But it was not an end to my vacation. True, future men would struggle to match up to the Campbell yardstick, but the point of this vacation had not been to find a better man each night, and certainly not to find the best man and stick with him. The point had been to put myself out there for a bit of no-strings fun. Giving up on that idea just because I had hit the jackpot on night one was not an option. If I hung around then this suddenly became something I didn’t want it to be, and something I suspected that Campbell didn’t want it to be. A man like that could have a different girl every night and I wished him luck with it.
Still, if I struggled to find a partner at any point during my stay then I knew exactly where I was heading.
Careful not to wake Campbell, I slipped out of bed and searched for my clothes – still out on the balcony – the smile never leaving my face. It was not just that the sex had been out of this world. The night with Campbell had reaffirmed my faith in myself and my belief that there were decent men out there. It would be too much to say that Campbell had restored my faith in mankind – he had been good, but not that good – but he had reminded me that, even in a one-night stand, a man can be sensitive to the needs of the women he is with, generous and loving. Just because you both know that this is a one-night thing, doesn’t mean it can’t mean something. More men could do with remembering that.
For all that, getting involved with Campbell was not an option – I would only screw it up as I had so many times before. Now the wonderful brilliance of the previous night could remain untarnished by time and I could get on with enjoying the rest of my trip.
Still, I couldn’t resist a look back through the open bedroom door at him, still asleep, as I headed out. It had been an amazing night and an amazing start to my vacation.
Heading back to my own hotel, I showered, dressed and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast sitting out on my own balcony. It did not give the impressive views that Campbell’s did, and anyone having sex out there might have to limit their movements to the basic back and forth, but it was still a nice place to enjoy a cup of strong coffee, a bite to eat and to let my eyes rove over the town I had yet to explore.
I’m not really that much of a beach girl. I don’t exactly mind sun, sand and surf, but I don’t tan and I find the whole thing a bit dull. I’ve always thought that people who just lie about for hours on end, with no more mental engagement than deciding when to turn over, must have incredibly little imagination. Half of them don’t even have a book. I’m not judging – although it does sound a little like I am – it’s just not for me.
When I was looking out from Campbell’s balcony – before my attention had been fully occupied elsewhere – I had noted the district referred to as the Old Town. It was recommended for the less sun-worshipping tourists as a place they might get an idea of what the island was like beyond the bars and the beaches. The real island.
It was nothing of the kind, of course. The ‘real island’ was to be found far from the tourist spots; the places where no one spoke English, sold straw donkeys with hats on, or knew what the hell a mojito was. What the Old Town was really was a good middle ground, offering a taste of real island culture in a relatively safe environment within easy walking distance of your hotel. It sounded right up my street. After all, this whole vacation wasn’t just about sex. Even if I was planning to hook up with a different guy every night, I still needed something to fill the days, if only so I could rest and recuperate between guys.
I sun-creamed up, selected a hat that would have provided enough shade for a small family, donned the shades and set out. Ten minutes later, I was leaving behind the neon signs, sunburned white people, and British vacation-makers passed out in a pool of their own vomit, and was entering the narrow streets and vibrant markets of the Old Town. The word that immediately struck me was ‘bazaar’, which I think is a strictly middle-eastern or east-African term, but that was the vibe I got.
Every street was lined with tiny houses, crouched together as if they had to make the most of the space, and out in front of most a table had been placed, with a makeshift awning raised above it, and strewn with fruits; herbs; spices; bottles of stuff that might have been alcohol, perfume or local medicines; fish and fowl both dead for eating or alive to be kept as pets; pots and vases that could have been made yesterday or a thousand years ago; clothing of every type and every color; knick-knacks; gee-gaws; and, because civilization wasn’t so far away, Ray-Bans.
The smells hit me first, like an undulating wave of spiced molasses. Then the noise was overwhelming, people yelling, laughing, bartering, arguing, shouting their wares or screaming at children who gamely screamed back. I didn’t know which way to look first.
There were no prices on anything, which I guessed was because there was one price for locals and one for tourists – which was fair enough since my phone had probably cost more than most people’s homes. I had gone in with the absolute resolve that I was not buying anything because you always ended up buying a bunch of crap you didn’t need and then leaving it at the airport as it had put you over the weight limit. Despite this, by the time I had reached the end of the first street, I had somehow acquired a small sack of bananas, a jar of violently red powder that had burned my nostrils when I sniffed it, a multi-colored swath of material that was either a sash or a headscarf, and a porcelain dolphin that I was probably going to give to Sarah. I wasn’t quite sure how I had bought it all and I would have to be a bit more circumspect from here on in, but I also didn’t really mind. I felt I was entering into the spirit of my vacation – doing things on impulse and losing myself in this strange and wonderful world.
After a few blissful hours, during which I added a bunch more unnecessary items to my haul and yet had somehow still only spent twenty-six dollars, I found a café with chairs out in the street and had a seafood lunch watching the world go by.
It was then that I noticed that not all of the world was going by.
I was not the only tourist in the market, I had noticed more than a few since arriving, all of them staggering under the weight of their own nonsensical purchases, but the man staring at me from across the street was different. The dark glasses he wore seemed less to shade his eyes from the sun and more to hide his features, as did his low-brimmed Panama hat. More importantly, he had apparently bought nothing. He looked away from me when I caught his eye and pretended to be perusing a display of sandals, but his eyes swiftly returned to me.
I paid my bill, got up, and left, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the tight confines of the market. I decided to head back towards my hotel but found it was hard to navigate in the maze of streets, and the locals command of English declined suddenly when you wanted to leave. Increasingly panicked, I described a weaving, drunken path through the streets, trying to lose my pursuer.
Instead, I found more. I couldn’t be sure at first, but it seemed that as soon as I could no longer see the man in the Panama hat, a man in a red shirt took his place. And when I thought I had given red shirt the slip, a man in denim shorts appeared. As I hurried on, one or the other of them seemed to be waiting for me at every turn. Panic seared through me and I quickened my steps still further.
More by luck than judgment, I found my way out of the market streets, and immediately regretted it. In the market I had been surrounded by people, but now the streets emptied – I was on my own, not quite clear where I was or how to get where I was going, and with at least three suspicious men tailing me for some reason.
For a moment, I clung to the idea that it was all in my head. After all, why would anyone be following me? But that idea was soon dispelled by the appearance of red shirt up ahead. Panicked, I turned and stumbled back the way I had come, only to find Panama hat in front of me. Now I ran. Diving down a side street as quick as my legs would carry me. I could hear feet pounding the ground as the men gave chase, getting closer with every step.
What the hell did they want?
As I reached the end of the side street, a car screeched
to a halt in front of me. It was an Aston Martin Vanquish. The door flew open and there was Campbell.
“Get in.” There was none of the gentlemanly charm or seductive jokes of the night before; this was an instruction, and I didn’t hesitate to follow it.
I scrambled into the car, pulling the door shut behind me and we were off.
“Are you alright?” asked Campbell, genuine concern showing through the urgency of his voice.
“Yeah.”
“Is that a porcelain dolphin?”
I jumped as the voice had not come from Campbell but from the back seats.
“This is Red and Drake,” said Campbell, introducing the two men who sat behind me.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, a little numb with terror. Even through the fear and confusion of the situation, I couldn’t help noticing that Campbell’s friends were as handsome as he was – and Campbell set a very high bar.
“Likewise,” said Red, speaking with a light Scottish accent.
“Pleasantries may have to wait,” said Drake grimly, looking out the rear window. “We’ve got company, Campbell.”
“I see them,” replied Campbell, glancing in his rearview mirror.
I looked back and saw, behind us, three red motorbikes, closing in.
“Who the hell are these people?” I almost shrieked, my hysteria rising. “What do they want?”
“Nothing they’re going to get.” Campbell looked at me with a smile that told me everything was going to be alright. “You might want to buckle up.”
Chapter 4
As we left the town, Campbell stomped down on the accelerator and I gripped my seat as we hurtled along the dusty road that cut through the island countryside.
“Nowhere to lose them out here,” said Drake.
“Head for the mountains,” said Red.
“No, the sea cliffs on the south side.”
“That’s crazy talk.”
“If you two are quite done backseat driving,” growled Campbell, “we’re heading for the mountains…”
“Ha-hah,” said Red triumphantly.
“Because we’re already going that way,” Campbell continued, “and I’m not pulling a Uey on this road. Uh-oh.”
“What?” I asked, not trying to hide the fear in my voice.
“There’s only two behind us now.”
“Isn’t that good? Maybe one fell off.”
“Doubt we get that lucky.”
“More likely one has peeled off to cut us off up ahead,” explained Red. “Advantage of a motorbike – much more maneuverable in this terrain.”
“Handbrake it?” suggested Drake, though I had no idea what he meant.
Campbell nodded. “Sea cliffs it is.”
Without warning, Campbell jammed the handbrake on and spun the wheel. The car pirouetted on its axis like a ballerina. Campbell released the handbrake and we roared back the way we had come, directly at the bikers. One had the presence of mind to skid out of the way, the other did not. As the front of the Vanquish clipped the bike’s front wheel, the back flew up, bucking the rider out of his seat and into the air to land heavily in the scrubland to the side of the road.
“Is he okay?” I asked, not sure what I wanted the answer to be.
“Let’s hope not,” said Drake.
“He might be hurt.”
“Landing like that, I’d be amazed if he wasn’t.”
They were so matter of fact about it. For the first time, I realized that, as well as not knowing who was chasing me, I also didn’t really know who had saved me. All I knew about Campbell was that he was great in bed and seemed to be on my side. It was enough for now, but at some point in the near future there were a whole bunch of questions that needed answering.
“He’s back on our tail,” said Red, keeping an eye out the rear window.
The second biker was tearing after us at break-neck speed. Campbell yanked the steering wheel hard left, taking us onto a side road away from the town, heading in the direction of the ocean.
“Red, can you see if he’s packing?”
I could think of two possible meanings of the word ‘packing’. Either packing a suitcase for a vacation, or packing a gun. It seemed unlikely that the man on the motorbike had current travel plans.
A gunshot rang out and the back window of the Vanquish exploded in a shower of glass.
“I think, yeah,” said Red.
Campbell rolled his eyes. “Thanks, you’re a massive help. Do you know how much those windows cost?”
Another gunshot made us all duck down.
“You may never have to worry about it,” said Drake, dourly.
The three of them seemed able to take being shot at during a high-speed chase in their stride, but I was a lot less cool about it, cringing in my seat in a ball, trying to use a bag of bananas to protect my head from gun fire.
Campbell noticed my fear and shot me as comforting a smile as he could manage. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”
“What are you basing that on?”
“Experience. Trust me, you’re in the safest place.”
“It really doesn’t feel that way.”
“Well, I can understand that. But you’re better off with us than them.”
“Couldn’t you fire back?” I suggested. I wasn’t one to advocate violence but these were extreme circumstances. It never even occurred to me that these guys would not also be ‘packing’.
“It’s a lot of paperwork,” said Campbell.
“Seriously?!”
“Seriously,” interrupted Drake. “We’re not armed. You can’t just go carrying hand guns around a tourist resort.”
“The bad guys are.”
Campbell shrugged. “That’s one of the things that makes them the bad guys. Okay, here we go…”
I had been facing the back seats to talk to Drake and as I looked forward, I almost swallowed my own tongue in shock. The road dived away steeply down the side of a cliff with little or no barrier to either side, weaving its way back and forth. Far below us, the sea gleamed a vivid azure blue, pierced here and there by sharp, white rocks cutting through the surface. It had never looked so beautiful or so utterly terrifying.
“I really think you ought to slow down,” I gasped as we approached the first sharp hairpin bend.
“I think you ought to close your eyes till we’re done,” said Drake.
“I think you should all shut up,” suggested Campbell. He stamped on the brakes and dragged at the wheel, the car shrieking in complaint but staying on the road.
“Isn’t a bike going to be better at this than us?” I asked, helplessly.
“Sure,” admitted Red. “But is the rider? You need skills and stones to do this, and I’m betting he’ll run short of both before Campbell does.”
I was a great admirer of Campbell’s stones, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to bet my life on them. Not that I had any say in the matter.
The bike was still following us as we hit the next corner and I screamed as a bullet whizzed past me, shattering the windscreen.
“That’s the way,” muttered Campbell, barely seeming to notice as he pulled the car round the corner and then jammed on the brakes.
The bike managed to avoid hitting the Vanquish, mounting the narrow verge and, for a moment, seeming like it would ride along the crest. But the speed it had been going made that impossible and, before my astonished eyes, it shot out into the air at high speed, both bike and rider describing a long slow arc towards the sea below.
Campbell shook his head. “Shouldn’t have tried to shoot and ride at the same time. Lost his concentration.”
“What about the third man?” I asked, meaning the rider who had split off earlier.
“He’ll show up. But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Stick with us and you’ll be fine.”
“These guys were after me?” I still couldn’t get my head around it.
“Let’s drive back to town,” said Campbell. “We can talk on the way.”
&
nbsp; I nodded. “That should be quite the conversation.”
Campbell turned the car around and we headed back up the winding, cliffside road. As he did so, I stared out of the window, over the sheer drop and down into the blue water. I had just watched a man fall – no, not fall; plummet – to an almost certain death. On the list of things I had planned to do on this vacation, that had most certainly not appeared. More importantly, if you had asked me how I would feel on seeing such a thing then I would have said ‘horrified’.
As it was, I felt relieved. I felt little or nothing for the man himself who seemed to deserve it. And I felt… I felt exhilarated. Not just because I had seen a man leap off a cliff on the back of a speeding motorbike, but because of the chase that had preceded it. It had been terrifying, of course, but it had also been exciting – at least in retrospect. It was hard to quantify my feelings because it was hard to believe that any of this was happening to me. I seemed to be watching myself in a movie, or to have stumbled into one of those elaborate games you can pay to be part of, in which spectacular and exciting events happen around you but it’s all just make believe. Perhaps that was why I was so blasé about the apparent death of our pursuer; because I didn’t think that it could have actually happened.
Or maybe it was because he had clearly been a dick.
The lull after the excitement of the chase also gave me the chance to better examine the two men in the back seats. Surreptitiously, I took them in via the car’s rearview mirror and found that my initial assessment of them being as handsome as Campbell himself was fully justified, though they were all very different in their appearance. Red, the Scottish one, had hair that suited his nickname, flame-red and untidy. His eyes were green and danced from spot to spot, as if he was constantly on the lookout for something. They seemed to me to be filled with mischief. He was unshaven and there was something about him that suggested the words ‘rugged’ or ‘chiseled’, he looked as if he had been carved by a lazy sculptor, who had roughed out the lines of a perfect specimen of masculinity, and then decided not to polish it up to a clean finish. A scar along the line of Red’s jaw contributed to this unfinished look. Yet there was a perfection in his imperfection – Red was one of those men who suited his rough-hewn looks. He wore a ragged, unpressed shirt that was a stark contrast to the neatness of Campbell, but which did an equally good job of displaying the impressive physique within. Red’s body – from what I could see of it, and I tried to get a good look – was as rough-hewn as his features. There was a rawness to the strength it projected, an aggressive strength that had not been forged in the gym, but by climbing cliffs, running up hills or swimming the freezing seas that separated the northern islands of Scotland.
Her Shadow Harem: A Paranormal Reverse Harem Romance Page 3