His Final Seduction Page 8

  “I’m fine.” He looked away from his day manager’s ample globes. He’d kissed and manipulated those breasts more times than he could count. Margaret typically made a wonderful distraction from his troubles. She enjoyed being a distraction as much as he enjoyed letting her be one, but now, after meeting Sydney, things were different.

  He was different.

  “Liar.” She buried her fingers in his hair, wrenched his head around. “Normally by now, my top would be off and you’d be sucking on my tits while I rode your cock hard and fast, just the way you like it. So…who is she?”

  Shit. Was he that transparent today? “There is no she,” he lied.

  “Don’t play the denial card with me, Damien Blake. I’ve known you too long.”

  She straddled his lap and searched his eyes. She’d always had an uncanny way of seeing inside him, sensing things no human should be able to sense. It was part of what made her such a great friend, lover and employee.

  “It’s that hot little chica you took to dinner last night, isn’t it? She looked mighty tasty in that skimpy little number you picked out for her.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’d have fucked her myself if you hadn’t threatened me away.”

  Damien looked to the heavens. Margaret had the most lust-thirsty appetite of any person he’d ever met. “And I bet you pined away alone in your room all night just thinking of her.”

  “Not quite.” She tossed her head back and laughed. “I found a couple of someones to help me pass the time while I was thinking about her.”

  “Knowing you, I’m sure you did.” Dread climbed up his spine a second before the phone rang. He reached around Margaret and grabbed the receiver, hoping, hoping he was wrong. “Blake.”

  “Giselle St. Clair is here to see you, sir.” His secretary’s chipper voice echoed over the line, not realizing she was speaking about pure evil.

  He swiped a clammy hand over the back of his neck. “Send the bitch in,” he snapped then slammed the phone down.

  “Problems?” Margaret feathered her fingers through his hair.

  “The worst kind.” He pushed to his feet until she had no choice except to stand too, but she didn’t release him.

  “Anything I can do?” She hooked one arm around his neck, her opposite hand pressed against his heart. “You’re one of my dearest friends, Damien Blake. You know there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you?”

  “I do.” He truly did.

  “Then talk to me, Damien. Let me help.”

  He rested his forehead against hers, thankful for her companionship. Hopefully, one day, he’d have time to tell her just how much she’d meant to him. “Can you undo the worst mistake I’ve ever made?”

  “Depends,” she returned with a wink and a smile. “What was the mistake?”

  Before he answered, his mistake strutted into the room like she owned the place. In her own twisted mind, Giselle probably thought she did. Anger grew into a tight ball in his stomach.

  “Damien.” She smiled. “ I’m here to collect the final payment of our—”

  She stopped when her eyes fell on the other female in the room. Giselle’s hands balled into fists at her side and she stood frozen. The continual bursts of air wafting through the open window played with her hair and the see-through pareo she wore over her subdued pink bikini.

  The hairs on the back of Damien’s neck stood on end. His eyes bounced between the two women who stared at each other. He took two cautious steps back, fearing Margaret’s simmering libido would somehow react with Giselle’s raw depravity and explode.

  Clearing his throat, he hoped to distract them with introductions. “Margaret, this is my…business associate, Giselle St. Clair. Giselle, this is one of my day managers, Margaret Lily.”

  Giselle nodded but made no move to shake Margaret’s hand. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, although her expression suggested she’d just swallowed fermented horse shit.

  “Likewise, Ms. St. Clair.” Margaret turned toward him. “We’ll finish this conversation later.” She pushed onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth. “Call me as soon as she leaves,” she instructed then turned to go.

  Giselle’s gaze followed Margaret out of the office. “There’s something not right about that woman.” She flicked her hand to the left, and the door slammed closed.

  “Not right?” Damien made his way to his open bay window and stared at the churning ocean instead of the brewing wickedness behind him. “Margaret has worked for me since I opened the club. I trust her completely.”

  “Then you should choose your friends more wisely.”

  “You’re giving me advice on how to choose my friends?” The laugh that escaped his throat was coarse and strained. “Like you give a damn about me.”

  “I give a damn until you’ve repaid your debt to me. I can’t collect what’s legally mine from a dead man.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a real shame?”

  She ignored his comment. “But I’m sensing you still don’t have your final payment.”

  She came alongside him, and a chill shot down his spine, like an alarm being tripped by an intruder. Her nearness always affected him that way. How could he not have sensed all that malevolence when he’d just been a man trying to seduce a beautiful woman?

  “Of course I don’t have it!” He shot her what he hoped was a fierce scowl. “You just told me yesterday that not only do I have to seduce Sydney, I have to kill her too. What did you expect?”

  His angry words didn’t faze her, and she adjusted the top of her pink bikini. “I expect you to meet the deadline set forth in our agreement.”

  “Deadline?” Damien’s eyes narrowed, his heart slowed. Please don’t let there be any more stipulations I don’t know about.

  “Didn’t you read the fine print before you signed?” She made a tsking sound, and her eyes rolled skyward. “No one ever reads the fine print.”

  “I was seconds away from dying when I signed the damn thing!” Damien crossed his arms and glared at her. “I didn’t exactly have the time or mental capacity to weigh all the pros and cons of a contract that would stop my suffering.”

  “Nonetheless.” She held out her hand and the contract appeared in a ball of fire, just as it had yesterday. “At the bottom, it clearly states that the contract must be paid in full exactly one year from the date it was contracted, and that would be—” she looked at the clock on the wall, “—at sunrise tomorrow.”

  Sunrise?

  Damien scrubbed his hands over his face. Just when he didn’t think things could get any worse…

  hhh

  Sydney rolled from her stomach to her back so the sun could roast her pale skin evenly. Then she went back to dreaming about Damien Blake.

  Damien…

  She didn’t quite get him. After a night of constant seduction—dinner at Carnal Cravings, their tryst in the supply closet, and the oh-my-God-incredible massage—he’d walked her back to her room, given her a chaste kiss on the forehead and walked away. He. Walked. Away.

  There was also something else about the evening that lingered in her consciousness. He’d never kissed her. At least on the lips. More importantly, why did it mean so much that he hadn’t?

  She wanted to see him again, but she didn’t want to look desperate. Last night probably hadn’t meant to him what it had to her, but that thought didn’t stop her body and soul from needing him. After the things he’d released inside her, she wasn’t ready to walk away having only one erotic night with him. Guess that meant she needed to pay him a visit.

  Swallowing her pride, she stood, brushed sand from her body and the bikini she’d bought this morning—nothing like a night of carnal indulgences to make one forget their body’s insecurities—then headed off to find his office.

  If he was out or busy, she could leave him a message and see if he wanted to meet in her room for lunch. After that, who knew?

  As she walked back toward the main structure of the club, a busy walkway to her left ca
ught her attention. Earlier in the morning, she’d read most of the pamphlets in her welcome kit and learned the island had a shopping court near the back of the club. Maybe the walkway led to it.

  Postponing her unannounced visit to Damien’s office, she readjusted her course and her beach tote then headed around the building. Yep, the path definitely went to a shopping area. It was much larger than she’d anticipated.

  Dozens and dozens of open-windowed shops lined the sidewalk, and vendors came out of their little hut-like stores, holding up items for sale. Clothes, jewelry, sex toys…they had it all. She made it through the bulk of the vendors with only a new shell necklace and anklet to show for it. The accessories perfectly accented her pale green bikini, the same color as the outfit Damien had given her last night.

  Beyond the last shop, a little ramshackle hut sat alone. The structure looked out of place with its dilapidated walls and semi-caved-in roof, and for a long moment, she simply stared at it. She couldn’t help it. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and the air crackled around her. The place almost seemed to be calling to her, and without thought, she answered its summons.

  As she neared the door, an old man emerged from the decaying structure. With dreadlocks and dark skin, his wiry form sported a colorful shirt, beige pants and sandals. He motioned her inside with the wave of a skeletal hand. “Come to get your fortune told, woman?”

  “Um, actually,” she began, staring past him to the African tribal masks covering the shack’s walls, “I just came to do a little shopping.”

  Confusion settled across his ragged face and he shook his head. “You are standing in my doorway, but I do not own a shop. Clearly, you must be here because you seek to know what your future holds.”

  What her future held?

  Temptation lured her inside. Maybe he would tell her what next week’s lottery numbers would be.

  The room was dark and dingy, and the floor was made of packed dirt. The air smelled of mold and musk. What appeared to be bone fragments covered several tables. “How much does it cost?”

  “Money means nothing to me.” He faced her, his white-grey eyes roaming over her scarcely covered body. Maybe coming in here had been a bad idea. Would anyone even be able to hear her scream?

  Would anyone care if she did?

  But the old man looked away and pointed to a sand-lined circle on the ground. Around the circle, two pillows rested on opposite sides. He sat on one and directed her to the other. “Sit, woman, sit.”

  “O-kay.” Doing as instructed, she sat on the pillow.

  “Now close your eyes and breathe.”

  Again, she did as instructed. When in Rome, right?

  Silence stretched on for almost a minute. Temptation goaded her to take a quick peek, to find out what the old man was doing. He might be about to clonk her on the head with—

  “Ouch.” Sydney jumped, rubbing her scalp. The old creep had fucking pulled her hair out. “What in the—”

  “Shh.” He picked up a crooked cup-like container that seemed to be made from bones as well and dropped her hair into it.

  The cup’s contents sizzled and sparked as if acid had been dropped inside instead of a strand of hair. Eyes closed, he chanted and waved the cup above his head, swirling the contents in a figure-eight fashion.

  Okay, creepy. A chill climbed up her spine. The man’s eyes rolled back into his head. His shoulders twitched in a spastic rhythm, and the chanting grew faster and faster, louder and louder.

  Suddenly he stopped, and the contents of the bone cup jumped into the circle on the ground. An eclectic collection of bone fragments, leather, stones and her hair slithered to a stop.

  “Hmm.” His head tilted as he studied the mess. “You have some very good traits, Ms. James.”

  Sydney’s head jerked up. “How do you know my name?”

  “Compassion and defense for others,” the man continued without answering, poking at the contents. “It helps you in your job, does it not?”

  With her jaw hanging open, she slowly nodded. “I-I’m a defense attorney. I help people who are in trouble.”

  His white-grey eyes lifted, an unexplainable knowledge swirling in their light hues, as though he’d read each decision she’d ever made in the jumble of objects on the floor. “And those who deserve to be punished as well, I see.”

  Sydney stared at the man as he stirred the items on the ground. “Yes. That comes with the job too, but sometimes I don’t always know in the beginning. I have to look deeper.”

  “Another of your good traits. But sometimes you can be quite impulsive, and it gets you into trouble.”

  “You can say that again.” She looked away, her thoughts shifting to the fateful romp she’d had with her boss that had ruined her career. “Impulsiveness is not one of my good qualities.”

  “Not entirely true. It helps you in court, to react instead of ignoring what you perceive as truth or lie. It makes you more adept at overcoming the ordeals life throws in your path.”

  “I guess.” Sydney shrugged, not seeing it the same way.

  “But your confidence has been floundering lately. Something happened that made you question yourself and impose—” his head cocked to the side as he examined the circle, “—certain personal restrictions to punish yourself, but you didn’t plan on coming here to break those restrictions, did you?”

  Was he referring to her self-imposed celibacy? No one besides Genny and their small group of friends—and now Damien—even knew about her decision.

  Being reminded of her failings wasn’t the reason she’d stepped through the man’s doorway, so she tried to steer the conversation into another direction. “What do you see in my future? Riches? Marriage? Babies? What?”

  “Your future is shifting.” He pointed to a piece of bone precariously rocking back and forth on top of a rock. “Death…looms near, but I can’t see if its cold embrace comes for you or someone very near you.”

  Her hands flew to her heart. “Genny?”

  “No.” He tapped the ground beside the teetering piece of bone. “Closer. Someone on the island, maybe. Someone who has begun to wiggle into your heart.” His piercing eyes met hers. “Someone who cares for you more than he wants to admit.”

  He?

  “Damien?”

  The man shrugged. “All will make itself known in due course, and a choice will have to be made.” He paused. “The choice will cost one of you your life.”

  “One of our lives?” Sydney gasped, getting to her feet. “What are you talking about? What kind of choice?”

  “I do not know, Ms. James.” He started picking up the objects inside the circle. “I only see what the spirits allow me to see.”

  “No. I don’t accept that answer.” She grabbed his forearm. “You can’t tell me that I might die then make some ambiguous statement about choices and then just stop. Look again…something.”

  “I’m sorry.” He freed his arm, picked up the last of the debris, then stood. “The spirits have left.”

  “But—”

  “I have nothing more for you. Go enjoy the remainder of your time here.”

  “Enjoy myself?” She forced out a harsh laugh. “How am I supposed to do that when you just told me I might die?”

  But he didn’t answer; he simply ushered her through the door. “Good day, Ms. James. May the spirits bless you and keep you in their favor.”

  The door slammed in her face before she could state her case one last time.

  Anger and confusion welling inside her, she banged on the door. When he didn’t answer, she tried the knob. Locked. She fisted her hand in her hair and tugged. This was not happening.

  A glint of sunlight reflected against the remnants of a glass window to her left. If he wouldn’t answer the door, she’d scream into that busted window until he gave her some answers. She peeked inside. The old man stood at the back of the shack, but before she put her plan into action, a woman wearing a pink bikini stepped from the shadows i
nside the dilapidated building.

  “It is done,” the old man said. “Did you find the answers you sought?”

  “I did.”

  “Are they what you expected?” He sat in a tattered chair and a swirl of smoke embraced him. Through the silvery vapors, his skin smoothed. His muscles filled with a youthful elasticity, and he suddenly looked twenty years younger.

  Sydney’s feet petrified to the ground. No way that had happened. This was all some weird form of tropical deliria or something. It had to be. People’s appearances didn’t change like that without repeated trips to plastic surgeons.

  “They are what I expected, yes.” She took a step toward him. “But not what I wanted.”

  “All you can do now is wait.” He tugged her bikini top until her breasts spilled over their cups.

  “You know what I turn into if I have to wait,” she drawled, pouting and straddling the man’s legs as she sat on his lap.

  “A demon,” he said with a grin.

  The woman flung her head back and laughed.

  Chapter Seven

  Sydney was aware of her surroundings, but she didn’t know where she was going. With each step she took away from the old hut, the sounds of the resort faded from her mind. Or was her mind simply unable to process the miscellaneous noise at the moment?

  Her thought processes were stuck in the mud, spinning incessantly to interpret the things she’d just witnessed. The man’s appearance? She had imagined that, right? Most definitely. Because it was impossible, and since it was impossible, logic dictated it hadn’t really happened. But—

  You imagined it, Syd. You imagined it.

  She’d been upset by the man’s words and, as a result, her subconscious had played several elaborate tricks on her.

  Her mind splintered with random questions.

  Had it been Damien the man spoke of? If not, who? And the woman in the pink bikini…how’d she figure into any of this? Was she dangerous? She was familiar, possibly a club employee, but Sydney couldn’t remember for sure. Maybe she should talk to security? Of course, they’d probably think she was crazy, especially if she mentioned the whole “demon” remark—and the man’s changing appearance.