Chapter 3

Danielle

Mystique Island is the perfect Caribbean retreat.

I arrive on the white sand beaches with a group of nervous women, each wearing a mask, as I am, and long flowing white dresses that are pretty much transparent.

Nerves bubble in my belly.

I’m finally here. A call to my sister to let her know that I’m spending the weekends with friends instead, a plane ticket, and one boat ride with a gaggle of giggling girls, beautiful, short, tall, petite, curvy—as different as can be—and here I am.

And he’s here, too. Somewhere.

An assistant escorts me to a villa just off the beach. It’s gorgeous, with a floor-to-ceiling window in the living room looking out on the white sands and trees. My bags are at the foot of my bed, placed there by whoever runs this place, and there’s a welcome note waiting on the pillow—gold and diamond embossed.

I lift it and swallow, press both hands to my stomach.

Please join us for a welcoming party down on the beach. Masks required.

But clothing not?

I have no idea what to expect here, but if there’s a party, it’s my best chance of finding Holden among the guests.

Oh, god, what if he recognizes me? Or worse, what if I can’t find him?

I’ve come all this way for this opportunity to seduce him. It’s ridiculous, pathetic, but I can’t turn back now. I won’t.

I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom, across from the king-sized bed decked in silken sheets, and check my reflection.

My skin is sun-kissed, tanned, and the slopes of my breasts lift the near-transparent cotton shift I was dressed in on the boat. The outlines of my nipples are clear, as is the vague depression of my belly button.

My hair hangs loose, a little windswept, either side of my oval face, and the mask hides my nose, but not my lips, or my eyes. I’m not exactly unrecognizable, but this is the last place he’d expect me to be.

If I don’t talk, maybe he won’t realize… or maybe he will.

Do it. Come on, Dani, this is what you came for. You’re here to find him, so just do it. Don’t back out now.

I square my shoulders, and a strap slips off and drops, exposing more of my breast. I lift it back into place.

Jeez, were these dresses designed to fall off?

Probably, ha.

I walk to the door of my villa, the pressure building in my core. He’s got to be here, right? He got an invite. If he’s not…

One step out of my front door and I halt, suck in a breath.

My villa is right on the beach, and my steps lead into the pale white sand. Just ahead of me, people are naked beneath the palm trees. Their hands are all over each other, their bodies glistening with oil or sweat or saltwater.

It’s totally unexpected, and I blush.

I’d assumed there’d be some modicum of modesty, but this is pretty much an orgy.

A woman sits astride a guy, right in the sand, her tits bouncing free to the air. She moans and inserts a finger between her lips and sucks on it, while another dude stands just next to her stroking his dick.

She reaches over, grabs it, and pulls it into her mouth.

I gulp.

It’s just past midday. The sun is high, and people are out here in broad daylight, all over each other.

Is this what Holden expects? I’m not sure I’ll be able to share him.

God, if he’s here at all.

I steel myself for more of this. For flashes of bodies, twisting together, for hungry mouths and cocks dripping for them. I set off down the beach, heading for the bar across the way, where most of the people are clothed, chatting or sipping drinks. Some of them kiss, but they aren’t sucking on each other’s nipples here, thank god.

I have a moment to think. To scan.

I halt in front of the bar and bite my lip.

A masked bartender grins at me, cocking his head to one side. “First time?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, it’s normal to be nervous. By the end of the weekend, you’ll forget all about it. You’ll never want it to end.” He winks.

I wrinkle my nose. I doubt the staff are meant to fraternize with the guests, and I’m here for someone else. The only man who exists in my world.

“What can I get ya?” the bartender asks.

Behind me, a man groans, low in his throat, followed by wet, seductive noises. I don’t look back, but the backs of my legs prickle beneath the soft cotton. A breeze brushes the back of my neck.

“Uh—” I’m not usually this indecisive, but there are definitely people fucking right behind me. It’s pretty damn distracting.

“She’ll have champagne.” The gruff voice sends a shiver done my spine.

It’s him!

His tan hand rests on my forearm, and my eyes actually roll back in my head. I force them back into their regular position and take deep breaths. Got to keep it together.

I haven’t even looked at him yet.

You can do this. He won’t recognize you.

I turn to him, and I’m stunned. Stuck in place.

It’s Holden all right, but he’s shaved off his beard since I last saw him, and the blue eyes behind his mask don’t widen in recognition. Thank god.

“You’re mine,” he says, plainly. “For the weekend. For as long as I want. Any complaints?”

I shake my head. I can’t form words. That part of my brain has shut down so hard it might never work again.

“Good. Champagne,” he commands, at Winky the Bartender.

The guy’s smile is gone now, and he pours for me and for Holden. My masked Holden.

This weekend will be everything I want it to be. I can’t contain my excitement.

I tremble till I’m basically vibrating on the spot. How apt.

“This way,” Holden says and takes my hand. He leads me across the sand, past tables where people talk, and two people on the ground, kissing, grinding into each other, desperate.

The beach is a white strip beside a turquoise ocean. Waves wash the sands, whispers of noise that raise the fine hairs on the back of my neck. Everything about this island seduces me, from the villas to the sensual moans echoing from every direction. Palm trees do little to hide the shapes beneath them.

“Here.” Holden stops, hands me the champagne flute, then takes a sip from his own.

He stands and stares out over the ocean now, his eyes the exact same color, a gorgeous, swirling turquoise.

This close, I can barely move.

Holden doesn’t look at me. He waits.

I sip my champagne and swallow. It fizzes down my throat. God, is it ever going to happen? Does he know it’s me?

I don’t want him to doubt this for a second. What can I do to prove it to him?

“Strip,” he says, as if he’s reading my thoughts as they pop into my mind and flit out again. “I want you naked.”

The champagne flute slips from my finger tips and hits the sand. The stem cracks, but it doesn’t shatter, and the liquid spreads from its mouth. I don’t care. Nothing matters but this moment.

I’ve fantasized about it for so long. Dreamed of touching this man who’s been so patient and kind, yet powerful and hard since the beginning.

He’s such a fucking man, even though he’s shaved his beard.

“Now,” he says. Holden’s lips part again as if he’s about to say my name, but he doesn’t, thank god.

I step over the wrecked glass, too lost to care about cleaning it up, and walk to the water’s edge. Waves lap my toes, and I gasp at the warmth of the water—I expected cold. My skin prickles again.

“Turn around. Face me. Strip.” The commands are gruff, similar to the way he spoke in the kitchen not two days ago.

I circle on the spot, swaying my hips, and reach up, real slow. I want this to last.

“Good,” he says. “Faster.”

My pussy clenches. Faster? He wants me naked as quick as possible. He wants me that bad.

I drop one strap of the cotton shift, and it brushes past my nipple, already erect from the combination of warmth and readiness for him.

Holden shudders forward a step then halts. “All of it.”

He’s feet away from me, and he’s rock hard in his chinos, the outline of his cock pulling at the fabric. A wet patch spreads there—pre-cum dripping for me.

I clench and moan, softly.

“Now!” he growls again.

I obey him and drop the other strap, my clipped nails catching on the cotton. I drag it down and step out of the puddle of fabric at my feet. I’m naked except for the mask.

This is the moment I’ve waited for.

Holden undoes his shirt, button by button, and I lose my breath again.

Abs lead into a V that disappears beneath the hem of those chinos. He strips off his shirt, and his muscles ripple. He’s got tattoo sleeves, tribal decorations I’ve glimpsed only once or twice before.

On his left pec, he bears a tattoo of two men, standing back to back, their fists raised. It’s a silhouette, but it must mean something to him. If I’d had a chance to know him, as I’d wanted to all along, maybe I’d understand.

Right now, I don’t care too much.

He’s half-naked.

Holden Long is half-naked in front of me, and all my fantasies are about to come true.