Inhibition-X (7 page)

She peeped out the doors, and sure enough, J.D. was slumped over the small patio table.

Changing course, she went to the linen closet and found a hand towel. She wet the rag with water as cold as the water in the mini-kitchen sink got, snagged a few aspirin from her purse, and headed out to offer J.D. some relief.

“Here.” She held out the wet cloth and pills.

“Thank you. I rather feel like death.” After he’d swallowed the pills he laid his head down on the table. She put the cool damp cloth over the back of his neck

“Yeah, sorry to say, but sweetie, you’re kinda looking like it too. Hope you feel better.” She gently patted his back and headed back in right as her stomach growled. She read the flier they’d been left with that first night. Yep, breakfast would be served in the dining hut in thirty minutes.

J.D. gimped in, inquiring about food himself. She gave a brief rundown of the decadent menu, which included pecan pancakes, pineapple fruit boats, and omelets cooked any which way you could want them.

The door to the guys’ room was shut, and since their room was empty, she assumed P.J. was talking things out with Morgan.

Finally.

“Looks like it might just be the two of us for breakfast this morning.” Personally, she was starving.

“Need some cool and quiet before I can go anywhere,” J.D. mouthed more than said.

“Well, you got thirty minutes to get your shit, or head as your case may be, together. I’m hungry and don’t want to head down alone.”

“Fine. Give me twenty minutes to take a cool shower. Need to get everything to stop moving in separate directions.”

“Gotcha.” With all her roommates occupied and twenty-five minutes still to breakfast, now seemed like good chance to check if her sexting partner had ever returned her last message.

She heard the sounds of doors shutting. Maybe P.J. and Morgan’s talk hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped it would. Peeping around the corner, she saw the guys’ door wide open, so where in the hell—oh.

A faint, though audible, rattling, then rhythmic squeaking, began. Chains moving, like those of a swing on a playground. Ha! Their talk had gone well after all. Well thank God someone was going to get to make use of that awesome bed. Butterflies in your stomach on top of butterflies? She could be jealous, but she wasn’t. She was thrilled her two knuckleheaded friends at least seemed to have finally opened up to each other.

Padding back into her room, she shut the door, grabbed her phone, and plunked cross-legged on the bed. Nope. No messages. She debated sending another, but the last one had been from her, and she didn’t want to sound needy. She’d wait for him to reply, even if waiting drove her mad.

She prayed all her “have to go” messages hadn’t made him want to “go” elsewhere.

Then again, what they shared wasn’t a real relationship.

Right?

Chapter Twelve

Two days passed without any text from Erix. Not one polite message,
Hey I’m busy
or
Something’s come up will text soon.
Not a damn word. At this point, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to hear from him again. As soon as she’d think such a thing, another part of her would worry he’d been hurt or killed.

She’d come to take the nightly ritual for granted. Latching on to the comfort of knowing she had something to come home to so much so, she’d stopped looking for the “someone” to come home to.

Yeah, when she got home she needed to do some serious thinking. About everything, but mainly about how her life seemed to have stalled.

“We’re off. Sure you don’t want to join us?” P.J. asked as she and Morgan geared up for a midnight swim at the falls she’d told them about. Though she’d been invited, the two needed their privacy—especially for a midnight swim, which would no doubt turn into far more.

“Positive. You two go, uh, enjoy your swim.”

“Well, I’m hoping the lagoon is still visitor-free. With the newcomers who arrived today, the island is a little crowded,” P.J. noted.

“I noticed. Twice as many at lunchtime, and have you caught the noises coming from the huts damn near twenty-four hours a day?” There’d been one newcomer who’d caught her attention. Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place what struck her as so. She’d been unable to catch sight of his face, but she’d not missed the bared, sweat-covered abs. He wore the longer-style surf shorts, and when he’d yanked his tee off to wipe up the sweat, hello, come to momma. Normally the sight of sandy sweat would have turned her off, but his moves drew her attention to the beads that disappeared beneath his low-hung shorts. When she tried to glance at his face, she found his head hidden behind the palm fronds. She did make out one feature that would help her identify him again, should their paths cross.

He sported a brand-new tattoo. The redness and swelling gave that much away. The tat was a unique-looking Asian phrase that ran the expanse of his back. She’d love to know the meaning behind it.

“Yeah, whole lotta happy going on,” Morgan quipped, grinning from ear to ear and snapping her back to the present.

“Word,” P.J. agreed with a special glint in her eye.

Ever since their morning run-in, they’d been inseparable. So much so, Heather’d not been able to get the rundown of what had gone down. P.J. was staying in the room with Morgan, J.D. slept on the pull-out sofa, and she stayed in her room with a silent cell phone.

Lying there watching the blades of the ceiling fan whirl around in the moonlight should have made her drowsy, but instead she was itchy to do something. She sure as hell wasn’t going to interrupt P.J. and Morgan, and J.D. hadn’t even come back from dinner. He’d found a redhead looking for company, and they probably wouldn’t see him again until time to head home in three days.

A walk. She’d go on a nice quiet stroll.

She slipped on a pair of shorts and flip-flops and headed out. Anywhere else and she might have been hesitant to wander around alone, but here on the island, fear had been replaced with curiosity and the sense of security.

Along the way, she made out the distinct sounds of couples in the throes of passion. Some were in the many lagoons found about, some in the lush tropical foliage, and a few making out right on the path as they stumbled toward the closest “theme” hut.

At the end of one particularly secluded path, one where she hadn’t run into any other visitors, a small bench sat by reflecting pond. Peering down into the water, she caught slight movements of orange tails and realized Chinese carp swam about. Though a larger hut stood in front, the path ended. Unlike the other quarters about the island, this one seemed different. Far more private with nothing else around, short of the fishpond. This one screamed private.

Since the place stood dark and quiet, she assumed the building was vacant, and settled on a bench to enjoy the serene night and exotic island sounds. All too soon their trip would be over, and she wanted to remember everything about this enchanting island.

When a light popped on in the hut, she scooted to the side of the bench farthest from the tiki torch and hoped the shadows would conceal her presence should anyone come out. The window shade was up, or nearly up, as a man’s naked torso came into view. She recognized the tattoo immediately. The mystery newcomer she’d spotted arriving. The tattoo had healed nicely, as the skin no longer appeared red or puffy.

Uh yes please, more, and turn the hell around.

As if he’d heard her, the man turned around. Her gaze dropped down, one ripped muscle at a time, until…

Yowza.

Full frontal access. Yep. Even from the distance separating them, she easily made out the man had been blessed in the penis department. He had both width and length. Still, his face remained obscured as he stood tall enough that the window covering blocked her view from the shoulders up.

Damn. Maybe the dude was butt ugly and imagining the God hidden in the hut was better than truly knowing. She didn’t need another long-distance or mystery someone. She wanted the real McCoy. A man to touch, smell, and ride like she was a rodeo queen.

Someone to curl up with on rainy day and zone out with to old black-and-white movies. A soul mate to share her dreams with and someone to lean on when life got touchy.

Almost as important, a man who could make her laugh over the many “spills” life threw her way.

For now she’d have to be content with fantasy, and she didn’t need to see Mr. Sexy’s face for dreaming. Her lids drifted shut as she imagined how those muscles of his would come in handy for lifting. She peeped toward the body in the window.

Yeah, her ass against the wall…her body in his arms. Her skin tingled in anticipation of her thoughts. Oh and stamina, yeah, she bet he had lots of stamina and would go all… The man left the window, and when the small porch light came she freaked and took off. As she fled, a root in the path caught her foot and brought her down.

Hard. She wore dirt, she smelled dirt, she ate—dirt. Her fingers clawed into the earthen ground in her haste to get her ass up and moving.

Scrambling to make sure she remained out of sight in the event the porch light proved a sign the Mr. Sexy occupant was about to step out, she hobbled herself back up and limped fast as possible down the path. She didn’t even stop to grab her flip-flop, which had flown off when she’d fallen. Nope. Time to get her ass back to safety. She didn’t pause until she whizzed through the door, gasping for breath and ready to explain to her roomies where’d she been.

And lie about what she’d been up to.

Chapter Thirteen

As had become standard on this trip, she’d walked in and found herself alone. No need to explain anything to anyone.

Joy.

Her shins showed the brutality of her fall. Though the island’s ground for the most part was soft, a rock or root had managed to scrape the skin on both knees. Shower time.

She tossed her clothes in the area the maids knew to pick up for washing. Twenty minutes later she reached for a towel.

“Are you shitting me?” she squeaked, realizing the rack was empty. She’d made sure her clothes ended up in the right hamper for washing with housekeeping. Checking to make sure her deadbeat roommates hadn’t used all the towels had never crossed her mind. Hell, they were rarely ever around.

Images of P.J.’s two-towel-a-day habit, one for hair and one for body, floated back.

“Damn you, P.J.,” she sputtered to the empty hut.

Cracking the bathroom door open, she peeped into the bedroom. She’d left the door open, but silence reigned, and her pajamas sat on the foot of the bed. One quick dash. Hell, they were all like family anyway.

One-two-three.

She bolted for her clothes. The moment she passed the opened doorway, she saw them. Her roommates. All of them.

Brakes be damned, her heels dug, then flipped right out from under her. She plopped naked, on her ass like a baby deer testing its legs the first time, straight in front of her roommates. Like family. Yep, they howled with laughter as she slipped and slid her way on her bum to her nightclothes.

Mortified much?

P.J. shut the door on the guys’ laughter, appeared to fight her own snorts, and sprawled across her unused bed.

“Sorry, but if you’d seen your face. Priceless, girlfriend.” P.J. glowed, her newfound happiness at finally being with Morgan evident in her expression.

“If I owned the ability to zap myself home and not face anyone else right now, I would,” Heather admitted while heat bloomed in her cheeks.

“Oh please. We’re family. Not like shit’s never happened where we found the other in embarrassing situations before,” P.J. reminded her.

Oh yeah. True.

The memory of waking to Morgan, drunk, peeing in her closet when they’d all roomed together came back, as did the awkward flashback of J.D. during Mardi Gras 2010. They’d all pooled their money to bail him out after he and some other drunken partygoer had fought over the same strand of rainbow-colored beads. You would have thought the tiny round balls were made of diamonds instead of plastic with the way the men went into an all out street brawl. In the end, the truth came out—they were both vying for the necklace for the topless chick behind them.

Ah, fun times—not.

Dressed, she snuggled down under the bed’s soft, thin coverlet. Crisp, clean linen always lulled her into sleep.

“You’re right. They have done plenty of stupid shit.”

“Yep. You and I could do a stupid something every day of the week and still never catch up to their level of stupid stunts. Okay, I’m heading back to Morgan. I’ll catch ya in the morning.”

“Speaking of Morgan, when we get back and things settle, I want you to spill the deets.”

“You sure you want to hear all of them?” P.J.’s wicked smile told her no.

“Go.” She swatted P.J. on the ass as she moved to leave.

Seeing her friends so happy made the trip, even the loss of her texting buddy, all worthwhile.

Speaking of. She grabbed her cell off the nightstand, unplugged the cord, and powered up. Nope. No new messages.

Whatever.

A punch to the feather pillow, and she lay down, sinking into the bliss of the extra-soft bed the island featured.

* * * *

The bell to their hut jingled, signaling Khara or the Marquis most likely stood outside. There’d been no further encounters with the Marquis, though he’d not in any way avoided her. Quite to the contrary, he’d eaten an evening meal with her once he’d made his rounds of the room inquiring to the guests’ happiness with their visits. He’d even invited her to lunch with him, but with the sudden absence of Erix, she wasn’t up to any spring-break antics. She was content to bask in the happiness of her friends and daydream about the stud in the hidden hut.

She glanced at her watch—nearly noon. Hell’s bells, she’d almost slept the entire day away.

Footsteps bounded toward the door and she recognized the steps as J.D.’s. Grabbing a robe off the bottom of the bed, where she’d left it after her evening streak, she joined the others at the door.