Monroe, Melody S. - Hidden Fantasy [Fantasy Resort 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Melody Snow Monroe

  “I did.”

  “How about if I engage your services while you’re here in lieu of payment? You’ll be considered an employee with fantasy benefits.”

  Not having to pay would be great, but she still wasn’t so sure about the fantasy part. She had little choice, however. “Works for me.”

  * * * *

  Larissa stepped out of the tub after a fabulous half-hour soak. The complimentary wine helped relax her achy and tense muscles, and the soft, terry cloth robe rubbed deliciously against her warm skin. This was the first time in weeks she’d not been afraid.

  Given she was asked not to leave her room, she dropped onto the bed. She’d rest for just a second then change before her bodyguard arrived. She closed her lids and let herself drift to a happier place. The soft knock didn’t register at first, but the latch opening had her sitting up too fast. Her heart pounded against her chest, and the light-headedness took a moment to dissipate. She opened her mouth to shout for help, but the vision of the exceedingly handsome man at the door with his hands held high stopped her.

  She slapped a hand over her chest. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  He didn’t move. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I swear I knocked. I was afraid that son of a bitch ex-husband might have gotten to you.”

  When his gaze drifted to her chest, she looked down. My God. Her breast was completely exposed. She pulled her robe tight to cover her nakedness. Thank goodness the material hadn’t gapped open below her waist. She would have been totally mortified. “That’s okay.” I think.

  When he smiled, something deep inside of her spun out of control. The swirling sensation seemed to be akin to lust, something she hadn’t experienced in way too many years, if ever.

  Sure, he had broad shoulders and long, muscular legs. And yes, his hair was spun gold like the sun on a summer day, and he had the greenest eyes she’d seen on a man, but looks could be deceiving. God only knew Phil had fooled her with his appearance, but at this very moment she couldn’t exactly remember why hunky men were bad.

  She crossed her legs, trying to look as proper as one could, given she was naked underneath the thick terry cloth. “My name’s Larissa.”

  She held out her hand, pretending she was in a courtroom and was being cordial with the defense attorney.

  “I’m Chase.” He stepped toward her and shook her hand.

  His fresh, lemony scent seemed as if he, too, had come from the shower. The back of his hand held a large scar. Because the skin was puckered and discolored, she tried not to flinch when she took hold.

  “Got a speargun through the hand.”

  He read minds? “I bet that hurt.”

  He shrugged and acted as if the injury had been a mere inconvenience instead of one that probably required a lot of rehab to make his hand function again. Despite really wanting to know how that had happened, the fewer questions she asked, the fewer he might ask of her.

  He pulled out a chair and propped up his feet on the desk. Only now did she notice the scuffed cowboy boots and large belt buckle around his slim hips. Had she even had a hint her bodyguard would be so disarmingly delicious, she’d have taken the time to blow-dry her hair and put on makeup. Getting dressed was a given.

  He fiddled with the half-empty wine bottle on the desk. “I know you just got here, and we don’t know how long you’ll be staying, but the best way to forget your worries is to immerse yourself in the culture here. As it so happens, a competition is going on tonight that I think we can win.”

  “Competition?” She pictured a three-legged race or some kind of relay race. She wasn’t up for any kind of exertion as exhaustion had claimed her body and her mind.

  “Once a month, Rod holds a contest, each one different from the previous one. This month it’s a body-painting affair. The guides who plan to enter put in twenty-five dollars, and the winner takes home half the pot.” He grinned, acting as if he had the money already in his pocket.

  The word body tensed her muscles. “Can you explain a little bit more?”

  “It’s easy. We pick an object, like an animal, or maybe a scene, and I paint you to look like that thing.”

  She held up her hands as if to fend him off. “I don’t think so.” No way would she be willing to have him touch every crevice of her body, even if the contact was made with bristles.

  “Well, darlin’, I’m not really asking. You gotta look like you belong or someone will start asking questions.” He pulled out his phone then quickly tucked it back in his pocket. “The contest begins in four hours. Why don’t you slip into a bathing suit?” He winked. “From the way you’re holding that robe, I don’t think I could convince you to pose naked for me. Or could I?”

  Her mouth dropped. “Absolutely not. You’re a stranger.” And I haven’t had sex in about seven years. She held his gaze for a good fifteen seconds. Clearly, he wasn’t going to budge, and the owner had said if she wanted the protection, she needed to do whatever he asked. “Wearing a suit is just fine.”

  He grinned, and she refused to address what that did to her traitorous pussy. Getting wet over a hot cowboy, indeed. Where was her head? Okay, he looked a little older than her, but the attraction was plain wrong. It had to be. She knew nothing about him, so there couldn’t be any kind of emotional connection.

  She pushed her frustration aside because she knew there was nothing she could do about the stupid fantasy cover-up. There was no law saying she had to like having him paint her. She just wasn’t going to react in any way when he stood close and moved the brush intimately across her body. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen.

  Since he hadn’t leered at her or made any lewd comments, she figured he would behave himself if she insisted. Shayna said the guides were forbidden to have sex, and that worked for her.

  She stood and moved over to her suitcase. Once she found her suit, she strode into the bathroom and locked the door, giving him no chance to sneak a peek.

  Good thing she’d grabbed her yellow two-piece at the last minute instead of the red-striped one-piece. She would have looked kind of dumb with a pattern on her skin next to the red design. She sighed. Perhaps she should have chosen to stay in a different hotel each night. That way she wouldn’t be faced with having to pose for this obscenely hunky man. Then again, there’d be no one to protect her if Phil found her. She inhaled, realizing she had to do what Chase said.

  So as not to keep him waiting, she donned her suit, pulled her too-curly hair up into a ponytail, and stepped back into the room.

  “Wow. You are hot, darlin’.”

  Heat flooded her face. Phil never said she looked hot. In fact, he criticized almost everything about her once they tied the knot. After the divorce she spent at least an hour every day at the gym, whenever possible, wore baggy clothes, and avoided men. She had to admit, it was nice to hear a compliment that sounded so genuine.

  She glanced around the room. “So where are the paints?”

  “I got a room set up for it. I’m thinking the maids wouldn’t like it if we got a bunch of pretty oil colors on the nice furniture.”

  “True.”

  “Go throw on your robe and slippers and follow me.”

  She loved the soft pastels of the room and the huge bed and would have preferred to stay here, but she understood wet paint ruined fabric. She hoped his room wasn’t too small. Even being in her large one-bedroom suite with Chase stirred up girlhood dreams of a knight to the rescue.

  As they walked down the hallway, he kept to her side, his gaze seeming to check out each couple they passed. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had cared about her well-being other than herself.

  “Can you describe your ex-husband?” He kept his gaze straight ahead as if he expected Phil to jump out at them.

  It took a moment for her to understand the reason for his question. “Sure. He’s five ten, maybe one-eighty, dark brown hair, cut short, and looks as if he goes to a spa on a regular basis, which is probably why he’s dogging me for
money.” Other than a cocked brow, his face remained unreadable.

  “What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s a day trader, which is why there is a problem. When he gets some money, he spends it. If the market tanks, he has no reserve. I can always tell when he’s gotten a margin call. My phone rings.”

  His lips thinned. “Tell me about his threats. I want to know what we’re up against.”

  She detailed the history and when the violence began. Chase merely nodded and opened a door at the end of a corridor and flipped on the interior lights. She stopped short. The twelve-by-twelve room was painted all black and had no windows. Besides a massage table pressed against the far wall, four standing lamps filled most of the space. In the middle of the tiny room was some kind of squat rack, only without any weights attached. A table in the opposite corner held an assortment of brushes and paints.

  “Welcome to my studio.”

  Classical music seemed to be piped in from invisible speakers. “Compact.”

  Not what she expected, but she could handle this, assuming he didn’t change from the calm, I’m in control man to some wacko. At the moment, being so close to Chase made her logical mind go blank.

  “It suits my needs.”

  He lifted the robe off her shoulders without touching her and placed the terry cloth covering on some invisible hook on the wall. For some strange reason, she wished he had dragged his fingers down her back so she could feel his callused palms on her heated skin. It almost seemed that he was going out of his way to keep his distance but that if she gave the slightest hint she wanted him, he’d oblige with full-on passion in a second. A shiver of lust snaked up her legs and nipped her between her thighs.

  Stop that. She was here to hide. Nothing more. She wasn’t here to have sex with some cover model cowboy.

  “Take a seat on the stool.” The stool sat under the rack. She wasn’t sure about the setup, but she did as he instructed.

  He went about moving the lamps like a man very practiced in the art of body painting. Rod had said he was good. Besides painting, she wondered if his other accomplishments included seducing women. Stop it.

  “I’ve decided to paint the Catalina Mountains on your body.”

  That seemed innocuous enough. Good thing she had on a bikini top or else he might insist on painting the peaks at nipple level. “Go for it.” Her voice wobbled. Damn.

  He walked behind her, and with a flick of the wrist, pulled the tie that held her top. Before she could catch the thin material, her breasts popped out, fully exposed to his view. Her breath hitched, and her mind flooded with a thousand images of tempting fingers and a wet mouth sucking her tits.

  Then she realized what had just happened.

  Chapter Two

  Modesty took over, and Larissa pulled up her top. “What are you doing?”

  Chase walked in front, leaned over, and smiled. “An artist needs to see the canvas on which he intends to paint.”

  “My breasts are not part of your canvas.” How dare he take such liberties? It didn’t matter that for a split second she wanted him to.

  Without using too much pressure, he lowered her hands and cupped her one breast. His thumb dragged across her nipple. Her body seemed to be in total paralysis, unable to stop him. Her pulse shot to over a hundred while her throat turned dry. She willed her hands to move, but her body wouldn’t obey. It was as if the foreign pleasure of his touch interfered with her rational side of her brain.

  “I see you like that, darlin’. You are incredibly beautiful, so full, so lush, and so soft.”

  His eyelids drooped a little as if he was having a hard time speaking. His fingers seemed independent of his tongue, for they never stopped massaging her. She wanted to tell him what he was doing wasn’t right, but the electric currents pulsating between her thighs felt too good. If only her pussy would cease pumping out liquid and messing with her, she could get out of the embarrassing position.

  Finally, her neural pathways connected and her hand stilled his. “I don’t feel comfortable with you touching me.”

  He smiled again, his cheeks dimpling, and he withdrew his hands. “It’s going to be hard to paint you without making contact.”

  She blew out a breath. “You know what I mean. Don’t twist my words. The brush can touch. Just not you.”

  His smile implied he was willing to play her game until he chose not to.

  “We’ll do it your way for a while, but if I’m right, your sweet little snatch is wetter than any of my paints. Am I right?” He stretched his hand as if he planned to find out firsthand.

  Oh, God, could he see through her yellow suit? Her gaze shot to her crotch. He laughed for a second then sobered. He moved back, pulled up another stool she hadn’t noticed, and sat in front of her. He took her hands in his callused palms. “I can see we need to talk before I begin our little fantasy.”

  “Why?” Sharing anything about her past wasn’t in her genes. She’d hidden her horrible marriage from all but a few friends and meant to keep it that way.

  “I heard on the grapevine that you’ve walked a hard road. You want to tell me about it?”

  His voice came out so soft and appealing, she almost blurted out the truth. “No.” From the pressure with which he held her, he wasn’t going to release her no matter how much she tried. For some insane reason that didn’t bother her, and it should have.

  “You’re as skittish as a colt in a lightning storm.”

  She swallowed hard. How could he know? Had her traitorous friend told him?

  “It’s written on your face, you know.”

  It couldn’t be. She’d studied the art of nondisclosure. A good trial lawyer had to know how to shutter her expressions. When he held her gaze for what seemed like forever, she figured it wouldn’t be bad to tell him something, if only to get him off her case. “My father died when I was eleven. Apparently, he liked to spend more than he earned.” Like that would satisfy him.

  “So your mom and you had to take a step down in lifestyle, I take it?”

  She huffed out a breath. “More like a leap off a cliff. We went from living in a five-bedroom house on four acres in Phoenix to a squalid little apartment.”

  “Did your mom have to get a job?”

  “Yes, but she never lasted long in any one place. She tried everything from waitressing to being a secretary. Then she met Everett.” She couldn’t help that her eyes rolled. “He seemed like the answer to our prayers. He lived in a fairly nice house in Scottsdale.” Stomach acid burned her insides at the thought of that horrid man. “At first, everything was wonderful. Then I turned fourteen.”

  Chase’s thumb rubbed the inside of her palm. “Did he do something bad to you?”

  A tear leaked out, and she felt like she was transported back to the house again. Chase let go of her hands as if he sensed she needed them. She wrapped her arms around her. “He never touched me sexually, but he made veiled threats that he wanted me. I think he only married Mom so he could try to have sex with me. When I turned eighteen, I got out.” Her voice cracked.

  Chase gathered her to his chest. She had no idea how or why, but the memories came flooding back and the tears flowed. She sobbed into his shirt like a stupid little kid but only for a moment until her spine hardened. She sat back up and swiped a hand across her eyes.

  “I know I’m a stronger person because of it. I worked during the day to put myself through college then law school. Now, after five years, I’m close to being the first female partner.”

  “You are one amazing woman, and I have no doubt you will achieve your goal.” He handed her a clean handkerchief. “But I wonder at what cost.”

  Her heart lurched that he got so close to the ache in her heart. “You sound like my friend.”

  “Because I’m telling you to enjoy life, too?” He lifted her chin.

  “Yeah.”

  With one edge of the hankie, he rubbed her cheek. “If he’s alive, I can kill him for you.”


  From the seriousness of his words she bet he would, too, and that made her heart soar. “Thank you, but about four years ago, my stepfather got drunk and drove right into a tree. Killed him and Mom.”

  He smoothed back the hairs from her face. “You poor thing. Good thing you were a survivor and got out.”

  She rolled her eyes. “True, but not at first. The day I turned eighteen, I ran straight into the arms of another controlling SOB. Phil. I thought he’d be my salvation, but I was just a sex object to him. Nothing more. He didn’t abuse my body so much as abused my heart and my self-esteem.”

  “But it gave you a backbone.”

  She shrugged.

  “Did you two ever have children?”

  She looked up. The topic of children still rubbed her raw. “No. I wanted them, but he insisted I use birth control. No little rug rats for him.” She still couldn’t believe she lasted two years with the bastard.

  Chase stood and walked toward the door. With his back to her, he made a call. When he turned around, he was smiling. “I want you to forget everything you just told me. We’re going to have a good time. Okay? No more negative thoughts.”

  She thought she heard a catch in his voice as if he also needed to forget something bad. “You got it.” When she pulled her lips into a smile, her muscles faltered.

  He walked back to her and dragged a finger down her cheek. As if his words finally got programmed into her mind, all the bad thoughts disappeared.

  “Good. Now let’s see, where were we?”

  “You were going to paint me.” This time she succeeded in holding on to her smile.

  “Oh, yes.”

  He gathered the paints and began to mix them when a knock sounded on the door. He stepped away, pulled it open, and mumbled something. After he closed the door, he returned with a bucket of ice, a bottle of wine, and two glasses. “I think we both could use a little creative juice.”

  She couldn’t agree more.

  After she finished off her glass, he undid the strap at the top of her neck. She instantly reached up to stop him.