, correct?” Gordon added. He glanced at me by lifting his head to look through his glasses.

  “The very one,” I smugly answered, proud of my accomplishments. Three resorts repaired. This one built. The village market restored.

  “Calliope Industries? You named your company after a hurricane?” Juliet’s softened tone startled me. Her eyes were caught briefly by mine before she shifted them down to her plate, where her fork pushed around her food.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Her head shot up to look directly at me.

  “Because the night of that hurricane changed everything for me.” The tension between us grew heavier, pressing down like the wind and the rain we raced to escape that night. The night the two of us sought refuge in a cave, and she made love to me.

  I love you, rang through my head, only her current voice didn’t match the desperate tone of that night.

  Gordon guffawed. “I’ve heard of your adventures during that hurricane season. Camping on the beach. Hiding in a cave. Traipsing the jungle.”

  “Something like that,” I replied, knowing the rumors of my months in hiding made it sound like an adventure instead of banishment. My lips curled slowly as I nodded. In many ways, it had been an adventure, one I wish I could get back. My finger traced my lips as I glanced over at Juliet. Her eyes caught sight of something at my wrist. Without removing my eyes from her, I slipped the green band tucked against my watch upward. Her eyes widened before her brows pinched. She returned to pushing her food around on her plate. The chasm between us deepened.

  “Do you not like your dinner?” I asked, harsher than I intended, leaning forward. Why the fuck wasn’t she eating? She looked too thin.

  Liquid-filled eyes met mine.

  “I think I might have had too much sun and heat today. I find I’m suddenly not feeling well.” She swiped at her cheek, holding her hand against her pinked skin for emphasis. “If you’ll please excuse me.”

  She stood abruptly, and I stood as well.

  “Mouse,” I whispered, but she’d already turned away from me. She swiped at her cheek a second time. Holding up a hand to prevent Miller from following her, she exited the private dining room.

  9

  Juliet

  I returned to my room. It was a luxurious space and guilt riddled me over the king-sized bed with eight pillows. The canopy rippled overhead. The curtains billowed around the open balcony door. I refused to close off the tropical fragrance or the mild heat. Too many months were spent in cooler temperatures in Maryland to pass on this warmth.

  I’d curled onto my bed and let the tears silently fall, tears I hadn’t shed in years for him, over him. My heart begged to be ripped from my chest. It ached for him in a way that made me breathless, and yet, nothing had gone smoothly, just as I had predicted. Damn Miller. We needed the money, but did we need it this badly? My face rolled into the pillow, smothering my tears, as I struggled with the memories. Tack’s hands on my body. His voice in my head. All of it seemed wrong compared to the man who sat to my left at that fancy dinner table. That man was nothing like the man I remembered. His smug smirk. His winking eye. His blatant lies.

  Had the island only been an adventure to him? Camping? Hiking? Was it a luxurious vacation to him after all?

  I drifted to sleep with these thoughts.

  Later I woke with the sensation I was being watched.

  “Tack,” I whispered, knowing he could be in my head, but silently desiring him to be real. He stood at the foot of my bed, surrounded in darkness, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, his clothes from the evening still intact. His hands buried in his pockets. When he knelt on the bed and crawled over me, I knew I wasn’t dreaming.

  “Was I part of the experiment?” he hissed. “Was I just a pawn in your project?”

  My hand came forward. I don’t know if I prepared to slap him or cup his cheek, but he stopped me either way. Suddenly, both my wrists were pinned on either side of my head. His body hovered over mine.

  “No,” I choked. “No, definitely not,” I added louder, rolling my head on the pillow. “I knew nothing about it.”

  “What happened?” he snapped.

  “Lillian. She lied to me. Used me.” We stared at one another, pleading eyes to glaring ones.

  “Did you feel trapped with me? Is that why you took the name Mouse Trap?” He stared down at me, his eyes unfamiliar with their cold glare.

  “No,” I snapped. The tension rolling off of him angered me. “What about you? Were you part of the game? The perpetrator there to taunt the victim? Did you play me so I’d fall—“

  “Don’t,” he barked, breathing close to my lips. “Don’t you dare say what you’re thinking.”

  Both our chests heaved, our breaths coming rapidly. He’d squeezed my wrists, forcing them against the bed as he spoke. I gasped, a memory flashing, and he slightly loosened his hold.

  “I just thought, since it was all an adventure for you, a giant glamping trip…” The harshness to my voice faltered as his eyes opened wider, the green darkening in a way I didn’t remember. A flash of who he had been the first time I lay under him, the night he almost raped me, came to mind.

  “How could you say that?” He growled, the sound guttural and low. I would say what I wanted. His anger infused me with the power to speak my mind.

  “I have a lot to say. I—” His mouth came closer to mine, cutting off my speech. I feared he would kiss me. If his lips touched mine, I didn’t trust myself. I hated him and desired him in perfectly matched intensity. Instead, he paused, his breath caressing my lips. His hands slid forward from my wrists, finding my palms, and his fingers slipped through mine. I clasped his hands in return.

  “I have a lot to say,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to talk.”

  The tropical breeze in the room seemed to heat up to a hundred degrees. His body pressed partially down on mine. The length of him resting just above the achy spot between my thighs. His upper body was still elevated. His strength amazed me.

  “We both know I could take what I want from you,” he warned, his voice sharpening.

  We’re going to play this my way. The eeriness of that memory crawled through my mind.

  “But we both know you want my permission.” I don’t know where the strength in me came from, but I spoke back to him with the same determination, same frustration. I trusted he’d never try to take me against my will. At least, I wanted to believe he’d never go there again with me.

  “I ask for nothing,” he mocked, the coldness of his tone sending a shiver down my spine, but I wasn’t frightened. I was emboldened.

  “You will from me.”

  To prove me wrong, his mouth descended on mine—brash, harsh, punishing. As quickly as he captured my lips, he pulled back. The pressure might have left a bruise. I didn’t recognize him like this. Even that night, that fateful night, he’d asked.

  Just one, he pleaded. He’d never kissed me like this.

  “Tell me how many men have you been with since me?” he commanded.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “You’re my business. Tell me.” He pressed at my hands for emphasis, lowering the weight of his body to rest on mine. I bucked up, searching for friction. My legs desperately wanted to wrap around him and draw him to me. I wanted to prove I had power over him.

  “None,” I hissed. “There’s been no one but you.” My hips thrust forward, but he stilled. He might have even held his breath. The moment gave me a thought.

  “What about Miller?” he harshly whispered before I could speak.

  “He’s my best friend,” I re
plied, almost disgusted at the thought. “How many have you been with?” I demanded, my tone softening with fear. I’d seen the blonde. I recognized her from the articles about him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, allowing his lower body to relax over mine. One hand released mine and cupped my jaw. He’d kiss me next. This was his move.

  “It matters to me,” I said, struggling under his fingers.

  “A few. No one important. No one like—“

  “Get off me,” I hissed. My head struggled to roll away from his grasp. He tightened his hold, nearly pinching me. “Get the fuck off of me.” I could have screamed, but I didn’t want to wake Miller in the next room.

  “Mouse?” His hand released my face and flattened on the bed next to my head. “Where are you?” he whispered, his tone softening to one I recognized. He stared at me, as if he didn’t see me before him.

  I’m still me, I wanted to yell.

  Where are you? I wanted to reply, but it was evident, he’d forgotten. He’d forgotten everything.

  + +

  “Wakey, wakey, cuppie cakey.” Miller’s voice startled me, and I rolled to my back, my head rotating to face the opposite pillow. Tack was gone.

  Last night, he had rolled off of me and laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. I twisted to my side, facing away from him. I thought he’d leave when I presented my back to him. We weren’t the same two people we’d been on the island. He even looked different. His hair was styled. His face shaven. I found no trace of the man I knew. But at some point, he turned into me, his chest pressed against my back. His arm looped over my waist.

  “Let me back in,” he whispered to the nape of my neck. Hesitantly, I reached for him, stroking from his elbow to his wrist to raise his arm against my chest. His fingers fisted with mine until I placed our joined hands over my heart. For the first time in a long time, the pieces came back together, and I realized even more how much I missed him.

  And just like when we were on the island, his disappearance made me question if he had been there at all.