21 Shades of Night, page 426
'Stubborn little thing, aren't you?' As her hand rose in the air and her lips began opening in order to vent something loud and unpleasant upon him, his fingers dived back inside her. They'd just have to go for the multiple. She wouldn't be much good for anything after two in a row, but just to make sure, he'd lavish her with the full routine this time. Everything he had, he'd throw it at her. This time she wouldn't merely be a puddle on the ground - he'd make sure she was nothing but pulp from head to toe.
Of course, now she'd come down from her post-climactic high, and her faculties were once again firing on all cylinders, she would have realised he'd cut her. It was probably going to have ticked her off a little. When a closed fist full of holy water came flying at him, he caught it in mid-strike and felt her arm shake with rage. She'd seen the knife below her, she'd be able to feel the puncture wound on her back, and she wasn't stupid.
It was time to neutralise the situation. Putting her into a relatively simple trance, he decided the first place to start was with some hormones, so he liberally sprinkled a bit of testosterone and oestrogen around in her bloodstream. Then he raised her core temperature just a touch and made sure her heart rate didn't slow down. He wanted to keep her in that freshly revved up and gagging-for-sex state. He returned one hand to her nipple and began to tug gently at the teat, while his fingers liberally coated themselves in her ejaculate, of which there was an abundance. Whilst she might not think much of him, her body had decided that he was God. It had responded to his touch and fingers almost instantly and, if anything, her need of him had surprised them both. As he worked her over with gentle strokes in the real world, inside her mind, he was about to play dirty. Horribly dirty, he hoped.
Rifling about inside her head, he searched for something he could use. He wanted her secrets, her innermost desires - those naughty little interludes in her mind that she hadn't shared with another living soul. He wanted to find out what made her tick and then send her second hand spinning. It wasn't long before he found something he could use. If he hadn't already discovered that she was a virgin, he would have realised it from her complete lack of sexual knowledge. Even her fantasies were relatively tame, but they could work on that. Give them an inch and they soon wanted a mile. He bent his neck to the left, back to the right, and then donned his bow tie. Plunging into the deepest depths of her head, he was about to act out a scenario that would have her diving headfirst into the big 'O' in spectacular style. The bottle didn't stand a chance.
Chapter 6
Inside My Mind
THE HOTEL LOBBY was a whirl of electric ceiling fans. The heat was oppressive and there was no relief from the sultry ambience that had fallen down around the milling occupants. Beneath his feet, the floor was smooth, glossy, and made of teak, whilst the walls were composed of engraved woodwork, comprised of painstakingly chiselled patterns of pretty scrolls and latticework that would have taken several carpenters years to complete. A few stray palm trees dotted the open floor, elegantly swathed in tiny white lights, and a marble fountain took centre stage, spurting out gentle arcs of water and creating a pleasing 'burbling' effect. Large, circular leather sofas in shades of brown and cream were positioned near the bar area, with a few matching ottomans for good measure. A couple of rosewood cabinets, adorned with books, knickknacks, and large vases filled to the brim with an eclectic mix of tropical flowers completed the effect. They were many miles from home.
There were no windows to be found in the lobby, but they were hardly needed. Inclement weather was not a common occurrence in the tropics. The lack of them afforded the most magnificent view of the ocean, which currently held itself perfectly still and flat, as if it were lethargic and thoroughly enervated after the intense temperatures of the day.
Martinet lounged indolently against the bar counter. He was dressed for comfort in lightweight beige slacks and a white linen shirt that hung open at the neck. As he was going to be undressing himself in short order, he didn't want to make things too hard on himself. In his hand, he cradled a freshly shaken Pina Colada, which was bubbling over with enthusiasm. He watched the condensation begin to fog the glass and it wasn't long before his fingers were soaked with tiny beads of water. They'd be wet with something else entirely before long, and speaking of 'something', here came his delightful étranger, sailing through the wooden double doors and searching for a soft place to land. He immediately turned his back on her and struck up a bland but friendly conversation with the barman. If there was one thing all women hated, it was being studiously ignored.
His disinterest was instantly noted and her eyes had flown over in his direction, slightly taken aback and confused. Violetta was a woman who attracted attention wherever she went, so being swiftly dismissed was not something she was used to. She had a tall, almost regal body, finely honed limbs, a beautiful English rose complexion and hair that could set the world on fire with its red, blazing flames. Discreetly admiring her from the mirror's reflection that ran all the way along the back of the bar, Martinet had the sudden urge to bury his hands in the auburn inferno and twist ropes of her silky hair around his fingers, inhaling her scent and flooding his senses with her unique perfume. It annoyed him. He wished he did not find her quite so attractive. Hopefully he would become inured to her charms in short order, or his libido was going to have a marvellously entertaining time as he completed his numerous games of revenge.
In the far corners of his acute peripheral vision, he devoured her. When he'd initially turned his back on her, she'd almost stopped in her tracks, slightly shocked at his abrupt behaviour, but she quickly managed to regain her composure. She shouldn't feel too bad. She had the complete and adoring attention of the barman, who was now only half-listening to the conversation he was carrying on, judging by his monosyllabic answers, and he couldn't say he blamed him. Violetta was dressed to kill. He should know. This might have been her fantasy initially, but he had most certainly embellished parts of it - to his complete and eminent satisfaction.
She was garbed in a laid-back, dark-brown silk number that flaunted a little bit of lace and a few tiers of ruffles in all the right places. It gave her a carefree vibe, but it certainly didn't have the same effect on him. The ruffles stopped upon her upper thighs, the cut-out lace panels gave tempting glimpses of flesh just above her full breasts, and the strappy crystal sandals she wore shot her body up to heights previously unknown. He wanted his hands up her skirt, his mouth suckling just below those lacy wisps of fabric, and her feet bare - along with the rest of her. Next time he played out these kinds of fantasies, he'd make sure she was naked from the word go. It would save time and angst. Namely his angst, but he was the important party here in any case.
Watching her check out his backside as she sauntered towards him, he observed that she wasn't displeased with his physique. His rejection of her initial advance hadn't dampened her spirits in any way, shape, or form. As she carried her little clutch bag carefully under one arm, her stance stiffened and her eyes hardened. She was preparing for battle. The violet eyes roamed over him carefully, and unless he was mistaken, she liked what she saw.
He'd discovered over the years that women had certain qualities they wanted from prospective partners, and up there in the top five was the need for a firm, pert backside. He obviously ticked that box because her gaze then swept him over from top to bottom. She was now checking out whether he'd be taller than her, even in heels, and whether he worked out. He ticked those boxes too. He saw her lips curve into a coy but most certainly interested smile. He had her attention. There was one box that had yet to be ticked, though - the one thing that every woman in the world went gaga for. He simply waited as she sidled up beside him and smiled at the barman, biding her time. They'd get there soon enough. The barman looked at her expectantly, but her attention was elsewhere. Finally she turned her head and stared directly at him. Bingo.
He raised his brilliant blue eyes to hers and blinked slowly, letting his thumb caress the curved glass of his cocktail. It took several moments before she could tear her eyes away from his long enough to notice his drink of choice. Then she smiled and the balance of control tipped.
'Nice drink,' she said, trying, rather miserably, to hide her amused smirk.
'I'm glad you think so,' he said, sliding it smoothly across the bar counter until it sat directly in front of her. 'I bought it for you.' The two black straws and a bright red umbrella that sat in the glass trembled.
Directing his gaze back towards the barman, he ordered a margarita for himself. As the barman busied himself with his new task, stealing sly glances at Violetta whenever he thought he could get away with it, she appeared at a complete loss for words. Staring rather stupidly at the drink in front of her, realising she had been neatly cornered into accepting his offering, she was trying to think of a way to extricate herself from the situation, even though she actually wanted to be there, and what was more, wanted to follow the evening through to a very satisfying conclusion. He knew this for a fact. Being able to read minds was such good fun.
'You need to suck it to derive much benefit from it,' he commented absently, keeping a perfectly straight face.
Violetta found her voice rather quickly after that, as he suspected she might.
'Gee thanks, Einstein. Are you always this slick with the ladies?' She hopped up elegantly upon a shiny chrome barstool and propped both elbows on the counter. Ah, a stance of power. This he understood. She was trying to tell him to back off with her body language, but her eyes were saying something else entirely. Who was it that said eyes were the windows to one's soul? It must have been someone with a moustache and a beard, no doubt, but in any case, they might have been on to something.
'No, I'm usually much slicker, but I have a feeling you'd find idle pleasantries rather boring. Isn't that so, Princess? Why waste time on such trivial frivolities when we could quickly progress to far more interesting things?'
He got a glare for his troubles, which was so much the better. He was beginning to annoy her and get under her skin. That was exactly where he wanted to be. Scrap that, he wanted to be inside her skin, preferably thrusting away at a rate of knots.
She ignored his loaded question. 'Why did you pick a Pina Colada for me?' It was a safer subject, she wrongly thought.
'For several reasons. It's a long drink, so it should keep you occupied for at least ten minutes, it looks deliciously virginal even though it has quite a kick, and finally, because it's sweet, frothy, and doesn't look particularly... intelligent,' he finally answered.
Violetta's jaw worked itself up and down, but no sound came out. It took a few moments before she managed to get over her astonishment at his statement and recover her composure. She finally managed to speak several seconds after his attack. 'Do you always insult women whom you're trying to chat-up?'
'Now where on earth did you get that idea from? I bought you the drink so you could drink it, and keep quiet, thus allowing me to drink mine in peace. Now if you'd be so gracious, drink the thing and go sit somewhere else.'
Violetta gave him a searing glare of annoyance, which backfired on her rapidly as she found herself trapped between his two mesmerising irises. Giving a growl of disgust at his behaviour and managing to tear her gaze away with more effort than should have been necessary, she relaxed into her barstool. What was most maddening to her was the fact that had she not been ordered to sit elsewhere, she would have. Now, if she wanted to stand her ground, she would have to endure his company for the length of her cocktail. Had it been anything other than a Pina Colada, she would have dumped the contents over his head, but he had deliberately picked her favourite drink - which was even more exasperating to her. Apparently, it was not going to be her evening.
Picking up the cool glass and wrapping her fingers carefully around the wet surface, she stirred the contents with her straw and watched as the cubes of ice gently danced around one another. Taking a long, slow, and comforting swallow of the fragrant liquid, she beckoned over the barman, who immediately raced forward to do her bidding. He hadn't really taken his eyes off her since she'd sat down. Why he had to make his visions so life-like was anybody’s guess, but the barman was beginning to annoy him immeasurably.
'Is he normally this miserable?' It was a conspiratorial whisper, but she made sure it was just loud enough that the irritating man would be able to hear it.
The barman thoughtfully rubbed his tanned bald head and grinned at her. 'No. Normally he's much worse, ma'am. I think he likes you.' There was a knowing wink. The barman did not lower his voice as Violetta had done, but if the strange man overheard their conversation, he made no show of the fact.
'So what's his problem?'
The barman twisted his lips sympathetically and sighed. 'He's had a few deaths in the family. He needs cheering up, I think.' Placing a small terracotta bowl of spiced peanuts on the counter next to her and making a great show of polishing an already immaculately sparkling wine glass, he made it clear that he had no wish to continue the conversation. Violetta consoled herself by trying to place his accent, which could have been Malaysian or something similar, and for a moment she couldn't remember for the life of her why she would be so far away from home. Her head felt oddly fuzzy and disjointed. The disturbing thought left her mind almost as soon it had entered, and she felt compelled to take another soothing sip of her cocktail.
'He needs drowning, more like,' she said, but it was barely a murmur under her breath.
The dark-haired stranger pulled a circle of lime from the side of his salted martini glass and proceeded to eat the whole thing, rind and all. Violetta couldn't help but suck in her cheeks and wince.
'Oh my God,' she said aghast, covering her mouth with her hand. 'I bet that tasted disgusting.'
The stranger deigned to give her a slight incline of his head and the response, 'There's only one thing that tastes good these days. Everything else hardly matters.'
Violetta didn't want to ask the question, but he'd popped the idea inside her head and there was no way of stopping it. 'And what, pray tell, is that?'
'Annihilation,' he said, drinking the rest of his margarita in one long, smooth, sensuous gulp before adding, 'but oblivion would also work, I think.' He straightened himself up, cracked his neck to the side, and picked up his blazer, which had been laid casually across the end of the counter. Without a single glance back in her direction, the sexy, moody stranger strode out of her life without so much as a 'goodbye'. The scene was set.
* * *
VIOLETTA WATCHED HIS retreating form and tried not to pine after him. What was it with bad boys? What was it about that morose, sulky exterior that left her so intrigued? The butt was good, the figure was slim but filled in all the right places, and the eyes, oh those eyes, she could have swum in them forever. There went one troubled soul. She was almost tempted to go after him, but his sharply sarcastic tongue would probably be most unappreciative of her grand gesture.
After squirming about in her seat for several seconds, she finally couldn't resist asking, 'Where's he off to?'
After several moments of silence, she thought the barman had decided to ignore her, but finally he pursed his lips and sighed. 'He's suicidal, ma'am. He's lost everyone he's ever been close to. You'd do well to move on and forget him.'
After inquiring whether she'd like another drink and finding the answer to be 'no', he disappeared into the back room without further comment. This enabled Violetta to shoot out of the bar, faster than a teetotal nun, to search for the manic-depressive who could obviously only be saved by her.
There was no one around, of course. The wooden walkway she found herself on had been lit up with bright candle lanterns, and tiny fairy lights glittered from above. They had been suspended on a leafy trellis littered with hibiscus plants. On either side of the large planks she stood on, there was nothing but water, a very large expanse of water, as it happened. They were in a hotel that appeared to have been placed in the middle of the ocean.
As soon as she realised there was nothing but water wherever she looked, Violetta almost ran back to the bar for comfort. She felt oddly off-balance and unsettled. Looking down the row of planks as far as the eye could see revealed little more than a vast array of twinkling, flickering amber lights, but she guessed the walkway probably ended somewhere sensible and not in the middle of the big watery waste that was, for tonight at least, her home.
Placing one foot in front of the other, she navigated the wooden slats with care. High-heeled sandals had been a silly choice of footwear for a midnight stroll on what appeared to be a path little better constructed than a rope bridge, but she'd made up her mind to search for the stranger and it would be fair to say she was a stubborn-minded individual. So she concentrated on moving forward, very carefully, and let her eyes become accustomed to the dark. There was little in the way of sounds to be heard. A couple of splashes from a few over-exuberant fish, but other than that, the world had gone to sleep. She looked for a watch, but found her left wrist naked. How strange. She never went anywhere without one. Trying to analyse the thought and make sense of it, she found no answers forthcoming. What was wrong with her this evening? Her brain didn't want to focus, that was for sure. It was becoming so frustrating that she wanted to shake herself.
In the distance, she began to make out the shape of several small villas, each rearing out of water by the addition of four wooden columns. They looked like long-limbed wading birds, rising majestically out of the deep blue. Suddenly there was a flash of movement and she caught a glimpse of silver reflected on the water. It made her jump and in the next moment she was falling.
