When they arrived at their destination, Aaron helped her out of the Jeep as she surveyed their secret hideaway. It wasn’t a modern glass-and-wood structure or a stone castle like so many of his other houses. The white painted wood structure had been on the island for over a century.
“And you didn’t tear it down to build a McMansion, or even a real mansion?” she asked with a smile.
“Why would I?” he responded. “I put in a few creature comforts, like the hot tub, but the house itself is solid and it suits the island.”
Indeed, with its widow’s walk looking out to the sea and its gabled windows, this house did suit the pristine woods and cliffs of the island.
“I’m glad you didn’t tear it down.”
Virginia swiped the wig off as they went into the house and Aaron introduced her to the couple waiting there for them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Vincent are the caretakers,” Aaron explained as Virginia shook hands with each. “This is my guest, Virginia.”
The couple, in their fifties, looked like the tan and fit models they used in television commercials for “silver” vitamins. After the introductions, Aaron took the Vincents outside to confirm a few details, and then thanked them and went back in.
When he had closed the front door behind them, Aaron shepherded Virginia out to the wraparound porch facing the ocean. The cool breeze off the water, combined with the pink of the setting sun, gave just the mellow ambience he wanted for this interlude. Virginia took a seat in the porch swing and dropped the wig she’d been carrying. It lay like some deserted puppy dog next to her as she swung.
“The Vincents look pretty buff for caretakers,” Virginia observed.
“They exercise a lot. Not much else to do on the island, I guess.”
“Now that I’m here, I have to say I feel a little funny with all of this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
He perched on the Adirondack chair next to her. Skyscrapers and panoramic views of the greatest city in the world had long since ceased to fascinate Aaron. But, maybe because of how he had been brought up, the ocean never got old. He could watch the indigo and emerald rush of the waves for hours.
“Why? It makes me feel better just knowing we won’t have to put up with any mysterious accidents or dead bodies while we’re here. Believe me, nobody’s going to get onto this island without me knowing about it.”
“Well, if this is all directed at me, and it certainly looks like it is, I’m sorry to have dragged you into it, Aaron.”
“You didn’t drag me into it. I kicked my way in, remember?”
She smiled. “Oh yeah. Why was that again?”
“Something about some little company you ran, though for the life of me, I can barely remember the name of it now.”
“I guess that’ll teach you, eh?”
Something, but he hadn’t a clue what.
“Are there phones on the island?” she asked.
“Only landlines. No cell service. Are you hungry?”
“Not particularly. You?”
He shook his head no. Not for food anyway. Too corny to say, though, so he didn’t.
“Water’s probably too cold to swim in,” she observed.
“Probably. There’s a hot tub, though, if you’re interested.”
A pause.
“What do I have to do, Winston? Jump you? Or are you going to make love to me of your own free will?”
He swooped her off the porch swing into his arms. “I thought you’d never ask.”
* * * * *
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Abe Vincent ran a hand through his cropped gray hair and perched his hands on his still-slim hips as he surveyed the beach, Mary beside him.
“So what do you think?” she asked.
He glanced at his wife of thirty years. Some folks might think they had too much togetherness, working together all their careers as well as being married. But he’d never felt that way. This surprisingly muscular little woman had been at his side through thick and thin. Nobody had his back like she did.
Of course, it never hurt to be prepared.
He felt for the holster underneath his plaid checked jacket and patted the gun.
“I think this is going to be easy,” he said.
* * * * *
When Virginia and Aaron stood on a bluff the day after their arrival, looking out toward the mainland, miles away and barely visible even on this clearest of mornings, she thought to ask about something she had meant to remark on from the day before—before his intense lovemaking had driven it right out of her head.
“How do you know no one could get on the island without you knowing it?”
He gestured toward the rocks below, big jagged boulders, slate-gray and mossy green. “Because there’s only one harbor. The rest of the island is like you see below. It’d tear a boat to pieces if they tried to land.”
“But couldn’t someone come in the harbor, while we were sleeping for example, and we wouldn’t know?”
“Ignoring the fact that whoever this person is, he couldn’t possible know where we are, if somehow they did and tried to sneak into the harbor, they’d get a surprise and we would get a hell of a warning.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“There are sensors all over the harbor. It would set off an alarm there and also here in the house. So our mystery guest would be deafened by the noise and we’d have advance notice.”
“So if we get the notice, then what?”
“Then we call the sheriff’s office on the mainland and they do a search of the island. If the asshole somehow makes it up to the house before then, I’ll take care of it,” he said obliquely.
“Used to people trying to sneak onto your island, are you?”
“The sensors were something one of my companies was working on. I thought it’d be a good idea to test it here.”
“So do they work?”
“Yes. You’re perfectly safe here, Virginia.”
They tromped back in the dew-ridden grass to breakfast on the fresh fruit and croissants that Mrs. Vincent had laid out for them before disappearing again. When they were done, Aaron agreed to give Virginia a tour of the house.
The library’s brick fireplace at one end and leaded glass window looking out to the sea at the other guaranteed it was going to be one of her favorite destinations in the house. The only discordant note in the cozy room was an oil painting hanging over the fireplace. The brooding bearded man in the frame stared down on them, as if in disapproval, though Virginia couldn’t pinpoint why she had that impression other than the sternness of the man’s features.
“Who is that?” she asked Aaron, pointing at the painting.
“My great-great-grandfather.”
“Really?”
He put one arm around her, chuckling. “No, not really. It came with the house. Apparently that’s Captain Joshua Seabridge, the first inhabitant of this island. He lived here briefly with his young bride in the late eighteen-hundreds.”
“Does briefly and bride indicate some untold story here?”
Aaron shrugged. “Every house has its stories. Houses on islands even more so, I would imagine.”
“Was that a yes or a no?”
“That was a do you really want to hear this right now? Because I thought we would just take a quick tour of the house, ending up in my favorite room, the bedroom, and then we could move on to more important matters, like me jumping you.”
“Humor me.”
“Only because you’re letting me jump you.”
She wondered if that was true. But an image of Aaron as he’d been at the facility where he had spent much of his childhood was stuck in her head. There was more than sex with this guy. She let it pass.
“So okay,” he obliged her, “as I understand it, this sea captain, Captain Seabridge, built the house for his new bride and brought her here to live in it. Unfortunately, he also brought—and this is the story here, not me—some compli
cated karma to the island. It seems our sea captain was the kind that left a girl in every port.”
“Before he met his bride, I hope.”
Aaron laughed, shaking his head. “If it’ll make you feel better, then yes. So as I was saying, one of the girls he left in a port was so distraught about it, she killed herself. So to make a long story short, the abandoned girl’s ghost shows up on the island, makes a living hell for the bride, who promptly drowns herself. End of story. Can we go upstairs now?”
His deadpan delivery and obvious haste to make it back to more enjoyable pursuits did not prevent the shiver that ran down Virginia’s spine at the tale. “That’s creepy.”
“Yeah, if you believe it. I’m more inclined to think his bride had a serious problem with depression, for which they thankfully have drugs these days.”
“Why would a bride be depressed?”
“You’ve never been married, have you?”
She punched him. “Neither have you!”
“I know, but I couldn’t resist.”
“What was the name of his bride?”
“No clue.”
“The ghost?”
“That one I remember. It was Arabella, which is exactly what leads me to believe this whole story was made up. Arabella is just too poetic a name for this tale. If it was true, given the time period, her name probably would have been Hariette or Gertrude. Arabella just fits too nicely with a creepy ghost story.”
“Is there a picture of the bride? Or the ghost, the girl, I mean?”
Aaron shook his head no. “Guy must have had an ego. Only had a picture of himself done apparently. There’s another odd twist to the story, which actually I shouldn’t even tell you, given the current circumstances.”
“Too late now,” she observed.
Without a fight, he agreed. “Part of the story is that the girl looked a lot like the bride. So half the time the bride was convinced she was seeing her own dead self.”
“They weren’t blonde, were they?”
He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to go with no. Dark hair, definitely.”
“Whew. That’s a relief.”
* * * * *
Hours later, they had made it up to the bedroom, but had never made it out again. In the dim twilight outside the bedroom window, Aaron continued his slow exploration of Virginia’s recently sated, much sated, body.
“Are you still planning to take over my company?” she asked.
He ran a hand down the curve of her bare hip. “Hell of a time to ask me.”
“No, really. I’ve ignored it because…well, you know why.”
He kissed his way up her bare shoulder. “No, I don’t. Why?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “How did you get to be who you are, Aaron Winston?”
“I’m sure you read all the bios.”
“I did. But I feel like something is missing.” His hand slipped between her thighs. “Like that. How did you get to be so good at that? At sex?”
“I don’t usually include those details in my bio,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder.
“No, really. I haven’t had that many boyfriends, but none of them have made me feel like you do. Is that just a natural talent or is it learned?”
“If you haven’t had many boyfriends, honey, then you have quite a natural talent yourself, no doubt about it.”
“I think you must inspire me.”
“Right back at you.”
He proceeded to try to inspire her further with that hand between her legs and his persuasive lips, but she persisted. “No really. What’s your story on the, ah, bedroom front? I know you’ve slept with a lot of women.”
She waited. He said nothing.
“Didn’t you?”
He withdrew his hand and flopped back on his back. “Do you dissect everything?”
“Duh. Yeah.”
“I like sex. I’ve never shied away from that. It’s one of the few pleasures in life even a poor guy can enjoy.”
“A poor guy who looks like you.”
“I guess.” His face clouded. “If you want to know the truth, and I’m sensing here you won’t let me alone until you do, I learned about sex early and used it to pacify this incredible anger I felt all the time. To have a pretty girl flirt with me, let me kiss her—”
“And more.” She ran her hand lightly along his taut lower abs.
“Yeah, more. It made up somehow for the rest of the crappy time. I’m not being very eloquent here.”
“No, I understand.”
“Then, ah, I guess you could say I used sex for something else.”
She waited for him to elaborate, balancing her head on one hand as she looked down at him.
“To get information. Corporate wives tell tales in bed.”
She couldn’t help the purse of her lips at that one, the sense of disappointment.
“It wasn’t as sordid as you might think. At first, it was almost by accident. I had read everything I could about business and had all these ideas, but I didn’t know how to start. So there were always these charity things they trotted us out at where big guns would donate a lot of money and give a speech and we all had to act grateful.”
“How old were you?”
“I’d just turned eighteen. I remember because I was on the verge of moving out on my own. Anyway, I had ducked out into the alley and was sneaking a drink, when this older woman in jewels and furs comes up to me and…well, ah, we had sex.”
“You had sex with an old woman in an alley?”
He grinned. “When I say older woman, remember who you viewed as older at that age. So I’m talking thirty-five maybe. The truth is I enjoyed it. So we started meeting regularly. I learned a lot, almost accidentally at first as she talked about her husband and how little time he had for her because he was working on this deal or that. Later, I did it a little more surgically, asking to meet certain of her friends, targeting this wife or the other.”
“Insider trading?” she asked, a catch in her voice.
He laughed. “No, that’s not what I did with the information I learned. So no need to turn me into the SEC. No, it was more in the nature of giving me insight into the planning of certain companies so I could envision how to approach them. But hell, sometimes it was just blackmail. Amazing how fragile some of these guys’ egos were. But I guess that still didn’t change what I was, what I did. I guess that’s a line you’d never cross, princess.”
She remembered the photo she had seen of him when she ran a Google search on him at Bransport so long ago. She had wondered then how he had managed such a large deal at such a young age. Now she guessed she had her answer. But it wasn’t so simple. “I don’t know what I’d do in your situation. It’s inconceivable to me. I’ve always had money, family, my place in the world.”
His lips thinned.
“You’re so brave,” she said and almost laughed when his mouth fell open.
“What?”
“To be alone and thrive like you have. I admire it.”
“I thought you thought I was a cutthroat robber baron.”
“That was the drug talking.”
“No, that was you talking, loud and clear.”
“I may have thought that, but I don’t now. Our business methods might be different, but I understand now why that is. I’m not saying I always agree with it, but I understand it.”
“Well, while we’re on this mutual admiration session, let me just say that I admire quite a few things about you too.” His hand wandered over to the curve of her hip as he went up on his side too so they were facing each other.
“They’re not all physical, are they?”
“Well, the top ten are. No, I’m just kidding. Really, since I’ve made money, I’ve been around it long enough to know that being born into it has its own challenges and temptations. You don’t get somebody like Paris Hilton without that being the case. But you took responsibility and really made something of yourself.”
The compliment went straight to her head. If he had written her a sonnet, she couldn’t have been more touched by it.
And she proceeded to show him.
Nudging him over on to his stomach, she began a slow, deep massage of his broad shoulders, his powerful neck. His muscles underneath her fingers were tight at first, but as she worked them, they loosened up. His skin felt smooth and velvety, despite his unquestioned—and personally verified by her many, many times—masculinity.
She made her way down his back, lingering at the small of it for some time before she found her way to the tight cheeks of his ass. Massaging still, she heard him moan, and by the time she lowered her hands to the top of his thighs, it was clear he’d had enough of the spa service and was looking for something a little more personal.
He rolled over onto his back, fully erect from her handling, she was not surprised to see. He came up on his elbows and she drank in the sight of him, narrow hips with that light line of black pubic hair framing his proud cock. She just stared, wondering how she had gotten so lucky, until he said, “Is this giving you any ideas?”
“What do you want me to do, Aaron? Anything.” She meant it too.
He laughed. “Do you know how many wet dreams I had before we got together where you asked me that?”
She smiled. “What did you say?”
“Well, I mixed it up a bit, seeing as how you had me so frustrated.”
“Pick one.”
“Hmm, there is one thing you did in my dreams quite a few times, but I don’t think you’ve treated me to in real life.”
She found that hard to believe. She felt as though they had done everything. “I hope you don’t plan on bringing the Vincents to bed with us.”
He made a face. “Not hardly. Groups aren’t my thing.”
“What is it then?”
He fluffed a pillow behind his head and leaned back on it, folding his hands behind his head. “Play with yourself.”
She laughed. “That’s it?”
“Yep. Put your fingers on your sweet pussy and make yourself come.”
“Tired of doing it yourself?”
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