BILLIONAIRE Island: Idyllic Mischief (9 page)

“Sorry, I, sorry I have to go-” She wrenched herself out of his arms and out of his mouth. Her heart clenched, seeing the confused churn on his face, the huge exertion to get his passion back under control. “I can't right now, sorry-” with a look of unspoken sorrow, she turned and ran into the house.

Indie pulled the sliding glass door from the terrace open and hurled herself into it on the other side, desperate and heart thounding as though being chased by a rapist rather than a man who'd claimed he liked her.

“Fuck. You're here. Right now.” she told herself. leaning her forehead into the cool glass. “It's now, not then.
Now.
This man is not the same as that man. You have to get your mind focused on present reality and stop living in fear of the past.”

She stood there, head pressed against the solid smooth surface, breathing slowly, inviting her heart to calm. As it began to slow and her breathing leveled out, she raised her head and looked out on the garden. Damien was still there. Sitting in the cab of his truck, staring rigidly ahead through the windscreen, straight at her. Their eyes locked together and stayed shackled to each other for an age. Oh god, the rage on his face was indescribable, as though it could crack through his visage. He would never speak to her again. He'd think she was behaving like a cock tease, fooling around, getting him worked up and then running away. And he was so delicious. The memory of his salty-sweet mouth, tongue expertly probing her, the tight-packed swell in his jeans. Her breasts rose high in the beautiful dress he'd given her earlier. She should go back out, try to explain. He deserved an understanding. She made up her mind as he did. The truck's engine turned over and Damien reversed it at a roar back through the gates.

Chapter Nine

Damien

Merde
I could almost throttle that woman. She takes me to the absolute edge of control and I have no clue what I'm doing when I'm around her. I should have taken her, I know she wanted it, that much was sure the way she returned my kiss and pressed her warm tits into me.
Whoa, fuckwit, get off the road
. Shit, shit, shit, that was my fault, now she's making me forget how to drive. It's always for sure that a woman grazing her pelvis against yours is checking the goods and letting you know she's interested in buying. She leaned into me then as soon as she felt me fire up, she fucking ran away like a little girl. What the fuck is up with that tease?

But those eyes. Did she want me to go after her, was that why she was waiting at the door? No, those eyes looked absolutely stricken, I've never seen a woman look so haunted. She didn't see a ghost, she's got one living with her every day. I am such an ass, driving off and leaving her. Why do I find it necessary to run away from every woman I meet when I don't even want to? It's like an automatic response and it's getting worse. This one I really don't want to run away from, I really don’t want to hurt her. Especially as she looks like she's been through hell and not yet come back. I should have gone to her just to say it was okay. I'll go back, let's just turn around and drive back to her right now. No, fuck that, she can come to me when she grows up and gets over the playing about with men's emotions.

God, woman, what are you doing to me? Why can't it be uncomplicated like I always make it instead of filling me up with this tension? I'm going to resume normal programming and find a woman who knows what she wants. But then- then- I won't see Polly again and that is not an option. I have to see her, I have to know what's making her suffer in so much pain and convince her it's okay to let it go with me. I have to let her know that I'm not what she thinks or what she's been told. This one is worth it. This woman I will do that for.

Indie

Torn in two between running across the yard to stop him leaving and inability to merge thought into words, Indie pulled the door open. But Damn was gone and she sank into the soft cushion on the chaise. In the tranquility of the sweet warm air, she lay back and looked up at the infinite night sky twinkling with a million stars. What was happening that she was unable to allow herself to let go to a man after Brad's attack? In her mind she knew that not every man was like Brad, not every man would change the instant she let herself trust in forever.

Perhaps it wasn't only the fear of physical harm and betrayal of trust. Somehow, if she went to the hidden recesses of her fear and faced them down, the truth was she didn't want Damien to think badly of her. The people at AA had said that she would also have to go to therapy groups because she was complicit in the condition. In her head she had put that together to mean she had contributed to the murdering of the baby. It may be crazy but minds work in crazy ways and the only way through was to accept the craziness not stifle it. The dogs howling outside in the undergrowth bordering the track to the house reminded her that night crazy could be dangerous.

She lay there for a long time, sleepy and not, remembering the delicious connection of Damien's kiss. How her entire body had craned forward to eagerly reach out to him and draw him into her. She was hungry for him, to feel him deeper inside her and not just her mouth. And it was terrifying.

Shit. Her skin pounced up, alert to movement across the garden. Her heart was bashing its way out of her chest making the simple act of breathing agony. Snake, a wild dog come in through the open gate? Why the hell hadn't she gone to close them after Damien roared off? She lay very still, pondering the option of leaping up and whether she'd get the door slid shut before the dog pounced.

By the time she realized the shadow movement was the figure of a man, he had already emerged from the cacophony of flower bushes and onto the steps.

“Don't be upset,” Damien held up his hand to calm her.

“I'm not. What are you doing here? Did your truck break down?”

“What? No, I left it in the lane so as not to keep waking up the household.”

“That was very considerate, thank you.”

“I'm not always a selfish asshole.”

“Damn, I-”

“Sometimes I seem to hurt the people I like the most.” He stopped her. “I don't know why. I don't mean to but it happens anyway.”

“You don't get what you need by pushing people away.”

“I didn't come to pick a fight. I came to say I didn't mean to push you-if you don't want it.”

“I do.”

“What?”

“I do-want it.”

In a single bound he was on his knees beside the chaise with her hand in clasped in both of his. He raised it to his mouth and pressed it there.

“I'm just nervous,” she whispered, quivering at the feel of her hand smothered by his. “You're a bit of a player.”

“I am. Before- I was. There aren't too many girls to choose from here. And not one like you, no don't roll your eyes, I mean it. Or if they are, they're always leaving to go home before I get to find out.”
“It must be hard on such a tiny island.”

“Yes and no. I find ways to keep it amusing. It is hard to have any friends when you're me.”

He was so close, her body was reaching again, her breasts warm and stretching to him, the smell of woody smoke flesh rose behind her eyes. She put her hands around his stubbling jaw and drew his face to hers. Their mouths opened and delved into the other. His tongue explored herlips then delved into her mouth and Indie felt fountains start up from her core, playing jets through her entire body.

They ripped into each other ferociously, echoing the dogs beyond the gates, the howling seemed to get louder. He moved his lips down her neck and clavicle, across her breast bone to take a mound into his mouth. Indie had no doubt that she wanted him more than her own future. She clutched his broad shoulders, running her hands over the curving muscle, the taut back of his neck, into his hair, working her fingertips against the back of his skull. He was inside her before she knew it, the stretch of her tightened walls at his forced entry, delightful as they opened again after so long. She held on to the wide round shoulders and gasped as he pushed right up to the mound. Damn waited deep inside of her, spiraling his pelvis to corkscrew ever deeper into the cavern. They held each other very close, her deep tunnel clenched him, pulling him in. She had to have him closer, deeper. Then he withdrew his long shaft all the way, the head played at the ring of her clasped entrance before he powered into her again, making her gasp as if for the first time. Indie trembled at the friction of his cock pounding rhythmically into her delicate pussy. She held him close to her, his mouth playing along the contours of her neck. As the cascades exploded through her, she wished the pleasure could go on like that forever. But he'd been waiting, holding in to enjoy her climax and as her pulsations tugged around his shaft he threw his head back and winced in an agony of extreme pleasure.

“I didn't think I could do that,” he moaned as he fell back on the chaise, pressed tight in her arms.

“Rumor is you've had plenty of practice.”

“Not like that, sheesh.” He shook his head in disbelief and to shake it off.

“Mamma! India is asleep on the terrace with a man.” The shrill voice at the open glass door woke Indie from dreams of little children to face the outrage of a real one.

“Come away and go play with your sister,” Sasha came down the staircase from upstairs wearing a massive smile with her riding clothes and flicking a crop in her palm. “Good morning lovebirds, Don't you two look like the Babes in the Wood curled up outside in each others arms.”

“It's a little cramped for two on the chaise.” Indie glared at her to cut it out as Damien was coming around, unaccustomed to the early rising of small girls.

“Morning,” he said, realizing where he'd woken and struggling to sit upright.

“I'm off to the stables for an early morning ride with, a friend,” Sasha said.

Manju, the little Indian maid appeared from nowhere bearing a tray, with a starched white cloth and the best silver and china. The glasses holding the fresh pineapple juice were the cut crystal rather than the regular morning tumblers. She set down the breakfast tray of pastries, juice and coffee and asked Damien in Creole french whether he required anything else.

He glanced up at Sasha, standing in silent shock as her maid genuflected half on bended knee to Damien, and told her no, that was fine.

“She never does that for me. What are you some kind of king?” Sasha stared open-mouthed as the maid backed away.

“I am for them I guess.” He laughed. “I have to go.” He took a slug of strong black coffee, kissed Indie on the forehead and jogged, content, across the garden to his truck.

“Well, that's probably the last I'll see of him,” Indie thought as she watched his back disappear.

“Spill. What was it like?” Sasha forgot her riding plans and sat down, pouring coffee and handing it to her friend.

“Beautiful, amazeballs awesome. What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say whether he's any good. I bet he's huge, at least that's the rumor.”

“Would you stop.”

“Can I have him when you're finished?”

“Not this one, no.”
I think I want to keep this one to myself.

“At least you're moving forward now and getting back to the old Indie.”

“I didn't know old Indie had gone somewhere,” she replied, another half truth. She noticed how relaxed Sash was this morning, without the threat of Tolar appearing at the top of the stairs, howling orders.

“Fuckit I really have to go, I'm meeting Bihjan for a ride.” She gave a cheeky pursing of her lips.

“Bihjan would be...?”

“I met him last night at Lune Noire. Gorgeous, Indian, wealthy family from Beau Bassin.”

“Young.”

“He's only six years younger, but he's a lawyer, educated in England so he's no kid. Anyway I'm not old enough to be a cougar. Mwah, let's meet at the club tonight. Cat's away, mice at play. ” Before Indie could protest that she had no wheels to get to the club, Sasha was gone and the two little girls leapt out from inside to sit on her lap and devour the pastries.

In the days that followed, Sasha and Indie returned to their single, model girl routine, partying all night. Damien refused to be apart from Indie for longer than required to run his father's hotels. He used any excuse to drop by the showroom where she worked every afternoon with Laurent, glad to have an excuse not to trail around behind Sasha all day, waiting in the car while she went in to meetings or watching her jump over horse fences. She was happy to be helping Laurent with the interior of the store in Grande Bay as well as the clothes it would sell. Each evening Damn took her to ski, or to sunset cocktails and dinner at a beautiful restaurant.

Most evenings Laurent accompanied them. Damien demanded it. He seemed to require Laurent at his side as much as he needed her. Indie was glad he was along. She felt a little guilty that they had been getting close, before she made her choice and succumbed to Dammo and hoped he didn't feel rejected. In fact, she was a little disappointed to lose the glow that had been rising between them, he was the hottest sweetheart. Every night finished up at Lune Noire, the three arriving in the truck to meet Sasha, who came with Bihjan. The well-spoken, rather staid Indian gentleman had been constantly at her side since she seduced him at the riding club on that first date.

“Are you sure you aren't rebounding because you're upset about Patrice?” Indie asked, concerned for her friend.

“Don't be ridiculous, I'm not upset. He's a much better catch, better body and more energetic than Patrice could dream of.” Sasha snapped, annoyed at Indie's interference.

When Lune Noire closed, Damn raced his truck back through Grande Bay, swerving around Bihjan's silver Audi at top speed and careening up the track and through the open gates. The three were already inside the house, pouring tequila slammers at Tolar's bar when Bihjan pulled sedately into the drive. Youssou appeared out of the dark shadows to close the gates then disappeared. Bihjan always tucked in his shirt, re-knotted his tie and adjusted his spectacles, to slip away at 4am, before the girls woke up, back to his parents house on the opposite side of the island. Damien stayed with Indie, slept in her bed upstairs and was honored each morning by the servants.

The nights turned bone marrow warm. Indie and Sasha, accompanied by Bihjan who arrived after work in his suit and cufflinks every night, flopped indolently on the terrace loungers.

“I think I cannot drink another drop. I have been to work with a hangover every day for two weeks,” Bihjan complained.

“I can't bear to think of Tolar coming back in a week.” Sasha whispered, her eyes burrowing into her lover's. “I have to get away.”

“I told you already, without EPZ status you will be deported if you leave him,” Bihjan said in his correct British clip.

“Whoa, when did leaving Tolar become a project?” Indie came to, suddenly worried that her friend was getting into her fling way too deep.