Though the dress didn’t seem to be much more than a few yards of sheer fabric, Mara was glad, at least, she wouldn’t have to wear high heels. She slipped out of the sundress she’d been permitted to put on after her post-exercise shower and took the gown. It weighed next to nothing. She slid it over her head, pulling it into place over her body. She turned to the ceiling-to-floor mirror that covered the back of the closet and regarded herself. The dress clung to her curves—she might as well have been naked or painted with gold glitter for all the cover it afforded her.
“Perfect,” Dawn announced behind her. “It brings out the gold highlights in your hair and complements those lovely hazel eyes. You really are a beautiful girl when you wipe that unpleasant expression off your face.” A trace of steel had entered Dawn’s otherwise breezy tone, and Mara glanced reflexively toward Dawn’s right hand, which always held a cane during grace training, but which was at the moment, thank goodness, empty.
Still, Mara made an effort to compose her face into the bland, pleasant expression Dawn drilled into them daily as a requirement during presentation and selection. They had also been forced to practice what Dawn termed “ecstasy training”—simulations of sexual pleasure and orgasm designed to convince the guests they were having a wonderful time with the most exciting man they’d ever been with, no matter how disgusting and odious the man might actually be.
“Remember,” Dawn had said time and again, “this isn’t about you. It’s about them. We are providing an experience, and it’s your job to make sure it’s a terrific one. No one gives a shit, pardon my French, if you’re having a good time or not. Think geisha girl—you are pleasure ladies, but the pleasure is theirs. And remember”—here she would pause ominously and stare at each girl in turn, the cane tapping against her open palm—“you are being observed at all times. One word, one gesture, one hint that makes our esteemed guests question your complete willingness as part of the Pirate Island experience, and I can promise you, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
Mara was led to the makeup chair where one of the men, after placing a protective plastic cape around her, proceeded to apply foundation, rouge, lipstick and eye makeup. He was skillful, somehow creating a final product that looked natural—adding a dewy glow to Mara’s skin without making it appear overly made-up. Her eyes looked huge, her lips plump and inviting. If she weren’t aware she was shortly to be offered as a sex object for defilement by a stranger, she would almost have been pleased.
The room stilled suddenly, the quiet chatter that had been going on around her ceasing. Alex had entered the room. Her heart lurched as he approached her chair. He was holding something in his hands. “I have something for you, Mara.” He held up a necklace, identical to the one Esmé, Raeanne and Joanie wore. She held her breath as he brought the gold chain around her neck, the single teardrop gem a deep ruby red. His eyes met hers in the mirror. “You are now officially a ruby—molded to serve and to suffer.”
He brought his hand around so it rested on her throat. Placing his thumb and forefinger below her jaw, he squeezed just hard enough to remind her of his power and control. In spite of herself, a shudder moved through her frame, part fear, but also, though she despised herself for it, part desire.
After a moment, he dropped his hand and stepped back. His green eyes boring into hers, he said softly, “You belong to me now. Make me proud today.”
Chapter 6
“Ha, now I’ve got you, wench! You will never escape Blackbeard’s wrath,” Gordon blustered in a poor approximation of a British accent. Apparently taking his cue from the name of the island, the man wore a white, full-sleeved, silk pirate’s shirt opened at the neck to reveal his very hairy chest, black leather pants and matching boots, a red bandana tied rakishly over his bald head. “I won you fair and square along with the gold and other booty, and now I’ll have my way with you.”
Mara half expected him to add, “har, har, har.” The man would have been comical, if he weren’t brandishing what appeared to be a real sword as he pranced around her in his pirate getup.
As odd as Gordon was, Mara was glad he had chosen her during the presentation. Another guest, introduced as Quentin, had stared hard at Mara with cold, reptilian eyes, making the hair on the back of her neck rise. Dawn had given Quentin first choice, and Mara had stiffened with dread as he’d approached the sofa on which she’d been directed to sit. To her relief, though she felt sorry for Raeanne, Quentin had veered away from Mara at the last second, choosing her instead.