Return to the Island (Island Duet Book 2)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Looks like we had a visitor? Did someone get lucky last night?”

  My head spun to Miller. His brows wiggled as his eyes suggestively shifted to the dip in the pillow next to mine.

  “No one got lucky last night,” I snorted, combing through my long hair.

  “Well, you didn’t, at least.” He winked.

  “Who?” I giggled.

  “My secret,” he said. “Now get out of that bed.”

  “You give new meaning to the term manwhore,” I said, falling back against the pillows with a false laugh. “I can’t do it. I can’t face him today.”

  The mattress dipped as Miller sat next to me.

  “Etty, you can’t keep hiding from him. You said you loved him once. Based on the way he looked at you last night, I’d say he still feels the same way about you now.”

  I stared at Miller. Look who was imagining things now, I thought.

  “Just say I have a headache. I promise this morning will be the only time. I’ll participate fully in every other activity.” I could not face Tack yet, my emotions in too much turmoil.

  “Just this one time.” Miller scowled but the look didn’t work for him. He couldn’t pull off tough. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

  Each organization was scheduled to pitch to Tack and his team with excursions to the local market later in the day. I decided to see the market while the pitches were happening. I was familiar enough with island markets as Miller and I visited some when we started our organization. We saw what sold. We saw what didn’t, and we decided what products to make from there. Our most popular item was still the leaf-material bracelet. Tack had some variation of that bracelet on his wrist, but it wasn’t mine—the original one he promised to never take off. I couldn’t imagine it lasted. Two years was a long time, and as he’d told me, there had been others.

  Miller was better at pitches, anyway. Donation solicitation was his expertise. He understood the business end and our financial needs better than me. He could sell snow to an Eskimo and have him pay double for it. My comfort level rested in the creative aspect, as the idea person, and I wandered aimlessly through the market stalls, handling jewelry for texture and material. I admired other wares, like reed baskets and woven trunks, but for now we wanted to stick to the personal accessories. The Mouse Trap items were intended to accessorize with natural materials of grass, leaves and stone, instead of precious metals like gold and silver.

  As I wandered, so did my thoughts to Tack’s aggressive behavior the night before. It was so unlike him, and yet, I didn’t know him anymore. In fact, I’d known him for less than three months. Maybe who he was on the island was false. Maybe those kisses hadn’t been real. Maybe our time together had been faked. My heart ached with the thought.

  I decided to walk up the sloping hill to our resort and stared at the water in the distance as I climbed. I didn’t want to believe that Tack played another man on our island, but I didn’t know true from false. I’d thought Lillian was my friend, my mentor, my advisor—and all I’d been to her was a lab rat. When I didn’t give her what she wanted, when I refused to admit the truth of Tack’s existence and our relationship, she no longer supported me. Her damning article of my dissertation nearly destroyed me, but I no longer cared about the degree. I wanted to help other women earn money and find the means to be better educated. I didn’t want others to end up like me. I’d worked hard, but it hadn’t been easy. I could have used a helping hand along the way. I thought Lillian was that for me. The only fortunate event from her experiment was the fifty thousand dollars awarded me for lost income. I’d known nothing about a monetary reward, but I took the money and invested in my company. The restoration council enforced the remainder of the year-long sentence through probation. I didn’t miss a meeting.

  I didn’t understand how Tack couldn’t see that I would never have betrayed him. I didn’t want to give out his name or reveal his presence on the island with me. In many ways, it was because I held that time sacred. While I hadn’t committed perjury in my dissertation, I hadn’t been one hundred percent honest. Seeing him had been a vision quest. He molded to what I needed, and I learned from him. I found strength through him, and I thought I found love. I earned forgiveness and gave it. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. I loved him. I couldn’t change those feelings.

  When I returned to my room, I quickly changed into a bathing suit and went down to the beach. I didn’t want to be around the resort, wondering where Tack was, trying to avoid him. It was easier to go down to the water, but sitting near the clear sea, staring out at that turquoise blue color, brought a wave of memory. The images crashed and collided as I sat on my towel, sifting the sand through my hand as if I could dig to another land. I wanted to excavate my way back to a different time.

  Miller texted me and said the pitch went well. Tack hadn’t asked about me.

  I didn’t ask if he did, I replied.

  But you wanted to know, he typed.

  I fell back on my towel. I didn’t want to think of Tack but he consumed me, just like he did on the island. Restless, I sat up again and stared out at the sea. I noticed people parting the way several feet out, and I sat forward, expecting someone to yell shark, which wasn’t common in the bays around the islands. It could have been a sea turtle, and I waited with anticipation like those around me.

  Suddenly a man broke the surface, snorkel gear secure around his head. He removed the snorkel and the mask, tipping his head in a manner to swipe away the access water in his hair. It was a scene I’d viewed before—Tack exiting a bay. I stared at his physique. We’d swum together in water this pure. We talked on a beach this brilliant white. We laid on the sand under the stars. And all of it was gone. My lips pursed with distant fond memories as I watched him slowly break the water while he walked back to shore. His stature was imposing, his steps assured. He was a confident man who appeared without a care in the world, but intensity rested on his shoulders. I couldn’t look away.

  Then a swatch of blonde ran for the edge of the water and leaped for him just as he hit the beach. Staggering back, he caught her in his arms as her legs kicked up from her body. He set her back on her feet, and she continued to hold him around the waist as they walked up the sand. They were a beautiful couple.

  A few others, he’d said. No one important.

  She definitely seemed important. She had an ease with touching him, something I’d always been hesitant about. When I wasn’t trying to force him to sleep with me, I was scared to be tender. I feared his rejection. I could recall less than five times that I initiated touches or kisses, the last time being one of them.

  I’ll find you, I promised after I kissed him, but I’d been whisked away.

  I watched the golden couple saunter up the beach and pulled my eyes away when my heart pinched, signaling it could take no more.

  10

  Tack

  She avoided me again. After the morning pitches, where I took note of her absence, I went to the beach to snorkel. A dip in the ocean would calm me, or so I thought, until Abby rushed me at the water’s edge. I figured some paparazzi were hiding in the bushes, with her public display of affection. She wanted the cameras to catch us. I, however, did not. While I was convinced Juliet wouldn’t read a society page, a quick search of the internet would provide numerous images of Abby and me. After Juliet’s anger, I sensed she wouldn’t understand the relationship. We were friends. It was the other girls that worried her.

  I hadn’t been an angel. My dick had dipped where it shouldn’t have after one too many drinks or a frustrating evening of self-doubt about Juliet’s true feelings. I wasn’t excusing myself, just admitting my weakness. Juliet could add it to my list of guilts. The tension stood sharply between us when I entered her room last night. While I thought she’d forgiven me of my past indiscretion with her, thought she’d understood what happened in our original encounter, the memory had not been forgotten. It didn’t help that I threatened her, and then the Mouse
I knew returned.

  Her eyes flamed. Her nostrils flared. She yelled at me.

  The bite of her tongue only spurred me on. I’d wanted her even more than before, and I wanted to act on it. Almost. But I couldn’t be like that with her. I wanted so much more, and she had me pegged. I wanted her permission.

  I sighed in frustration as I prepared for another night of seeing her in a crowded room. Dinner was scheduled this evening in the Spanish restaurant at the resort. Local fare and the daily catch were on the menu. No rice. She’d caught me. Abby’s eyes narrowed at me as well, as I’d lied, said I didn’t know Juliet, and then mentioned the damn rice. Juliet told me about a maggot experience on the island, and how it soured her palate for rice. She seemed startled I’d remember such a small detail, but I remembered everything.

  I crossed the relatively empty bar, as it was before the dinner hour. Miller was seated at it, watching some news report, and checking his phone.

  “Who are you to her again?” I mockingly demanded as I walked up behind him. I was aware he was her business partner. She said he was her best friend. He’d done an excellent presentation on their financial standings, their future goals and their needs. But I hadn’t been able to ask him what I really wanted to know during the meeting with the other committee members present. I wanted to know if he fucked her. He demanded to share a room with her, but I couldn’t figure out their relationship. I suspected his sexual orientation, but that didn’t mean he didn’t dabble both ways, and I knew Juliet had a pension for curiosity. The conversation about domination and submission was a distant memory.

  “Miller James, that’s who,” he smirked, tweaking an eyebrow. Was he trying to be funny?

  “What are you to her?” I snarled. He spanked the back of my hand as I fisted his tie.

  “Don’t grab the Gucci.”

  “You’re gay,” I blurted, direct enough to want confirmation.

  “Well, duh,” he replied.

  “Does she know?” I idiotically asked.

  “Of course,” he snapped, struggling to remove my hand from his tie, but I wasn’t done yet.

  “Have you fucked her?”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that,” he snapped, his anger answering my question. He hadn’t.

  “Then why you?” It didn’t make sense.

  “Because I’m safe.” His eyes roamed downward to my hand near his throat. Instantly, I released him, smoothing down the skewed tie.

  “Does she need saving?”

  “No,” he scoffed. “She’s the strongest woman I know.”

  I sighed in frustration. “Is it men? Are men constantly hitting on her?” Juliet was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. While she looked different last night with a touch of make-up and lighter hair, I knew what she looked like without all the fuss. She was breathtaking.

  Miller snorted. “No. She’s too blind to notice her appeal.”

  “Blind?”

  “She doesn’t see them.” His eyes shifted down to his phone.

  “Why not?”

  He spun in his seat to fully face me.

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe a broken heart in the past.” One brow tweaked upward again. “She’s good at holding up a shield.”

  “She’s broken,” I whispered, my heart clenching with the thought.

  “Certainly, you aren’t that blind,” he sarcastically sneered. I glared back at him.

  “Brenda, call the front desk. Get Miller James a new room,” I said to the bartender behind the bar.

  “What? Why?” he snapped, tiny eyes narrowing on me like he wanted to chew me alive. We stared at one another, an understanding ensuing between us.

  “Surely, you aren’t blind, either.”

  “If you hurt her again, you’ll feel my wrath,” he threatened, his voice a touch too feminine to take seriously.

  “Why do I sense you might like that?” I smiled sheepishly, noting this man was no threat.

  “Get over yourself, millionaire.” Miller turned back to his phone.

  “I’m not going to harm her. I’d never touch her unless she let me.” He stopped texting, and the hesitation informed me he knew all the details of our past. “It will never happen again,” I added, lowering my voice. Never again, because she was going to let me in. She had to.

  11

  Juliet

  “Miller,” I called out when I heard the faint click of the hotel door. “You’ve got to try this body wash. It smells like…” My voice faltered as I stood in the shower. Like a tropical island. The fragrance assaulted me—fruity and sweet mixed with rain showers. Almost an exact replica of the scent on the island, I held the container up to my nose, deeply inhaling and allowing more memories to flash through my head. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in and opening them slowly to find a man beyond the steamy glass enclosure. He might have been distorted, but there was no doubt who it was. He came to rest on the tile at the edge of the shower.

  “Do you always make it a habit to break into guest’s rooms?” I snapped, not even bothering to cover myself. Shampoo dripped from my hair, and I stepped back into the spray to rinse. My eyes watched his roam my body. I swiped at loose suds slipping down my breasts, listening for the soft splat of them hitting the tile at my feet, while Tack stood casually propped against the wall with one shoulder. Bare feet, dress pants and shirt sleeves rolled up, he looked like a man who’d had a long day at the office.

  Without responding to me, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, one buttonhole. At. A. Time. I swallowed as I watched the deliberate striptease. Hard lines of tan skin were exposed with each button until the hint of hair graced his waist. He tugged the shirt from his pants and let it fall to the floor. Without thought, my hands caressed down my sides to my thighs. My fingers itched to reach forward, dipping into the curls at the apex of my legs and rub the achy folds within. The clink of his belt drew my attention. He slipped his pants and underwear down his legs and stepped out of them into the doublewide shower.

  “The only habit I’ve had since leaving the island…” he began as he stalked closer to me, “…was searching for a mouse that nibbled at my heart.” Our eyes locked. My back hit the coolness of the tile despite the steamy water. He’d caged me in with the warmth of his body.

  “Where have you been?” he whispered, leaning his forehead to mine. My eyes closed with his nearness, the heat of his body increasing the rhythm beating at my core. My fingers twitched to touch him. His forearm rose to rest next to my head.

  “I can’t do this,” I whimpered as my breathing shallowed. His presence was too much.

  “Because of him?” The implication was clear.

  “Miller’s gay.”

  Tack smirked, as if he knew. Of course he did.

  “It’s because you aren’t the same. You’ve forgotten who you were,” I added.

  “But I remembered as soon as I returned,” he said, his fingers combing into my hair.

  “No,” I corrected. “You don’t remember who you were from the island. You forgot who you were there.” My eyes begged him to remember, but the coldness still existed at the edges of his moss green eyes.

  “I didn’t forget.” His fingers slipped through my wet hair to the nape of my neck. “It wasn’t real, remember?” The sarcasm in his voice hurt, as his hands and his eyes traced over the curve of my shoulder. “That’s what your dissertation said.”

  My breath hitched. He’d read my dissertation?

  “I had my reasons to say those things,” I whispered. “But it felt real to me,” I added, lowering my voice even more as my eyes fell to the water trickling down his bare chest, mixing with the subtle patch of hair. Shaky fingers reached out for his abs and worked their way upward over the hills and valleys of him.

  “Then why did you disappear?”

  “I didn’t,” I said, but I couldn’t explain it with him this close. His fingers skimmed down my arm and then skipped over to just under my breast. He pressed upward, lifting the w
eight without actually touching me there. My nipples stood at attention, both ripe and begging to be caressed, but he continued to map out my body, moving along the curve of my side to my hip. His other arm remained near my head exposing his side. I circled over his broad chest before tickling my fingers below his arm.

  “What does it say?” I asked, letting my finger drag a line over his tattoo and then draw back in the opposite direction.

  “Read it,” his voice dipped as his fingers traveled over my lower belly, mimicking the tenderness of my fingers on him. My skin prickled. Goosebumps rose. I wanted him closer to me.

  “’I am beginning to understand,’ said the little prince. ‘There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me.’” My eyes shot up to his but his remained focused on the path he worked over my skin. Swiping back and forth over my lower abs, tickling and tempting me with the tenderness of his touch, my tongue felt thick with the need to lick him.

  “The Little Prince?” My voice caught.

  His lips curled but he didn’t fully smile. Fingertips returned to my hip and traced down the curve of my thigh as far as he could reach while standing. My hand curled to cup his side and traveled south to his hip. Just touching him in this tantalizing manner had me wet and anxious for something more from him. When my fingers began to skim the flat expanse leading to the thick length resting between us, he gripped my wrist, preventing me from further exploration. Holding my wrist, he lowered to one knee, kissed my palm and returned to outlining my body. Both hands met my ankles, and he worked his way slowly upward, skimming my shins and wrapping around to my calves, dipping into the back of my knees before rounding to my thighs once again. It was as if he were memorizing my body, mapping out a long- forgotten land. He stood, drawing fingers closer to that coveted place, the place longing for his touch. My fingers had combed through his hair while he knelt but slipped down his arm as he drew up to his full height. My breathing labored. The beat at my core begged for him.