"They sure as heck don't have anything like this where I come from,” he chuckled.
"Where's that?"
"Pennsylvania,” he replied and Barbara laughed aloud.
"What's funny?"
"Oh, please don't tell me!” she said.
"Yep,” he said. “Intercourse."
She shook her head. “This is too much."
"How so?"
Looking up at the black satin of the night sky with its sprinkling of diamonds here and there, she crossed her ankles. “Because I think Mr. St. John has been having himself a little fun."
"The boss?” he asked. “That Mr. St. John? Why do you say that?"
She swiveled her head and gave him an arch look. “Because I'm from Climax, Georgia."
He just stared at her for a moment. “There's really such a place?” At her nod, he sighed. “I thought he was kidding when he said maybe I'd find me a woman from Climax."
"No, I think he's working overtime trying to find us partners,” she said.
Bret reached over and claimed her hand. “Well, I sure do like the looks of the one he might have found for me.” He brought her hand to his lips and flicked his tongue across her knuckles.
"Whoa, boy!” she said, pulling her hand back. She let her eyes roam over his perfect nudity then she looked away. “Tonight, I'm resting."
"The studs wore you out today, did they?” he asked.
"I had a physical,” she said, “and that wore me out."
"Oh,” he said and reclined in the chaise lounge with his fingers threaded behind his head. “So what you got planned for say five o'clock tomorrow afternoon?” he asked. “That's when I get off."
She smiled at his use of that term. “I have my last fantasy starting at seven p.m.,” she said. “I leave the next morning."
"Oh,” he said, disappointment in his voice. He cocked one shoulder. “Can't you extend your stay?"
"You gonna pay for it if I do?” she joked.
"Sure,” he replied. “Why not?"
She turned to stare at him. “I was joking!"
"I'm not,” he said. “Mr. St. John said the employees can invite a friend down once a year for a week's stay. Since I don't have anyone I'd care to come visit, you could use my chit for the year."
"That's very generous of you, but I have a job. I don't think my boss would let me extend my vacation another week. Getting one week off was like pulling eye teeth,” she complained.
They were silent for a moment and then Bret grunted. “You know Mr. St. John gave me carte blanch to hire more tech people,” he said. “You could apply for the job and stay here on the Cay."
She blinked. “Are you scamming me?"
"Not in the least. I figure I'm gonna need about ten more people to do the job I need to do. There are new billing procedures, all kinds of new scenarios that Mr. St. John wants to incorporate into the fantasies and a couple of those are heavy into computer use,” he said. “The mainframe is in a building on the other side of the island where the full-time employees live. The houses over there are fantastic, by the way. Depending on skill levels, starting pay is—and don't hold me to this—$40 an hour."
Barbara's mouth actually watered at that news. It made her paltry $15 an hour look extremely attractive.
"Of course there's the added incentive of free housing with utilities, satellite, high-speed internet and phone hookups provided, plus free travel on the company yacht and plane,” Bret added.
"You're kidding!” Barbara gasped.
"You pay for food and clothing and since there are no taxes on the Cay, your income is your income if you become a citizen."
It was beginning to sound better and better. “Man, I got to think about this,” she said.
"What is there to think about?” he prodded. “Would you rather live in paradise or go back to the States where folks like us don't always get what we deserve?"
She heard the anger and disappointment in his voice and knew precisely what he meant. “It sounds too good to be true,” she finally said.
"Well, think about it, pretty lady,” he told her, getting up from the chaise. “I'm gonna take another quick swim then head back home. It's gonna be a long day for me tomorrow."
Before she could react, he leaned over and hooked his crooked index finger under her chin and lowered his lips to hers. It was a sweet—almost chaste—kiss but the touch of his bare penis against her arm made it anything but. She felt that sweet muscle of his flex and then he chuckled, knowing full well what had happened.
"I'll look for you to come over to the computer building and fill out that application,” he whispered against her mouth and then straightened and strolled off, his tight rear end looking better than a caramel candy bar.
* * * *
As she lay in her bed later that evening, Barbara could not get her mind off Bret Simpson. His sensuous voice, dark good looks, his height, and mouthwatering body, the memory of his long, svelte cock had her shifting against the cool sheets all combined to keep her awake.
And then there was the tempting offer he'd made.
What—she wondered as she flounced the covers—would it be like to work in paradise every day where the sun was shining and the air was balmy and gorgeous men walked about stark naked?
"Oh, girl!” Barbara groaned and flung herself over in the bed, beating the pillow into submission with her fist.
Could she find a partner here as Julian St. John had? She wondered.
"Yeah, if you own a damned stud farm like he does,” she mumbled. “What woman wouldn't roll over on her back, put her heels in the air and growl: Take me Julian, I'm yours!?"
Giving up on the idea of sleep, she tossed the lightweight covers aside and got up, padding over to the French doors and opened them to look out at the beautiful Caribbean night. The moon was high overhead and shining down on the black velvet sea, lighting a pillar of gold all the way across the rolling waves.
Barbara sighed. What would it be like to wake every morning to the sound of the surf, the seagulls careening overhead, the smell of jasmine and gardenia rife in the air? To not have to go back to her boring job in the States doing mediocre work for a mediocre boss in a mediocre company? Not to have to worry about the rent or the utilities or the phone or the people who looked down on her because she was a darker color than them?
She stood there letting the night air bathe her in its sweet mist from the sea for a long time and then finally walked out onto the patio, onto the sand and made her way to the beach. She loved the feel of the smooth grains pressing through her toes as she ventured to the surf line, letting the waves wash up over her feet.
As far as the eye could see it was nothing but ocean. The roll of the water was mesmerizing and she soon found herself under its spell. Her body felt pulled toward that vastness, caught in warm arms that...
Barbara stiffened. Those were real arms around her! She thought with a gasp and would have turned had not his chin gone to her shoulder, the side of his face touching hers, his light beard abrading her skin in a way that set her blood to singing.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yes,” she answered, recognizing his voice as his hands moved up to cover her breasts. She leaned back against him, giving him all the access that he wanted.
"When I first came to the Cay, I would stand out here night after night and watch the moonlight playing on the water. I was homesick at first but then I began to realize there weren't the same smells or noise or danger here that there was back home."
"Where is home?” she asked as his palms circled her nipples.
"New Orleans,” he said. His hands slid to her shoulders and he turned her around to face him.
Barbara looked up into Neville's dark face. “And now? How do you feel about the Cay now?"
He gathered her into his arms, her face pressed to his muscular chest, listening to the warm, steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his colorful tropical shirt.
"This is home and I
am at ease here."
"I could get used to it,” she said. “I could get used to being held like this."
"Then perhaps you should stay,” he told her softly.
She pulled away from him slightly to look up at his handsome face. “Did you talk to Bret?” she asked, knowing he had.
"And to Julian,” he said. “The five of us agree you should stay with us on the Cay."
"The five of you?"
"Julian, Bret, Jackson, Drake, and me.” He kissed the top of her head. “Drake Sullivan's the doc."
"I see,” she said. “It's nice to know I'm being discussed by such sexy men."
He laughed. “Baby, you don't know the half of it. We men have a big surprise for you tomorrow,” he said. “Your fantasy has been moved up to ten o'clock so be prepared, Brown Sugar. Your breakfast will be waiting when you get to the dining room.” Once more he kissed her head then unlocked his arms from around her. Without another word, he turned and walked off into the night.
Chapter Four
After a mouthwatering breakfast of what turned out to be one helluva fruit salad consisting of cantaloupe, muskmelon, mango, peaches, nectarines, apricots, apple, pears, pineapple, watermelon and sprinkled with flaked coconut and pine nuts, and served in bowl shaped like a star, Barbara waddled out of dining room and collapsed in a swing under a large spreading tree.
"You had the fruit medley, huh?” a young woman asked from across the cobblestone patio. She was gliding slowly in another swing. She was wearing a bikini thong that left very little to the imagination.
"I had the whole orchard, I think,” Barbara said.
"What that tells me is that you are going to be having the pirate fantasy this afternoon,” the woman said with a laugh.
"Why do you think so?” Barbara asked, feeling her cheeks heating up.
"That's the breakfast I got when I chose that fantasy,” the woman said. “They always serve it when you're doing the pirate fantasy.” She shrugged. “Don't know why but that's what they do.” She pointed toward the ocean. “And the ship docked out there awhile ago."
Barbara looked to where the woman was pointing and her eyes widened. “It's a tall ship!” she exclaimed.
"A real brigantine,” the woman stated.
Aboard it, men could be seen walking the deck and clamoring up the rigging in preparation for the tall ship's sailing.
"That's the ship you'll be sailing out of here on, but the one you'll enjoy is the one you'll meet with out on the high seas,” the woman said.
Barbara's forehead creased. “What do you mean?"
"Well, when you're out on the ocean, the pirate ship will waylay you and that's when the fantasy begins. You'll be boarded by helpers dressed like pirates right down to their bare feet and the gold earrings in their ears,” the woman said. “And not an average man among them, my friend. Every one of the crew is Chippendale gorgeous with chiseled pecs studded with chest hair, washboard abs, firm glutes you can bounce a quarter off, and the rest of them is as downright wicked as the daggers and swords they sport. You're gonna love the pirate fantasy."
Barbara wasn't so sure she wanted her choice of fantasies to be made so public. “What was it like?"
The woman smiled knowingly. “Sweetie, it is to die for,” she said then stood up as one of the helpers came toward her. “Well, gotta go. Have fun!” She hooked her arm through her helper's and leaned against him.
Barbara glanced down at the soft white muslin gown that had been laid out for her to wear that day. She'd come fresh from her bath to find the bed made and the gown lying across the coverlet. A pair of soft brown kid slippers was on the floor beside the bed.
"Put us on, please,” read the small placard lying atop the dress.
As usual, there was no underwear to accompany the clothing and when Barbara donned the gown, she felt very decadent and very aroused as the muslin rubbed against her nipples and pubic hair.
Sitting there in the swing and observing the pirate ship, Barbara was beginning to get antsy. Though she couldn't make out individual faces at that distance, she could see five men who were dark enough to be Jackson and Neville.
"Oh, my, oh my, oh my,” Barbara whispered. She stared at the gleam of what she knew were cannons ranged along the side of the ship. Her heart was pounding fiercely.
"Mistress Allan?"
Barbara jerked at hearing her name and snapped her head around. A handsome young man dressed in an old-fashioned British Naval uniform stood with his tricorn hat lying in the crook of his arm. The white bagwig he wore shone in the bright morning sun. “Yes?” she replied.
"Good morning, ma'am. I am Lieutenant Barker of Her Majesty's ship the Boniface. Captain Jacobsen sends his regards, ma'am, and asks if you are ready to set sail for England,” the young man announced.
"Oh, yes,” she said, getting off the swing. “I am very ready."
He bowed respectively, settled his hat upon his head, and then offered her his arm. “May I escort you, ma'am?"
"I would like that, Lieutenant,” she said. She threaded her arm through his and he began leading her toward the harbor. His blue breeches fit into a pair of highly polished black boots that seemed to hug his muscular legs. The dark blue of his frock coat was plain but his waistcoat was piped with a broad band of gold lace and the white cuffs.
"Are you enjoying your stay on the Cay, ma'am?” he asked her as they drew nearer the sailing ship.
"Very much so, Lieutenant,” she said.
The hustle and bustle on the brigantine lent a festive note to the late morning air. A sailor was sitting on a keg plying a concertina while a little monkey sat upon his shoulder and nibbled on a banana.
After escorting her up the wooden gangway, Lieutenant Barker saluted smartly to an imposing older man dressed in the uniform of a British Navy Captain.
"Good morning, my lovely lady,” the captain said, taking her hand, and bringing it to his lips. “I trust you slept well, m'dear.” His accent was upper class British with just a hint of sultriness to it.
"I did, indeed, Captain,” she replied.
Lieutenant Barker disengaged his arm from her grip, and then bowed deeply to her and backed away, leaving her with the captain.
"We are about to get underway,” the captain said, staring deeply into her eyes. “I shall have my cabin boy show you to your quarters unless you wish to remain on deck for the sailing.” He released her hand then put his arms behind him, clasping his wrists in the time-honored military stance.
"I would,” she said.
"Very well, then,” he said. “Let us go the port rail to watch the departure."
The captain kept up a running commentary, explaining what was happening and who was doing what on deck. His speech was highly informative and very entertaining. As he would bark orders to his crew, his face would become stern and authoritative, but when he turned back to her, he would smile. When they were well out to sea, he leaned down to whisper in her ear.
"I cannot wait for our wedding day, Barbara Lynn,” he told her. “You will make a lovely bride and a magnificent addition to my home at Devongate."
She looked up at him and was surprised when he moved in to lightly touch her lips with his.
"Sail ho!"
The captain snapped his head around, an immediate frown obscuring his handsome face. “Where away?"
"To the starboard, Sir!” the sailor in the crow's nest yelled down.
Barbara turned to look across the deck and felt her womb jump as she caught sight of the pirate ship out on the waves.
Imposing and awesome, the black ship with its black sails bore down on them like a hulking beast of prey. On the tallest mast flew the Jolly Roger skull and crossbones. Its figurehead was a sultry wench with flowing hair that curled lushly around her bared bosom.
"By all that is holy!” the captain exclaimed. “It is the Windlass!"
"Is that bad?” Barbara asked, playing her part.
"'Tis only the most accursed pirate crew t
o ever sail these waters, milady,” the captain replied. “A scurvy bunch led by the man they call the Raven.” He took her hand, kissed it, and then motioned for his cabin boy. “You must go below. I would not have you on deck to view the carnage that may occur."
Barbara knew he was dismissing her and nodded. She put a hand to his chest. “You will be careful, Trevor,” she said, giving him a name she'd always liked.
His eyes gleamed. “I shall, my love,” he said as he lifted his head.
Once in the small cabin to which she'd been shown, she could hear running footsteps above her, the roar and thud of the cannons being fired, orders being shouted. Then there was a loud, piercing war cry followed by the skirl of blades clashing, the pop of pistols being discharged, and loud thumps on deck when, no doubt, a brave sailor had met his end.
Nervously pacing the small confines of the cabin, Barbara could feel her heart racing and wondered who it would be—Jackson or Neville or Drake Sullivan—who would crash open her door to drag her up to meet the pirate captain. When that crash happened, she could not stop the little squeak of surprise and put a hand to her chest.
"Shiver me timbers, a beauteous wench!” There was sheer devilment in the pirate's dark brown eyes as he advanced on her.
Barbara backed away, one hand out to ward off her attacker. He was barefoot with a bright red bandana covering his hair and a scuffed leather eye patch over his right eye. He came at her with determination, a wicked grin on his stubbled face. It was Jackson who had swooped into the cabin. He reached out to grab her hand and yanked her toward him.
"Come here, wench!” he said then bent over to plant his hard shoulder against her belly and swing her up in a fireman's carry.
She pummeled his back demanding he put her down, her legs held securely by his strong arm across her calves. “Unhand me, you brute!” she cried out.
"If ye think me a brute, ye ain't seen nothin’ yet!” Jackson said, and then guffawed, slapping a hand to her rump as he carried her out of the cabin and up the ladder.
The deck was littered with British sailors. Captain Jacobson was tied to the mast, his immaculate clothes disheveled, his wig gone, his light blond hair tousled. His was a woebegone expression and he could not meet her eyes, as she was set on her feet amid a motley crew of bare-chested men who towered above her.
Seasonal Winds: Summer Wind Page 4