Sex on Flamingo Beach (9 page)

“I met with Isabella Fuentes from the chamber of commerce earlier,” Emilie said, changing the topic. “She thinks I should get Larry Moorehouse's take on moving the jam to the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort.”

“It wouldn't hurt. Like I said, Larry is all about promoting himself and his buddies. Did you talk to Rowan about getting Twenty Cents and Ice Cube aboard?”

“Yes, I've spoken with him.”

She didn't elaborate. Tre didn't need to know that Rowan's help was conditional, and that he was proposing bringing his buddies on board in exchange for her spending the weekend with him. She would have to get back to Rowan, especially since she'd already put it out there that the two rap stars would be celebrity judges. If the town council and Larry Moorehouse bit, she'd have to produce the two rap artists.

Emilie hated being in the position of having to owe Rowan anything. There had to be some other way.

“So do we have a show or what?” she asked Tre.

“I think we have some possibilities. I'll put it out there during tonight's broadcast and ask the audience to hit me up. I'll issue a challenge and see who responds.”

“Okay, now how do I reach Larry?”

Tre gave her the man's information, and after they hung up, Emilie took a deep breath and punched in Rowan's cell phone number. He'd insisted that she have it. She counted the rings hoping to leave a message.

“Hey, babe. What's up?” he asked seconds before voice mail clicked in.

With caller ID no one was anonymous these days.

“Is your offer to take me away for the weekend still good?” Emilie asked, injecting enthusiasm into her voice.

“You know it is.”

“What dates are we talking about?”

“Next weekend. We'd leave for Harbour Island on Friday and return on Tuesday. Can you get the time off?”

“I'm owed time. How are we getting there?”

“My client has a private plane. He'll fly us into Eleuthera and then his boat will take us from there.”

Emilie broached the uncomfortable subject. “Uh, what about sleeping accommodations?”

“What about them?”

“Are we getting separate rooms?”

“Only if you insist.”

She chuckled nervously. “I insist. You said this was an opportunity for us to get to know each other better. We can't really do that if we're sharing a bed.”

Rowan's hearty laughter resounded in her ear. “If it makes you more comfortable you can have your own room at the Hibiscus Inn. But personally I think it's wasted money.”

“Why's that?”

He laughed again. “Do you really have to ask? Before the weekend is over we'll be sharing one bed.”

“Keep dreaming, baby.”

“It's all I do. Wide-awake or asleep I dream about you.”

Emilie slammed down the phone. What nerve!

She wouldn't sleep with Rowan again…never.

“Y
es!” Rowan said out loud, pumping his arms in the air. “Yes.”

“Was there something you wanted, Mr. James?” Blanca called from the outer office.

“No, no, just talking out loud.”

He'd almost forgotten where he was. Emilie Woodward was finally coming around, at least he hoped so. He'd wear her down the coming weekend on Harbour Island when he pulled out all the stops.

“Tre Monroe's on the phone,” Blanca now yelled. “You want me to tell him you're busy talking to yourself?”

“Don't be a smart ass. Go ahead and put him through.”

“Hey, Tre, what's up, guy?” Rowan asked when the radio broadcaster's deep voice filled his ear.

“Still trying to make a living, which is why I'm calling you. How do you feel about being on the D'dawg show?”

“That depends. If I'm coming on to get eaten alive, I'd say forget about it.”

D'dawg's show had built its reputation by being controversial. Rowan didn't think Tre would intentionally set him up but one had to be careful.

Tre explained about the panel he was putting together.

“I'll know more tonight after I put it out there and get the reaction from my audience.”

“Who else is on this panel?” Rowan asked, his guard still up.

Tre named the people he'd been thinking about contacting.

“If Emilie's on board so am I,” Rowan added.

“Now that's a big surprise.” Tre was almost splitting a gut laughing. “You hear about this passion party being held at the resort tomorrow night? I'm going to tape it. Why don't you drop by.”

“What's a passion party?”

“An excuse for women to buy sex toys and get silly.”

“Toys? You mean like fake phalluses, edible panties, that kind of thing?”

“Right on, baby.”

“You must need an assistant to hold your mic.” Rowan laughed with Tre.

“There's nothing to stop you from attending, bro. In fact during tonight's broadcast I'm going to encourage the men to make a good show. If men aren't allowed we'll yell discrimination.”

“Okay, okay, you convinced me. I'm in.”

Rowan hung up thinking that tonight was a definite to listen to Tre's radio broadcast. The popular late-night radio personality would be stirring things up and the residents of Flamingo Beach would be there right along with him.

The next evening a long line of people waited to get into the Paradise Ballroom but the doors were still closed. Passion consultants had come in from nearby towns and the noise level as Emilie walked by was deafening. The crowd far surpassed what the hotel staff had expected. Keanu Dinkins, Joya's boss, had already dispatched a crew to open the dividers and extend the room. What surprised Emilie was the number of men in line. She'd been under the impression it was supposed to be a gathering of primarily women.

The balls of Emilie's feet ached from walking the floors. She'd wanted to make sure that the extra security the Passion Group had paid for were visible. The hotel could not afford a repeat of the singles event. On top of that, the first of the contracted casino workers had started trickling in and the resort and its staff needed to make a good impression.

There was a buzzing as she walked by and then silence. She knew when she was being talked about. Emilie glanced over her shoulder and spotted Sheena Grace and Camille Lewis in line. Sheena she'd expected to see. The woman got around and everyone knew she was a fun girl. She was all over any man that was slightly interested in her.

But Emilie didn't expect Camille there. She had a hard time picturing Winston, the woman's long-suffering husband, open to having fun with Camille. It had long been rumored that she swung off chandeliers to keep his attention.

“How long before you people open your doors?” an ancient voice croaked.

It had to be a joke. What was Ida Rubenstein doing standing in line with an unlit cigarette? She was the oldest resident of Flamingo Place, the complex Emilie lived in. She had to be pushing ninety if she was a day.

“My legs are giving out. When are you opening up?” Ida whined.

“I'll get you a chair,” Emilie offered. “You can also sit in one of the comfortable sofas in the lobby.”

“What! And give up my spot?”

The woman behind Ida offered to save her place but Ida refused to budge.

“Just because I'm up there in age doesn't mean I'm not interested in sex. I don't want picked-through whatchamacallits.”

She had the crowd around her rolling.

Where was Joya when Emilie needed her? She'd expected her to be out on crowd-control duty. But Joya's boss, Keanu Dinkins, a pain to work for, probably had her doing her job and his.

Emilie used her key card to access the locked ballroom. She stood in the doorway for a moment, gaping. The room had been transformed into a pink and blue fantasyland. In the center, a huge curtained four-poster bed was piled high with fluffy pillows, and occupying it were male and female models in skimpy boxers and sheer lingerie. Framed posters of buff males hung on the walls, and brass candelabras adorned the vendors' tables.

The merchandise on display ran the gamut, everything from candles, massage oils and lubricants to erotic aids. Piped-in music came from the amplifiers in the ceilings and the sensual voice of Barry White helped set the mood.

Remembering her mission, Emilie looked around for Joya. She spotted her with one foot on the rung of a ladder, helping a crew member attach a blow-up doll to one of the partitions. Emilie grabbed one of the passing crew by the arm.

“I need you to get some chairs and take them out to the public areas where the people are standing.”

“Right away, ma'am.” He hurried off to do her bidding.

By then Joya had gotten the doll hung and was carefully climbing down the ladder. Emilie waited until she was on the floor before approaching.

“Have you seen the line outside?” she asked.

“Is there a line?”

“A monstrous one. Would you believe a senior citizen like Ida Rubenstein is in it?”

“Get out. Just goes to show you, you don't lose your sex drive after sixty.”

“Sixty.” Emilie snorted. “Ida is eighty and some. When can we open the doors and let people in? The crowd's about to riot.”

“I'll check with Keanu and the person coordinating this thing and get back to you.”

Joya got out her cell phone and walked in the direction of a plus-sized woman who was setting up a booth with titillating games and books. She returned within minutes.

“We can open in five minutes.”

“I'll tell security to stand by. It's a bigger crowd than we expected, and there are several men on line.”

“Well, Tre did issue a challenge to his male audience.”

“And they came through in a big way. It's quite the lively group out there.”

The music now switched to John Legend, an entirely different sound from Barry, but still popular. Emilie made sure security reinforcements were in place. By the time she got back to the ballroom the gigantic doors had been thrown open and people were busily buying raffle tickets. Ida Rubenstein had a bunch wrapped around her neck like a lei.

At the back of the line was a handsome dark-skinned man with a goatee and aviator glasses whom she'd never seen before. He was exactly the type of man she went for, serious and professional-looking, with pumped-up muscles he kept under wraps. No muscle shirts for this one.

“Hi, I'm Emilie Woodward, director of leisure sales,” Emilie greeted him, giving him her hand. “You're going to enjoy the party. There's something for everyone inside.”

He smiled back at her, his white teeth a glaring contrast against his ebony skin.

“Mack Allen. I'm one of the contracted engineers brought in to build the casino. You did say there was something for everyone here so I shouldn't leave empty-handed.”

“And neither will I,” a quiet voice said from behind them.

Emilie recognized that voice. Surely Rowan had better things to do on a Friday night.

The man with the goatee regarded them curiously. Nodding his head in Rowan's direction, he moved along. Emilie wanted to strangle Rowan. She'd been enjoying talking to Mack until he showed up.

“How come you're here?” she asked Rowan.

“Isn't the party open to the public?”

“It's open to anyone interested in shopping.”

“Then you shouldn't object. Since you've previewed the merchandise, anything in particular you fancy?”

She was saved from an unprofessional response when the commentator's voice boomed over the intercom, announcing the start of the lingerie auction. Shoppers rushed in scurrying to pick up paddles, and those anxious to see young, shapely models in skimpy attire began pushing and shoving.

Excusing herself, Emilie went off to find the security guards, who'd promised to remain visible. By the time she returned, the line had whittled down to almost nothing. She stood at the back of the ballroom observing the action. Women were eagerly seeking shopping advice from men only too anxious to give it.

“Do you think I should get these?” Rowan, who must have been stalking her, asked. He opened up his palm to display a velvet case with two small balls about the size of marbles.

“What are they?” She was almost afraid to know.

“Ben Wa balls.”

“What are they for?”

Rowan turned an interesting shade of crimson. “You really don't know?”

“Sorry, I don't.”

“They're used to—ahem—enhance the female experience.”

“In that case you don't need them, do you?”

The conversation had gotten much too intimate. She was thankful when the fashion show began, and for the next fifteen minutes the male and female models strutted their stuff. During that process she somehow managed to lose Rowan.

One of the liquor stores had provided free champagne and wine. Waiters and waitresses dressed head to toe in black were now making their way through the crowd with trays held high. They were stopped almost every step of the way. When the bidding began, an enthusiastic, joyful crowd quickly drove the prices up.

“You were right. There is something here for everyone,” a male voice said close to Emilie's ear.

She turned to see the man who'd introduced himself as Mack next to her.

“Did you buy anything?”

He shook his head. “No. I'm here more out of curiosity than anything else. Being new to town I figured it was a good way to get acclimated.”

“Where did you come in from?” she asked, forced to shout to be heard.

“Connecticut. Why don't we step outside? We can find someplace quieter to talk.”

Things seemed to be going well so far and Joya and Keanu were here. She wouldn't be missed, hopefully.

Emilie led the way out to the pool.

“I usually don't get put up at such nice places,” Mack commented, looking around.

Emilie signaled to one of the servers. “You're pleased with your accommodations, then?”

“Very pleased. The rooms are large and I love the wraparound balconies. From what I can tell this resort has every amenity there is, and some.”

“I'm getting an iced tea. Would you like one?” Emilie asked Mack as the server approached.

“Iced tea sounds good right about now.”

She placed their order while Mack stretched out on the lounge chair and made himself comfortable. He had that chocolate complexion she was attracted to. A thick mat of curly hairs covered muscle and sinew. Emilie could only imagine what his chest was like.

“How long have you been working here?” Mack asked.

“From the time the hotel opened. I was brought in from New Jersey.”

“Really? You must be very good at your job.”

Emilie sighed. “Sometimes too good. I've been transferred more times than I would care to be. Anytime there's an opening or a hotel in trouble, it's Emilie who gets dispatched.”

Mack reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I know what you mean. As a contractor I always have my bags packed.”

He was another wandering soul. Another man without roots. She must attract them.

“How did you hear about the casino job?”

“Priddy contacted me. I've worked on some other jobs and brought them in on time. He mentioned that the developer's partner has an engineering degree, and he thought the two of us would be a good team together.”

“Derek Morse?”

“Yes, that's him. You know him?”

Emilie accepted the drink the server handed her and signed the bill. “Actually Derek's wife and I are good friends.”