He lapped, made intricate swirls, and she came again and again, but she wanted to beg, plead with him, to demand that he offer her more than his flesh. His soul was what she craved. In the end, she had begged, and he had left her.
A cloud covered the sun, leaving her skin chilled with its absence. She was crying, dammit. Goddammit.
Lauren erupted from the sand, cursed, shouted, kicked the boat, grabbed up handfuls of sand and flung them about her, screaming out her frustration at the silent island, a primal wordless cry.
Get out of my head. You're not fucking worth it.
She brought her clenched fists to her chest and bent her head over them, as if the heart beneath was an infant that needed protection. And it was, in a way.
"Sadistic bastard," she muttered and snatched up her pack, refusing to give in to the familiar spiral of terror that she would always be like this, always destined to end up alone because of who she was.
* * * * *
"Maybe this game is what's the matter with me," she had suggested to Maria.
The waitress had chuckled and laid a hand over hers, her long nails painted a burgundy color as liquid as wine.
"Everybody plays a game to find that special someone, sugar. This game isn't your problem, and even if it was, you can't get it out of your blood. I've seen people like you try to go vanilla. They think they always fuck relationships up because they're into kink. It's like a person who wants kids, convincing himself he can live without them to be with that special lady who doesn't want kids at all.
"You're not planning on strapping some boy's ass until you're both in dentures, though that's a part of it.
You need to find out what's driving your game. You and Jonathan were playing the same game on the face, but in reality you were as different as Monopoly and Tiddly-Winks.
"Figure that out, and you'll know exactly what you want. Then when that lucky boy shows up in front of you - blam - it won't be just his fine ass that will be all yours. "
* * * * *
> Josh sat on his heels just inside the tree line, his arms crossed loosely over his knees. He had observed the woman's approach, admiring her easy handling of the sailboat in the stiff breeze. He had watched, at first amused when she flopped herself down on the sand. He got less amused and more intent as her body responded to the sensual offering of the natural world around her. When she arched and stretched in the sleeveless polo shirt, the muscles of her thighs contracting, raising, her hand finding herself, he had thought for a moment he was having some type of prurient daydream, a common phenomenon when a man spent his days on a deserted island. Then she had exploded into rage and he watched her tantrum, his eyes widening at both the immediacy and strength of her fury.
The infrequent visits by the residents didn't perturb him. They were artists, naturally reclusive and devoted to their respective crafts. It was the reason the island had drawn them, and though their temperaments might be volatile or celebrated when in contact with the mainland world, here most were quiet, at peace with themselves, gods busy in their workshops with the creation of their newest worlds.
It looked like this latest visitor had not come to create, but to vanquish demons. It would be an interesting process to watch, and maybe, to help her.
It was an unexpected thought. Josh straightened, unsmiling, and went to find Marcus.
Chapter 2
The house was so Lisette. Wrapped up in the lush stillness of the maritime forest, the combination of stone and natural wood siding made the home a part of the green and brown world around it. Half of the house's square footage was built inside the steep hillside. Though the architecture was impressive, the house was not ostentatious in size.
Lauren found the inside the same. Quality, not quantity, was the guiding force that had furnished the interior. The kitchen area was decorated in a warm blue with white counters and clean stainless steel that invited culinary experiments. Barstools pulled up to the white counters invited observers to gather around, chat and drink wine.
The spacious refrigerator and deep pantry had been stocked with groceries, bottled water and basic condiments. By the mysterious Josh, Lauren assumed. She had escaped responsibility in every sense.
She carried her bags into the living area, which had deep carpeting, a cozy horseshoe of couches with recliner options and inviting chairs and ottomans gathered around a beveled glass coffee table. The glass was held up on the tail fronds and slender hands of a mermaid carved out of a pale bleached wood. A stereo cabinet was tucked discreetly in a corner, so nothing distracted from the panoramic view offered by the wall of windows before the sitting area. There was a sliding glass door out to a deck that overlooked the lush ravine below, canopied by the graceful arms of the trees, which, if one raised the gaze, framed the distant, panoramic view of the ocean.
It made the decision of what to do with her first afternoon easy. Lauren took time to put away some of her things, but as soon as the essentials of settling in were handled, she stripped down. She wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out onto the deck, her eye on the hot tub she had turned on to heat up while she had unpacked.
The tub was surrounded by a Japanese rock garden and a forest of exotic plants. Keeping them alive was another task of Josh's, she assumed, since Lisette's busy schedule only allowed her to spend a couple months a year here. Lisette had told her the plants were potted in an array of interesting cast-off pieces offered to her by another island part-time resident. Art appreciation was an avid hobby; there was not a gallery or museum floor in Atlanta, or on any of her other travels, that had not been imprinted with Lauren's footsteps. She recognized the "cast-offs" as the work of a potter whose work went in New York galleries for four figures.
While she soaked, Lauren looked down and watched the myriad of wildlife that roamed, unconcerned, through the ravine, and the birds that flitted from branch to branch in the trees. An hour or more passed in that simple fashion, and after a time, her thoughts left her alone, so that she could simply gaze at the world around her, and be a quiet part of it.
Her growling stomach finally made her decide it was time to rise. She tucked a towel around her breasts and gave some thought to dinner. She had bought wine and goat cheese from a native vendor at the small airport, and there was a small box of Belgian chocolates and the makings for a green salad in the fridge that looked tempting. Savoring that meal and plunging into the first of the ten novels she'd downloaded to her handheld electronic reader sounded perfect.
She put her hand on the sliding door and pushed. Lauren frowned, shoved again. She glanced down. In dismay, she saw that the door had a safety rod. Made to lay down in the track of the doorframe to prevent the door from being forced open, it had apparently fallen into place when she had come out on the deck. It effectively trapped her there.
Well. She looked about, expecting there might be some way out of her predicament. There were no stairs off the deck, and no windows within her reach. Annoyance was her first thought. She couldn't imagine why a "sticky fingered fisherman" would scale up a tree to the deck.
There was no reason to panic. If she had to, she could pick up one of those cast off pots and smash it through the double paned glass window of the sliding door, but she certainly didn't want to take that tack until she'd thought all other options through.