Once a Myth

“We’ll discuss titles and what you are later.” He frowned at the glowing sunshine beaming upon us. “For now, follow me. Discussions are always less fraught in the shade.”

Without waiting for me to respond, he turned and stepped in shiny expensive shoes down the sandy path. Once again, I was struck mute at the power emitting from him.

The irreproachable varnish over his every move. The self-possessed carriage and undeniable assurance that everyone obeyed him without question.

I didn’t want to obey him.

I wanted to march back to the beach and keep going until the sea claimed me. I wanted to approach a staff member and enquire if this was all a mistake and I was free to go.

Or…you could stop wasting time, quit admiring a monster, and get this over with.

Looking around at paradise, I was more wary of perceived open spaces than I was with subtle guards watching my every move. I’d been given the illusion of free will. But in reality…there was no such thing on this island.

There might not be iron bars or padlocked gates, but this was still a prison. The only difference was nature kept me trapped rather than manmade devices.

The sooner I learned his vulnerabilities and what I could use to my advantage, the better.

With a heavy sigh, I tightened the cape of my courage…and followed him.

He didn’t slow his long gait, and I hurried to keep up as he vanished around a corner planted with a spray of colourful flowers. Another corner. A breeze sweet with honeysuckle. Another laneway twist. A dabble of shadow beneath trees. Until, finally, the pathway turned into a small courtyard, trading sand for basalt tile.

My feet froze on the border of yet another paradise.

The courtyard held a fountain of three mermaids tipping water from seashells, the droplets spritzing in the sun and creating hundreds of rainbows. They were naked, and their breasts gleamed with pearlescent scales, the colour cascading down their sides to mystical tails.

The tropical plants bordering the space ranged from light green to dark forest, all lush and glossy, heavy with fruit and flowers. A bird table sat on the wooden deck, big enough for an entire flock of finches to land and take their fill of speared pineapple, juicy watermelon, and a splattering of banana, mango, and sunflower seeds.

The man who thought he owned me strode up the three steps to his deck, tapped his shoes against the side of the villa to remove loose sand, then disappeared past the floaty curtains and through open French doors.

His black voice feathered back to me, disjointed from the beauty of such a place. “Stop wasting my time and come inside.”

My eyes skipped over the idyllic space as I skirted around the fountain, earned a few droplets on my skin that leaped from the mermaid’s hands, and ducked a low flying parrot as it landed on the bird table. Bracing myself, I traded the overwhelming heat of outside for the relieving cool of inside.

A rattan fan spun lazily in the open rafters of a thatched roof, pushing hot air out and leaving refreshing oxygen behind.

The décor was silver and white with a splash of woven grass. The wood was all silvered driftwood, the walls whitewashed, the furniture light and clean lines. The woven flax on the floor set off the white couch, glass coffee table, and the large driftwood desk perfectly.

Artwork of green-sketched ferns and ghostly silhouettes of half-drawn women hung huge and imposing.

A door in the opposite wall led to a bathroom sparkling with opalescent mosaic tiles from floor to ceiling. Glass replaced the ceiling, drenching the space in sunshine. The basin was one large carved piece of black marble, and the shower big enough for four people.

Two more doors led to rooms that were closed, but the openness and simplicity of the lounge did its best to relax me, even as my instincts stayed on high alert.

What was this place?

The entire villa could’ve been feminine, if it wasn’t for the man seated within the centre. A man who could cover himself in pearls and prisms and still not be able to reflect anything than what he was.

Merciless and undeniably masculine.

He flicked a pen over his knuckles, watching me in a silent, lethal way.

My stomach coiled, blending fear with unwanted need.

He didn’t need to purchase women to earn every sexual favour he desired. Anyone—single and sane—would struggle not to be entranced by him.

If we’d met under different circumstances, I would’ve expected him to be untouchable by people like me. People of a middle-class persuasion. He didn’t need to buy me to say he had money. It was obvious he had mountains and skyscrapers of the stuff. He bled wealth. He breathed affluence. He was the epitome of abundance—abundant physical assets, monetary riches, and a treasure chest of private islands.

I didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

We never looked away from each other.

I stood at the foot of his desk while he reigned on his throne. A lowly servant at court waiting for her liege’s command.

I hated the way he made me feel.

I despised the heat creeping through my veins.

But…I had to admit.

I’d hated the traffickers in Mexico.

I’d nursed my hate like a glowing ember, feeding it twigs of injustice to stay aflame, tossing a few dried leaves of righteousness for fuel.

But this man?

This man threatened to turn that flickering coal into a furnace.

One look from him and my heartbeat relocated into every extremity, and my temperature increased a thousand degrees.

I detested him.

But I was drawn to him.

There was something…something ruthless and savage about him. Something instinctual that sensed predator from prey and firmly put him in the category of dangerous.

But beneath that savage suaveness, something smoothed the merciless edges, granting a strange kind of enigma.

Cold and hot.

Immune and unprotected.

He wasn’t as invincible as he appeared.

Find his weaknesses.

Use them.

Abuse them.

Get free.

“What is your name?” he asked quietly. Too quietly.

I narrowed my eyes, ignoring my aches and bruises. “I already gave my name to them. They didn’t pass on that information?”

He let the pen fall from his knuckles. It clattered against the desk, making me jump. “No. We’re not in the habit of gossip.”

“My name is not gossip.”

“Your name is no longer yours.”

I stepped closer to his desk, purely because every part of me wanted to run in the opposite direction. “My name is and always will be mine. No matter if you think you can own me. No matter that you paid some bastard his fee. I am a living, breathing creature, and you cannot—”

“Enough.” He swiped his hand through the air, silencing me. “I’ll go first, shall I? My name is Sully Sinclair. I don’t care what you call me inside that overzealous mind of yours, but while you serve on my island, you will address me with respect.”

“While I serve you?” My lips pulled back in a snarl. “And what does that job entail exactly?”

His lips spread into a sinister smile. “Fucking, of course. Lots and lots of fucking.” Dropping his stare, he deliberately undressed me with his eyes. My nipples pebbled as he studied my breasts. My skin goosebumped as he trailed down my belly to my core and beyond.

It didn’t matter I wore a sack-shaped jumper. It didn’t matter I had underwear on.