Chapter Eight
“Your female character had to have something horrible happen in her past to make her act in such an evil way,” Serena pointed out, smiling at Michael’s frown.
“Why? Couldn’t she just have been born that way?”
“Hardly. No one kills without reason. Even insanity has a cause. Familial, psychological trauma—”
He waved his hand at her. “Bullshit. She’s always been a vicious bitch from hell, and nothing’s going to change that.”
Serena sat cross-legged on the sofa, Michael’s notes spread out on her lap. They’d been at this ever since last night, when they’d talked for hours until neither could stay awake. Then they’d gotten on it right after breakfast again, brainstorming and throwing out ideas for his new book.
She loved that he’d asked for her opinion. After having read all his books, she considered herself somewhat of an expert on his characters. Funny how he wasn’t taking all that well to her suggestions, though.
But instead of irritating her, his disgruntled reaction both amused and invigorated her. For all intents and purposes, Michael wrote erotica. He could call it erotic criminal fiction, but it was erotica.
Right up her literary alley.
“Michael, look,” she said, pulling off her glasses and placing them gently on top of the pile of papers. “This woman, Victoria as you’ve named her, wasn’t brought up to kill and dismember men. Something had to serve as a catalyst to make her kill the first time. One doesn’t go through life perfectly happy for twenty-five years, then one day wake up and decide to go on a serial killing spree and lop off every man’s penis who gets in her way.”
“I realize that,” he said, his face buried in the laptop. “What I’m saying is you want her to have experienced a psychological trauma, when all it would really take is a loose screw in her head to pop.”
Serena smiled. “Yes, it’s true that could happen. The point I’m trying to get across is that your readers will be more enticed if you lay a little background on her—make something happen to her in the past that gives her the impetus to kill.”
He glanced up, his gaze meeting hers. God his eyes were blue. She lost herself in them every time he looked at her.
“You might have a point,” he said, still considering her.
She warmed under his gaze, feeling as if she’d actually been helpful. “I’ve done quite a bit of research into psychoses and triggers for violent crimes.”
“Why?”
With a shrug, she said, “Nothing better to do on a Saturday night. Besides, one of the psychology professors at the college had asked for my help.”
He quirked a brow. “Someone you dated?”
Did she sense a little male jealousy in that question? No, just her imagination. “Hardly. I never date other faculty members.”
“Why not?”
“I already told you. I couldn’t…do what I do with you with any of them.”
“Again, why not?”
She sighed. “Not conducive to tenure to get caught fucking one of the other professors. Besides, what if I started dating one of my colleagues, and it led to sex? Then what am I supposed to do, suggest we engage in a little mutual masturbation or voyeurism? Come on, Michael, be realistic. My tastes sexually run to the, uh, unusual. I’m not a plain vanilla kind of woman.”
“Thank God,” he said, those intense blue eyes penetrating her defenses.
One of the things she loved most about him was his appreciation for her sexual appetite. He didn’t find her desires bizarre at all. “There you have it. I couldn’t enjoy a boring sexual routine with a man, and I certainly won’t reveal my true nature to anyone where I live.”
He graced her with a boyish grin. “So, you’re kinda stuck between a rock and no hard place, then.”
She giggled at his pun. “You could say that.”
Michael put the laptop on the table and approached her, lifting the paperwork off her lap.
She pulled down the nightshirt where it had ridden up her thighs, her body heating when Michael yanked it back up her legs again. He settled in next to her and took her hands in his.
“Serena, how will you ever be happy?”
What kind of question was that? She didn’t want to think about happiness. “I am happy.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t lying. Right now, with him, she was as happy as she’d ever been.
“What about when you go back to Kansas? What then?”
“Then my life resumes, same as it was before I came here.”
“And that’ll be enough for you?”
Did she have a choice? “It’ll have to be.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said, leaning back and running his fingers through his hair.
She sensed his frustration, but didn’t understand it. Why would he even care how she lived her life, or what happened to her after she left the resort? They weren’t involved and never would be.
“What doesn’t make sense? That I choose to live my life a certain way, and that you might not agree with it?”
“I think you’re hiding. I think you refuse to make the necessary changes in your life so you’ll be happy.”
She crossed her arms, not liking at all the way the conversation had turned. Why couldn’t he just let things be? “Leave it alone, Michael. I’ve lived this way for years, and it works for me.”
He stood and paced the room. “It works for you. No dating, no relationship, no romance. The only sex you get is what you do yourself. That is, until you save up enough money to come to a place like this and let a stranger fuck your brains out for a week. Is that really what you want? Is that the map for the rest of your life?”
Serena stood too, furious at Michael for putting in to words what she’d so expertly denied for so many years. She advanced on him, stopping when they were nose to nose.
“How dare you presume to know anything about my life, or what makes me happy? You don’t know a damn thing about me, so just back off!”
“Coward. You just don’t wanna face the fact that your life is miserable. And all this time I gave you credit for being smart.”
“Are you insinuating otherwise?” she asked, lowering her voice so she wouldn’t squeal like she really wanted to.
“You figure it out. For someone who seems to know exactly what she wants from sex, you sure suck at figuring out the rest of your life.”
No more. She refused to listen to any more of his rantings. “I don’t need to stand here and take this.”
“No, I guess you don’t.”
The air was charged with the tension between them. It enveloped her, sucked her in and made her feel weak.
No. She wasn’t weak. She’d never been weak. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her life was her choice. Screw Michael Donovan for making her feel as if she was going about it all wrong.
Without another word she stormed from the room and slammed the door to her bedroom. Mumbling under her breath the entire time she yanked on shorts and a tank top, grabbed her sandals and beach bag and threw open the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, anger still evident in his tone.
She didn’t even make eye contact with him as she walked past. “To the beach. For a walk. I don’t know. Out.”
She threw open the door to the suite, banging it against the wall in a loud crash. Despite feeling guilty at manhandling the door, she slammed it shut behind her.
If she was lucky, she’d be able to close the door on the doubts Michael had opened.
* * * * *
Michael cursed as he stepped outside on the balcony, the ever cooling breeze chilling him.
Fuck. The weather had changed. He could tell by the ominous dark clouds over the ocean that a storm was coming. And Serena was still out there, somewhere.
He’d already checked the beach, the cabanas and the restaurant. No sign of her, and no one recalled seeing her.
She’d left over three hours ago. Where could she be?
He’d even contacted Morgan to see if she’d signed in unscheduled on one of the adventures. She hadn’t. He’d been relieved to know that she wasn’t experiencing some erotic pleasures without him. And then had proceeded to cuss himself out for nearly fifteen minutes for even caring who she fucked.
But now that a storm loomed near the island, he wanted her back. In the room. Safe.
With him.
And if she wasn’t coming back, then he’d damn well go out there to find her, then drag her back by the hair if he had to.
The light drizzle had already started, the wind picking up the droplets and hurtling them sideways onto the balcony.
Michael closed the sliding glass door, grabbed his tennis shoes and ran out the door.
Damn woman. Didn’t know enough to come in out of the rain.
By the time he stepped outside the rain had increased. Fat globs of water pelted him as he ran through the garden path. No one was about.
Oh sure. All the sensible people had taken shelter inside.
Not him. He was out here looking for a lunatic. And God help her when he found her.
He slipped his jacket on, thankful he’d thought to grab it as he ran out the door. The temperature hadn’t dropped that much, but after all the days of tropical warmth the breeze and rain seemed cold.
Plus, it was really fucking windy. Morgan had cautioned him against going outside, saying the weather report indicated severe weather for the next several hours.
Shit. Just great. He wasn’t being insensible. Serena was. And now he had to be out in the pouring rain to search for her.
But where? The island wasn’t huge, by any means, but it certainly wasn’t tiny, either. Besides the resort area, there were roughly two hundred square miles of island to explore. Not that she’d have gotten that far, but if he had to search the entire island to find her they were both gonna be in deep shit.
By the time he’d checked in every building the resort had, he knew she wasn’t anywhere close. Which meant he’d have to follow the walking trail past the resort and into the jungle-like rain forest.
In the rain.
The driving, windy rain.
Shit.
He should just turn around and head back to his room and let her fend for herself. She was the one who’d left in a huff. Let her figure out how to survive in the rain.
If he were as big a prick as he thought himself, he’d do that.
But he wasn’t. So he trekked on, past the resort property and onto the walking trail.
At least he had some relief from the rain here. The tall, dense tropical trees and foliage protected him somewhat from the downpour. But the trail floor was quickly filling with water, evidenced by his squishing tennis shoes.
He’d walked for almost an hour, the steady downpour pummeling him. He shivered from the soaking he’d gotten and was determined to turn around and call out the experts for help.
Then he spotted it. A little palm frond covered building. Sort of like a beach shack, only a little bigger, with a thatched, sloping roof.
Sitting calmly on the front porch watching it rain, was Serena.
She spotted him, smiled and waved.
Just like that. As if being this far away from the resort was no big deal.
Could he kill her, he wondered? He knew all the ways to do it. He’d done it in his books hundreds of times. Quick, painless—no, he took that back. He’d like her to suffer.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, quickly pulling a towel from the stack behind her and offering it to him.
He yanked the towel from her hands. “I was looking for you,” he growled, his temper not getting any better just because he’d found her.
She frowned, seemingly confused as to why he would have been searching for her. “Why?”
“Because you’ve been gone four hours.”
She shrugged. “I took a walk. The trail looked interesting so I thought I’d explore. Then it started to rain, so when I found this place I figured I’d better stop here and wait it out.”
The more nonchalant she played this out, the more annoyed Michael became. “Do you know I looked everywhere for you? I checked every building and with every staff member at the resort. No one claimed to have seen you. I had no fucking idea where you were!” He threw the wet towels on the floor of the shack and fixed a vicious glare on her.
Her lips curved in a smile. A smile!
“You were worried about me?”
“No.”
“Yes, you were. It’s very sweet.”
“It is not sweet. I am not sweet. Dammit, I’m pissed as hell. I’m half drowned here, there’s a potential hurricane on the way, and you’re sitting there smiling at me like it’s no fucking big deal!”
She stepped toward him with another towel in hand, her green eyes glistening. Were those tears in her eyes?
“You’re still dripping,” she said, reaching around him to fluff his hair.
He grabbed her wrists. “I don’t need you to coddle me. I’m fine.”
“You came out in the rain to look for me,” she whispered, eyes welling with more moisture.
Shit. No crying. Crying was a female ploy to make men forget they were madder than a bull in a coliseum filled with matadors. He grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides. “No big deal.”
“It is to me.”
The storm picked up again, lashing the palm fronds around the shack with wind and streams of rain.
Inside the shack a storm brewed of near equal intensity. Michael could feel it raging between them.
He had a tenuous hold on the remnants of his sanity. If she took one step towards him, he wouldn’t be responsible for what happened.
She took one step towards him, and all was lost.
He swept her into his arms and took her saucy mouth in a ravaging kiss.