Chapter 12 #2
“My private jet could get you anywhere you needed to be in a matter of hours. The pilot returned from vacation to fly me to that meeting in Negril.”
That stops her in her tracks. “I wondered.”
“About?”
“If the plane you took that day was just too small to get me back to the states. Or maybe too expensive for?—”
“Size is certainly not an issue.”
“No kidding.” One edge of her mouth quirks.
“And as for money?—”
“I get it, Ash. You’re not exactly digging loose change out of the sofa.” The other corner of her mouth tips up. “So let me get this straight—you’ve been holding me hostage for sex.”
I study her face, waiting for some other reaction. “Should I be concerned you look delighted by the prospect?”
“It means you want to be with me, Ash Hole.” She snatches my hand off the table, twisting our fingers together. “Which works out well, since I want to be with you.”
A niggling sense of unease wells up in my chest. “I told you I’m a liar and a cheater.” I don’t understand why she’s still looking at me like she likes me. “I’ve told you feelings can’t be part of the equation. That I’ve been keeping you here under false pretenses.”
“Oh, honey.” Her expression is one I suspect she’d reserve for a senile old man. “First of all, you lied and you cheated—past tense, but still true. That doesn’t make you a liar or a cheater anymore than a few instances of peeing on a campfire to extinguish it makes you a firefighter.”
I stare at this beautiful woman. This gorgeous, clever, completely mad human. “Are you utterly insa?—”
“Secondly,” she continues like I’m not even speaking. “You insist feelings aren’t part of the equation, but you know what I’ve seen in almost a week of knowing you?”
I don’t even open my mouth to reply, since she’s on a roll now.
“I’ve seen a man so concerned with employee satisfaction that he invents a goddamn holiday to give them paid time off.
I’ve seen a man who knows he’s a little bit brusque, but he’s quick to apologize and own his mistakes.
” She squeezes my hand as her voice becomes serious.
“And I’ve witnessed a man willing to share his deepest shame and pain.
I’m sorry to break it to you, Ash, but those actions are all based on feelings . ”
Fuck me.
Dragging a hand over my chin, I search for a path around her argument. “Can you at least hold me accountable for keeping you here as my sex slave?”
“Sure,” she says cheerfully. “As long as you hold me accountable for showing up without a reservation, demanding sex from a perfect stranger, and spending the last week eating your food, fucking your employees, and taking advantage of your generosity.”
I stare at Camille. At this perfect, breathtaking, most assuredly insane woman.
A woman who might be my perfect match.
“No.”
Camille blinks. “No what?”
“No, I won’t hold you accountable. None of those things are an issue for me.”
“And I won’t hold you accountable for things you’ve already spent years punishing yourself for.”
“So where does that leave us?” I can’t believe we’re arguing about this. “Right back to holding ourselves accountable?”
“How about this, Ash Hole.” A breathtaking smile spreads over her beautiful face. “Let’s get naked and hold each other accountable.”
Later that evening, we’re strolling the grounds of the resort as the sea slowly swallows the sun. There’s a soft buzz of birdsong, and bugs whose earnest chatter marks them as meals for said birds. I’m not sure if Camille laced her fingers through mine or if I took the lead in holding her hand.
All I know is that it feels natural. Her delicate hand in my rough one, the sea breeze on our skin, tropical birds swooping above us like colorful drunk men with feathers. Being with Camille, it’s the freest I’ve felt in my life. I wish I could hold onto this feeling forever.
Feelings aren’t part of the equation.
But what if they could be? She made a good point that I’ve been feeling things all along. Maybe it’s time to admit it.
“Dildo!”
I jump at the squawk from the palm tree beside us. “Dammit, McFly.”
Delighted as always, McFly bobs his head and squawks out his triumph. “Dildo. Dildo!”
I recover my composure to properly greet him. “Good evening, McFly.”
“Hi, pretty bird.” Camille releases my hand and steps close to the tree. “Aren’t you a handsome devil?”
“Devil’s three-way!” That’s a new one Zane must have taught him. “Devil’s three-way!”
Camille laughs and I wonder if I should explain. Probably not, since she’s a sex therapist, but I don’t like to assume. “Also known as two men and one woman having carnal relations.”
“Amateur hour.” Her salacious grin reminds me what’s still left on her bucket list. “Ever heard the slang term for four men and one woman?”
She’s got me there. “Gangbang?”
“Triceratops.” She laughs and looks up at the bird. “Don’t repeat that.”
“Gangbang!” McFly squawks. “Gangbang!”
I step close to Camille and peer up into the tree. “Do you only take word suggestions from men?”
“Typical.” She rolls her eyes. “Handsome and sexist.”
McFly flaps his wings, agreeing, or maybe defending his honor. “Sex list!”
“There you go.” She watches him strut back and forth on the branch. “You sure know a lot of sex words.”
“Sex bird!” he squawks, shuffling sideways. “Sex bird!”
Laughing, she turns back to me. “How old is McFly?”
“Approaching twenty-five.” I watch Camille’s face as she quickly does math. “I acquired him as a wedding gift for my late wife.”
“That’s sweet,” she says without missing a beat. “Brigitte named him?”
“Yes.” I wait for the pinch in my chest, but it doesn’t come. It’s calming, in a way, to hear Camille say her name. “He goes back and forth between here and my own private island.”
“He flies?”
“As opposed to taking a water taxi?” I shouldn’t be glib. “I’ve occasionally traveled with him on the yacht.”
“Rough life, bird.” Camille makes kissy noises and McFly does a happy dance across a low branch. “How long do parrots live?”
“This breed can live fifty years or more.” I clear my throat. “Not terribly common as pets. He was intended to spend a lifetime with us.”
I wince at my own careless words. Picturing Brigitte, I don’t think of “us” anymore.
Camille doesn’t seem bothered. “That’s a really romantic gesture.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I considered rehoming him after she passed. It felt wrong to keep him locked in a cage.”
She surveys the grounds and all the lush foliage around us. “He’s got free run of the place now.”
“Yes,” I acknowledge, as McFly flaps his wings.
“I researched where Yellow-Billed Parrots come from. Then I bought a small island chain and brought him here. Hired a bird expert to help orient him back to the wild. I built my home and then the resort, and McFly seemed happier here, so this is where he’s stayed. ”
Camille stares at me, stone-faced. “Let me get this straight: you felt guilty that the bird you purchased for your wife as a wedding gift might feel lonely or trapped in a cage, so you bought an entire fucking island?—”
“Two islands,” I correct, not sure why that matters.
“Two islands.” Camille shakes her head. “Then moved here and built a home and a sex resort just to give the bird his freedom?”
It sounds absurd when she puts it that way. “A business decision. Did I mention Crystal Bliss is quite profitable?”
“You did.” She rolls her eyes. “You also mentioned that you don’t have feelings.” She shoots a glance at the bird. “Tell that to McFly.”
Hearing his name, McFly squawks again. “Orgasm!” he shouts.
“That’s one of his favorites,” I mutter.
“Can you blame him?”
Footsteps on the path behind us pull our attention back toward the beach. Two muscular consorts saunter our way, each with a backpack slung over his shoulder. The moment they see us, they freeze.
“Mr. Holyfield.” That’s a former Marine named Logan. He’s worked here for several years now. “Nice to see you, sir.”
“Gentlemen.” I turn to Camille, since introductions are in order. “Dr. Camille Plier, meet Logan Wilder and Zane Phillips. Two of the finest consorts employed at Crystal Bliss Retreat.”
She takes a step forward and puts out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” As she shakes Zane’s hand, a smile stretches over her face. “ Zane , as in the man who taught McFly an entire glossary of sexual terms?”
He chuckles, scrubbing a hand on his chin. “Guilty, I suppose.” He looks at me. “Didn’t realize you were aware of that, sir.”
“Yes, well.” I clear my throat. “Camille has been a guest of the resort for the past week. She’s been unable to return home, due to the pilots’ strike.”
I watch the men take in that detail. Confusion and surprise play over their faces. Logan’s brow furrows as he puzzles it out. “Sorry if I’m forgetting, sir—were some consorts asked to remain behind for the break?”
Zane looks worried. “I would have stayed if I’d known. I didn’t realize?—”
“No need.” I’m tempted to capture Camille’s hand again, but that feels performative. I settle for shifting closer, brushing her arm with my own. “Camille has been perfectly well cared-for in her time with the Jilted Brides Honeymoon Club.”
“ Extremely well cared-for.” One edge of her mouth quirks. “Five-star experience.”
The consorts’ eyes dart back and forth between us. Probably wondering what a beautiful woman is doing with a pompous dickhead. Or perhaps they assume we couldn’t possibly mean what’s just been implied.
“Glad to hear it, sir.” Logan clears his throat. “Let us know if you need anything, ma’am.”
“We came back early to get settled.” Zane shifts his pack on one shoulder. “Glad to clock in if we’re needed.”
“Absolutely.” Logan’s gaze swings to mine. “I know there’s nothing more important to you than guest satisfaction.”
Zane bobs his head. “Like you always say—‘Our mission is to ensure every woman feels secure, satisfied, and desired.’”
He’s right that I’ve said that a thousand times. It’s part of a small speech I give at each new consort’s orientation. Zane’s quoting me word for word, so why does it make me uneasy now?
It’s not simple jealousy. I see how their eyes roam Camille’s sexy curves, and all I feel there is pride. There’s something else bothering me, but I can’t put my finger on what.
“Gentlemen.” I nod to let them know they’re dismissed. “No need to report for duty until you’re scheduled. Until then, enjoy the resort amenities. All restaurants will be reopened by morning. There’s a welcome back luncheon on Saturday.”
“Thank you, sir.” Zane nods to Camille. “Nice to meet you.”
Logan does one better, capturing her hand and drawing it to his lips. “I hope your stay here has been everything you hoped it would be.”
“Thank you.” She giggles as he kisses the back of her hand. “Welcome back, guys.”
We both watch them go, silent until they vanish around a bend in the path that leads to the consorts’ chateau. The moment they’re out of earshot, Camille looks at me. “I’m not positive, but I think my friend Eve slept with the blond one.”
“Logan?” Good for her friend, if that’s the case. “It’s my understanding that he’s quite skilled. One of our most requested consorts.”
Her lips form a cheeky grin. “So I’ve heard.” She must notice something in my voice or expression. “You okay, Ash Hole?”
“Certainly.”
She studies my face, and I hate the sensation of having her peer through my skull. I doubt she could know what I’m thinking, since I’m not certain myself.
But sometimes I think she might understand me better than I do.
“Hey.” She throws her arms around my middle, burying her face in my chest. It’s a swift, unexpected hug that takes me aback. I hesitate only a second before wrapping my arms around her. “You know I think you’re ridiculously hot, right?”
“So you’ve said.” And my healthy ego doesn’t doubt that.
“And you’ve made me come my brains out a million times since I’ve been here.” She tips her head back and grins. “Only a slight exaggeration.”
“Slight.” I don’t want her to think I’m threatened by other men. “You’re more than encouraged to ogle the consorts, Camille. If you’d like, I can even arrange for one or both men to?—”
“Clock back in and fuck me?” She draws back to slug me in the chest. “That’s what I’m trying to say, Ash Hole—you’ve satisfied me plenty. I won’t be leaving here with any regrets.”
But she will be leaving here. She has to.
“Semen!” McFly flaps his wings, breaking the tension. “Semen! Semen! Semen!”
Camille laughs and draws back, breaking our connection. Bringing me back to reality. “Way to kill the mood, bird.”
Still squawking, he does a proud march back and forth on the branch. “Cocky asshole,” I mutter.
Chuckling again, Camille threads her arm through mine. “Takes one to know one, Ash Hole.”
“Touché.” My chest feels warm from the heat of her arm tucked against me. The bergamot spice scent of her hair, the ring of her laugh in my ear, all serve to remind me that joy is a thing.
A thing that’s quite fleeting, if memory serves.