Maybe yoga was something new that they offered at the resort?
Regardless, the equipment was here and she was here. The instructor hadn’t arrived yet, but Isla didn’t want to waste a moment of this perfect day. Spreading out her mat, she dropped to her knees and stretched her neck from side to side calmly. Though far from an expert, Isla had practiced yoga for several years.
Sinking into child’s pose, Isla tried to empty her mind of thought, but she couldn’t help but grin into the yoga mat as the stretch eased the stiffness from Sloane’s attentions the night before.
Inhaling deeply, Isla eased herself farther into the pose. Instead of the relaxation that typically accompanied it, however, she felt a chill waft over her skin. Frowning, she shivered, feeling as if cold fingers were dancing over the nape of her neck. Ever since she had set foot on the island the day before, her sixth sense had been running wild, making her imagine spooks around every corner.
She was being foolish. But...
Drawing up until she sat back on her heels, Isla looked around the tent quickly. She had almost convinced herself that she was letting her imagination run away with her when her eyes darted past the still figure, then swung back.
At the front of the room, facing her, was a woman holding the impossibly difficult dragonfly pose. Startled, Isla lurched to her feet. She hadn’t heard the woman enter the tent, nor had she heard the heavy exhalations of breath that usually accompanied the difficult pose.
The woman balanced on her hands, one leg tucked behind her rear and one extended to the side, her foot flexed. Her face was turned to the ground, the length of her incredibly long, inky black hair sweeping the ground.
Isla’s mouth fell open slightly as she took in the spectacle. She had seen many experienced practitioners hold the dragonfly pose before, but never with such ease. The woman before her was so still that she could have been carved from stone.
Suddenly very uncomfortable, and certain that this session would be far out of her league, Isla stooped to pick up her mat. She paid a lot of attention to rolling it up precisely, and when she again stood, the neat roll in her hand, she started.
The woman was still in the dragonfly pose, but she had lifted her head and was staring right at her.
“Hello, little one.” The woman’s voice was melodic, and she showed no shortness of breath at all as she twisted her body effortlessly into a handstand. Instead of demonstrating how difficult it must have been, her lips twisted in an eerily calm smile.
Isla shivered, though she couldn’t quite understand why. Isla swallowed down her own feelings and smiled brightly at the strange woman.
“Wow, you’re so strong.” The woman seemed amused at the comment. Isla had to fight back the urge to hiss in response—and what was with this new hissing habit of hers? No matter the expression that crossed the other woman’s face, she was an incredible beauty, her skin pale olive, her hair shiny as silk. As she fluidly swung herself from the handstand to her feet, nearly bending herself in half as she did so, Isla noted that the woman was tall, slim and lithe in a way that Isla would never be.
“Yes, I am very strong.” The woman smiled, standing unnaturally still as she stared at Isla. Isla decided that, for once, instead of listening to the voice of her mother that always sounded in her head, she was going to listen to her own gut. This woman made her very, very uncomfortable, though the woman had done nothing overt to distress her.
No matter how appealing the prospect of sunrise yoga had been, she knew that she would never be able to relax if this woman was the instructor.
“You know, I’m not feeling very well.” Isla smiled tightly at the strange woman. “I think I’m going to head back to my room.”
Keeping her stare on the ground, Isla returned her rolled mat to the group of mats that were still wrapped in plastic. Grabbing her sweatshirt, she headed to the exit of the tent, not bothering to cover her shoulders again.
Nervous perspiration had broken out over her skin.
She jumped when she looked up and found the woman standing in the entrance of the tent, blocking her way. The woman smiled—a kind smile on the surface, but Isla just couldn’t shake the discomfort.
“You’re a pretty little one, aren’t you?” The woman tilted her head, staring at Isla with unabashed curiosity.
“Excuse me.” Isla tried to skirt past the woman, her nerves now screaming, though she still couldn’t have said why. The woman didn’t move.
Isla opened her mouth, and there was that damned hiss again. Her fingers curled, and she felt the overwhelming urge to launch herself at the other woman, to attack.
Her mind overruled the urge, thank heavens. She was well and truly intimidated by this woman and had no illusions about who would win this chick fight.
Isla’s growl was cut off by the sound of an unfamiliar male’s voice, stern and full of repressed anger.
“Luana!” The woman didn’t jump, rather acted as if she had expected the man to show up. Instead she smiled down at Isla, and though this smile was the closest to genuine yet, Isla saw that Luana’s eyes were deep black and extremely cold.
“It seems that yoga is cancelled for today.” A tall, thin man with golden hair appeared on the grass by the tent. Moving quickly, he was behind the woman he had called Luana, his hand on her arm.
“Am I in trouble, Marcus?” She tilted her head provocatively, but she didn’t look at the man behind her. Isla distinctly saw the intimacy between the pair, though there seemed to be more to it than that.
“Luana, Mr. St. Baptiste has requested your presence.” Marcus’s face twisted with consternation as he turned to Isla. “I’m so very sorry, Miss Miller, but sunrise yoga has been cancelled today. Please, feel free to stay and use the tent. I think you’ll find the equipment is to your taste. Your friend mentioned, when she was transferring her tickets to your name, that yoga is one of your interests.”
Isla jolted. She couldn’t recall telling Jessie—telling anyone—that she practiced yoga, but she must have. It wasn’t that she kept it a secret, it was just that the activity was something she preferred to practice alone. Still, it niggled at her.
Her love of the exercise was something she liked to keep just for herself.
“Thank you, but I...I’m not feeling very well. I think I’m going to go lie down.” Though Marcus didn’t alarm her in the same way that Luana did, and though she no longer felt quite as nervous or aggressive as she had, she wanted to get out of there.
Pushing past the pair—Marcus drew Luana in close to him to allow Isla to pass—Isla all but ran out of the tent.
Her discussion with Sloane the night before had clearly opened some of her neuroses up. Halfway back to her bungalow, Isla had a change of mind and veered her course to the boat where Sloane had awakened all kinds of carnal pleasure for her the night before.
She wasn’t a virgin, but her experiences were few... and none of them had been particularly wonderful. Not only was Sloane skilled as a lover, but he had made her feel special in a way that she’d never felt before.
It occurred to her that he may not be up yet—though she imagined he had to work today, she had noticed that the resort didn’t really seem to wake up until early afternoon.
She was unsettled enough by her encounter with the eerie woman named Luana that, although aware of the beauty of the pale, early morning sky and snowy sand, she didn’t take the time to appreciate it.
The houseboat was still, rocking ever so slightly on the water. Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, she studied it, suddenly uncertain. She wanted to tell him about her strange encounter. Still, no matter how intimately acquainted she now was with his body, she realized that she didn’t know him well enough to anticipate his reaction to an early morning wake-up call.
Halting at the edge of the sand, Isla argued with herself over what to do. Then she looked up, to the upper deck of the boat. What she saw there made her mouth go dry.
Sloane stood still, his large frame
silhouetted against the blue of the sky. He was wearing nothing but a pair of white boxer briefs.
Clearly having seen her before she saw him, he was watching her intently.
He did not look happy.
* * *
The scent of Isla was permanently imprinted on his brain.
After the previous night, the smell of mangoes and vanilla had haunted his dreams. Upon waking, Sloane had found his throat dry with a thirst that he hadn’t experienced since his adolescent years as a vampire.
The single taste he’d had of Isla’s blood had awakened his hunger. He wanted more.
Instead he warmed a mug of prepackaged animal blood and chugged it back. He chased it with strong black coffee that he drank from a chipped old mug.
When the scent that had laced highly erotic dreams all night intensified, he thought that it was just his imagination—his desire for more.
“What have I done?” He cursed as soon as he realized that she was near. After ascending the steps to the upper deck, he braced himself to do what he knew he had to.
She stood on the beach, looking up at his boat, uncertainty painted over her features. The way that she nibbled on her lower lip made him want to bite it until he could taste the nectar that was her blood.
Her skin showed the slightest hint of gold from her time in the sun the day before. A lot of her skin was on display, clad as she was in a fitted athletic camisole and tight black shorts.
When she looked up and her stare locked in on him, he swallowed back the intense connection that he felt with her, making sure that his expression was blank.
“What are you doing here?” As if she had rudely interrupted his preparations for the day, Sloane scooped to pick up a towel, running it over his shower-dampened head.
It was a mistake. It was the towel she had used the night before, and it was saturated with her delicious scent.
His fangs prickled against his gums. The beast inside of him had had a taste of the woman he had claimed, and it was not happy at being denied.
“I... Good morning.” Isla lifted a hand to shield her eyes against the sun that was moving ever higher in the sky. The movement arched her spine and thrust her breasts forward, and Sloane stifled a groan.
He wanted to jump down to the sand, to press her to the ground and take her right there, tasting her life’s essence as he thrust inside of her.
Instead he felt like a major dick as he deliberately stayed silent. Much as he wanted her, and much as he knew that she wanted him, this—whatever this was—between them was not good.
He was immortal. She was a human. By pushing her away, he would protect his own sanity...and her own because the one human he had turned had lost her mind. He would also, if he did things right, drive her away from the island and from the danger that he knew she was in.
“I...I wanted to see you.” Sloane squeezed his eyes shut at Isla’s words. She was so naive, so innocent. She so earnestly displayed her feelings.
He hated to crush that sweetness, much as her mother and sisters seemed to have tried to do her entire life. He just couldn’t see another way out.
“I have to get to work.” This wasn’t a lie exactly. Sloane didn’t have a supervisor, having made his thoughts on the matter quite clear when he had first come to the island. Boats and other vehicles that needed fixing were brought to this stretch of beach, and he fixed them as he was able. So far the agreement had worked well for both himself and the mysterious Lucian St. Baptiste.
So, he could have taken the time to listen to her, to steal a kiss from her lips, to inhale that magnificent scent. But that would only have prolonged the inevitable.
He wanted her off this island.
“Oh. Well. Maybe I’ll see you later?” Sloane hated himself for making that sad acceptance cross her face. If anyone else had treated her this way, he would have wanted to tear them limb from limb.
Two vampires were following her. His heart was still sore from the loss of Sully.
“Look, baby, we had fun last night. Let’s not make it into more than it was.” He saw her eyes go wide, saw the flash of pain and then that dreadful acceptance.
He was an ass.
“Right. Well.” Isla whirled on her heel and started to leave. After two steps she turned and stomped back, her fists clenched with anger.
He could smell the warm syrup that temper added to her blood. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go.
“Screw you.” Isla glared up at him, her eyes widening as if she couldn’t believe that she said the words before again spinning and walking away. This time she didn’t come back.
Sloane watched until she disappeared from sight before jumping from the upper to the lower deck, landing in a crouch. The confrontation had made him tired. Quickly slugging back the rest of the contents of the coffeepot, Sloane pulled on a pair of battered jeans and a black T-shirt. A boat that needed work was already anchored a half mile away down the strip of sand. He had never tested how long he could go before fixing something without irritating the powers that be. He also had several emails in his in-box, messages from the board of his massive corporation.
He had started his real estate empire several centuries earlier. It had changed names and forms many times over the decades, but he had had the benefit of time when it came to turning a profit on properties. He had even held on to one small Irish castle for nearly a hundred years before selling it.
He considered the advantage as karma’s payback for the fact that he now had to drink blood to survive.
When he’d decided to take some time off, he’d left the decisions of the company in the board’s hands. He trusted them implicitly, but right then they could have run the business into the ground and he wouldn’t have cared.
They could wait, and so could the boat. He intended to make sure that Isla remained safe until she left the island.
* * *
Isla stormed across the resort in the direction of her bungalow. Though her first instinct had been to question why she wasn’t good enough for him, and to wonder what she could have already done to drive him away, the feelings faded quickly.
He wanted her. Dammit, he liked her. She felt the same way. So what was his problem?
Isla ground her teeth as she pictured shoving Sloane off the upper deck of his boat and into the surrounding Tahitian waters.
In her mind’s eye he looked like a drowned rat when he emerged.
Sighing as she admitted to herself that he wouldn’t look like anything of the sort, Isla slowed her pace and tried to calm down. She considered it progress that, instead of falling to pieces over the rejection, she had gotten mad.
Feeling somewhat shortchanged by the aborted yoga session that morning and now craving the peace of it more than ever, Isla decided to return to her bungalow and work through some postures on her own. In no mood for company, she grimaced when she found Gaspar waiting at the end of her dock in one of the sleek black golf carts.
“Miss Miller.” She nodded stiffly, not sure how to behave around the man after his flirtatious overtures the night before. Though she saw the man’s eyes roam over the expanse of skin visible in her yoga spandex, he made no comment on her appearance.
“The owner of the resort has invited you to brunch in his chambers.” Isla noted a hint of something she thought might be reverence in Gaspar’s words, which she found odd. Exasperated with the drama that had surrounded her ever since she had set foot on the island, Isla was tempted to just pack her bags and leave.
That was what the Isla of two days ago would have done—she would have called Jessie to commiserate, then she would have retreated to something familiar and safe.
She wouldn’t give in. She was going to enjoy this vacation if it was the last thing she did.
“Thank you, Gaspar, but I’m really not in the mood.” With a tight smile, Isla brushed past the man and the cart and stepped onto the wood of the dock.
She turned when he called out her name. He had stepped o
ut of the cart and was frowning slightly.
She knew that she wasn’t imagining the way that his eyes slid over her body.
“Miss Miller, not very many people get the chance to visit Ile de Nuit.” The tone of Gaspar’s voice was reproachful. “Mr. St. Baptiste is very selective about those he invites to the island. He invites even fewer to visit him personally because his health is so fragile. It is an enormous honor.”
There it was, the guilt that shadowed so much of Isla’s life. She closed her eyes against it, vowing that she wouldn’t let it drown her like it so often did.
When she opened her eyes, Gaspar was watching her with a textbook sympathetic smile. She pursed her lips, not sure she could push back against the impulses that were second nature to her.
“His personal chefs will provide a meal unlike anything you have ever tasted.” Isla sighed, knowing that she was beaten.
She might have had the strength to refuse, but the uncertainty from her encounter with Sloane chose that moment to rear its ugly head.
She didn’t know much about him, just what Jessie had told her—that a reclusive billionaire named Lucian St. Baptiste owned the Tahitian island and the resort that sat on it and that he was rumored to be ill and fairly eccentric.
Well, recluse or not, maybe breakfast with someone who had singled her out—someone who might make her feel special, even for an hour—might ease the sting of Sloane’s rejection.
Chapter 6
Rage slid through Sloane’s body. Mixed with it was dread, an emotion that he hadn’t felt for centuries.
Lucian wanted to get Isla alone. Sloane knew this without a doubt. What he didn’t understand was why.
He couldn’t just barge into the compound where Lucian lived—it was heavily guarded, keeping the recluse in and curious onlookers out. He didn’t for a moment believe that he could sneak in under the guise of being one of his servants.
Lucian undoubtedly knew what he looked like. He hadn’t become a billionaire, hadn’t become powerful, by being dumb.
Sloane would be damned if he would just let Isla go. He’d followed along behind the golf cart, his mind trying frantically to come up with some way to plausibly accompany her.
Darkest Desire of the Vampire: Wicked in MoonlightVampire Island (Harlequin Nocturne) Page 19