BILLIONAIRE Island: Idyllic Mischief (7 page)

“I think he likes Sasha.”

“I think you're mistaken.”

To hide her burning cheeks, Indie asked Katelijn about Amsterdam, where she was an art student and they chatted about career dreams until the guys jogged back up the sand and ordered more cocktails. Battling the surf had released some of their pent up emotions and when Indie said they had to wait for Sash to get back as her car was at Damien's house, he ordered another round, relaxed and enjoyed the stripes of gold play across the horizon as the sun went down.

Chapter Seven

A huge fire was set on the beach by the hotel staff. Wild drum music started up in the distance and the guys rolled their eyes in disdain.

“Sega dance,” Marc told them. “Strictly for tourists.”

“Sex dance,” Damien muttered.

“Well, three of us at the table are tourists and I have nothing against sex,” Katelijn said, she and Indie were both gyrating in their seats to the infectious music.

“I do not care for slaves complaining about their lives,” Damien replied, his eyes burning into Indie's writhing hips.

“Masters never do,” Indie said, getting a glare of amusement from him.

A makeshift raft lit by torches floated across the dark ocean up to the beach. The musicians clambered off and the African women followed, their stamping feet never left the sand and took the wanton dance around the fire. Damn was right, it was an erotic number and the women moved with sexual abandon. By the time the show was over, the sensual moves and wild drums had infected everyone. Even Laurent had loosened up and was chatting with the two men.

Sasha dashed back into the bar, relieved to find them still there, waiting for her and began to glow- Indie had a pretty good idea what she'd been up to.

“Patrice loves hotels. When I told him we were here, he said he'd be right over.” She pulled Indie to the side as the group went back down the beach to the boats. “It looks suspicious if I go over to his house. Someone saw us and word got back to Tolar in less than a day.”

“It doesn't look suspicious for you to be meeting him in a hotel?”

“No, because I sell my leather accessories in the gift shops, I'm always popping into the hotels.”

Damien and Marc rode the two cigarette boats side by side, gunning their speeders neck and neck through the inky blue water chop. The moon was almost full and the sky was pin-pricked by thousands of tiny stars. Sitting in the back of the boat with Laurent, Indie's whole body heaved a sigh and let go of all the clenched misery it had been trying to contain for months and years.

“Thank you,” she mouthed to Sasha when she looked back from her position up front beside Damien.

Marc and Katelijn peeled off and their boat arced toward shore while Damn continued straight ahead in the blackened water lit only by the moon's wide iridescent stripe. Katelijn waved goodbye furiously and made dialing signals for Indie to call her. Even Marc raised a hand with a see you later nod.

Five minutes later they turned in toward land and Damn coasted the speedboat into the sand in front of his sprawling beach house. Sasha jumped out and waded through the water while Laurent tip-toed across the engine and jumped off the prow where the water was shallowest. Indie swung her legs over the side to follow Sash, but Damien was in the water in front of her. He flipped her knees over his bicep and caught her up in the other so she was held in his arms like a maiden in a faint.

“That really isn't necessary,” Indie said, wriggling to get down.

“Shhh.” He waded through the water with her nestled into the smooth mounds of his chest. It was ridiculous, the water barely covered his calves, he was treating her like a child, but still her heart was frittering from being so close to him, wrapped so tight in his corded arms.

“There that wasn't too bad was it?” He didn't set her down into the softest powder sand until they were halfway up the beach and the lights of the house illuminated them.  As Indie reconnected with earth, he held her with one arm circling her waist and a deep burrowing gaze such that she was sure, for just an instant he was going to kiss her. His mouth leaned down so very close, the salty smell of his warm skin was intoxicating and her body expanded ready for him. Then he seemed to remember something and continued walking to the house. Indie was shocked at the depth of her disappointment. Every sense ending had fired up, tingling in eagerness for his caress.

“I have to get going,” Sasha told her when they entered the sun room, now in darkness, family all retired for the night. “It's nearly midnight.”

“Okay, thank you Damien for a wonderful afternoon,” Indie held out her hand for a polite shake. His face collapsed into a well of confusion.

“You're leaving- already?” he said, looking deep into her again so her heart hurled itself into her throat and stopped her speaking. His eyes clawed across to Sasha as though she had final decision.

“Yes, I am leaving and going home with Sash,” Indie found her voice and stated firmly.
What does he think-that I'm second best because Sasha had been purloined by her lover? Well screw you Mr Olympic Controller. And you can talk to me, she's my friend not my mother.

“I, well, it's still-early.” Disappointment crowded across his features, followed by a frown at being thwarted.
Good.
Laurent stood to the side observing the scene and his friend's discomfort. He was actually smiling for the first time ever.

“Good night,” Indie brushed Damien coolly, cheek to cheek, then kissed Laurent, who returned her embrace.

They headed along the wide, antique-lined passage and pulled the front door open when Damien ran into the hall. He pulled up short and adopted a casual stance when he saw them.

“India, can you work tomorrow for fitting the clothes?” he called.

“Tomorrow is Sunday, Damn, a day of rest,” Sasha replied. “But she'll be there Monday. Call my cell and tell her where to come.” She pulled the door shut.

“What are you my island agent now?” Indie laughed. Earning some money would be good so she could pay Sasha back for feeding her. She was mad but also already yearning to see the man who'd lifted her into the most powerful arms ever and carried her as though she were weightless up a moonlit beach swaying with palm trees.

“Just trying to keep you amused,” she said. “I won't even charge you commission.” As she started the car she was shaking her head in her own amusement. “Of the many many women I've seen and heard about with Damien, I have never once seen him this flustered.”

“He doesn't like not getting his own way.”

Indie scooched down in the comfortable big bed and pulled the covers around her even though it was warm enough to go bare. She cuddled them close in delicious excitement, marred only by the sounds of shouting coming from down the hall where Tolar and Sash were gearing up for a fight. Their dispute raced ahead fast and soon they were screaming over top of each other, neither listening nor thinking. Most of the outraged roar came from Tolar's booming voice but Sasha was doing okay with holding her own. She was able to stand up to him although it must be exhausting. Indie wondered what the problem was, maybe someone had told him about her flirting with Damien Lothaire Beauregard Bedazzleme. He must know Damn's reputation. Hopefully it was only that they had been out all day and come home late, although he hadn't been alone. The house was littered with empty whiskey bottles and filled with the stink of cigar smoke so his German bully buddies had obviously kept him company.

The delight warming her core turned cold as their dispute heated up and the tone of Tolar's rage raised unpleasant images of her past that she couldn't push back out. He was drunk, that much was for sure, irrationally mad and spoiling for a fight. It made her shiver and wish for more covers to stave off the chill on her skin. Every growl of menace brought pictures and words back to mind that translated into shivers and quakes in her body as though it were her own husband raging for nothing and abso-fucking-lutely refusing to listen to any reason.

Oh no, no. The sound of the door smashed back on its hinges and Tolar was taking it down the hall.

“You will not making a fucking fool of me in front of everyone I know, this entire fucking island knows what you're doing and who you're fucking.” He was outside Indie's door and her heart was bashing out through her lungs making it impossible to inhale. Breath caught her throat, painfully stuck by lungs trying to push back the other direction. She cringed back into the pillow willing the door not to throw open.

“Do you hear me?” Tolar bawled. Sasha was taking the smart route and remained in the bedroom, not engaging now he was out of her face. Although that had the effect of temporarily enraging him further. “I said are you fucking listening? Because I do not have to put up with this from niggers who should know their place.”

The house went deathly quiet and Indie lay like a corpse, frozen in shock. Again. Worse this time. Did he mean Sash, his own wife in that heinous slur? His own little girls? Of course, who else was he trying to slam in the middle of the night? Indie knew how that went, how the booze made them scrape the very bottom of the barrel in the frantic search for the upper hand. In the still aftermath, Tolar had gone down the stairs and was tossing glasses around. The clatter of breaking glass broke through the night as he swore violently at his friends for drinking all his liquor– where was a fucking drink?

As Indie lay in a clench on her sore side, body clawed with all the tension she'd let go only hours before and feeling utterly alone in the world. Sadness wrapped around her tighter than the sheet and as she focused on pushing it back, the door crept open. A chink of light on a dark curly blonde head. Amber stole silently into the room and slipped under the bunched up covers beside Indie. She put her arms around her and she burrowed in tight. Moments later the door opened again and a second, smaller, darker tousled head joined them.

When Indie came to next morning, the girls were gone and the sounds of giggling replaced the smashing glass downstairs.

“Come on you, it's past nine. We're going for a ride.” Sasha strode into the room and threw back the white linen drapes across the wooden shutters, already dressed in skintight riding pants and heavy boots.

“We are? You know I don't ride.”
And I've barely recovered from yesterday's sporting exertion.
Her biceps and butt cheeks screamed out with every small move as she tried to rise out of bed.

“Well you can learn. Or you can watch me today if you're tired. I want to show you my dressage.”

Reluctantly Indie left the small security of the bedroom and went downstairs. As Sasha's guest she felt she had to do whatever her hostess requested. Tolar was nowhere in the house. Unusual that he'd moved from his central position on the outdoor sofa, ordering the servants about, waiting for his buddies to arrive and drink all his liquor. His absence was obvious from the lack of tension in her friend, her little girls and the servants. And he wasn't there when they returned back from the long excursion high into the hills in the interior where the swanky riding club was located. They had eaten a huge Sunday lunch in the country club dining room, surprised by the sudden appearance of Patrice which Sasha feigned shock at very badly.

“I really must start bringing a book,” Indie said “And stop talking to myself while she disappears with her lover and leaves me alone like a lemon.”

Sasha said they'd stay home that night and dine on champagne and dim sum. Indie was not looking forward to being ensconced with Tolar and his gross German buddies, both of whom in the past, had tried with no sophistication or charm at all to screw her.

She went into the kitchen for the ice bucket and screamed loud enough to bring Fi, Youssou's toothless wife, running from their shack in the yard at back of the house. Youssou had arrived clutching a dirty sack and tipped its contents on the countertop – a bloody, mangled rabbit he'd caught for that night's curry.

“It's quiet around here,” Indie said as they settled on to the terrace in the evening light with icy champagne.

“Three glorious weeks,” Sasha grinned. “Tolar's gone to the factory in Indonesia for three whole weeks and the naughty mice are coming out to play.”

Sasha turned off the main road into Grand Bay, into the middle of a bush that turned out to be an unmarked dirt track opposite Damien's beach house. She had dragged Indie around all morning, to her factory, to three meetings where she made her wait outside. Now the car headed inland, fighting its way through a thick bank of overgrowth hidden under tall trees. She pulled into a small unkempt yard and let Indie out in front of a tiny box house. Laurent came to the door of the house and they both watched Sasha maneuver a cramped three-point turn and drive out again at full throttle, as though she didn't want to be seen in the neighborhood.

“So, this is your showroom?” Indie followed Laurent into the bare house- a yellowing kitchen on one side of the stair, a living area on the other, furnished with a round wooden table, simple wood chairs and a sagged sofa, no other decor. The furthest thing from Paco Rabanne Paris.

“This is my house,” Laurent said. She reckoned the guy was about to fall off the cliff into deep depression the way he was always in the dirge dumps. He was wrapped in an even greater sense of loneliness than she was.

“Oh, you live here?” Surprise threw out the disdainful response before Indie could bite it back. “Well, it's got a lot of potential, I guess.”

Laurent looked at her, blinked and they both cracked up laughing.

“What the fuck are you doing in a place like this? Didn’t Damien invite you to come down here and start a business with him?” she asked, grateful for having a more caring best friend.

“He did and I was staying with him at the beach house for a month. Then he tossed me over here.”