Masquerade

Fourteen

‘There she is,’ Jaron says. ‘All nine and a half acres of her.’

I look out of the window of the seaplane and see a tiny teardrop-shaped island sparkling like a watermelon tourmaline in the hot blue sea. Surrounded by a thin border of white sand it has to be one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen and it is also love at first sight for me.

‘Wow!’ I exclaim. ‘How very lucky you are.’

‘Yes, I am very lucky to have her,’ he shouts over the noise of the plane.

The little plane lands on the water, skimming it like a stone thrown on a lake, and taxies closer to the beach. As soon as it comes to a stop, I don’t wait for the men standing at the wooden pier to come get us by boat, I open the door and throw myself into the water, clothes, shoes and all. I hit the warm water with a splash and a great whoop of joy. I turn on my back and Jaron is looking at me with amusement.

‘Come in,’ I call.

He shakes his head. ‘Thanks, but I’ll pass.’

I swim lazily in the silky water while he goes on to the beach and meets three men who are waiting on the pier. From this far away I can’t see their features, but one of them has long dreadlocks that have been bleached to a coppery color by the sun. They wear colorful clothes. Even from where I am I can see that their bodies are toned and muscular and their skins shine like highly polished wood.

They shake hands with Jaron and then they all turn to look at me. I wave at them, they wave back and then they all go back into the house with our luggage. The men, Jaron has told me, don’t live on the island, and when they return to the mainland Jaron and I will be totally alone on this paradise island.

I kick my sandals off and get out of my heavy, clinging top and trousers. It is strangely liberating to watch them sink. Then I turn around and float dreamily on my back. The sky is blue in a way that it never is in England. A lone seagull high up circles and cries. The fierce sun beats on my face, but there is a cool breeze and the waves lap gently against my relaxed, drifting body. I feel almost hypnotized.

God! This is the life. I could just eat coconuts and stay here forever. I think of Jaron telling me that the motto of island life is: Take your time. No hurry.

Time passes.

‘Hey,’ someone calls. Reluctantly I right myself and tread water. Jaron is standing at the water’s edge a little away from the pier. He is shading his eyes with his hands and not wearing shoes or a shirt.

‘Want some lunch?’ he shouts.

Food? Brilliant idea. Come to think of it I am actually starving hungry. ‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Come on then.’

I start swimming toward him. When I can feel the sand under my feet I start walking toward him. My limbs feel strangely heavy and lethargic. I look at Jaron and he is staring at me with hungry eyes. Must be the heat, but I feel as if there is a powerful coil of need inside me. A powerful desire to fall on him on the beach. The sun is hot on my head and the ground is the softest, whitest, most pristine, fine sand I’ve ever had the pleasure of walking upon. I walk up to him and stop a foot away.

We stare at one another, each mesmerized by the other. He reaches out a hand and glides his finger along my wet cheek. His skin is hot and his touch births a yearning inside me, something new. Something I have never felt before. I feel my cheeks blazing. The air around us shimmers. I look enquiringly into his eyes. But they are fierce wells of green fire that are devoid of any information. I have the impression that my body is on fire. I shake my head slightly. Confused, dazed by the sun. Perhaps it is some sort of heatstroke. I shouldn’t have lain in the midday sun without easing myself into it slowly.

He leans in, catches my face in his hands and lightly brushes his lips against mine. The disconnect between the naked lust in his eyes and the tenderness of his lips disarms me. And suddenly the thought—I’m in love with this man. I am totally, completely and terribly in love with him. The knowledge is like freezing wind on my wet skin. I shiver. Back up, Billie. Back up.

I say the first thing that comes into my head. ‘Did you say something about lunch?’ My voice is croaky and thick.

He licks the salt from my mouth and says, ‘Mmmm…’

I have to stop him. I need to think about this new…development. It’s not good news. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘Mmmm.’

‘Seriously hungry.’

‘The color of your hair… Your body… You looked like a sea goddess or a mermaid coming out of the water. In this wretched world you are…perfect.’

His voice is like rich, dark golden syrup. It coats my skin. He kisses my ear and glides his lips along the lobe. The action is like being on a familiar road. I’ve traveled it before. Many times. Some part of me even knows where this road leads to. I empty my being of thought and surrender myself to desire. It ripples like a forest fire through me, swift and unstoppable. I press my body against his ever-hard bulge in his trousers.

‘Would you like that balls deep inside that pretty pink pussy of yours, Miss Black?’ he purrs like a dragon seducing a fairy tale princess.

‘Yes, I would, Mr. Rose. Very much indeed.’

His hands go around my back and unclasp my bra.

My breasts spill out into the glorious sunshine. Instinctively I straighten my spine so they show themselves to their best advantage. ‘What about the men?’ I whisper.

‘Gone.’ My bra lands on the sand.

‘Gone where?’ Not that I care, but I couldn’t think of anything more mysterious or alluring to say.

‘To the other side of the island. There is a lagoon there and they’ve gone to catch bone fish.’

My nipples strain hard against the smooth, hot skin of his torso. I fist a shaking hand in his hair and pull his head down to my aching nipples. He doesn’t resist. His mouth on my taut nipple is heady heaven. Heat rushes from his mouth into my body and I feel myself go up in flames. Suddenly the steady sound of the waves disappears and spots dim my vision. I feel dizzy. My knees buckle.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asks, his voice suddenly changed.

Shocked, I sag against him.

‘Heatstroke,’ he says, and putting his hands under my knees carries me to the house.

‘I think I’m fine now,’ I say weakly, but to be honest I do feel quite strange. He takes me into the white house and puts me on a long couch under a lazily whirling fan. He goes away and comes back bearing a young green coconut with the top sawn off and a straw in it. I take a few sips and start to feel better.