BILLIONAIRE Island: Idyllic Mischief (8 page)

“He did not. Why?” Something to do with the fights and tantrums?

“His big brother got married and the bitch wife, it's a very French girl, wanted the beach so they moved in.”

“That place looks big enough to contain half the population,” Indie said.

“Sure, but Madame does not want interlopers in her new relation. She complained to the father and he told me he had a nice place to offer me free of charge.”

“This place?” Some billionaire with a dump like this in his property portfolio.

“It's the house of the fucking servants that used to work in the beach house when the family lived there.”

“Sheesh, no wonder you're mad.” Tee shirts and servants quarters, something must have happened in Paris to make him downgrade quite so far. “Pretty mean of the brother's wife.”

“She's working on getting Damien out of there too. He's very stubborn and is digging his foots in but I think she will get her ways.” God, his accent was hot, and the way he mashed up words- super sexy. Now Indie understood why he was so sullen and angry in turns. Being seduced then tossed aside by a friend was rotten and she lost a bunch of respect for Damien for his treatment of Laurent.

“So the obvious thing to do is to rent a place that you two can share,” she said. Laurent shrugged his very Latin shoulders.

“Damien will do what Damien wants when he's ready.”
“Yeah he's obviously used to getting his own way,” she snapped, angry on Laurent's behalf, the guy was really sweet, and oh so hot, making them coffee in an espresso pot on the single burner stovetop.

“Not with you though,” Laurent grinned like a hot little demon. “That was fantastique how you told him no way. I don't think Damien had ever been told no by any woman, the shock almost gave him heart failure.”

“Hopefully it woke him up to the realization that people aren't on this earth for his entertainment.”

“I wouldn't go that far.”

“Who the fuck does he think he is trying to get me into bed as a second best, beer-goggle, after- midnight make-do?”

“Huh? Second best?” Laurent looked confused by her remark and she thought it was the slang speech. Better not start bitching Damn up to his friend. She changed the subject.

“Shall we start work? I'm dying to see a Paco Rabanne designer tee-shirt.”

Laurent handed her a pile of sundresses in slinky fabric, creased from not being hung from a rolling rack. But when she went upstairs to the empty second bedroom to slip into one, she was amazed how the thing skimmed her body almost perfectly. It was too irresistible to dip into Laurent's sleeping quarters- a low double bed with a plain wood frame, his clothes spilling out of a stuffed suitcase. Indie discovered a cloudy old mirror tacked into the bathroom wall and wondered how he didn't slit his throat trying to shave in that thing, but wow, she could tell the dress was a clinger in all the right places.

She went downstairs and her breasts rose in a naked blush under the smooth fabric as Laurent took her in, sliding his eyes over her body, scrutinizing every stitch– of the garment of course, not the girl. With a combo of admiration and dissatisfaction, he began to pull the dress around her body, tucking and nipping, and periodically stepping back to gauge his handiwork. As was the job description, Indie stood still and uncomplaining as she was pulled about, one arm lifted, boobs pulled about in fabric until perfectly situated.

They worked like that through the day, stopping to eat a bite of lunch and chatting about Laurent's discoveries about their island paradise. Mostly he found the fact that everyone knew everyone's business the instant they'd accomplished it was disconcerting, used to the anonymity of a capital city.

“Dat, and the fancy French families think they are, how you say it
le roi
?”

“They think they're kings?”

“Exact, yes, they think they are kings and this is they're little kingdom. They order everyone about here like their servants and do whatever they want.”

“But there is a huge Indian population and an Indian government.”

“Pheugh,” Laurent guffawed. “They do not care about that government. It does not exist for them. They are the aristocracy. And the girls, the daughters of those families are brat princesses. You have not seen Damien's sister, Virginie. She can barely lower herself to even look down her nose at any man other than her own brothers. It's a very French girl.”

“Are those French girls the ones kept locked up from seducers like Damien?” Indie asked, curiosity about the french hunk getting the better of her.

“He will never get one of those until he marries one.”

“Oh.” Of course, it would be expected that the families would intermarry and keep the estates intact. “So then what sort of women does Damien date?”

“Date? Dammo never dates. He seduces, he chases, and when he exhausts availability, he goes to town.”

“Goes to town?”

Laurent made a don't be naive face at her.

“You mean, he visits a prostitute?” Laurent nodded and focused harder on pinning the next sample to her body.

“He's never had a girlfriend?”

“The only woman he ever saw more than one time is an American ex-pat here. She's older and married with another French. I don't know much, he never talks about it but I think she broke his heart by going back to her husband when the scandal blew up.”

The sun was starting it's golden descent as they got to the last dress, a real stunner in white printed silk, tight through the bodice, flaring out in numerous panels.

“You are a genius designer,” Indie told Laurent. “You make a woman look like a Goddess.”

Their eyes came together and held there for longer than was necessary or advisable until they were startled by the squeal of tires in the yard. Damien pulled his black truck to dominate the space and leapt from the cab, leaving the door hanging. He dashed at the house and stopped short when he came on them, slightly flustered, Laurent fiddling with the dress, his hands circling Indie's waist to decide whether to pull the dress tighter.

“Ah- you are still here,” he said, looking at Indie.

“We just finished,” Laurent said. Damien looked her up and down and nodded approval of the design. His eyes rested on the cling at her cleavage longer than necessary and she felt her senses prickle, with both irritation and pleasure. How could it be both?

“Good. Come on, we'll go get a drink.” Laurent moved to make excuses but Damien would hear none of it, hurrying them up, he wanted to talk to them.

“I have to change,” Indie said.

“No, you will go like that.” She turned to glare at him for ordering her about and he forced himself to add; “It looks good on you-you will keep it.”

“That's my sample,” Laurent protested.

“We'll make another one, come on, hurry up.”

Chapter Eight

When Indie arrived at club Lune Noire with the two french men, she was a little light-headed from the cocktails they'd polished off at the beach bar. Damien and Laurent had engaged in some ferocious disputes during the evening and when she inquired during a pause, Laurent said it was business. They were pressed to get the store open in time for the start of tourist season after Christmas but it wasn't ready yet. Remembering she was sitting at the table, they reverted to English, which held their tempers in check for a while.

“Why can't you make a design simple enough that a factory can make?” Damien shouted. Laurent's design for the interior was so eclectic, it was a nightmare to find a trade able to translate his ideas into reality. Damien had spent all afternoon in the capital, arguing with the glass factory over the jagged edge free-standing mirror.

“I do not design for what the factory wants to make.”

“Well you should if we want to open in time and recoup all the money I've spent.” Laurent rolled his eyes at Damn's focus on cash.

“I cannot create like this.” Damien rolled and sneered at Laurent's artistic pretension. “I know in my experience that the factory wants to make what is easy and cheap for the factory.”

Damien glared at Indie and she realized she was nodding agreement, that had been her experience in the rag trade. She could also see that the two friends were fighting about issues that weren't really at the heart of their frustration.  The manufacturer said a mirror could not be made with an edge like Mount Fitzroy, Damien insisted it could and would. The factory owner had called his father and his father had chewed him out about his pet project and told him to get back to the hotel.

“You two should do this business together and I can go back to my own and my father can stop screaming me out all day long.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to butt in,” Indie said

“No, it's okay,” Laurent interrupted. “Maybe he's right. We need some help if we're going to open in time.”

“My father said I should let my cousin help us.”

“She already has a job.” Laurent looked at Damien dangerously and Indie wondered what the deal was with the cousin.

“It's only part-time. She can do both.”

“She is working with...the competition.” Laurent said pointedly. “And maybe I don't want anymore of your family sticking their nose into my business.”

The waiter came by and Damien ordered another round. While he cleared the table of empties, the tension at the table cleared also and the subject was changed.

After two more rounds and an order of the baked crab, the three arrived at Lune Noire.

“I will go to my home, I'm tired,” Laurent had said as they got into the cab, all three on the front seat.

“No, we will go for one more drink at la Lune,” Damn informed him. Laurent looked at Indie helplessly, as if to say, how can he be made to listen? Indie thought Damien wanted to keep the evening going for the company more than anything, it was probably a drag living in a house taken over by newlyweds.

“I have to go anyway,” Indie said. “Sasha asked me to meet her.” She didn't add that she'd been called to meet Patrice in the afternoon.

“See. It is settled.” Damien happy, pulled out of the parking lot.

Sasha zoomed up before Indie as soon as she came through the tall brass door. She wrapped her arm around her neck, bringing her head close to hers. “Patrice broke it off,” she said. Indie pulled back to search her eyes.

“Are you okay? Why?”

Sasha pulled her back in close, as though secure in the proximity. “He didn't show for our meet. Finally I got him on the phone and he said he'd been held up. Then he said Tolar, Willy and Horst gave him a visit after our fling in the hotel. They sort of roughed him up without actually touching him. Major threat. Some fucker told on us.”
“Who would do that?” And so fast, Indie thought. Her eyes drifted around the busy bar over Sasha's shoulder and met Damien's, gazing at her intently. He held her stare until she felt the color rise to her cheeks and her clit tug between her thighs. What the hell was wrong with her getting all thrilly over the rich boy? Could he have reported back to Tolar, in order to get Sasha free for himself? “Are Tolar and Damien, do they know each other?”

“They know each other, of course. Everyone knows everyone and they especially know Dammo. Why?”

“No, nothing. I just can't figure out who would have said anything.”

“Don't even think about it, it's the way people are here. I'm just pissed that Patrice caved in to Tolar and let me go.”

“They must have intimidated him pretty hard.”

“He said they put the screws on and he laughed them off. He is French after all and they don't appreciate foreigners here. But when they threatened his daughter, he decided it wasn't worth the hassle. Business can suffer if infidelity comes out.”

“Tolar threatened his daughter when he has two of his own?”

“Heeyyyy.” Sasha released Indie to kiss Kathlijn and Marc on the cheek, grinning ear to ear. “Haven't seen you out clubbing in forever, Marc,” she added while Kathlijn hugged Indie warmly.

“So glad you are here. I begged him to come. He only wants to stay home but I was dying to go out dancing with you guys.”

“Yay, let's dance.”

Marc shied off from dancing and let the three women hit the floor while he edged over to join the men at the bar. The song everyone swarmed the floor for brought Laurent to join them. He came in beside Indie moving his body way too fluidly to the rhythm, unusual for a man to dance so well.

“I think somebody has an admirer,” Kathlijn laughed, making eyes of significance toward Laurent, lost in the beat and his body, dancing as though working off his frustration with Damien, the slave house and the family intrusion in their new venture.

“You should have seen how he lifted her out of the boat last night, like a damsel in distress.” Sasha interrupted to agree.

Kathlijn was momentarily confused. “Damien lifted her from the boat, or -?” She gestured with her head to Laurent.
“Damn, it was Damn but he was just being polite,” Indie said, feeling the blush on her cheek.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, and she just came from dinner with him.”

“You had dinner with Dammo tonight, again, after last night?”

“You guys stop,” Indie laughed. “It was business, I was working for them and like I said, that boat thing was him being polite.”

“Polite?” Sasha guffawed. “Why would Dammo ever be polite to a woman? It lowers his power, it's beneath him.”

“I don't think it's that.” Kathlijn shook her head and Indie noticed Sasha's frown of irritation. “He finds it hard to show any feelings but they are definitely in there. He hates to be vulnerable though. Marc is a little like that also but not as much as Dammo.”

“And he carried her all the way up the beach. Swear I thought he was going to carry her to his room and ravage her.”

“Don't be crazy,” Indie said, feeling the tug of wishful thinking between her legs. “I don't even like him.” The instant she said it she knew she was lying but why? Her eyes lifted to Laurent dancing in a reverie beside her. He was kind and thoughtful and oh so hot. And he didn't feel the need to order everyone around like he was master of the Universe. She swiveled slightly in time to the music and across at the bar, Damien was staring directly at her, barely listening to Marc at his side. Whether angry or otherwise she couldn't make out.

Sasha did her disappearing act and Indie danced with Laurent and the Dutch girl. Stopping for liquid sustenance, she noticed Sash down the bar in close conversation with a young Indian man, expensively dressed with a luxuriant mop of brushed back hair. Indie wasn't surprised when she saw Sash dagger her fingers through the younger man's coif, she'd pictured the exact same action. Sasha laughed flirtatiously and the young man plainly relished her attention.

At closing, Kathlijn hugged her new friend tight.

“Do you want to get together tomorrow? I can't sit in Marc's office all the time.”

“She's coming horse-riding with me,” Sasha interrupted. “And we're going for a massage after lunch.”

“You should come with us,” Indie said, missing Sasha's scowl. “Apparently TyWain knows everything about your body by touching it.”

“Isn't he the witch doctor,” Kathlijn said, doubtful.

“Oh that's superstitious prejudice against the Creoles,” Sasha said, waving her off. “I'll make the appointment for us.”

When Sasha turned the key in the engine, there was complete silence. “Shit, now what?” Three more increasingly aggravated attempts and she threw herself back in her seat.

“It's okay,” Indie opened her door. “I'll go back inside and ask Damien for a jump or a push or something.”

“You left without saying goodnight,” he growled when she found him at the bar talking to Laurent, the discord back between them.

“Sorry, I got caught up with the girls.”

“You are getting too friendly with Marc's woman.”

“Kathlijn,” Indie said. “Her name is Kathlijn.” She held off telling him that who she was friends with was hardly his concern. She needed his help.

“Let's take a look,” Laurent said immediately Indie mentioned the problem. Damn you, Mr Controller, Indie thought as Damien sauntered arrogantly behind, loathe to decide whether to help them.  “Where are the cables?” Laurent called from deep in the truck's cab.

“I lent them to my brother, he never gave them back.”

“Shit,” Sasha was out of the car. “Can you give us a lift home and I'll fix this tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Laurent said, glaring at Damien who looked like he was going to decline the request.

The three squashed into the passenger side and Laurent was let out at his shack first.

“He's living there alone?” Sasha failed to repress the distaste on her lips.

Damien ignored her. At her much larger residence Sash leapt from the truck with a thanks and see you. Damien grabbed Indie's wrist and stopped her short from following.

“Ow, that hurts,” she said trying to pull her hand from his solid grasp.

“You can stop this now,” he growled in a low dangerous tone.

“Stop what? What is your problem?”

“You can stop stringing along, ignoring me, flirting with my best friend.”

“You've seriously lost it,” Indie snapped. “I spent the evening with you and Laurent after work, that's it.”

“You know I like you and you're making me suffer for it.”

“No, I didn't know you like me actually, how would I have managed to suss that piece of top secret information out from the usual disdain and rudeness?”

Damien's eyes stretched and he opened and closed his mouth before gathering his surprise to speak. “Rudeness? I treat you better than anyone I know. I took you to ski with me. I came to take you to dinner tonight. What more do you want me to do to show you are special, because I am not a roses and candies kind of guy?”

“No you aren't you're more of a 'I want you so drop 'em' type.”

“So you punish my desire for you by making up to my friend.”

“I was not flirting to punish you, no, wait, I wasn't flirting at all. Laurent and I had a great day together. I think he's cool.” Indie felt the color rise to her cheeks, partly in anger, partly because she wasn't speaking the entire truth. She had noticed a sensation rise in her core on a couple of occasions that afternoon, when Laurent's fingers strayed across her body to move the fabric, to sculpt the cut closer to her curves. Her heart beat a little faster, her breath dragged a little harder and the delicious pull in her nether lips.

“And you took us skiing and spent the entire time talking to Sasha while I was looked down on by the women in your family.”

“The women in my family look down on everyone,” he shouted.

“Obviously something they trained you well in.”

“I do not look down on you.”

“And
you
were flirting with
my
friend.”

“At least she is friendly with me and does not ignore me.”

“And at least she doesn't throw me out of the house to live alone in squalor.”

“You were talking about me with Laurent. He was telling you our private business?”

“Don't be ridiculous, I don't have to be blind to see he is living in the slave's quarters while you camp out at a luxury beach house. Now let go of me.” She wrenched her arm free and ran from the car. Not before Damien had leapt from his side and hurtled around the cab to catch hold of her arm. He pulled her to him, scooped her up into his arms so she ballerina-ed on the very tips of her toes. Without a beat of hesitation he covered her mouth with his.

His touch was electrifying, sending shocks down through her thighs into her toes and against all instinct Indie parted her lips to let him in. He traced the crevasse of her lower lip with his tongue before connecting with hers and wrapping around it in a delicious dance. His hand grasped the back of her head to pull her mouth closer into his and she opened up for him, releasing her mouth to his in a whirlwind of probing exploring sweetness. Her heart was pounding out of her chest, her breasts crushed into his curving hard pecs, this was the first one. It seared through her as though she had never been kissed before– the first time she'd kissed a man for months and months– not since before the baby, not since she and Bradley had been happy at the beginning, never imagining that happiness could fall apart with such devastating pain.