Inhibition-X (10 page)

“Next thing I knew we were partners in business, and I feared fucking that up all to hell if I came clean. Thing is, Heather, I want you. I’ve always wanted you. More than just as a friend or partner. I want to be your other. The one you seek out first when good things or bad hit. The one whose body you curl around on cold winter nights. The one you laugh with and tell your dreams too. I want to be that person, Heather.” He stared at her, and a lump formed in her throat. He wanted her to say something, and at the moment her mind was too muddled to form anything coherent.

“Life kept throwing curveballs at me each time I drummed up the nerve to tell you how I felt. So, after a few too many beers, I texted you.” He paused and again locked his gaze with hers. “Honestly, I’d thought I’d deleted it. Prayed in my drunken stupor I hadn’t hit Send.”

The lump in her throat suddenly dropped deep in her gut.

“When you responded, I pretended I’d sent it to the wrong number. In truth I’m not sure what I’d hoped would happen. I swear to you, I never intended for things to take the turn they did.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “It’s just, well, one thing led to another, and at the time, the texting seemed the perfect way to be with you without chancing our friendship or business relationship.”

He continued to appear ready for her to do or say something, but this kind of bombshell news drew the moisture straight out of her mouth. How could he have done this? Pretended to be Erix? They were partners—she’d seen his number. Had the thing memorized, and the calls didn’t originate from his cell phone.

“Anyway, you seemed so happy at work. Hell, I was happy. I figured what would it hurt to keep things going for a while longer. I paid another month on the little track phone I’d bought when my phone went wonky one day, and I figured I’d take things one day at a time. Then you opened up. Told me your fantasies. When you won the trip, well, it afforded me the opportunity to give you them to you.”

He shifted, and she got the full monty. He stretched out his long, muscled legs and crossed his ankles. All kinds of emotions flooded her at once.

Anger, betrayal, hurt, but also—need.

“I knew about your fantasy, and I of all people know the need to release in creative ways. I also know about hurt. And I’d rather chance you hating me than chance you getting hurt the one time you decide to break out of your shell. So I canceled my trip and flew down. Wiped my savings out for the only hut available. I had to know you were okay.”

She needed her friend. The one she’d always turned to when shit hit the fan. The one who made her laugh easily. He was right; what they’d done would forever change things.

“Please say something. Anything,” he begged.

She nodded. Not the most appropriate action, but the only one she thought to do. Her mind raced as fast as her heart did, and she needed time away from Mick to think things over. Sitting across from him while they were both naked made her confused and itchy all over.

“Time,” she spat out, feeling horrible when his face fell.

“I understand.” He stood, stepped out of the sunken bed, and held a hand out. An electric spark went through her when their skin touched, but she ignored the sensation and grabbed her dress.

Once she’d secured everything back in place the best she could without aid of the tape, she opened the door, pausing before she stepped out to say something.

Again words eluded her, and she shot Mick a pleading expression. He didn’t beg her to stay but nodded as if he understood her need for some distance. A few steps out his door and she knew she didn’t want to return to her hut.

But where the hell was she to go on a freaking island?

Chapter Nineteen

The dining hut was open twenty-four hours a day.

Oh yes, empty.

She went and sat at one of the cushioned picnic tables under a fan.

“Hi, can I help you?” a waitress asked.

The tears that had been threatening to erupt burst forth. She bawled so hard she began hiccupping and, again, found herself unable to speak.

“Gina, please get our guest a shot of whiskey and an ice-cold soda. On the house,” the Marquis added when Gina turned to get the drink. “Come now, what would make a beautiful woman like you cry?” He’d come from seemingly nowhere. He sat next to her and pulled her head to his shoulder. He didn’t push, nor did he exude any form of sexual overture. His move was that of someone helping someone else.

Gina returned with the shot. A simple nod from the Marquis and she set the glass down and made a quiet exit. With no other guests in the place to serve, Gina needn’t linger around.

The Marquis held the glass up for her, and she accepted, shooting back the liquid and coughing as the burn tore through her. Seconds later her nerves calmed, and she took a sip of the soda as a chaser.

“Now, tell me what’s happened to upset you so.”

She had no intention of going into all the nitty-gritty details but did need to tell him something after the display of waterworks she’d given.

“A friend gave me a surprise I’m not quite sure how to take,” she offered.

“Tell me this. Did this surprise come from the heart? A good place with good intentions?”

Wasn’t that the catch-all question. Mick had nothing to gain from his disclosure. If he’d kept the mask on, she never would have been the wiser. But he’d laid his soul out before. For her.

“Yes, I think so,” she admitted.

“Well, then no matter how things went, all came from a pure heart.”

The Marquis made things seem so easy-peasy. Life wasn’t just black and white though. No, there were so many other shades involved. Did she dare hope things might work out with Mick?

What if they turned out incompatible? Found quirks which drove each other batty?

Worse…ended up hating each other? Life without Mick somewhere around would be bleak.

“Do not overthink things. Life is short, cherie. Embrace everything, the good and bad. Savor each moment that comes your way.” He turned her to face him. His gaze was sincere, and through the suave exterior of the Marquis, she found a crack. Within that sliver she recognized pain. Fleeting as the visual was, she knew the Marquis had loved intensely and lost as hard.

His lips brushed against hers. Tenderness exuded from him, and she accepted the closed-lip kiss. It was a kiss between new friends who would probably never run into each other again.

The sudden snap of twig jerked her attention away from the man before her to the angry, hurt-looking one behind her.

Mick’s expression flickered between confused and betrayed.

“Mick—” she started, hoping to explain the innocent moment between her and the Marquis.

“No explanation needed. Enjoy the rest of your trip, Heather.” When she started toward him he threw both hands up to stop her, before he turned and headed back to his hut.

She turned a desperate gaze to the Marquis.

“Give him a few minutes to cool down, then go to him and speak from the heart.” The Marquis gave her a big hug, a final kiss—on the forehead—and wished her much happiness.

Since her costume now gapped uncomfortably, she decided to head back to the hut to change, which should give Mick his needed cool-down period. Two steps through the door and the error of her judgment hit her like live mackerel to the face.

J.D. and Morgan were sprawled across the floor, out to the world, and by the sounds and stench of coming from the bathroom, P.J. hugged porcelain.

“Oh honey. Can I bring you anything?” Much as she loved P.J., she and vomit didn’t fare well in the same room.

“Cold, wet washcloth grumphhhh.”

“Gotcha. Wet washcloth coming right up.” She went to the linen closet of their hut, grabbed a cloth, and soaked the thing.

”Here you go honey.” She laid the wet rag over the back of her friend’s neck.

“Oh yes. Better,” P.J. stated, leaning back against the tub but keeping her head angled as close to the toilet as possible.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go get out of this, and I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Yeah, I’m not going anywhere soon. By the looks of your attire, someone got lucky tonight,” P.J. noted.

“In a way,” she yelled from the closet area.

“Which lucky guest did you hook up wi—garumphh.”

Saved by puke. Lucky her.

She tossed on a comfortable T-shirt and a pair of shorts, which sported
#1 Nerd
on the ass.

“Heather, can you please check if we have any ginger ale in the minifridge?”

P.J.’s request came out so pitifully she immediately headed to check. Of course they didn’t. In fact, short of tap water, they had nothing on hand. She ambled back to the bathroom.

“We’re out of everything. I’ll make a quick run to the dining hut and grab a few cans of ginger ale or clear soda or something. Need anything else?”

“No. Just that. Please and oh God thank you. If I move, I’m going to hurl a lung or kidney,” P.J. moaned from the other side of the door.

She slipped on her sneakers and sprinted to get the sodas. As she passed the path to Mick’s hut, a small part of her wanted to selfishly head there first and smooth things out. But what she and Mick needed to discuss wouldn’t be a few-minute conversation, and no way would P.J. ever leave her if she were that sick, so she kept on track.

She found the night staff, who filled up a bag with the clear beverages and tossed in some sports drinks for good measure.

The island truly was all about the happiness of the guests.

When she returned she found P.J. curled up on the bed waiting for her and both guys gone. Snores rattled the pictures, which told her they’d found their way to their room. She peeped in and snorted with laughter to find both curled up on the same queen-size bed spooning away.

“Here you go hon. They even gave me some sports drinks should you want some.” She handed P.J. a cold can of ginger ale and went to load the rest into the fridge, praying the beverage would give P.J. some relief and she could haul ass to Mick without guilt of ditching her friend.

Nope. Not with her luck. P.J. patted the bed next her and whimpered while putting the cold rag on her forehead.

It was going to be a long, long, miserable night.

Chapter Twenty

“Dude, what the fuck?”

She bolted upright at J.D.’s scream. Damn, had she fallen asleep? Crap.

“Don’t even… You, sir, are in my bed. If anyone’s going to be offended, I am. Now get that woody the hell away from me,” Morgan countered.

A few thumps and one boom later and she had to check out the commotion.

“What in the hell was that?” P.J. mumbled.

“I think the guys woke up too close together with morning stiffies.”

Hungover or not, P.J.’s feet hit the floor as fast as if the bed had gone up in flames.

Sure enough both guys, wearing only their boxer briefs stood on opposing sides of the room with stricken expressions on.

“Um, morning,” P.J. said before she coughed, “wood.”

The guys glared at her, clearly not appreciating her early sense of humor, before turning their attention back to each other again.

“Humph, mine’s bigger,” J.D. stated, yanking the band of his drawers and letting go with a snap. He spun on his heel and headed toward the bathroom.

“Is not,” Morgan retaliated with a shit-eating grin on.

“Boys and their toys,” P.J. commented, shaking her head as she heading back to her room.

Now that everyone was finally well, though maybe a bit grumpy, she needed to jet and find Mick. A quick brush of her hair and teeth, and she didn’t even take time to change. Yelled “bye” as she sprinted out the door so she wouldn’t have to worry about explaining where she headed should they have questioned her.

Her lungs burned from the intense run, but finally she stood outside Mick’s door.

A few unanswered knocks later, and her heart dropped. He either wasn’t in or wasn’t answering, and Mick wasn’t the type to ignore a problem. He’d meet the issue head on.

Dining hut. Yeah. He loves breakfast. Has to have those bacon and eggs.

Trying to find the air she’d lost from the last run, she took off again for the other hut, stopping shy of racing into the room.

No Mick. Shit. Where the hell did he go?

“Good morning. Are by chance seeking the man from the last night?” the Marquis asked.

“Yes, I am. Have you seen him by chance?”

“Sadly, cherie, he left this morning.”

“Left as in the dining hut, or the island?” Even as she asked, her stomach twisted, and a nauseated sensation swept through her.

“I’m afraid the island. He caught one of the first flights out. Said an emergency arose which required his immediate attention,” the Marquis added.

She’d never felt so lost as she did now. The Marquis’s words from the night before came back. The advice that life was short and to embrace everything now.

“When’s your next flight out?” She didn’t care that she’d miss the last day of her vacation. She wanted to find Mick now—not later.

“We have another plane leaving within the hour.” He grinned widely. “Should I tell the pilot to expect another passenger?”

“Yes. Don’t let him leave without me. I just need to grab my things. I’ll be right back. I promise.” Her thighs burned from the previous morning runs, but she sucked up the pain and raced back to pack.

The door slammed against the wall of the hut, and her friends jumped as if they’d been goosed. She panted heavily, held up a finger, and shot into the bedroom to begin packing.

“Where’s the fire?” Morgan asked, following her in.

“I swear—” She gasped for much needed air. “I’ll explain everything once you guys are back home,” she finished on one breath.

“Wait, what the hell do you mean back home? Where are you going?” P.J. asked with worry edging into her voice.

She turned and locked eyes with her friend.

“Trust me?” she asked P.J.

“Uh, yeah… of course I do,” P.J. answered.

“Well then, I promise I’ll explain later, but I’m heading home now, and I don’t have time to get into everything.”

“Swear to me you’re fine, and I’ll drop the subject.” P.J. stared her down—hard.