Tempting Escape

by Heather McVey

  "Ron, please eh,” Guy interrupted quickly. “Let's not discuss business over the table."

  Ronald scoffed. “Blow your own trumpet, that's what I say. Did the young scoundrel not tell you that he owns a forty percent stake of the shares in my company? He inherited it from his daddy, God rest his soul."

  Shelly physically shrank inside. Her math had never been up to much, but she didn't need the portly man to tell her that made Guy wealthier than even her wildest ramblings had imagined. The man must be a millionaire a few times over and then some. She suddenly felt more inadequate than ever.

  What the hell was Guy doing with her, when he could be sitting in Cancun living it up with a bunch of beautiful super models?

  Ronald, completely misunderstanding the thunderous look on Guy's face, winked and tapped the side of his nose. “I know what it's like to be young. I was myself once. You'll want your lady friend to yourself for the evening, right enough. Call me, son, when you get back to your practice after playing diving instructor.” He clapped Guy on the back, then ambled off, leaving Shelly in a state of shock.

  Guy wanted to strangle the babbling, well-meaning fool. Ronald, who'd been Guy's aloof father's best friend, certainly hadn't helped any to put Shelly's nerves at ease. He turned to her. She was sitting, her back ramrod stiff, still smiling as though the effort caused her great pain.

  Gently, he asked, “Still feeling nervous?"

  "No.” She gave a crooked smile. “I mean, I'm sitting here with a friggin' millionaire, why the heck should I be nervous?"

  Guy reached over the table and took her hand. “It's just money, Shelly, it doesn't really mean anything."

  Sure, she thought, as she swallowed the entire glass of champagne in two giant gulps. Try telling that to the poor people in Africa!

  Guy apparently hadn't noticed how quickly she'd downed the champagne, for which Shelly was grateful. His eyes were focused on something or someone behind her. Swiveling instinctively in her chair, she saw Sue approach them speedily with a young dark-haired man on her arm that couldn't have been a day over twenty.

  Guy gave Shelly's fingers a gentle squeeze. “We will finish this conversation later, okay?"

  "Fancy meeting you two here,” Sue cooed, as she made a beeline straight for their table. Shelly didn't miss that fact that when Sue looked at her, her smile was sour. It seemed her feelings of dislike were mutual.

  Shelly grimaced. The woman's voice grated on her nerves. Great, she thought, this is all I need. A bitch that's permanently in heat!

  Guy said, with strained brightness, “Hello, Sue."

  Sue took that as her cue. She sidled as close to Guy as she possibly could, practically draping her breasts over his forearm. “How about a dance, honey?"

  Guy got to his feet and looked down at her from his considerable height. “Actually, I was intending to dance with Shelly."

  "Go on, Brad can dance with Shelly while I dance with you,” Sue looked to the young man. “You don't mind, Brad, honey, do you?"

  Brad studied the blonde, sitting modestly in the shadows. She was stunning. “Nope, I'd enjoy it."

  Guy scowled. The young buck had been just a little bit too enthusiastic for his liking.

  Sue clapped her hands together. “That's settled then."

  Shelly narrowed her eyes and filled her empty glass with champagne from the ice bucket. To hell with not drinking! Sue couldn't have been more obvious had she issued an invitation to her bed. She didn't know why it bothered the hell out of her, nor did she wish to analyze her feelings further.

  "I don't know,” Guy said and looked at Shelly for help. Why doesn't she step in and rescue me? he wondered.

  Shelly made a sweeping gesture with her hand, as though to let Sue know that Guy was free to do as he wished. She didn't have a claim on him. “Go on."

  Guy frowned. “If you're sure, Shelly."

  They left, Sue clinging possessively to Guy's arm. Shelly excused herself from Brad and faded into the background. Her stomach was twisted into knots, she felt sick and ill at heart. She didn't know why she had sent Guy off like that when it so deeply upset her to see him having fun with another woman. Some stubborn part inside her simply refused to let him know that. It was difficult enough even to admit it to herself.

  Hoping that she wasn't being too obvious, her gaze followed Guy and Sue, as they swayed gently to the music. When she couldn't tolerate it any longer, she turned and made her way into the ladies’ room. Shelly was grateful the room was empty. She slouched in one of the compartments and bolted the toilet door. Her heart was slamming painfully against her ribcage, her hands were shaking and her throat was dry.

  She was in love with Guy Pearson—despite all the warnings she'd given herself, despite Ted, despite the fact she was supposed to be doing some serious experimenting with as many men as possible, despite the fact that in less than a week, she would never see the man again.

  Hell! she cursed, how had it happened?

  She got slowly to her feet, opened the cubicle door, and splashed water on her face. She had to pull herself together. She had to!

  "Hi,” a mid-forty-something American woman, dressed-to-kill, in a pastel pink Laurel suit said, strolling into the ladies’ room.

  Shelly managed the semblance of a smile.

  The woman looked at her. “You look peaky to me. You feeling all right, honey?” she asked kindly, as she ran a brush through her short, auburn locks.

  "I'm fine, thanks,” Shelly lied with another forced smile.

  * * * *

  No, she wasn't. She was scared and anxious. She had fallen in love again, and she'd promised herself she would never let that happen again. But it had, with Guy. Why couldn't she have fallen for the nice man that drove the bus she took to work? Or that cute nurse, Kevin, that had a thing for her? Oh no, she had to fall hard for the man that every single woman in the club had their eye on, who just happened to be a millionaire to boot.

  Five minutes later, Shelly composed herself enough to rejoin the main floor. Guy was by her side within a few seconds, noticeably irritable.

  "I've been searching all over for you,” he said, frowning heavily.

  Shelly said tartly, “I thought you were otherwise engaged."

  "Christ, woman! Couldn't you tell I wanted out?"

  "I thought I told you not to call me ‘woman'."

  A waiter walked past with a loaded tray, Shelly reached out and helped herself to a glass of wine.

  Just as smoothly, Guy removed it from her fingers. “You've had enough."

  "Last time I checked, I was over twenty-one.” Shelly took the glass back from him. She wasn't certain what was happening to her this evening, but she was certain of one thing, she didn't like his attitude.

  His frown darkened into a scowl. “You could have at least stuck around. We came here together. Remember? Or doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  Shelly ignored the question. If Guy expected her to make a jealous scene over another woman, he'd have to wait until hell froze over.

  "If you want to go home with Sue, that's fine with me."

  Offended, he raked her with a furious glare. “Let me get this straight, you honestly want me to leave with Sue?"

  Shelly took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, you both seem to get along like a house on fire."

  She watched his incredulous look turn to one of anger. She couldn't remember ever seeing a man more enraged. His eyes positively spat fire at her, his nostrils flared and his jaw clamped together tightly. He held himself so stiffly, she wondered if he still took air into his lungs. She observed all this in a detached sort of way; her concentration focused on preserving her thin façade of unconcern.

  "Now I understand, maybe Ted turned to other women out of a desperate need to know they cared. Because I don't think he would have got that reassurance from you, honey.” Guy felt sick saying it. It was unfair, he knew. But he wanted her to want him, and it was said.

  When he felt the stinging sla
p or her hand a moment later across his face, he thought, oh yeah, it was definitely said.

  Shelly's breath caught sharply in her throat. His words had hurt more than any physical blow ever could have. She'd always worried that Ted's unfaithfulness lay at her door. Angry words tumbled from her lips. “Who knows? Maybe you're right.” She laughed bitterly.

  "Shelly, stop this!” Guy hissed and closed his eyes as if seeking patience. “Let's not spoil the evening."

  "It's already spoiled,” she spat back, heading for the exit.

  * * * *

  Shelly swung open the door to her bungalow and frowned when it wouldn't close properly. She looked down to see a very large black shoe jammed firmly in the doorway.

  A husky voice spoke. “Invite me in for a coffee."

  It was on the tip of Shelly's tongue to tell Guy to get lost—failing that, to lie and say that she had a headache. But delaying the inevitable wouldn't help either of them. The bungalow was quiet, depressing and empty somehow, with Ted gone. Now with what she must say to Guy, it felt downright oppressive, as if the very air in the room was pressing in around her.

  Shelly busied herself by putting water and ground coffee in the machine, then setting out cups on the small breakfast bar overlooking the terrace.

  "Okay,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her face to look at him. “I want to know what's wrong."

  The bewilderment in his blue eyes cut Shelly to the quick.

  "Well?"

  She dropped her gaze. “Nothing. I've just decided that we don't suit each other."

  His hand fell away from her shoulders and he began to pace the floor. “You call that nothing?"

  She gulped. She had to try and explain something that she barely understood herself.

  He coaxed, “Speak to me. Words I can take, your silence I can't."

  "I don't think that I ever realized what an important man you are until tonight.” She struggled to find her voice, along with the words. “I mean, owning half of Dalton's oil company. That's something."

  "What has that got to do with anything?"

  Taking the seat opposite him, the best place to start was at the beginning. “You have to understand that I haven't come away from this break-up with Ted without a few scars."

  The coffee had finished filtering from the pot. Guy stood up and poured them each a cup.

  When he was seated at the table again, he said, “You didn't seem to mind when I left with Sue."

  Shelly blew on her coffee. “I've told you I don't get jealous, not anymore."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  She tried to make light of it. “Ted used to introduce me to his girlfriends. He'd watch my reaction and hope that I'd get jealous. I don't know; maybe he got some kind of weird kick out of it. Anyway, sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't.” She paused and sighed heavily. “I made a promise a couple years ago that I just wouldn't get jealous anymore."

  Guy reached his hands out, as though to comfort her. “Shelly, look, listen."

  "No.” She held her coffee cup to her chest in a desperate childlike gesture. “You've got so much money, you don't need me.” The last, she almost cried out on a note of pain.

  Guy seemed to mull over her words. “Money can't make me happy."

  How that cliché got on her nerves, Shelly thought with a big sigh. “It goes a long way to the down payment,” she retorted and took another sip of coffee, strong and black, just the way she liked it.

  His face suddenly creased in laughter, disarming her completely. Then the frown reappeared as quickly as it had disappeared. “What do you think is happening between us?"

  "Nothing. I think we just got carried away. It happens, doesn't it? On islands like this?"

  Guy's voice was husky as he gazed at her. “The only thing I got carried away with Shelly, was you."

  She gathered her resolve before continuing, “Everything has somehow gotten so intense between us."

  Guy inserted. “It always has been, from the very first moment we met."

  Shelly said firmly, “It doesn't change the fact that it has to stop."

  "I think you're just too frightened to give another man the power to hurt you. I told you once and it obviously didn't sink in, so I'll say it again.” His brooding, worried look was back. “I would never hurt you. I'm not like Ted. We are two entirely different men. Why can't you just accept that?"

  "Because I have no intention of involving myself in another relationship.” She flung the words madly at him.

  "In case you haven't noticed, Shelly, we're already involved,” he shot back.

  "I disagree.” She gave a definite shake of her head. “A few dates don't really qualify as being involved."

  "And what about making love? Passionate love that burns both parties, until they could die from the sheer wonderment of being in the other's arms!” Guy said emphatically. “Does that qualify as being involved in your book?"

  "No,” Shelly whispered, feeling utterly retched. “It doesn't."

  Guy was the first to break the heavy silence that followed. “You have obviously got some serious issues that need sorting out,” he added wearily. “For that matter, so do I. Call me, Shelly, if you're ever in the mood to really talk about this like a grown-up.” Standing, he placed a card on the tabletop.

  Shelly looked at it suspiciously. “What's that?"

  He looked sexier, somehow, than ever before as he replied crisply, “It's my phone number. I didn't think you had it, since I always call you."

  "Thanks, I didn't."

  "Don't thank me, angel, unless you mean to change your mind about us."

  Shelly stared at her feet. “I don't, I can't."

  "Then there's nothing more to say."

  Presently, the front door slammed, and the sound caused Shelly to flinch.

  She swallowed another mouthful of coffee, feeling the cold wash of Guy's rebuff wash over her. The room, even after he was gone, seemed to rattle with angry exchanges. Shelly found herself wrapping her arms protectively around her body. She sniffed daintily. I won't cry, she thought. I just won't.

  Chapter 16

  Shelly reached for a magazine and idly thumbed through the pages, not finding a single picture or article worth more than a fleeting glance. She set it aside and reached for another. By the time she had gone through five magazines, Timo, the young Moldavian boy that cleaned her bungalow and took her rubbish away, stepped out onto the terrace to inform her in his broken English that he was finished.

  Shelly told him that he could help himself to some of the treats she always left out for him. With a flashing white smile, he was gone—no doubt the envy of his friends, his pockets laden with little delicacies.

  She turned her face to the bright blue sky with a multitude of thick fluffy, cotton wool clouds. Guy, it had been so long since she'd last seen him. Two interminable days, and with each one that passed, she missed him more. She'd debated long and hard about calling him, wavering with her indecision, battling with her foolish pride. What she'd told him that night had been the truth, she didn't want another relationship. She just wasn't emotionally ready to be able to commit in that way. But she'd overreacted at the nightclub, and now she felt guilty at how the evening had gone.

  When he'd left the house, Guy had suggested she call him when she was ready to be rational. Well, she'd been ready the moment the door had closed behind him, ready to acknowledge her fault, perhaps even her need for him. But pride held her back. And with each passing hour, it became more difficult to swallow that pride. She stretched her legs across the table and set her magazine beside her. Her short skirt hiked up to her waist and her thong pulled tight against her clit. It had been days since she'd last fucked Guy. Her pussy was dripping cream, obviously missing his enormous cock, as much as she missed the reassurance of his big body in bed at night.

  At the memory of Guy's fantastic bronzed body, washboard stomach, and budding biceps, not to mention the dick of the millennium, Shelly co
uldn't help but slide one hand down to her pussy. She visualized his huge cock dripping silver threads of pre-ejaculate from its swollen purple head to her creamy thighs before he entered her. Or dripping wet, slicked with her pussy juice as he withdrew. She moved aside her thong and fingered her clit. With her free hand, she pushed her blouse above her pert breasts, exposing her nipples to the soft sea breeze.

  She started out with small circles around her clit, then thrust one finger into her pussy, spreading her juices over her folds. Against her will, she found herself thinking about Guy again. This time, he was eating her pussy while his hands toyed with her nipples and he fucked her ass with a dildo.

  The thought of it sent Shelly into orbit. Her orgasm caused her to moan loudly as ripple after ripple of her climax flowed through her until she came a second time.

  "Blast, Shelly Blake, you won't think of him again, do you hear me?” she said aloud, when she recovered her breath.

  Banning his name from her lips and her mind were two entirely different things, Shelly realized an hour later, after an early morning swim around her bungalow. It took her another hour to build up enough courage to phone Guy. He answered on the second ring.

  "Hello, Guy ... It's Shelly.” Even that was almost more than she could manage.

  "Shelly?” Just the way he said her name revealed his delight in hearing from her.

  Shelly was grateful he didn't bring up the club and the argument that had followed immediately. “How have you been?"

  "Err, just fine,” she returned awkwardly. “I just wanted to know that you were okay and to apologize for my ridiculous behavior."

  "Well, since we're being honest, I haven't been okay. I've missed you like crazy. I don't need your apologies, I just need you."

  She swallowed. “I thought we had discussed that."

  "Let's discuss it again then. Can we meet someplace?"

  "I'm not sure.” Her mind struggled with a list of excuses, but she couldn't easily deny how lonely and miserable she'd been, how badly she wanted to feel his arms around her, his body gliding over hers. “I can't, I'm waiting on a phone call from home."