by Lesley Young
He was bossing me. Or, was he?
Could I protest? I was fired, after all. I had asked him to have sex with me and now we were pretending to do the employee-employer thing.
He made an exaggerated frowning face in the mirror, and I realized he was mocking me. Even as my mouth popped open, he directed me out to the room with his eyes, a small smile on his face. I debated the alternative, and . . . complied.
My mother had always advised me to choose my battles, the implication being you can’t win every one. I fished around in my suitcase. I had spent a lifetime battling for my way with her, and battling in her best interests, and I can assure you, I lost on most occasions. She was an excellent fighter. I slipped into my blue one-piece and pulled on a black mesh cover-up. And I realized I didn’t have the energy or desire to carry on in such a way with anyone else. I would have to ask B if this was a point of vulnerability for me.
• • •
By the time we departed Port Douglas aboard the luxurious private charter catamaran, Aquarius, we were half an hour behind schedule. It was not just Jace and I who had slept in. Dmitry and his two women were still drunk (I am an expert at identifying the signs of most forms and stages of inebriation) and were a challenge to herd.
I eyed them warily from the safety of my bench seat where Jace had planted me on the vessel. They were smoking marijuana and murmuring things to each other while The Black Keys played over the boat’s speakers.
Earlier, we had emerged from our room to discover another Russian man had arrived late last night—a frumpy, black-haired giant who I instantly wanted to call “Goon.” He and two other smaller, elderly men walked around the living room holding peculiar electronics and several laptops attached by cords. Mr. Knight seemed to know him, as they exchanged a brief hello. “Having another go, eh?” he asked Dmitry, who nodded. Jace pulled me to him and whispered in my ear, “Don’t leave my side today,” further supporting my prejudice about the new arrivals. I wondered what Mr. Knight meant, and what they were doing, but didn’t dare ask.
The frightening man I wanted to call Goon, as I was not introduced to him, leaned against a seating area in the bow area of the boat, eyeing the rest of our party with open hatred. (His two elderly colleagues had departed The Bangalow, taking their strange equipment with them before we departed.) I gathered one of Dmitry’s women was “with” Mr. Bennett now, as he occasionally slapped her ass. The sound was unpleasant, perhaps because I had not had my morning coffee. Two more women had joined the party, locals, I assumed, by their accents, and they seemed to be available as they flirted wildly with everyone. They certainly focused in on Joe, whose father flew back earlier that morning. (I wondered why, but did not dare ask about that either.)
I realized that Jace had not been lying about needing a buffer. The women were relentless in their efforts to get Joe’s attention. Joe was accommodating of them, but clearly not interested in being inside their bodies. Instead, his observant eyes kept flickering over me and Jace, and I had the terrible sensation that he knew. It was absurd, of course. He could not have known I had lost my virginity last night.
I decided to ignore him, and chalked up my unusual paranoia to exhaustion. I always get eight hours of sleep. Last night I had managed less than five. The jostling of the boat against the waves did nothing to alleviate the tension in my body.
Jace returned to my side with a coffee, reached into his open shirt pocket and produced a pill. “Take this.”
I twisted my mouth.
“I do not do drugs, Mr. Knight.”
His brows created a terrible slash, and in the early morning light, his scars above and below his left eye were prominent, perhaps because the scar tissue did not tan. I noted once again how those scars made his highly symmetrical face much more masculine than it might have been otherwise. He was a beautiful man.
“Think I do?” he snarled. “It’s so you don’t chunder. For motion sickness.”
“Oh.”
I was astonished he should have thought to make such a provision for me. This morning he had put in forced effort to be polite to his unruly guests—and the edge had returned to his voice. That he had taken the time to remember my needs . . .
I took the pill, thinking how only B had ever done something so thoughtful for me before. Once, when I had had to wait all day in court for my mother’s case she had brought me lunch and dinner.
“Thank you, that is very considerate of you.” I swallowed it. Sitting back down real close to me, he said, “Hey, it’s what I do.”
Facetiousness.
“And quit calling me Mr. Knight for Christ’s sake. We’re not employee-employer anymore.”
“I’m sorry, force of habit,” I said, anxiety bursting in my gut. I did not wish to be reminded that I was now unemployed, though I relished telling Sullivan Blaise I had been fired.
“Ay,” said Jace, touching my face tenderly with his fingers, drawing me back from inside myself. “Thought you’d be happy about that.”
I glanced at him, confused. Happy I was unemployed? Oh, he meant that we had mated. “I am . . . happy.” There was that strange mix of violet, burgundy and fuchsia.
“Me, too,” he murmured. We stared into each other’s eyes and I was seeing the bottom again, and maybe he was, too. Smiles broke out on our faces, like we were looking at reflections. His arm wrapped around my shoulder and he kissed my mouth. I kissed back, briefly, and then tried to tug away.
“What?” he murmured into my mouth.
“The others,” I said, thinking how unseemly we were being.
“Fuck ’em,” he uttered, kissing me again, focusing on my mouth, sensually sucking my top and then my bottom lip, and licking inside my mouth. And when he had finished making his soft, lingering statement he let me play for a moment in his mouth, and my heart was up in my throat as my vagina became moist, exhilarated by the new, highly relaxing experience. When I was done, we kissed softly and lightly, dry-mouthed . . . a proper denouement. The whole time I had lost myself and only now realized he had been petting my head and hair with his hands.
The sensation was utter bliss. I could not adequately describe it except to say I felt myself floating in a bubble. A bubble of cotton balls and daydreams (and I never daydream).
He did not say a word as my dizziness passed, just stared into my eyes.
“Jace, why don’t you take it to one of the rooms? We all want to hear her scream again,” said Mr. Bennett snidely.
My eyes flashed wide, but Jace would not let me tear away from him, or react in any way, his hand holding my neck tightly. “I need to talk to you, mate. Now,” added Mr. Bennett, passing by us down a level into the covered galley area, which contained a huge saloon and wet bar where the morning refreshments were laid out and the staff were preparing a presentation on the reef.
“Charlie,” whispered Jace, and I focused back on him. “Nothing else matters. Nothing but this. Us.”
I focused on his eyes. He was right. I smiled then.
“There’s my girl. Be right back.”
He stood up, staggered slightly with the vessel’s sway, and headed down two steps into the cabin area.
I marveled at Jace’s restraint. No wonder he had succeeded where other ruffians had not. He had incredible self-control. I, on the other hand, was experiencing a deep desire to lash out at Mr. Bennett.
Dmitry’s voice was growing louder as he interacted with his Goon and woman, which was good, because I think I heard Jace bark at Mr. Bennett (perhaps he was not showing restraint after all), and then I identified the source of my feeling: dread.
I greatly dislike being trapped in a small space with an intoxicated individual. I glanced around, watching for Dmitry, who appeared to be acting out some highly dramatic story for a rapt, drunken audience, and—oh dear—Joe’s eyes were on me. He had been sitting across from Jace and me, and, I realized, maybe watching us kissing. My cheeks flushed and then I felt bright, fiery orange: outrage that he should be so bold b
y staring at me all of the time.
The other women here had extremely symmetrical faces. Why must he set his sights on me? When he stood up, in his light white linen pants, no shirt, all lean muscle, and stepped over to my side of the boat, I glanced toward the cabin, rather hoping that Jace—who had an arm draped on Mr. Bennett’s shoulder and was waving a finger in his face—would rejoin me. I even stared at the local girl Joe had left mid-sentence, hoping she would follow him. She glared at me.
Joe slid in beside me.
“Ciao, Charlie. I missed you at the club last evening.”
He stared down at me with an expression I could not label. I had never encountered it before. I did not say a word, instead took a sip of my coffee, and realizing he was waiting for some kind of interaction, I smiled, though I would not hold his eye contact.
“How old are you?”
The abrupt personal question gave me pause.
“Twenty-four,” I answered.
“Hm. I thought maybe younger,” he said, smiling then with some indescribable look on his face, and I resisted the urge to ask him what he meant.
“Tell me something, you have been to Italy?”
“No.” I answered.
“Oh, you will love it! Where I come from the weather is not unlike this.” I felt the salty air close in around me, despite the sailing wind. I glanced up at him, searching for some signal that his interaction with me was harmless, like last night.
“If I ever visit Italy, I am sure I will enjoy it, Mr., uh, Joe,” I informed him.
“Ah, you are adorable! Has anyone told you that?”
I pulled back. He had not only complimented me rather enthusiastically, but had placed a hand on my leg.
That constituted a pass. I was certain. I needed to set him straight once and for all.
“Perhaps it is not clear—” I pushed at his hand, but it was clamped down firm “—but I belong to Jace.”
“Belong?” he answered, pushing his lips down, making a face that suggested he was impressed, though I did not think he meant it. His hand slid up my leg.
Of course he could and had misconstrued my meaning. I had meant that we belonged with each other, not to each other, for clearly that is how I felt. Should I attempt to clarify?
Joe leaned over a little and, staring at my face, said, “I like that you know your place, huh? It is also fortunate for me, everything that is his, is mine. Capisce?”
Anxiety swelled in me. What was he talking about? How on earth could he think, a) I had meant Jace owned me, and, b) that he would share me?
Jace’s legs came back into view and I released the breath I’d been holding, looking up at his dark shadow, backlit by bright sky.
Joe sat back, legs spread wide, staring up at Jace, grinning, hand on my thigh. I pushed at it again.
“Charlie tells me she will love Italy.”
He removed his hand but draped said arm over my shoulder and my mouth popped open to protest—as I am certain what he said could be easily misunderstood—but nothing came out.
Jace stepped closer and his eyes narrowed on Joe, who laughed strangely.
“No? You do not think she will like it?”
An additional strange feeling hit me, beyond all the others, and I realized it was because there was silence. Everyone on the boat was listening. Jimmy had appeared behind Jace, and he had been shadowed by one of Joe’s men. Dmitry had stopped his storytelling. His Goon had stood up and both were stiff, watching Joe and Jace.
I was winded.
No one was saying anything.
“The deal I made with Giuseppe stands,” growled Jace.
“And me? What do you give me?” Joe snarled back, standing up quickly and stepping so close to Jace I was surprised he did not step back, for I could not stand that kind of proximity with a stranger, and certainly not one as hostile as Joe. Dmitry had stepped up and stood beside Mr. Carlisle.
“That’s not my problem,” ground out Jace. “Don’t like it, let’s ring your daddy, right now.”
I glanced at Joe, as I assumed the reference to “daddy” had been a derogative one. He reminded me of a cobra, watching his lithe body, hunched over slightly, and I worried he might suddenly lash out and bite Jace.
Jace laughed then. Out loud. Only I was certain it was not sincere. Then he turned to me, reached an arm out, and I took it quickly, rising. “I’ll show ya where we’re headed, Charlie,” he announced lightly. We headed down the steps into the cabin area, where today’s two tour guides and the boat captain were waiting to do their presentation.
Short on oxygen, I leaned against Jace as we stood near the corner. My unsteadiness was not caused by the ocean’s sway, but because of the situation we were in.
A boatful of vipers.
I should be angry at Jace for putting me here. Certainly that’s what logic dictated. But with his hands wrapped around my waist, holding me tight to him, I just wanted to . . . protect him. For I was a viper too, at least if Sullivan Blaise had his way. Furthermore, I had experienced Jace’s world, such as it was, and I could not blame him for wanting a buffer, whether it be in the form of aggressive long-time associates, like Mr. Carlisle, or a simple girl from Niagara Falls with an above-average IQ who had mated with him for her own terrible reasons.
Sympathizing with him was a practical response, and the right way to feel. Besides, he had whispered in my ear, “Don’t be scared. Trust me.”
Of course B says when someone asks you to trust them, that means you should not. I thought of how I felt staring into Jace’s eyes last night—and my body relaxed against his as I accepted what he said as truth. Then I wondered if I was in fact driven entirely by emotion, perhaps lust, as well? But I reassured myself that even if that was the case, it would only last today, or until I was removed from his physical presence at the end of the trip. And that as long as I felt good feelings, whatever the source, it was correct and proper and appropriate. He gave me a quick squeeze as Joe and the rest of the party filed in. It took some concentration to pick up on the information they were imparting about the reef.
• • •
It was 8:10 p.m. before we clambered back into the limo from the port, smelling of suntan oil, high on sea air, and wind-burned. I struggled with my land legs for the first few minutes, and clung to Jace, wholly richer for having braved the ocean. My ears were plugged but, as annoying as that was, I was beyond grateful to him for giving me this experience, and I had already thanked him twice. I was also grateful Dmitry and his Goon had taken a different car. They were extremely intoxicated. Mr. Carlisle and Mr. Bennett and a bevy of bodyguards who met us at the pier were in our car, as well as his Russian girl, who had fallen asleep.
I had had two glasses of wine, which made me feel extremely silly, and then mildly tired.
I was busy texting B a photo of me in the water that Jace had taken with his hi-tech underwater camera. I appeared not unlike a fish myself in my bright blue wetsuit, goggles and breathing tube, smiling next to a giant, bright yellow butterflyfish.
I had found the experience as I imagine someone might feel flying into space. I had dropped into another planet. The small section of reef where we snorkeled was beyond awesome. After all, it was the largest structure on this planet built by a living organism. Schools of brightly-colored fish, strange, prickly creatures, and, well, simply too many species to identify swam around me neither frightened nor curious. Just accepting. It occurred to me that they must have thought I was another fish. They studied me silently. I felt exhilarated, and then, terribly sad.
I found I rather enjoyed the company of these fish more than humans, and reflected on how I am not unlike one of them—in a giant bowl, skittering around people staring bug-eyed, wondering, who are you?, what are you about? and, what does it all mean?
I texted B the photo and wrote Wish you were here.
And I felt a pang of longing to see her smile, and hear her derisive snort.
Jace was draped over my shoulder, having
answered a few work emails, including dealing with an urgent situation in St. Lucia, I gathered, involving a hotel renovation. Since we had made love (I had decided “coitus” was indeed insufficient), he had barely taken his hands off me.
“Who’s B?” he asked. Oh, he had been reading over my shoulder.
“My best friend.”
“Why do you call her B?”
“She hates her name.”
Silence.
“Beatrice. But do not ever call her that.”
“What’s her surname?”
“Moody.”
My phone buzzed with a response.
Hm. Wet ‘n’ wild with the boss. Did he go fish yet?
I heard Jace chuckle and I glanced at him. “Double entendre.” I rolled my eyes. His fingers rubbed my shoulders, nearly pinching them. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You can tell her I plan to go deep-sea diving later.”
I gasped.
“I am certain she would describe that as corny.”
He flashed me his white teeth, even whiter against the fresh tan he had picked up today. I had offered him sunscreen but all he said was, “That stuff will kill you.”
“Hey, huggy bear!” shouted Mr. Bennett, and Jace’s body jolted along with mine. The Russian girl was obviously passed-out, as she didn’t budge in spite of the shouting.
I tensed—Mr. Bennett was very upset. His eyes were bugging out of his head at Jace, and I wondered if he had asked a question I had not heard. “Yougoin’ ta fuckin’ dosomethin’ about this?!?” He spoke so fast I barely made out the words.
Jace kept right on stroking my arm, which I found distracting rather than enticing, given the sudden hostility.
Lightheaded, I tried to breathe properly, as I thought about what Mr. Bennett’s problem must be. If I was not mistaken, based on what I had overheard between Mr. Bennett and Mr. Carlisle, Jace was on this trip to make some kind of deal with Giuseppe. If a deal went down, I was hoping it had occurred last night before dinner when I waited in my room, or after I was sent home from the restaurant so I would not be privy to details. However, Jace’s colleagues also indicated they had another agenda, something they needed Jace to do—something that Mr. Carlisle had expressed concern that Jace would not do—and it was all connected with why they invited Dmitry.