CHAPTER TWELVE
Rook’s entire home looked like a bed and breakfast from the Victorian era, furnished with pristine antiques, but with modern conveniences like an intercom system and motion sensors in the main rooms to conserve electricity. Still, it felt more like a museum than anything else. Even the bed in my room, with a hand-carved, cherry-stained headboard, looked like it had never been used. Mint condition.
I showered in the all-marble bathroom and threw my damp hair back into a bun with a rubber band. All of my things had been moved into this room and placed exactly where I’d left them in the bungalow—clothes in the closet in the same order, my toothbrush next to the sink where I’d left it, and my clean underwear in the top drawer of the dresser next to the bed. I could only guess he’d put me here because he wanted to keep a close eye on me and not have me wandering off at night again.
Goddammit. I hung my head over the glass sink. That entire episode still had me in shock, but the monk, seeing Cici in the water, and the sleepwalking had all taken a backseat to this morning’s heartbreaking news.
Why would Cici be so careless? My mind darted to the worst possible answer: she never allowed herself to let go or have fun because she’d always been too busy raising me.
No, Steph, I told myself, this is not your fault. But, of course, that wasn’t how I felt. I felt like I had killed her. I had kept her from being happy and having a life—going out with her friends because she had to babysit me, having a serious relationship, and going to college in California. She wasn’t able to do any of these things because she didn’t want to leave me alone. My father was never home, and aside from the occasional babysitters, we’d basically been on our own since I was ten and Cici turned sixteen and got her license. If it hadn’t been for her constant nagging and pushing me to do my homework and study, I probably would’ve dropped out of high school. I definitely wouldn’t have gone to college. “You need a scholarship, kid, because nobody has the money to pay your way,” she’d say.
I owe her everything. I began to cry again. Cici gave up so much, and she came here to escape the responsibility of me.
I wiped the tears from my eyes. No. Fucking no. “You are not going to do this to yourself.”
I had to get home. I needed comfort and familiarity. I didn’t need to think about Cici being here or her final hours.
Rook needs to get me home. Today. He couldn’t keep me here.
I shuffled quickly through the closet and drawers, feeling strange about my personal things having been touched by strangers, but at least I knew it hadn’t been Rook. He was far too busy a man for that.
Speaking of Rook, while I understood he wasn’t at fault for Cici’s death, I still found it hard to believe that he’d leave my family hanging. Frankly, it didn’t make sense. My only conclusion was that perhaps he’d done some digging and learned who my father was. Rook could’ve feared him going public and making a huge stink.
Still, it hurt that Rook had left us in the dark. Then again, everything hurt.
Don’t think about it. I needed to figure out what I would say to my dad.
Fuck. I missed Cici so much. I could only imagine how my dad felt. Which was why the thought of telling him terrified me.
I slid on a pale yellow summer dress and white sandals. I knew it would be hot and muggy outside, and if I had my way, I’d be on a boat to…to…Nassau or whichever island with an airport was nearby.
Unsure of where everything was, I walked through Rook’s home, searching for the basement stairwell.
“Rook?” I did an entire lap around the first floor of his two-story house—living room, office filled with old books, kitchen—obscenely beautiful and modern, to my surprise—two storerooms filled with linens and pantry items, and three guest rooms.
Such a strange house. All of the dark wood floors were polished to a perfect shine, there wasn’t a speck of dust to be found on one piece of furniture, and the oil paintings in every room were always of ships in storms or of the ocean or lakes. None of those were a big deal, I supposed; however, the absence of personal effects was. He had no family photos or mementos from the past, no awards or souvenirs from trips. There wasn’t one personal item in the hall closet either aside from an umbrella.
The entire home felt more like something for show.
I stood at the base of the big staircase just off the foyer. My curiosity urged me to see where this man slept and what was in his nightstand drawers or bathroom cupboards.
I took the first step, gripping the shiny white banister. I could see a big window at the top. I paused and thought better of snooping. I needed to get on with my life and put this island behind me, not be digging around in this man’s house.
So where the hell is Rook? I hadn’t seen any basement stairs.
I turned back and stood in the foyer, tapping the side of my cheek. Okay. If the staircase to the basement wasn’t inside, then it had to be outside. Strange, but what other option was there?
I went to the front door and stepped onto the large porch, also whitewashed and made of wooden planks with hanging plants and an intricately carved banister. The home, like the reception building, reminded me of an old plantation house, though I doubted this island was ever used for farming. Much too small.
I stepped into the meticulously manicured front yard with a lush green lawn, where an iridescent blue peacock pecked away at his six-legged breakfast. A few females lurked in the bushes to the side.
“Wow,” I muttered to myself. “I guess Rook saved the best spot on the island for himself.” The front of his home was perpendicular to the beach, so when I looked to my right, there was nothing but miles of turquoise ocean. To my left was lush jungle with a floral border.
Gorgeous.
I walked to the inland side of the home and continued all the way around but found no stairwell.
As I stood on the beach side, my eyes scanning the house, I noticed a small outbuilding. It looked like it could be storage or a boat shed, but it had flower beds to the sides and a little extractor or something on top. There was also a walkway leading between the back of Rook’s house to the door.
I went over and turned the handle, slowly peeking inside.
“Okay. What the hell?” An industrial steel stairwell led several stories down and the walls, made of smooth cement, held sturdy-looking recessed lights. It reminded me of one of those high-tech bomb shelters one might see in the movies.
“Rook?” I called out, but no one replied. “Rook?” I tried again.
Don’t be a wuss, Stef. I’m sure there’s nothing down there but…but…okay, I don’t have a damned clue.
I reminded myself that the boogeyman wasn’t real and went in. Right away I noticed how cool the air felt and how it smelled like…well, it smelled like coffee.
I reached the base of the stairs, deep underground, and stepped across thick metal grating. I imagined it diverted any water that might leak into the stairwell.
I turned a sharp corner, surprised to find a thick glass door. Inside was a well-lit office space—carpet, cubicles and apparently some offices, too—but there were no people.
Rook’s Island keeps getting weirder and weirder.
I went in, immediately feeling the air drop to a deliciously cool temperature. The strong scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air.
“Hello?” I called out.
No answer.
I continued down the aisle, noting the cubicles filled with framed photos of family members and children, funny calendars, half-filled coffee cups.
I suddenly heard people clapping behind one of the doors off in the corner. I walked over and listened. Rook’s deep voice rumbled on the other side. I could tell he was saying something serious, though I wasn’t sure what. I guessed this was the staff meeting he’d mentioned.
I paused for a moment, considering being rude and interrupting, but decided I would wait. What good would it do to piss him off when all I wanted was his help getting me off the island ASAP? Plus, I really wanted to have a look around.
I found an empty conference room with a large-screen TV, whiteboard, and twenty leather exec chairs. A huge graph on the wall had a column of numbers and the months of the year at the top. Little colored squares with tags, marked with things like “Cinderella” or “Submarine” were plugged in all over the graph. This has to be their guest plan.
Honestly, I was kind of impressed. From the looks of things, Rook ran this resort like a well-oiled machine.
I wonder how long he’s been in business?
The smell of fresh coffee enticing me, I strolled over to the break room and found fresh bagels, fruit, and a carafe set out. Relaxing spa music piped in from an overhead speaker and a big fridge with a glass door had all sorts of sodas, juices, and sandwiches ready to go. Rook obviously took care of his staff.
I grabbed a paper cup, made myself a coffee, and headed back to the main room with the cubicles. As I passed one of the offices, something caught my eye through an ajar door. I pushed it open.
What in God’s name is this?
Over a hundred monitors, mounted to the wall, flickered from one camera angle to another, capturing everything happening on this island. And when I said everything, I meant everything.
“Ohmygod.” My coffee slipped from my hand, the liquid seeping right into the gray carpet. All I could do was look at a screen where two men literally fucked the hell out of a woman. My stomach turned. “What is this?” I whispered aloud.
Suddenly, I understood why I felt like someone’s eyes had been on me when I arrived. You could see everything and everyone right from this room.
And Rook is a goddamned pervert.
On one monitor, a couple strolled hand in hand on the beach. On another screen, five men brawled on the deck of a ship while one woman watched from a steel post—a post she’d been tied to. Another camera showed a woman and a man, both naked, bathing under a waterfall. Not every screen had nudity or sex, but most did. The others showed wide-open ocean or views of the beach and restaurant.
“Jesus.” I’d never seen anything like it. And it sickened me.
“I see you found our control room,” said a familiar voice, deep, gruff and very unhappy.
Rook leaned his boxy shoulder against the door frame, wearing the same dark button-down shirt and jeans from earlier.
“You spy on your guests?”
He stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.
I instinctively moved back. What kind of man would invade people’s privacy like this?
“No. We monitor weather, any approaching unauthorized vessels, and every building on the island. We make sure everything is safe and up to standards.”
“Then what the hell is that?” I pointed to the screen in the middle where, frankly, it looked like some serious, hard-core S&M was going down with three guys on one woman.
“That is called fucking,” Rook said, crossing his arms. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
“Do not act so casual about this. This is perverse. This is wrong,” I hissed.
“Is it now?” he questioned in a condescending tone. “I wasn’t aware that sex between consenting adults is wrong.”
“Not that. I mean the fact that they have no idea they’re being watched.”
He made a little shrug. “The fantasy hosts do.”
“What difference does that make? Your guests don’t know.” Because I certainly hadn’t been told, so I assumed none of the other visitors knew either. “Are you taping them, too?”
“We purge all recordings after a day unless there is a reason to keep them—training, performance reviews and such. Otherwise, no.”
I wondered for a moment if he had kept the video of Cici’s last night. But would I really want to see my sister swimming off to die? No. I wouldn’t.
Rook took one of the three chairs stationed along a desk that stretched from one end of the room to the other, right in front of the monitors. Color-coded binders were set out in front of each chair like little pervert workstations.
“Stephanie,” he faced me with his arms crossed, “I understand how shocking all this might seem, and believe me when I say you are not the first person to jump to conclusions. However, I assure you I take no pleasure—perverse or otherwise—watching people fuck. I have seen more sex than anyone else on this planet. What I do, however, is obsess over my guests’ safety and that their expectations are met.”
“So you’re some sort of quality control,” I said, with a heavy dose of scorn and disbelief.
Still seated, Rook stared up with those intense steel blue eyes. “Look at the screens and pick one, any one, and tell me what you see.”
“No. I won’t be a party to your spying. What’s happening on those screens is private.”
He swallowed a laugh. “You think that woman who is about to have sex with five men on the deck of a pirate ship in broad daylight is shy? Or worried about someone seeing? No. All she cares about is that everything is perfect.”
I looked at the screens. This was all too weird.
“Try not to judge, Stephanie. These are grown adults who paid a significant sum of money for an experience they requested. With a great level of detail, I might add. It is my and my staff’s job to ensure our guests are happy.”
“That woman is not happy.” I pointed to a full-figured blonde on the screen who’d just gotten her face slapped by one of the guys in the S&M thing.
“Really?” Rook grabbed one of the blue binders and opened it. “Ah. You see. Says right here in her contract that she would like to be dominated, including spanking, slapping, and mild biting. She asked that there be no scratching or bruises left on her body. She also requested the men have ample experience in double penetr—”
“Enough. I do not need to know that.”
He dipped his head. “I never took you for a prude, Stephanie.”
“I’m not. I just don’t get off on watching this.” Yet I couldn’t peel my curious eyes away. Sex, sex, and more sex. Actors in military uniforms, Viking garb, and nothing at all played out dramatic scenes with women I’d seen on the plane, some dressed, some undressed. Though I did see people eating, swimming, and lying in the sun, too.
“Looks like another day in paradise to me. Except for her.” He pointed to a woman I’d seen on the plane who had dyed black hair and wore extremely large clothes, almost like she’d wanted to hide her body. A man—young, muscular and wearing a strange outfit—maybe a pioneer or gold rush miner, kneeled in front of her, doing what seemed to be…well, that.
I cringed. Not because there was anything wrong with that, but because I had simply never seen people having oral sex live. And, of course, there was the whole privacy thing.
Rook casually pointed to the screen. “She is a single mother who worked two jobs to support her children and put them through college because her ex-husband told her she was nothing, not good enough for any man, and then left them. She struggled for years, putting her needs last and that included her health and her body, which is why she now feels worthless and ugly.”
I blinked hard, wondering where the hell he was going with this.
He went on, “That is why Jack, our fantasy host, is supposed to take his time, kissing her, touching her, showing her all the ways her beauty never faded. Unfortunately, Jack is one of our newer employees. He’s handsome and energetic, but he’s yet to learn about the burdens of women—the pain some endure, the sacrifices some make for their children.”
So Rook understood this? I found that difficult to believe.
“And?” I snapped.
“And he’s going too fast.” Rook pointed to the screen where Jack currently had his head wedged between the woman’s thighs. I couldn’t see anything really from the angle except for that. Thank God.
“You see there.” Rook pointed, and I leaned into the desk for a better view. “It’s all wrong. Even though her head is back, she is wincing, almost like she’s forcing it to happen. A woman who’s lost in the moment never has that expression. Her lips should be slack, her breathing erratic, and her eyes should be at half-mast or fluttering. This woman is thinking about it.”
He’s right. Even I could see the woman wasn’t enjoying herself. It was like watching a bad porn where the actress exaggeratedly oohed and awed. But anyone with a vagina who’d had sex would know it was an act. I’d put on plenty of my own for the sake of past relationships. A silly move. I should’ve simply told my exes what I wanted, because I’d never enjoyed sex once. Kind of a waste, because now I could barely stand being touched. Except by Rook.
Now you know why. Obviously, the man was fairly skilled when it came to reading a woman.
My body sparked with erotic tingles as I imagined his expert touch—hands gliding over my bare breasts, fingers and tongue massaging my throbbing—
Seriously, Stephanie? Don’t even think of going there.
“Fine. She’s faking it.” I stepped back from the long desk and Rook. “But that still doesn’t make this any less—”
He picked up the phone on the console, hit a few numbers, and then spoke softly. “You need to slow down. Think of how long she’s waited for you, for this moment. Savor her every move, the feel of her skin. She is no different than the woman you will fall in love with someday, who will become a mother to your children and then age. Think about how you would still love her in twenty years like you love her now.”
I felt my chest tighten and conflicting emotions erupt. My moral high ground told me that this was nothing more than voyeurism. Completely wrong. But hearing Rook tell that guy how to treat a woman, a woman I might someday become, made my insides quiver. He wanted her to feel cherished and beautiful.
Rook hung up the phone, and I stood there speechless. Who are you?
He continued watching Jack, who immediately pulled away, rubbing his face inside the woman’s thighs, kissing, licking and breathing her in. The subtle strokes, the gentle nuzzling, the carefully placed kisses instantly set the woman off. I could see it in her face. The euphoria, the lack of self-awareness.
“Better.” Rook laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.
I continued to gawk, unable to wrap my head around him. But I wanted to. I wanted to wrap other things around him, too. The attention he gave these women could only mean he’d be amazing in bed. Not only because he cared about what they wanted, but because he knew what they needed. God, what he could do to me.
Misreading my conflicting emotions, Rook gave me a hard look. “It’s not all sex, Stephanie. Many women come for something entirely different.” He pointed to a screen where a group of people were climbing around inside a cave. “Ah, they’ve almost found it.”
“Found what?”
“They’ve been down there for ten hours, searching for an Aztec treasure. We had the tunnels especially built for women who dream of being an explorer or Indiana Jones.”
Interesting. It almost looked fun.
Suddenly curious to see what other stories were playing out, I glanced at another screen on the far left where a younger woman cried. An older man held her in his arms.
“What happened to her?” I asked, pointing to the monitor.
“She lost her father a few years ago. She never had the chance to say goodbye, so that was her fantasy. It is the same session I offered you.”
“Sorry, but…” I shook my head from side to side. “I have no interest in role-playing with someone dressed up as Cici.”
“I assure you it is much more than that, which is why I will leave the offer open to you, should you ever change your mind.”
I wished he’d make me a different kind of offer. “I won’t, but thanks anyway. Can we go outside now? It’s a little hot in here.”
A pleased smile twitched across his full lips. “Are you sure you don’t wish to watch a little longer?” His voice was low and filled with sexual undertones. “There is no shame in being curious.”
Feeling his eyes staring right through me, I shook my head. I didn’t want to watch. I wanted to participate. With him.
I cleared my throat, tamping down the gnawing sexual ache between my legs. “Nope. I’m good.”
“As you wish.” He stood, reached for the door handle, and then turned his head.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Look at this ridiculousness.” He went for the phone again. “Fucking Mrs. Day. I’m never going to have a moment’s rest.”
“Was this her job?” I asked.
He nodded. “For five years. I supervise when needed.” He dialed a number and began barking, “She likes red, not white. Please don’t make a mistake again. This is your fifth error in two weeks.” He slammed down the phone.
His eyes went to a monitor where a couple sat atop a small cliff overlooking the ocean. They appeared to be having a picnic. The man, a large blond with his back to the camera, quickly swapped out glasses and made some sort of joke to the woman.
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“It is my job.”
I pointed to the same screen. “Well, you missed the fact that she is leaning away from him. And how she just laughed at his joke. Totally fake. I’d say there is way more wrong with the date than the wine he served. I’d say it’s a bust.”
He leaned in. “Well, it seems someone else has a knack for detail. I am impressed.”
“I’m a woman. It’s not hard to figure out our body language.” Though I wonder how you became so well versed. “How many women did you have to sleep with to become such an expert?”
He gave me a stern look and opened the door. “We can go now.”
I lifted a brow. Oh. He’s shy again all of a sudden? Okay, buddy.
He gestured for me to exit and then followed. Rook’s employees were back in their cubicles, busy at work, answering calls, taking room service orders, and addressing excursion requests.
“How did you find this place?” Rook asked the moment we hit the stairs.
“I didn’t find basement stairs in the house. I figured they had to be outside.”
“Once again, I’ll say I’m impressed.”
Why? Because I had a brain?
We emerged into the sunlight, and that was when I noticed his hair. He no longer had just a few “salt sprinkles.” Two thin ribbons of gray sprouted from his temples, aging him by at least ten years. I considered it shallow to comment on a man’s Grecian Formula habits, especially since it only made him look all the more handsome, so I said nothing.
“And what was so urgent that you came to find me?” he asked, stepping close and taking my hand. His touch sparked warm delicious chills up my arm.
Oh, God. Don’t do that to me. Now that I’d seen this other side of him—the man who knew all about pleasing a woman—his touch felt ten times more erotic.
I felt my body leaning toward his broad chest, toward his warmth, toward the raw sexual urges he provoked. All I wanted was to lose myself in him.
Staring at my lips, he brushed his thumb across my chin. “Tell me what I can do for you,” he said with a tenderness I’d never thought possible from a man like him.
Goddammit. I found it sexier than hell that he had so many layers, but I couldn’t say what I really wanted—him—because I had no clue what was real anymore. My life had been shoved into an emotional blender and puréed all to hell.
I cleared my throat, fighting to keep my urges at bay, and dropped his hand. “I need to go home, Rook. Within the hour if possible.”
His brows furrowed; his eyes twitched. He hadn’t been expecting me to say that. “Yes, well, sadly I have already inquired on your behalf and have very bad news. Not only for you.” He grunted under his breath. “A tropical storm has abruptly turned our way and is approaching fast. I am afraid you won’t be able to leave until Sunday. And if that is the case, the safest means to transport you home is via our private jet, which will take you directly to your departure airport.”
I wondered if he was lying, and Rook, being the astute observer, immediately picked up on that.
He took his phone from his jeans pocket and showed me the screen. “Tropical Storm Mary.”
I glanced at the image from his weather tracker. It looked legit.
“Oh,” I said disappointedly.
“I am sorry, Stephanie. But if I were to put you on one of our yachts, it would take five to six hours to reach an island with a commercial airport. Then you would be stranded because the storm will be hitting and planes will be grounded for several days.”
Dammit. But maybe this was for the best. As much as I needed the comfort of home, my head was a mess and I still had to figure out what I’d tell Warner.
Rook continued, “I am sure you can appreciate why I would much rather have you here safe with me than in the hands of strangers who have no sympathy for what you are going through.”
“Because you think I’m going crazy.”
He flashed a questioning look with those cool eyes.
“That’s what you meant, right?” I said. “I sleepwalk, and I see monks and my dead sister going for a swim.”
“I meant that you are in mourning.” Rook’s head subtly dipped to the right. “But did you say you saw your sister swimming in the ocean?”
“No. I saw her in the jungle and then at the lagoon where you found me. Why?”
“I had assumed you’d found the lagoon haphazardly. But you are now saying that a dream led you there?”
“I guess.”
Rook’s expression soured, disturbed even.
“What’s wrong?” I added.
He drew a cool breath and those broad shoulders rose. “I find it helpful to know what is going on inside your mind.”
Bull crap. I didn’t believe him, and it was for no other reason than his words didn’t match his unusual reaction.
He glanced at his house. “Let us go inside. Have you ordered anything to eat yet?”
“I’m not hungry. And I think I should call my father to tell him what’s happened.”
Rook’s hand went straight to the back of his neck, rubbing hard. “It can wait an hour. You need to eat.”
I shook my head. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very controlling?”
“I am protective, not controlling. And I have my reasons.” He turned and headed for his house.
I couldn’t argue with him on that count and neither could my low blood sugar.
“I could go for comfort food—toast, soup, cookies,” I spouted off behind him.
He stopped, allowing me to catch up, and smiled, revealing two deep smile lines that made the corners of his stunning eyes crinkle. Strange how I’d never noticed those either. In fact, every time I looked at him, I noticed something different.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you exactly?” I questioned.
“A gentleman never tells.”
“Oh, but you’ll let me see your guests having ravenous S&M sex?”
He shrugged. “Must draw the line somewhere.”