Chapter Eleven
Michael’s words stayed in Serena’s head the rest of the night. They were all she thought of. He’d awakened after a short snooze and they’d dressed and headed back to their room for a hot shower and dinner.
Not once had he mentioned telling her he loved her. Nor had she asked him if that’s what he’d really said.
Maybe she’d simply dreamed hearing the words she’d spent her lifetime longing to hear from a man.
But to hear it from him? No way. She must have been mistaken.
What if she hadn’t heard wrong? What if he had admitted he loved her? How would that change things between them? Should she ask him to repeat himself? Perhaps she could ask him to put it in writing.
Yeah, right. That would be dumb. She rolled her eyes and imagined that conversation. She’d heard wrong. It was as simple as that. After all, when they’d returned to their suite, he’d bid her a quiet goodnight and gone to his room.
He hadn’t asked her to sleep with him, hadn’t held her in his arms all night long like she’d wanted him to, nor had he made love to her again.
She sighed and finished making breakfast, putting the eggs and bacon on their plates as soon as she heard Michael’s bedroom door open. Her heart thrummed against her chest at the sight of him, each day bringing her closer to the knowledge that she’d fallen hopelessly in love with him.
And with every passing day the thought that their interlude was quickly coming to an end filled her with dread.
Unless she was wrong about that. Unless the declaration of love she thought she’d heard yesterday had, in fact, been real. She made up her mind to ask him—not knowing would drive her crazy. At least if she knew, one way or the other, she could either discuss their options for the future, or steel her heart against breaking when the time came to leave.
“Morning,” she said brightly, placing their plates on the balcony and pouring a cup of coffee for Michael.
“Morning,” he said softly, his expression wary.
Had he already realized his mistake? Was he looking for a way to backpedal from what he’d said?
“Sleep well?” she asked.
“Fine.”
Dammit, this wasn’t going well at all. They were back to square one, tiptoeing around each other like they’d been at the very beginning. Serena felt the loss of intimacy they’d shared, and didn’t know what to do to get it back. After yesterday, this should be a time when they felt warm and comfortable around each other, not tense.
“What’s on tap for today?” he asked between mouthfuls of egg.
“Um, not sure.” They’d missed Simply Sex yesterday, although what they’d shared had been anything but simple. She rose to grab their schedule.
“Group Sex,” she said, then frowned.
He raised a brow and grinned. “Sounds fun.”
She looked up from the schedule to meet his hot gaze. This event included sex with other people. Swapping. Anything goes in a group format.
Less than a week ago it had sounded adventurous, thrilling, something she longed to try.
Today, it sounded like a really bad idea. She didn’t want to have sex with anyone but Michael. Not today.
Quite possibly never.
But it appeared he was all gung ho over the idea, leading her to believe that she’d been mistaken in what she heard him say yesterday. Either that or they had completely differing views on what love meant.
Her appetite disappeared. She pushed the eggs around on her plate and took a few nibbles of bacon. Michael wolfed down his food as if he hadn’t been fed in days.
No loss of appetite on his side, apparently.
Finally, she couldn’t stand it. Good or bad, she had to know.
“Michael, I need to ask you a question.”
He stopped, his fork midway to his mouth. “Yeah?”
“About yesterday…”
She saw him swallow, hard. Knew it then, even before she asked the question.
“What about it?”
“You said you loved me.”
He looked at his plate and put the fork down, then grabbed his coffee and took a long swallow. Serena could swear she saw sweat bead on his upper lip. And were his hands shaking?
Why was the subject of love like a death sentence to men? She’d never understood that one. Not when she’d desperately searched her entire life for someone she could be compatible with—intellectually as well as sexually. And she’d found him, only to find him having a near breakdown at her mention of the “L” word.
“Never mind.” She didn’t want to know. Screw knowing. And screw him, too. She rose and took her plate to the kitchen. Michael followed.
“Wait. I want to answer your question.”
She slipped the plate into the dishwasher and turned, leaning her hip against the counter. Crossing her arms, she said, ”Go ahead.”
He shifted on the balls of his feet like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Honestly.
“I said it, but it didn’t mean what you thought it meant.”
Oh, that was a good lie. “I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
She crossed her arms and got comfortable. This should be good. “Then why don’t you explain it to me.”
“Yesterday was…fantastic. Tremendous. The best day I’d had in a long time. I think you know that as well as I do.”
She felt herself warm, despite her rising irritation still remembering the way they’d come together, the way his cock had felt buried to the hilt inside her. “Yes, it was nice.”
“Well, with a guy, we sometimes mistake rousing passion for love, and say something stupid.”
Now she was getting even more heated, only it was a warm blush firing her furnace this time. “Stupid. Like “I love you Serena?” Stupid like that you mean?”
He jammed his hand through his dark locks and blew out a breath. “Something like that, yeah.”
“So, you didn’t mean you loved me when you told me you loved me.”
“Right.”
“It just meant ‘gee baby, that was a great fuck,’ right?”
He scrunched his eyes shut and grimaced, then opened them. She refused to believe the regret she saw reflected in the pools of blue. “Not quite like that.”
“No, it’s exactly like that. Fine. I felt the same way. It was the best fuck I’ve ever had. So far this week.” Leaving it at that she pushed away from the counter. Slipping past him, she made sure their bodies didn’t touch.
“Hey, Serena. Come on.” He trailed after her, following her into her bedroom.
She turned abruptly, blocking his further entry into the one place she could garner some privacy. “I need to be alone.”
He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. Damn me and my blurting. I never meant to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? You didn’t hurt me. Confused me, yes, but hurt me? I’d have to care about you for you to hurt me. I’d have to love you for those words to stab at me. And I don’t. I don’t care about you, nor do I love you. Today isn’t any different than five days ago when we met. Great fucking and no emotional attachment.”
His eyes darkened. “Are you sure that’s what we are?”
“Positive,” she said, ignoring the ache of loss streaming through her. She’d been so stupid, so damn naïve. But not anymore. Now she saw things clearly. “We’re great bed partners, Michael. We fuck well together. Let’s just keep it at that for the rest of the time, and neither of us will get hurt. Okay?”
She didn’t buy his hurt look for a second.
“Fine,” he said, his teeth clenched. “If that’s the way you want to play it. I’ll meet you at five for some fucking great group sex.”
He turned on his heel and stormed off. She slammed the bedroom door and threw herself on the bed, damning the tears that welled in her eyes, damning him for making her care, and damning herself for involving her heart in what should have been a week filled with physical pleasure.
She fought the tears, refusing to baby herself. Then, angry at feeling anything at all for someone who so clearly didn’t deserve it, she washed her face and chose her outfit for the next activity.
Femme fatale was in order, she thought. She wanted to allure some of the more attractive men, or couples, or whoever it was she’d attract in a group sex environment.
She chose a black dress, skin tight, short, with laces between her breasts.
Spiked heel shoes, and a skimpy black and silver thong. She left her hair long and flowing down her back and spritzed on a tiny bit of perfume, did her makeup and applied ”fuck me red” lipstick.
Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled. Perfect. She’d dressed perfectly for the part she’d play. She looked like a seductress, a siren, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, who’d demand satisfaction.
If this getup didn’t generate her some group action, nothing would. She’d show Michael Donovan who was desirable. She’d have men crawling at her feet to lick her toes tonight, begging for a chance to fuck her. And fuck her they would. She’d have as many as she wanted—maybe even more than one at a time.
And she’d make Michael watch. Not touch her, just watch her come over and over and over again with different men.
He didn’t want her. Fine. Others would.
Straightening her shoulders, she inhaled a breath of courage and strolled slowly into the living room.
Michael was there, his back to her. Her heart pinged in her chest at the sight of him in black shorts and white tank top. Casual, yet so incredibly handsome that merely looking at him fired heat between her legs, her panties damp. Her nipples pebbled against the stretchy tight dress. More the better, she thought. He could see that she was ready for action.
“You ready for a little action?” she said.
He turned and his eyes darkened before he had a chance to hide his reaction with a frown. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
Okay, he may not love her, but she sure as hell turned him on. And that she could play with. “Let’s go.”
“Anxious are you?”
She smiled as she stepped out the door in front of him, then grabbed his arm as he moved alongside her. “Very. I’ve never had group sex before. Just the thought of fucking a bunch of strangers makes me wet.”
He arched a brow, and a tic pulsed in his temple. “Does it now?”
She nodded, playing her femme fatale role to the hilt. “Of course. It’s the ultimate fantasy, don’t you think?”
Shrugging, he kept his eyes straight ahead. “Sounds like fun to me.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Serena struggled to balance on the stilt-like shoes. Not quite the same as running around in flat sandals or even regular heels. But these made her legs stand out. And she wanted everything about her to stand out tonight.
They arrived to a packed house. Morgan, the resort manager, greeted them and showed them in. Serena was surprised to see her, and commented to that effect.
Morgan laughed, a lilting sound almost like a soft song. “I try to stay in the background and let the guests have a good time.”
“Don’t you participate?” Serena asked, accepting a glass of wine from one of the waiters.
“Oh, no. This is my job. The adventures are for the paying customers.”
Serena recognized the loneliness reflected in Morgan’s sapphire eyes. She’d seen it enough in her own mirror. Wants and needs unfulfilled. Morgan quickly masked it with a bright smile, and excused herself to greet other guests.
Milling about the room, Serena evaluated potential sex partners. There were about thirty people present, plenty to choose from. Various ages and shapes and sizes, she made eye contact with a few of the men, satisfied when they smiled and nodded in her direction.
She might not have a ton of actual sexual experience, but she recognized interest on a man’s face. Several of the men in the room were definitely interested. Some not half bad looking, either. Even if they weren’t six-foot-two with hair like midnight and eyes like the ocean.
They were men. They had cocks. They wanted to fuck. That’s all she needed.
Despite the niggling discomfort settling in her stomach, she was bound and determined to enjoy what she’d paid for—some sexual adventure. She hadn’t come here to fall in love, and she wouldn’t leave without getting her money’s worth of eroticism.
* * * * *
Michael tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible under the circumstances, preferring to spend his time keeping an eye on Serena rather than scouting potential sex partners.
He’d blown it. Big time. Blurting out that he loved Serena had changed their entire relationship. Hell, it had changed his feelings.
Despite what he’d told her, he had really meant it. He did love her. And that realization scared the living shit out of him. Which was why he’d told her what he had, made up the lame excuse that all men said shit like that.
He’d hurt her. He could tell from the way the blood drained from her face, the way her hands shook despite the front she’d put on. And he had damn good hearing, too. He’d heard her sniffles from behind her bedroom door, and ached to comfort her, to take her in his arms and tell her he’d lied, that he did have feelings for her.
But what purpose would that have served? Telling her how he really felt would only have prolonged the inevitable.
When the week ended, they ended.
And tonight? Damn he didn’t want to do this. Not with her, not like this. The thought of another guy touching her filled him with jealousy.
You’re a number one prick, Donovan. You don’t want her, and you don’t want anyone else to have her either. But she made her own choices, and she’d chosen this. And he was shit out of luck. He’d just have to grin and bear it.
Well, he didn’t feel like grinning. And he didn’t want her to bare it.
Laughing pathetically at his own pun, he downed another glass of champagne and searched out Serena.
She mingled through the crowd like a beauty contestant, smiling and introducing herself to some of the men. Michael steamed at the lecherous glances she received from some of the guys, and even a few of the women.
With any other woman this would be a wild night of debauched fucking, something he’d certainly be up for. But it wasn’t just any other woman, it was Serena. And he didn’t want anyone else to touch her.
Michael groaned and searched out another glass of champagne. When he found it he downed it in one gulp and wiped the remnants from his lips.
“You’re sure putting it away tonight.”
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m thirsty.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. “Whatever takes the edge off, I guess.”
They stood together in silence, watching people mill around. Inevitably, one approached them.
An attractive couple, both in their early thirties, sidled up next to them. They introduced themselves as Jeanine and Rafael.
The woman was tall, built like a brick shithouse, and made up like a Parisian whore. The guy was smarmy and sweaty and looked like a thug.
Michael looked to Serena, whose eyes widened in panic. Michael couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips as he politely declined sex with the couple.
Two other couples approached them. Both times, Serena gave him eye signals that clearly indicated she wanted no part of sex with that particular person or couple.
Groups began to pair off, the sounds of sex growing throughout the darkened room. Groans of pleasure and lots of heavy breathing permeated the place.
And yet Serena hadn’t seemed too interested in getting down and dirty with anyone who had approached them. And Michael sure as hell wasn’t going to make any suggestions. In fact, he’d be happy as hell if they turned around and walked out.
“You ready to go?” he suggested.
“Why?”
“It’s obvious you don’t really want to do this. Why don’t we get the hell out of here and go back to our room.”
With a defiant lift of her chin, she said, “Who says I don’t want to do this?”
“I do. You’ve turned down every guy who’s approached you.”
“They were icky.”
He hid his smile behind his glass of champagne, emptying it and setting it on a nearby table. “Let’s go, Serena.”
When he took her arm she wrenched it away. She half twisted toward a man standing nearby and tapped him on the shoulder. When the man turned, Michael groaned. This one was right up Serena’s alley. Tall, tanned, athletic body—fucking perfect. And the woman with him was, too. Slender and fine boned with dark exotic eyes and raven hair that fell midway down her back.
Any other time a woman like that would have him hard in an instant, raring to fuck. But this wasn’t any other time. And the woman wasn’t Serena.
The guy graced Serena with a bright, even smile and introduced himself as Sam.
Serena took one look at Michael, then turned back to Sam and said, “How about it, Sam? You want to fuck?”