Matchless

by Brynley Bush

  I look back at Dr. Black. Although I had suggested the idea of creating a synthetic drug to test alongside the natural plant to him at dinner the other night, he has not officially agreed to it. He nods definitively.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” I say.

  The judge says, “Based upon how this new information was discovered and the fact that both Dr. Patrick Black and Dr. Beckett Black are developing a drug based upon this information and would be harmed by a competing pharmaceutical company developing a similar drug based upon the same information, I do not believe Ms. Penworth should be allowed to use this information for her own benefit or for the benefit of Coker Pharmaceuticals or any other pharmaceutical company. However, there is the issue of Ms. Penworth’s right to the research based upon her father’s involvement.”

  I stand. “May I approach the bench, Your Honor?” I ask.

  The judge nods and I walk to where he sits and hand him a copy of the motion we filed this morning.

  “Your Honor, this morning the plaintiffs filed a Motion of Summary Judgment to dismiss this case based upon the fact that all of the research data in question has been based upon the medical history and tissue samples of Griffin Black, who had leukemia as a child and whose ingestion of the guanabana seeds is believed to have cured his cancer. We assert that as such, he is entitled sole discretion as to how his tissue is used for research. He would not even be here, able to contribute this possibly huge advance in cancer treatment, if it weren’t for Dr. Black who adopted him as a child and brought him to the United States where he was privy to advanced research and technology.”

  The judge fixes me with a hard stare. “Ms. Kingston, are you aware that most cases regarding an individual’s tissue rights have been ruled in favor of the good of medical science, not the individual?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” I say, holding his gaze. “You will see the supporting case law attached to our motion. However Griffin Black’s circumstances are quite different. It is an issue that is ripe for the court’s definitive interpretation.”

  He steeples his fingers and I swear a small smile is playing at his lips. “Indeed it is Ms. Kingston. Not unlike the Webster case regarding the trademarking of search features,” he says, referring to the high profile case I tried several years ago. “You seem to have a knack for trying cases that set precedence. Very well. I will set a trial date to hear your motion regarding Mr. Black’s tissue rights. Will six weeks give you both enough time to prepare?”

  Camille’s attorney and I both answer affirmatively.

  The judge addresses Camille’s attorney. “Until that decision is determined, Ms. Penworth and any company or individual associated with Ms. Penworth may not conduct any research based upon any component of the guanabana tree or its properties for cancer treatment. You have your work cut out for you, Counselors.”

  Court is adjourned and I gather my papers, studiously avoiding looking into the gallery at the Blacks. I don’t want to appear smug, and I know if I catch Griffin’s eye at this point I won’t be able to keep the grin off of my face. Of course, we still have to convince the court of Griffin’s tissue rights, a case that I imagine will go all the way to the Supreme Court, but in the meantime the Blacks will have all the time in the world to conduct their research and develop a drug that mimics graviola while testing the seeds themselves.

  Outside the courtroom, Griffin envelops me in a huge bear hug. “You were brilliant!” he says, kissing me hard. The rest of the Blacks gather around me and Mitchell, offering their congratulations and gratitude.

  “Let’s celebrate with lunch at Hugo’s,” Patrick suggests. “My treat.”

  We make plans to meet at the restaurant and Dr. Black leaves with Beckett and Emma. Griffin and I are on the steps of the courthouse, headed to Griffin’s rental car, when Camille appears.

  “This is not over,” she hisses. “I wonder how the Navy will feel about one of their so-called finest having a history of cancer,” she says nastily. She turns to me and says, “And you. You I will ruin.” She turns on her heel and leaves as I stare at her retreating back.

  “Wow,” I say, stunned.

  As we walk out to the parking lot, I ask Griffin, “Is what she said true? Will your career be in jeopardy if the Navy finds out you had cancer?”

  “No,” he assures me, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders and dropping a kiss onto the top of my head. “I had to disclose all my medical information when I applied to the Navy. I received a medical waiver since I had been cancer free for more than ten years. Camille can’t hurt me.”

  I relax a little as I look up at him. “Good,” I say.

  His face hardens. “And she’ll rot in hell before I let her hurt you.”

  After celebrating our win with an extravagant lunch at Hugo’s, we say goodbye to Emma and Beckett at the restaurant since Griffin and I are leaving early in the morning to return to San Diego.

  “I’d love to keep in touch,” I tell Emma as we hug.

  “Me too,” she says. “We’ll definitely see you when you come back for the hearing. And Griffin will have to bring you to the wedding.”

  I nod, hoping that will be the case. I have grown to love Griffin’s family.

  Once we’re back at Dr. Black’s house, I call Marcus to share the good news from the pretrial conference, and then Griffin and I spend a much deserved lazy afternoon lying out by the pool. Although Agnes is ever-present, popping out to bring us frosty glasses of iced tea or more sunscreen or a snack, there’s an intensity and awareness between Griffin and me that makes me glad we will be back home tomorrow and can finally be alone together. His strong hands firmly massaging the sunscreen into my warmed flesh, the way his fingers brush the sides of my breasts as he kisses me, and the sight of his tanned and sculpted body in nothing but swim trunks all work together to stoke my libido, and I long to feel him inside of me.

  After dinner, Griffin leaves for several hours to take care of some business; I assume to prepare the plane for our flight back to California in the morning. He’s back in time to slide into bed next to me just before I drift off to sleep, enfolding me in his arms.

  He wakes me up while it’s still dark outside.

  “C’mon,” he says, kissing me awake. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

  “Why?” I protest, burrowing into his chest. “What time is it?”

  “Time to go,” he insists, firmly pulling me up. “We take off in less than an hour. Let’s go.”

  Still grumbling, I head to the bathroom. An hour later, we’re airborne and I am privy to the most beautiful aerial view of the sunrise I have ever seen. I’m less scared this time, and I amuse myself by alternating between watching the scenery out the window and Griffin’s face, which is uncharacteristically preoccupied.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “More than okay. I’m with you,” he says. He shoots me a smile that could charm the devil, but I can see a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  We lapse into a comfortable silence as he expertly takes the controls, flying me back to San Diego and my life there—a life which he has somehow become an integral part of. I glance out the window and am surprised to see the sparkling blue of the ocean below.

  “Are we going home a different way?” I ask curiously. “I don’t remember flying over the ocean before.”

  Griffin flashes me another one of his megawatt smiles and this time it reaches his eyes.

  “We’re taking a small detour,” he says enigmatically. “My brothers and I own a small island off the coast of Belize. I thought we’d spend a day or two there, just the two of us, before we have to go back to reality.”

  “Really?” I ask incredulously as joy sings through me. The thought of a quick getaway with Griffin sounds perfect. Then I sigh as I remember my responsibilities. “I should probably clear it with Marcus. He’s expecting me back.”

  “Already taken care of,” he says matter-of-factly. “He said that you deserve a vacation and to have a good time.”


  “Oh, okay then,” I say in surprise. The prospect of a few days alone with Griffin is tantalizing. “No Agnes?” I ask mischievously.

  “No Agnes,” he says firmly, his eyes sparkling. “No anyone. It’s a private island. We’ll be the only two people there. Just me,” he pauses as he looks at me, his smoldering eyes traveling across the curves of my body, “and you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We land an hour later in a grassy field surrounded by coconut trees with the sparkling blue Caribbean in the distance. Despite the lack of runway or any sort of guidance, the landing is smooth and we slowly roll to a stop.

  “Here we are,” Griffin says, shutting off the plane and smiling broadly at me.

  I laugh with delight. “Right here? We just get off the plane and leave it in the middle of a field?”

  “Yep,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. I do the same. “There’s no one here but us. We can do whatever we want.” The hunger in his eyes sears through me and I feel that familiar tug in my pelvis.

  His strong hands span my waist as he lifts me down from the plane, and I stand there for a moment just taking in the beautiful scenery. We are literally in paradise. I look at Griffin in wonder. “Where exactly are we?” I ask.

  “We’re near the Yucatan peninsula in the Caribbean on what is officially named Black Island. Beckett, Drake, and I purchased it about five years ago. Beckett recently had a house built on the island for Emma and himself, which is where we’ll be staying.”

  “It’s amazing,” I say with wonder as I take in the lush forest that surrounds us. “How big is it?”

  “Not very,” he says with a laugh. “I think it’s only about two miles from one end of the island to the other. Other than a few locals who live in Belize that we pay to keep up the house and stock the pantry before we come, no one really knows about it. We’re pretty much off the radar. There’s not even cell coverage.”

  “How do they get here?”

  “By boat. There’s a small boat dock on the other side of the island, and a little house there as well, although nothing nearly as sophisticated as what Beckett built. We’re only about fifty miles from Belize. Sometimes we just fly into the airport there and take a small boat from there to the island.”

  Griffin grabs a backpack and my suitcase from the cargo area of the plane and holds out his free hand to me. “Welcome to paradise.”

  The house is an easy five to ten minute walk from the airstrip along a carefully cleared path that winds through the treed canopy of the forest that seems to cover much of the island. The vegetation is lush and green, and I catch the occasional glimpse of brightly colored birds in the treetops and one large lizard that studies us curiously. We emerge from the forest directly onto the beach and there is the house, a small but beautiful three story wooden structure with white shutters and a wraparound porch that faces the white sand and the turquoise ocean.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe. I look at Griffin in delight. “Is this seriously where we’re staying?”

  He nods and with one hand on the curve of my hip, nudges me toward the house. I wait at the front door while he digs in his pocket, finally pulling out a key. He unlocks the door and we step inside. It’s bright and airy inside, thanks to numerous windows that provide a stunning view of the ocean, and the house is pleasantly cool after the short but muggy walk. Griffin drops our bags by the door and shows me around.

  Despite its isolated location, the house has all of the comforts of home. There is a full gourmet kitchen with granite countertops and glass faced cabinets that opens into a living area decorated in soothing shades of blue, with a small bathroom off of it. A small staircase leads to the second floor, which consists of two smaller bedrooms and a cozy den lined with shelves filled with books and games.

  “I’m sure Beck and Emma will have these bedrooms filled with more kids before long,” he says with a smile. “C’mon. The master bedroom is one more floor up.”

  He links his fingers with mine as we climb the second small set of stairs, emerging into a vast room that takes up the entire third floor. It’s a bedroom fit for a king, or perhaps I should say a queen since it’s clear Beckett had Emma in mind when he built the house. The room has been decorated to resemble a lush harem with dark burgundy walls and heavy draperies, and the scent of sandalwood permeates the air. A large bed is prominently positioned in the center of the room and is constructed of beautiful wrought-iron with intricate swirls on both the headboard and footboard, and it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out how those iron bars might be used to anchor a rope or two. My pulse inadvertently quickens at the thought as I take in the rest of the room. French doors lead out onto a deck that overlooks the ocean, and two chaise lounges are positioned to take full advantage of the view.

  I wander into the bathroom, which is an opulent retreat with richly carved wood cabinets, marble countertops, a jetted tub, and an open marble shower with two detachable shower heads, each set on a sliding bar so the height can be adjusted. The bathroom, like the entire house itself, has clearly been designed for lovers.

  My gaze meets Griffins and we slowly smile at each other.

  “Thank you,” I say softly. “This is perfect.”

  He crushes me to him, his lips devouring mine. “It will be,” he whispers.

  We spend the day swimming in the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean, stopping occasionally to make love on the beach, my skin deliciously warmed by the sun and Griffin’s hands as they explore every inch of me. Whatever had preoccupied him during the flight here is gone. He’s playful and teasing, hauling me into his arms in the ocean and threatening to dunk me if I don’t kiss him with sufficient enthusiasm.

  There’s snorkeling gear stored in a small shed near the house, and in the afternoon we take a small boat out a ways where we snorkel, hands entwined as we explore a world where only the two of us exist. Griffin catches a large fish which he sears for us over the gas stove in the gourmet kitchen while I prepare a salad and slice mangoes and the fresh, crusty loaf of bread that was considerately left for us by the wife of one of the caretakers. Ravenous, we devour the meal still wearing our swimsuits.

  “Come here!”

  The soft but deliberate command catches me by surprise. I stop in my tracks in the kitchen, slowly setting down the bottle of wine I was about to pour into our glasses, and turn to cross the short distance to where Griffin is standing, my body already responding to the absolute authority in his voice. What is it about his strength and dominance that can turn my insides to liquid in an instant?

  When I reach his side, his fingers twist possessively in my wind-tousled hair and he pulls my head back, exposing my throat. His lips find the rapidly beating pulse there.

  “Let’s take a shower,” he says, his voice raspy.

  I nod mutely, my mouth suddenly dry at the thought of the double-headed marble shower upstairs and Griffin’s beautifully sculpted body naked, slick, and wet. We climb the two small sets of stairs together silently. In the bathroom, Griffin turns on the taps and then turns to me. His fingertips skim across my skin, raising gooseflesh as a shiver of anticipation shudders through me.

  “This has been the most perfect day,” I say quietly as my hands trace the familiar hard planes of his chest.

  He lowers his head to capture my mouth, his tongue slipping between my lips to tangle with mine. After a long, delicious moment, he pulls back and whispers, “It’s far from over, Mila.”

  His mouth finds mine again as he slowly peels off my bikini, and my hands are equally insistent as they divest him of his swim trunks. His cock springs free, long, hard, and pulsing with his desire for me.

  Wordlessly, I drop to my knees in front of him and take him into my mouth, savoring the musky, salty taste of him. I run my tongue around the broad head and he moans, his head tipping backwards. My tongue traces the thickly-veined length of him, licking up and down languidly before I suck him into my mouth with a long drawing pull. His muttered swear is gratifyin
g. I grasp the root of him with my fist and pump as my mouth continues to suck and lick, urging him toward orgasm.

  I feel his thigh muscles tighten and redouble my efforts, sucking him so hard that my jaw aches.

  “Mila, stop!” The words are ragged and I raise my eyes to look at him questioningly.

  “I intend to come somewhere else tonight,” he says, his eyes holding forbidden promise.

  His fingers fist in my hair again as he pulls me to my feet and then he places his hands on either side of my face, holding me still as his mouth devours mine. Still kissing me, he nudges me backward toward the shower until the hot water flows over my shoulders.

  He backs me up against the cold marble wall of the shower and takes a bared breast in each palm, rubbing his thumbs over each nipple until they tighten beneath his touch. He bends his head and takes one hard peak into his mouth, sucking hard as a shudder runs through me. I almost orgasm right then and there as his teeth gently graze over the tender tip.

  He is so attuned to my body and its responses that he knows right away and releases my nipple with a low laugh.

  “Not yet, sweetheart,” he says. “I have other plans for you tonight.”

  With firm fingers at the nape of my neck, he tips my head back under the spray so that the water flows over my hair, wetting it. He sits down on the wooden seat in the shower and pulls me down against him so that I am sitting between his legs, my back against his chest. I can feel the hardness of his cock pressing against my bottom and I wiggle a little just to tease him.

  He reaches for a bottle of shampoo and uncaps it, squeezing some of the jasmine scented liquid into the palm of his hand. He takes my hair into his hands, his fingers massaging my scalp as he works the shampoo through the wet strands. I sigh with pleasure. The tender way he is taking care of this ordinary but strangely intimate task is singularly erotic. Although his erection is hard, betraying his desire, his hands are gentle, and I once again marvel at his self-control.