[Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon (12 page)

Once I’m knee deep a school of minnows darts in between my legs and I reach for the thing that is already recognizable, a green tinged glass bottle corked at the top. I carry it back to the hut where I sit down at the small table. The cliché of it—a message in a bottle—is so ridiculous, laughter bubbles up in my chest, like the carbonation in a soda that’s been shaken and shaken, about to explode. Raucous laughter. Insane, hysterical laughter.

I use my teeth to uncork the bottle because I already know there is going to be something inside. Of course there is. There always is. Except that I should be the one sending the message, the plea for help. Not the other way around. But then, this island, this-fucked-up-backwards-assed living, breathing island is playing with me. Toying with me.

Sticking one finger into the neck, I manage to grasp the edge of the paper, which I realize isn’t paper at all but more like leather or velum. The kind of thing monks used to write on and illuminate in medieval times. I unroll the stiff material and read the swirled script.

The only way to leave is to make a choice and face your biggest fear.  The choice you must make is simple. You must choose between your past, the present or your future. Once you have chosen, everything will become clear. Once you make a choice, there is no going back. Just say the word and it will be.

I attempt to make sense of the cryptic note but have no luck. What the hell does it all mean? My skin pricks along my spine and I glance up, scanning the open doorway to see if anyone is around. There is no one there. No one watching. Not that I can see, anyway.

Pushing myself to my feet, I go to the doorway and stand there, hands bracing the frame, searching the jungle, the beach...all of it. “What am I supposed to do?” The words begin as a soft question, gaining in volume. “What do you want me to do?”

There is no answer. There is no one to help me. With hands on my hips, I tilt my head to the sky above. “Hey,” I shout. “What do you want from me?”

The ground rumbles beneath my feet as if in response.

I throw my hands into the air. “What does that even me?”

Out of nowhere, a huge wave crashes into the beach, sweeping water so high up the sand it reaches the edge of the hut, nipping at my toes.

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

A resounding CRACK splits the sky and my eardrums. To the north a huge, roiling cloud billows with menace, growing and swallowing up the sun and the blue of the sky along with it. Lightening pierces the ocean surface, once, twice, three times while wind whips up the palm fronds, waving them in circles, this way and that as if even the wind can’t decide which way to go. I observe the rain approach, moving across the water, traveling at a ridiculous speed, sheets of water stirring up waves, getting closer and closer.

“Fine!”

Turning back inside, I shut the simple door and latch it because the wind keeps trying to open it.

“Now what?” I go to sit on the edge of the bed. I expect it to be hard, the sheets dusty, but it’s soft. Oh so soft.

Kicking my feet out, I lie down, my head on the pillow, my arms crossed over my chest, mummy style. The rain chooses that moment to reach the hut and it’s not the violent pummeling downpour I expect to rock the small structure. It’s gentle. Soothing. Comforting.

My lids drift closed.

Images of Christophe and Chase dance behind my closed lids. Christophe’s knowing smile, his cobalt eyes, his insistence that we’ve known each other longer than we have. Then there’s Chase. Good lord. Where do I start? What do we have left to say to one another?

Deciding between these two men is impossible, which of course leaves me with a third option. I could leave. I don’t need either of them. Do I?

My body twitches, on the verge of an exhausted sleep. I don’t need to choose right now. Maybe just a little nap and everything will be clear. Just for a few minutes, then I’ll decide. Or better yet, maybe someone will make the decision for me. Yes. Maybe the island will decide...because I’ll be honest, I have no fucking clue what to do.

Help Tessa decide what to do.

To revisit her PAST (Chase),
click here

To choose the PRESENT (Tessa),
click here

To choose her FUTURE (Christophe),
click here

“T
essa? Tessa, where are you?”

Hearing my name repeated over and over again wakes me up. I roll off the cot and exit the hut out to the beach. Walking toward me is Christophe. He’s wearing cotton trousers rolled up at the ankles and a loose white shirt. His normally well-coiffed hair is in disarray and he’s holding a hand up to his forehead to block the bright sun.

“Tessa?”

“Christophe.” I jog over to him. “Hi.”

He takes my shoulders. “Thank God. I was so worried about you.” Then he pulls me against his chest.

“You’ve been gone for days. No one knew where you were.”

“Are you kidding me?”

The shake of his head and the seriousness in his expression tells me he definitely is not.

“Oh my God.” I step out of his embrace. “This place is a serious mind-fuck.”

Christophe does not regard me like a madwoman. Instead, he takes my hand. “It can be.”

Glancing up suspiciously, I ask, “How do you know?”

“If you’ll recall, I’ve been here before.”

“Right. Right.” I take a deep breath and glance behind me. I don’t know why, I just feel like I should, so I do. The hut is gone. Of course it is. I give my head a shake.

I start to walk in the direction of the villa—or at least, I think it’s the direction of the villa—when Christophe stops me.

“Wait. I need you to know something.”

“What?”

He looks down at me, his eyes even bluer in the light, but clouded with something. Worry? No. Something else. He sweeps his hand through his hair and looks off into the distance for a moment. “I’m sorry. For whatever happened.”

Those are not the words I expect. Not that I have any idea what I expected him to say.

“It’s okay,” I say, thinking about what the mysterious host said on the other side of the screen. “I know it wasn’t you who made me feel crazy that first day.”

“Tell me what happened that day.”

So I do. As we stroll along the beach, I tell him about all the doors being locked, the beach that led nowhere, the lack of phone service, the lack of people. “It was like a bad dream.”

I glance up into his eyes and I am reminded of my dream. “And then I had a bad dream. Or...a good dream.” Shit, I can’t decide which it was now that I know that Christophe had nothing to do with what happened. “You were in it. So when I woke up and you were standing there and everything was still so muddled in my head...I overreacted. I’m sorry too.”

He tugs on my hand, pulling me beneath his arm. “So...does your presence now mean you’ll stay? Do you accept my invitation to Eden?”

“Yes. I accept.”

“Good. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“That is yet to be determined.” I nudge him in the ribs, grinning.

We head back to the villa, hand in hand, like holding hands with Christophe Chevalier is the most natural thing in the world.

“So, do you want to tell me about your dream?”

I sneak a peek at him. “It was about you.”

“Oh?”

“You ravished me.”

He stops and looks down at me with a twisted smile. “Ravished?”

“Mmhmm.”

Continuing to walk, he says, “Well, that sounds...exciting.”

“It was. Sort of.”

He squeezes my hand, “So tell me, Mademoiselle Savage, do you want me to ravish you or was that the bad part of your dream?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

We walk up the path from the beach to our villa, passing the infinity pool, the hammocks, the outdoor living area and inside, going through to the massive living room. I motion to the villa at large. “This is lovely by the way. Excessive, but lovely.”

“I’m sure it didn’t feel so nice when you felt locked in.”

“No, it didn’t. But if you have to be imprisoned, being stuck in a five-star resort isn’t a bad way to go.”

“Yes,” he says with a wry twist of his lips. “It must have been very difficult for you.”

I give him a dirty look. “I can make light of what happened. You can’t.”

“My apologies.”

Watching him move around the kitchen, removing a bottle of sparkling water and a platter of sandwiches from the refrigerator, I feel confused. Displaced. “Tell me,” I say.

“Tell you what?”

“Why did you invite me?” I motion to the villa but past that too, to the island beyond. “Here, of all places.”

“I know Theo. We’ve done business together.”

“Who’s Theo?”

“Theodosius Vardalos, he owns the island.”

“Theodosius the billionaire? I thought he died, like over a decade ago.”

“He nearly did.”

“So
he’s
The Master?”

“Yes. Why?”

I shake my head. “I spoke to him. Why would he conceal his identity from me?”

“No one knows why Theo does what he does.” Christophe walks around the counter until he’s standing directly in front of me. “Would you believe it was Theo himself who suggested I meet you?”

“What?”

“It’s true.”

“But I don’t even know him.”

“Are you sure?”

“I...” I reflect upon the conversation I had with him. I didn’t recognize his voice but voices change. I didn’t see him, so I wouldn’t know what he looked like. He certainly seemed to know me.

“Why would he suggest a thing like that?”

“I asked him the same thing.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, meet her. You’ll know why.”

“But we’ve only spent a few hours together.”

He smiles.

I point at his face. “What the hell does that smile mean? You’ve done that before, smile like you know a secret.”

“Do you know the chicken and egg dilemma?”

“Yes, of course I do.” I sing the ‘which came first, the chicken or the egg’ song. Why do I sing this silly song? Who knows why I do the things I do, sometimes. “So, what does that have to do with us?”

“We are a paradox.”

“You’re not making sense. Are you trying to say this was all a masterful blind date set-up by a bored billionaire?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

He frames my face and his touch instantly sends a delightful, shivery warmth down into my chest. “I’m saying I’m glad you’re here.”

“Weird way to say it, if you ask me,” I mutter.

He laughs and kisses me gently on the lips. I stand stock still. It is not a passionate kiss. It is light and sweet and loving.

It is also the first time we’ve ever kissed.

He goes back to organizing the food and setting it on the table as I watch, dumbfounded. I touch my mouth and look at my hand as if expecting evidence from the kiss to be left behind.

I clear my throat. “So...tell me, Monsieur Chevalier. How do you foresee this week going?”

“Much like any tropical vacation. I was hoping to do some diving; the reefs around the island are spectacular and I know you’re a certified diver.”

Hands on my hips, I narrow my gaze. “You really need to stop creeping me.”

“Tell me you haven’t done the same thing?”

My lips twitch because he’s so right. I looked up as much information about Christophe Chevalier as I could. Former Formula One race car driver, deep sea diver, sky diver, he has competed in numerous international sailing federation competitions, and the man likes to take things to the extreme. However, he also sits on the board of numerous charitable foundations, maybe to balance all that extreme shit.

“Maybe,” I hedge.

He laughs. I’d forgotten what a wonderfully melodic, infectious laugh he has.

“But don’t expect me to go sky diving. Sailing...maybe.”

His laughter grows as he realizes that I have just admitted to googling him. He draws me over to the table, laughter still dancing in his eyes, though his smile is more seductive than humorous. “Then there are other things I should very much like to share.”

He holds my chair for me and I have to tilt my head back to look up at him once I sit. The delicious scent of his aftershave evokes memories from Monte Carlo, and his lowered voice stokes those memories into a smoldering fire in the pit of my tummy.

“What sort of things?”

“Philosophies.”

“You mean sex.”

He places his hands on my shoulders. “Yes. Does that shock you?”

“Coming from you? No.” I do not admit to him his words send shockwaves down to my clit, however.

He sits down across from me and I notice the smile. The knowing-fucking-smile, like he has a pretty good idea what effect his words have had on my bits and pieces.

He unwraps a napkin from a silverware set and says, casually, as if we’re talking about the weather, “I must be honest with you. I want more than a simple sexual encounter with you.”

“What do you want?” The shockwaves are moving along, causing a delicate shuddering sensation between my legs.

Christophe looks up and meets my gaze. “I want all of you, Tessa.”

“What does that mean?” The words are soft. Breathless.

“I want to share more than just our bodies.”

I frown. “Is this about Tantra?”

“Yes.” The laughter dissipates into something softer, sexier. “But first, we eat.” He motions to the food in front of me. “You must be famished.”

I don’t realize how hungry I am until I start eating, shoveling the first few bites of the delicious brie and roasted apple on Panini in my mouth, but soon the flavors force me to slow down and I close my eyes to appreciate the delicious blend.

“Tell me,” I say, covering my half-full mouth. “What made you get into Tantra?”

“I got to a point in my life where existence became a never-ending search for something that didn’t exist. Faster cars, more dangerous dives, bigger boats...” He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully before continuing. “More women, more often.”

“And then?”

“Then someone taught me there was something else.”

“Who?”

“A woman.”

“Who was she?”

He smiles and does that French head-tilt thing. “The most influential woman in my life.”