I’d seen him kingly and imposing, undone and furious, sea-drenched and secretive, tortured and solemn.
But this was different.
When I’d arrived in his office, second-guessing my warfare of wearing a ball gown at ten in the morning, he’d frozen the moment he’d seen me. A shroud fell over him, a deep midnight curtain where his morals vanished beneath want.
His hunger had been palatable. His need for me reached across the room and made me wet. I couldn’t deny that my skin had prickled and my nipples had pebbled and every reaction I wished I didn’t have sprang into an intensity that reeked with damnation.
I wanted that man.
I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone.
And that made guilt braid with desire because I’d never wanted Scott the way I wanted Sully. Never felt a trickle of wetness just from his stare.
Sully had become my elixir.
His stare, his voice, his body…all custom-designed to make the animalistic parts of me rise, pushing down my decorum to the depths of my being where it belonged.
I was free when he stared at me.
Free in his need, knowing he felt it too.
Free to admit that there was something horribly wrong between us that had driven us into destruction. Born from hate and transmuted by fate…a conduit from his soul to mine.
That was why I’d stolen his elixir.
Why, when the men had vanished from his office, and the low murmur of voices floated back, I’d dashed to the apothecary cabinet and opened hundreds of little drawers, seeking, searching, hoping to find the one thing that might allow me to stay.
Each drawer I’d ripped open, I’d filled with deeper conviction. I allowed my mind to sample both scenarios. To envision a life being sold to Roy Slater and ultimately ending up his wife. Of sleeping beside him, of sleeping with him, of allowing age to turn a man already my senior into a grandfather before I was in my thirties.
The money would mean I would never have to work. My future would be paved with wealth and laziness. I might find a semi-decent existence. A marriage with him was no different than a contract with Sully—I would still be cut off from those I knew, still be dead to my family.
But the bars of my cage would be invisible, held fast by just a marriage certificate and my word instead of a vast turquoise sea.
I should fight for that option. I should fling myself on the helicopter and depart this place with a man who seemed kind.
But…
But.
Roy didn’t make my heart fist and flounder. Roy didn’t make my body tingle. Roy didn’t make common-sense bleed into chaos.
Roy wasn’t Sully.
And Sully…doesn’t want me.
By the thirtieth drawer, I found what I was looking for.
A tiny box holding multiple glass vials of elixir.
Tiny and innocent, its contents a trapped magic just waiting to wreak havoc on its victim.
I’d been its victim three times now. It’d irrevocably changed me into this wanton creature who was constantly wet in the presence of the monster who’d bought her. It’d shoved aside my ethics and scruples, leaving me as wild as the god who ruled this utopia.
A god who might fight against our connection.
But a mortal who would break beneath my choice.
And my choice was…to stay.
To accept that I’d come to this island by black designs but perhaps…fate had known where to send me. Maybe there was a future here—a future of freedom and truth…if I was brave enough to try.
Sully’s throat worked as he swallowed and tore his gaze from mine.
I clutched my vial tighter, hoping my pilfering hadn’t been noticed.
Now that he’d returned, he’d changed once again.
His lust was still evident, but he’d wrapped a chain tight around it. An unbreakable barrier that kept him from claiming me. His hair was disorderly, sweat decorated his temples, his eyes blazed a feverish blue.
What had happened behind that door?
What agreement had they come to?
Calvin was my hint, heading toward Sully’s desk, muttering, “I’ll draw up the bill of sale.”
My stomach fell.
He sold me.
Roy gave me a victorious grin, nodding with glee, and Sully stalked to the sideboard where a small silver fridge waited, keeping its contents cool from humidity.
Ripping open the door, he pulled free a crystal decanter. Amber liquid sloshed inside as he pulled the stopper free, then roughly, sloppily poured three glasses.
With a haggard inhale, he shot one of the drinks down his throat, wincing. His handsome face twisted in defeat.
My stomach twisted to match his pain, fighting the need to go to him, to tell him whatever plan he’d made…I was about to unmake it.
I wasn’t going to let him say goodbye.
I wasn’t going to let men play monopoly with my life.
This was my choice.
If I made the wrong one, then that was on me.
But I had to try.
Had to see.
Have to know.