Impulse (Isola dei Sogni) (8 page)

He didn't answer, and Mia decided not to try and engage him in conversation. "Either take me to the dock or I'm off."

She had a horrid feeling that if she did, she'd disgrace herself, either by screaming like a fishwife or wailing like a baby. Which scenario she'd turn to was debatable.

Dylan put his arm around her shoulder and held her firmly. There was no way she was going to be able to shake it off. Mia pretended the warm weight wasn't there. It wasn't an easy thing to do whilst his fingers scribed a gentle circle on her skin.

In silence they made their way toward the dock.

The silence wasn't comfortable, and in no time, Mia was seething again. "Just let me find out what all this is about. I'll personally string them up, then string them all again. I actually thought things were good. I've just had the best climax—well, climaxes—in years, and now I feel guilty and it seems wrong. Damn them all, and, oh fuck—" She choked on a sob. Dylan held her close and rubbed her back. "This is just not me, I don't cry. I hate crying. It gives me a headache and I look like a rubber duck."

Dylan half-smiled at her analogy. It was like a red rag to a bull.

"And don't you dare smirk at me. Not if you're fond of your balls as they are."

 
The smile disappeared. Dylan ran his finger over her cheek and rubbed her tears away. That one small gesture went a long way to calming her.

"Hold on, love. They're fine. Don't gun for anyone yet. Let me find out what happened, and then we can both gun for them." He nodded toward the dock. "Look, the boat's tied up and here they are."

She looked at him in silence for so long he developed a tic at the side of his eye. Then she sighed. "I guess so . . . whoa, Meryl, honey." She pulled up short as Meryl ran across the grass, flung herself at Mia, and burst into tears.

Mia glowered at Dylan. Why couldn't he take a hint?

"Don't you have somewhere to go? People to lie to," she said pointedly to Dylan. He must have realized that discretion was definitely needed, and he nodded, gave her a fleeting kiss on the top of her head, and moved off into the darkness.

"Oh, Mia." Meryl wept into her sister's collar, and sobbed the whole story out. Mia listened in silence, and then turned to Dylan when she realized he had only moved a short distance away. He must've sensed he may be needed.

"Can I trust you to take her back to her room?"

He nodded.

"Thank you. Meryl, go with this . . ." the word gentleman stuck in her throat. "Go with him, and he'll see you back to your suite. Have a good sleep, and I'll see you later."

It was a sign of Meryl's distress that she didn't query the request, or ask what Mia was going to do. She just nodded obediently, and as Dylan took her arm, followed him back to the house.

Mia turned, and walked toward the man standing alone on the dock.

"Hello, Mia."

Mia stood silently in front of him.

"Well, at last," she drawled. "I finally have the chance to tell you what I think of slime like you." She looked him up and down, slowly and insultingly. "And I've always thought actions speak louder than words."

She hit him. Hard! His head swung back, and Mia took the opportunity to hit him again.

Split second awareness must have made him realize she was aiming for his groin and he blocked the blow. His mouth turned up at the edges, and once again Mia was reminded of a big cat.

"Nice to see you too, Mia."

"Not mutual," she said shortly.
What on earth is he doing here? Asshole males of the world unite? That's all we need. A tribe of them! Heaven help us.

She saw her hand-mark on his cheek, and momentarily felt ashamed of herself. But only momentarily. He deserved it for upsetting her sister. In fact, she only wished she'd managed to get her second blow in. Then that would have been one area she wouldn't have to worry about. No hanky-panky. The thought of hanky-panky brought Dylan to her mind.

Oh shit, balls, boll . . . language, Mia. Is this not a case of pot, kettle and black? Probably but—

"Why are you staring?" She asked Marloth belligerently.

"No reason. Except you look magnificent when you're on the boil, Mia."

"You . . . you jerk." She pointed her finger at him, and poked him in the chest. "And who the fuck is your friend?"

"Blaine Sturgess, I'm Dylan's cousin." He smiled.

"Ha, another asshole, then." Mia poked him in the stomach as well for good measure. Hard.
Damn it, what is it with this island and me poking people? "
Believe me, both of you, you've never ever seen me 'on the boil'. And believe me, you don't want to. What I want is for you to leave my sister alone. Understand A. L. O. N. E. She deserves better than you. I cannot see her humiliated by the likes of you again. You broke her, Marloth Ducaine, utterly and totally destroyed her. No sane, rational, and good person would
ever
behave like that to someone. Especially someone they'd professed to love. Ha. Love, you couldn't even spell it, let alone act on it." Mia needed to get away before she broke down and totally disgraced herself. She glared at him and then glanced back to where she had last seen Dylan. She'd forgotten he'd taken Meryl back to the house.

"Looking for someone?" Blaine enquired. His eyes were the same darkness as Dylan's. He'd come up close to her and Marloth. "Who were you with? He looked familiar."

"Oh puleese, you know fine well who it was. A fellow gigolo of yours. Note I'm classing you with these other shites until you're proved different, and do I think that's likely? Not a chance. So, Dylan, your fellow all-round-asshole, and non-good guy cousin."

"Dylan!" Blaine sniggered, and his grey eyes went from the color of slate to that of a dark storm-tossed sky. "No wonder he looked familiar. Who's up to what, eh? He's the big bad disapprove of everything around here person. So who's doing what?"

Mia glared at him. She had no idea what he was talking about.

"You're nuts. And if you mess with my sister you won't be. Because I'll snip them off with garden shears."

 
Blaine winced and covered his balls with his hands.

Marloth sniggered.

Blaine looked pained. "I was just the rescue party, Ask shi . . . er, Marloth here what went down."

 
Mia looked at him through narrowed eyes. She turned to Marloth.

"Hey, I just work here and do as I'm told." Marloth copied Blaine's hand action.

"Yeah, yeah, and if you think I believe you really didn't have anything to do with this crap and were only acting on orders, I'm the queen of Sheba."

As one, both men bowed and spoke, "Your Majesty."

They looked so ridiculous one hand cupping their cock and balls the other behind their back that Mia giggled before she shook her head and walked away.

"Shitebags." It was lame, but the best she could come up with without bursting into tears and having a full-blown hissy fit. She knew now why it wouldn't do any good.

Okay, I can cope with this crap, surely? After all, this is me on my way to my villa, not my fantasy. Let's face it, who would want assholes in their fantasy? Well. Grief, that is . . . damn and blast it, oh shut up.
Her stomach churned and she still wanted to punch someone—anyone. Especially someone whose hands or cocks had a mind of their own.

Slamming the door brought great satisfaction, but the apologies to the various heads, bodies and whole people that appeared from other villas didn't. Who would have realized the sound echoed? Thank goodness inside sounds didn't. Well, she hoped to hell they didn't. Mia sniggered—if they did, she was the only one who'd gotten any satisfaction. Under any other circumstances her description to herself about independently operating body parts would have raised more than a small smile. Not this time, though. There was no way she wanted the rest of the group to know just how ridiculous and naive she—and for that matter, Meryl—had been.

 
Oh lord, the garden and the pool. What echoes from there?
There was no answer in her mind to that tricky and potentially embarrassing question. She gave a mental shrug.
So don't think about it, then. It's a dream island and I bet most of the dreams feature a rip-roaring, screaming orgasm.

She entered her room and turned the lock with great satisfaction. She swiveled round to go punch a cushion, imagining it would be Marloth—or Dylan—and bumped right into Dylan.

"You," she said, and almost spat with loathing. "You, mate, are the last person I want to see. Why are you here? Just clear the fuck off."

"Now, Mia, and no, no-one can hear anything from your garden, the glass bounces sound back." No doubt his tone was meant to placate, but to Mia in her temper, it did the exact opposite. She saw red, a film covered her eyes and her fingers itched with the effort of not connecting with his face.

"Now 'Mia' nothing. Nada. Nein. Zilch.
Go away
. Far, far away. Get it? And stop making me talk out loud."

Dylan must have been taught discretion was the better part of valor. With a brief nod, he went.

"Later, Mia, we need to talk."

Mia watched the door close behind him, flung a cushion at it as hard as she could, and wanted to cry again. Damn him, she was going to invest in waterproof mascara and bill the bloody island. Of course they needed to talk, but not now, not when she felt so betrayed. There was only one thing to do. After eating all the chocolate she could find, Mia sulked. Not that she called it that. Her description was a strategic retreat and ignoring assholes. She decided she wasn't sulking, just regrouping.

With a grim resolution, she put the 'do not disturb' sign outside the door and took the phone off the hook. Then she got into her Pj's, made a cup of tea, and climbed into bed. For the rest of the night. And, except for forays to the fridge and the loo, stayed there until the following day.

And Dylan stayed away.

Well, I'd have thought he would have at least had the decency to come and check I was okay. No, thinking about it, I wouldn't have. Because he's a man. And men only think with their dicks, not their brains. Well, duh, their brains are in their gonads. How's Meryl? She's keeping low as well, and the rest? Hope they are enjoying their fantasies! I'm sure as hell not. But then, come on, Mia, be honest
—
you didn't want a fantasy. Not at first, but then . . . .

"Stop this." Mia said. "Put up or shut up."

There was a discrete knock on her suite door. She'd ignored the last half dozen or so, but maybe it was time to resurface and not just use her mobile to tell Meryl she was fine.

Mia walked to the peephole and looked through. Christophe was outside. Slowly, she opened the door, and stood back to let him in.