Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) (3 page)

“Something sexual?”

“Yes.”

“Do I get to know what it will be?”

“No, these will be surprises for you. But you have to agree to accept these gifts with an open heart. Each day I’ll give you something. I will spend time with you as I can—”

“When you’re not fighting with people.”

“Exactly. And in the evening, we will indulge ourselves.”

“Okay.”

He laughed that warm, open laugh of his. Like gold and sunshine. “No other questions or terms?”

“Nope.” She grinned at him over the rim of her margarita. “Sign me up. Twelve Days of Sexy Vacation Christmas.”

“You’d make a terrible lawyer.”

“Maybe.” She slid her thigh against his under the narrow table. “But I can sell you anything—and I know a good deal when I see it. Sometimes endless negotiating gets old, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” He put a hand on her bare knee and she warmed, heating with a delightful flutter. “I like it much better when I have things my way.”

“Mmm. Do you plan to have me your way, also?”

“I do.” His fingers slid higher, caressing the soft skin of her inner thigh. “In every way.”

“Maybe we should get started tonight after all.” She held her breath, hoping he’d go higher. Instead he smiled, tantalizing, and took his touch away. She frowned at him and he shook a finger at her.

“The game has begun, Roo, and along with it, the anticipation. Your only responsibility is to receive.”

“Maybe I should have negotiated more.” She pretended to pout. The waiter set down a platter of the most decadent nachos she’d ever laid eyes on. “Wow.”

“See? All good things come to those who wait. Enjoy yourself.”

This would be good for her. No-strings-attached sex. None of the usual getting-to-know-each-other dinners and laborious conversations over meeting families or blending friend-groups. Just sun and kinky fun. She scooped up a chip piled with fresh lobster and dripping with cheese, then winked at him. “I intend to.”

December 25
Christmas Day
A Partridge in a Pear Tree

She awoke the next day feeling literally like a kid on Christmas morning.

Sunshine poured in her open balcony doors and the ocean gleamed that perfect Caribbean blue outside. A gecko basked on the white railing and the scarlet ruffled blooms of some flowering vine spilled over it in perfect contrast.

Tilda pulled on her short silk robe and strolled out to lean on the rail. People were already finding their way to the beach below, while cabana boys set up umbrellas in Oro’s trademark gold.

Christmas morning, indeed!

A discreet knock on her door followed by a soft “Room service?” brought her back inside. A cute young man politely averted his eyes and wheeled in a silver cart.

“Breakfast, Señora Campbell. Where shall I set it up?”

“Can I have it out on the balcony?”

“Whatever you wish.”

“Then I wish!”

After a few efficient moments, he’d set up breakfast and disappeared. Tilda poured herself coffee from the pitcher—with real cream and extra sugar—and chose a chocolate croissant from the pastry plate. A square vanilla envelope sat on the tray and she propped it up against the little vase holding a spray of jasmine, enjoying the anticipation.

Today would be a partridge in a pear tree—even she remembered enough of the song to know that much. How that could possibly be made sexy, she didn’t know. But Miguel seemed like a creative guy, in a lawyerly, controlling way. He’d no doubt thought of something interesting.

Another knock at her door, with a young woman outside this time. She simply smiled, showing perfect pearly teeth, and held out her hands while she bowed. Tilda took the gold-foil-wrapped box with a giant ribbon from the woman’s upturned palms and fumbled in her robe pocket for a tip. She hadn’t been ready for the room service kid and there hadn’t been a ticket with the tray.

But the young woman waved her hands, smiled, bowed, smiled again and trotted off, softly singing “Angels We Have Heard on High.”

Tilda took the box back to her sunny balcony and set it next to the note. The gold wrapping sparkled, the glittery bow scattering prism shards. There was something about a beautifully wrapped gift that added a special glow. It didn’t matter what was inside—just this much pleased her. She still had the present she’d brought for Greg buried in her suitcase. All the time she’d spent selecting it, imagining them drinking midnight champagne on the balcony of their suite, seeing in Christmas Day with a romantic exchange of gifts. She should have spent more care selecting the guy.

“This is better,” she told herself out loud. And opened the envelope.

Merry Christmas Roo
,

I
have sent you a little partridge for your pear tree.
You are to wear it all day.
I
shall visit you as I can and we’ll see if we can’t shiver your leaves.

Miguel

Okay then. She opened the box, taking all the time she liked to make sure the paper didn’t tear, savoring her one Christmas present. Maybe she’d make a little scrapbook when she got back home, of the notes and hints of what went with them. A private souvenir album.

The box itself was embossed with the logo of the hotel gift shop. Handy. The resort might be bustling, but she doubted the shops in town would be. Inside, on a bed of pale blue sat a gleaming silver bullet-shaped vibrator.

For her pear tree indeed.

She finished her coffee, reading the instructions that came with the vibrator. Not that it was all that involved—insert vaginally and off you go. The remote control that came with it was conspicuously missing. The thought of it in Miguel’s pocket, out there somewhere, sent a thrill through her. So much so that, when she went into the bathroom to insert it, she was plenty wet enough for it to slide right in.

It rested inside her, the size and weight stimulating all on their own. She smiled at herself in the mirror and tousled her brownish-blond curls. For once she looked kind of sexy and mysterious, with that pleased little smile.
Fa la la la LA.

She dressed in her new one-piece bathing suit with the matching cover-up, loaded up her tote bag and headed down to the beach. As she walked, the heavy bullet rocked inside her, a gentle heat under her simmering excitement. She kept her eyes peeled for Miguel, but saw him nowhere.

A cabana boy happily set her up in a prime spot, with an unobstructed view of the ocean. She sank into the lounge chair, feeling sensual with the sun’s heat and her secret. The young man offered to bring her a drink and she decided what the hell. She might as well plan to spend the day in this chair, reading and napping.

Waiting for her new lover.

From time to time she forgot about her invisible companion, until she shifted position and sensations swamped her anew, just from the weight inside her. The mild buzz from the piña coladas and the sexy beach-read on her reader only added to her heightened state, until she started seriously contemplating returning to her room to get herself off.

Of course, she hadn’t brought any of her own vibrators, since Greg wasn’t into that, but the old-fashioned method worked fine.

She’d about decided to do that, when the cabana boy appeared with a tray. “Your lunch, Señora.”

Bemused, she cleared off the little table between the two lounge chairs and he set the tray there, whisking off the dome with a flourish.

“Poached pears?” she asked.

“Simmered in brandy sauce. Also smoked partridge, along with a variety of soft cheeses. I’m to bring you something else, if you’re not pleased.”

“No, I’m plenty pleased.”

He’d brought a bottle of oaky chardonnay with the meal, spiking the metal ice bucket container into the sand under the shade of her umbrella. She’d taken a taste of the pears when Miguel poked his head around the cabana shade.

“May I join you?”

“Of course,” she gestured at the tray, feeling both shy and excited at once.

His gaze traveled along her body, taking her in. “You look most lovely—but that suit covers up too much skin.”

“I’ve seen what some of these girls aren’t wearing. I couldn’t do that.”

He smiled and sat sideways on the twin lounge chair. “Yes, you will.”

“I will?”

“If I tell you to.”

The thought electrified her and she held herself still instead of scissoring her thighs together. In a white linen suit and a light peach shirt, he looked more exotic today. Like he might be found smoking Cuban cigars in a sidewalk café.

“Unless you’ve had second thoughts?” His eyes drifted down to the vee of her thighs, as if he could see through her.

“No.” Sweat ran down between her breasts. “Thank you for the gift. Merry Christmas to you.”

With a sly twist of his lips, he pulled a slim silver remote from his pocket. “And is your pear tree nice and ripe, lovely Roo?”

She blushed and didn’t answer. She couldn’t take her eyes from the remote, watching his thumb pass back and forth over the button.

“Are you feeling shy around me?”

“A little. I barely know you and we haven’t even kissed.”

“It makes it more exciting, doesn’t it? A reversal of the usual thing.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Stretch your arms up over your head and grasp the top bar there.”

In a haze of surging desire, she did.

“Let’s take this for a little test drive.” Without taking his eyes off her, he pressed the button. The bullet inside her bounced into vivid life, rocketing her nearly to the edge. She felt her eyes roll back in her head. Trying to be discreet, she tried to hold back the response, but the increasing vibrations soon tore down her restraint. Wantonly, she rolled her hips, close to orgasm in front of her rapt audience.

As abruptly as it started, it stopped.

She panted a little, letting go of the tension, reluctant to open her eyes.

“That was very nice. Next time will be even better.”

She did open her eyes then, and frowned into his pleasantly relaxed smile.

“Next time.”

“Yes, unfortunately.” He glanced at his watch and pocketed the remote. “I’m afraid we took only a short break.”

“It’s Christmas.”

He shook his head, looked much less pleased. “It is also Wednesday. My opponents do not observe this holiday and they are most insistent on resolving our dispute quickly. This diversion was most rejuvenating, however.”

“I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it.”

He laughed and stood. “Enjoy your lunch. I’ll stop by again. Do you plan to be here all afternoon?”

“Unless I go up to my room for a nap.”

“You can nap here—it’s very pleasant.”

“Well, I was thinking about...” Her eyes fell to his pocket.

“No, no, Roo. That is not allowed.”

“It’s not?” She didn’t know how she felt about that. How could he stop her?

“Correct. For our twelve days, you come only when I say you can.”

“That’s awfully controlling.”

“Yes.” He grinned. “And fun.”

“For you,” she grumbled.

“Fft.” Miguel bit his lower lip over the scoffing sound. “No whining or I’ll give you something to whine about.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that a threat?”

“Don’t tempt me. Since I can’t paddle the collective behinds of my illustrious opponents, I might take it out on yours.”

“You wouldn’t!”

He smiled, feral and sly. “It’s my twelve days of presents, too.”

* * *

She stewed all afternoon—in wine, the sun, her ongoing arousal, and Miguel’s taunting words. He visited her twice more, but only briefly, driving her blind with the little toy and reluctantly leaving for further meetings. She napped in between and woke feeling crazy relaxed, considering her physical state.

When the sun began setting, sinking fast this close to the equator, she wandered back through the quiet pool area with its glamorous fountains. Some people lolled about, sipping cocktails and watching the sunset. A woman stroked steady laps through the glassy water. With the resort child-free, the atmosphere waxed tranquil and languid.

Back in her room, Tilda found another bottle of the same excellent chardonnay waiting in an ice bucket and a note beside it.

My Deepest Apologies
,
Roo
,

I
have been called away overnight by this case.
Have a lovely relaxing evening.
I’ll be back tomorrow and you’ll need your strength.
Remember the rules.

Miguel

P.S.
I’m keeping the remote.

December 26
Boxing Day
Two Turtle Doves

She did have a lovely evening.

It didn’t hurt to have some alone time. Not that she hadn’t been more or less alone all day, but now she could relax and think. She removed the little bullet, put it away, then took a long bath in the sunken tub, with candles and a glass of wine.

Then she put on her not-cute jammies, glad she’d brought them even though Greg thought they were ugly—who doesn’t like purple unicorns and rainbows?—and ordered room service. Lunch had been quite light for all that it was fancy, so she ordered a rare cheeseburger with the works, plus French fries. And a chocolate malt milkshake. She stuffed herself while watching a romantic comedy on pay-per-view.

In the morning, room service’s discreet knock awakened her. The same young man set up her breakfast on the balcony with so much finesse he seemed to never even see her purple unicorns. The morning sun felt too warm already for the heavy cotton, so she put on her silk robe instead, ready to be Caribbean glam again.

Two Dove chocolate candies sat on her tray—a nice little homage to the two turtle doves of the day. Still full from the fat-fest of the night before, she stuck to fruit and opened her card right away. Right after coffee, that was.

Happy Boxing Day
,
Roo
,

This is not a gift from the neighbors
,
but rather for the neighbors.
I
want you to wear it all day
,
at the pool
,
not hiding in a beach cabana.
Wear only what’s in the box—nothing more.
I’ll know if you disobey and I’ll likely be itching to punish somebody by the end of the day.

Recall that the second day of Christmas calls for gifts from day one and day two
,
so be sure to wear the partridge in your pear tree
,
too.

I’ll be back in time for High Tea.
Looking forward to inventive uses for clotted cream and jam.

Miguel

Right on cue, someone knocked on the door. Her present-deliverer handed her a large dress box, this time wrapped in paper like a British flag. Very funny. She set it on the bed to unwrap it, keeping a piece of the flag paper to tuck in with her souvenir kit.

Inside lay the tiniest bikini she’d ever seen. The beaded gold pattern did seem reminiscent of feathers, but wow—it wouldn’t cover much. Nor would the matching open-weave beaded “cover-up.” The only other apparel in the box were a pair of very high heels—also in gold—strappy, studded with matching beads.

A little sorry she’d pigged out so egregiously the night before, she went to try the damn thing on. Her tummy bulged some, but if she sucked it in, it wasn’t too bad. All those hours at the gym paid off. The suit fit nicely and complimented her skin and hair, but...well, it was nothing she’d ever have picked out for herself. It seemed so blatantly sexy. Especially since her breasts were fairly large for her frame—the little top barely covered the essentials.

Which was what she’d signed up for right?

The previous day on the beach had given a bit of color to her winter white, but if Miguel wanted her to hang by the pool, she’d better score another cabana or she’d be a crispy critter by tea time.

Since the suit seemed to call for it, she did her hair and makeup, adding matching jewelry. The silver bullet went in last, her body instantly warming at the feel of it.

When she reached the pool deck, a cabana boy who’d clearly been on the lookout for her escorted her to a lovely cabana with an amazing view. Nice to know the owner, apparently. The cabana boy also promised to bring her anything she needed.

She couldn’t imagine what that would be, since the cabana was like an open-sided cottage, with misters, a basket of snacks, bottled water—even a television set. Happily she settled in to read, trying to ignore the men who strolled by, on their way to nowhere and back again, taking a good look at her.

The day flew by. What time was High Tea, anyway? Mid-afternoonish, she thought. Sure enough, around 3:30, she spotted Miguel walking down the white steps from one of the upper decks. He was calling out hellos to some of the staff—and guests—wearing a dapper panama fedora that matched his cream linen suit. He looked like Javier Bardem, with all the movie star charisma that entailed.

When he spotted her, he grinned, looking far more relaxed today. “Good afternoon, my lovely Roo. Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, thanks. Quite the fancy digs, but you didn’t have to.”

“If I can’t indulge, at least you should be able to.” He held out a hand. “Let’s take a little walk. You don’t need that,” he added, when she reached for the cover-up.

She made a face, but went along, letting him tuck her hand in the crook of his arm and strolling with him along the balustrade overlooking the sea. In the stiletto heels, she matched his height, but she felt like an exotic pet walking beside him in the bikini that was more jewelry than fabric.

“You look gorgeous,” he told her, as if confiding a secret. “Why so self-conscious?”

“I’m not a show-offy kind of person, I guess. You know—and you always worry how your ass looks.”

He stepped away, raising her hand above her head and encouraging her to turn a slow circle. His gaze on her body felt as hot as the molten sunshine. “Your ass looks most enticing. It gives me all sorts of ideas.”

Spanking? She bit her lip and he chuckled.

“I was thinking more of this.” The silver bullet throbbed into life and she gasped, digging her nails into his arm. He pulled her close, steadying her and nuzzling her temple. “Shall I make you come here, with all these people watching?”

“Please don’t,” she whispered, then shuddered when he turned up the vibration. He rubbed his hand up and down her naked back, gliding through the hot oil of her sunscreen.

“I like hearing you beg me,” he said against her cheek. “If you promise to do more of that later, I’ll let you off the hook now.”

“I don’t know what I’d beg for then,” she replied breathlessly.

“Leave that to me.”

The speed increased and she clenched her thighs together to ward off the incipient orgasm. “Okay, yes, I’ll beg later!”

His teeth tugged at her ear lobe. “Good girl.”

He thumbed off the remote and she sagged against him in relief, then felt a little bad about getting oil on his pricey suit. When she tried to pull back, though, he held her there. “You smell like coconuts, sunshine and hot woman. I’d love to bend you over this railing and fuck you right here until you scream with pleasure.”

Her heart thudded. “That might not be great for the resort’s reputation.”

“True.” He released her, gaze raking down her bosom, intense enough that she wondered if the suit had slipped and she was inadvertently showing a nipple. “And we have tea to indulge in. Unless you would like to spend more time by the pool?”

“Tea sounds great—though hot.”

He chuckled, escorted her to the cabana and waited while she gathered her things. “You don’t have to drink actual tea, unless you want to.”

“That sounds even better. What should I wear?”

“You’re wearing it, Roo.” His hand slid down her back under the loose weave of the cover-up and he guided her up the steps. “And, if I have my way, you won’t be wearing that for long.”

* * *

“Tea” turned out to be an intimate table on the deck of his penthouse suite. Not his, he explained. The owner’s suite. The family used it when in town—or loaned it out to special guests. The spectacular panorama of sun and sea was embraced by the open-air abode, with walls made of glass or folding shutters.

They sat at a table under a gold umbrella next to his private pool, catching the breezes. Tilda went for the icy champagne offered by the waiter and surveyed the array of bite-sized sandwiches, scones, cookies and tempting bites like melted cheese on toast with both hunger and alarm. A silver bowl mounded with clotted cream sat near the scones and she recalled Miguel’s note, her already drenched sex reacting. Looking up, she found he was watching her with hot eyes, lips twisted in a half-smile of anticipation as he followed her train of thought.

She filled her plate while he dismissed the server, clapping the young man on the shoulder and telling him they’d ring if they needed him. Miguel returned to her, setting his hands on her shoulders under the ends of her hair, thumbs tangling with the tie of her bikini top.

“I think you should take this off.”

She shivered under the sensual caress. “I’m already wearing a lot less than you are.”

“Are you saying no? Recall that there are consequences for refusing.”

Her nipples hardened. “No. I mean—take it off.”

His fingers worked the tie, brushing her skin, sending flickers of increasing arousal through her. The top loosened, then dropped away, exposing her breasts.

“Lean forward,” he murmured and untied the rest when she did. He tossed the top aside and he returned to his seat across from her, taking in her naked glory. “In Spain, all women go topless at the beach. It’s a pity North America is so stuffy about it.”

She fiddled with her champagne glass, feeling odd to be wearing nothing but her skimpy bikini bottom.

“Not hungry?”

She shrugged, then regretted it when the movement made her bare breasts bounce. “Just a little self-conscious, I guess.”

“Is that so? Come here then, pretty Roo.”

He scooted his chair back and patted his lap. She hesitated and his eyes fired with a bright light. “Disobeying? You know I’m looking for an excuse to spank your pretty ass. Maybe that’s what you need to relax around me.”

“I don’t think I want to be spanked at all,” she blurted.

“No? But you’re still playing by my rules, so come sit on my lap or I will turn you over my knee. Bring your glass.”

She stood and walked around the table, excruciatingly conscious of how the high heels made her breasts sway with her hips. He watched her avidly, seating her on his knee, then took one breast in his hand, weighing it while he studied her face.

“These games are new to you, I think, though you agreed so readily.”

Unable to look away, she nodded.

“Do you want out? Is it too intense for you?”

“No.” His thumb passed over her nipple and she squirmed. She wasn’t a woman accustomed to taking orders—though she didn’t want him to know that—and the experience left her feeling out of her depth at times. “I just don’t always know how...to respond.”

“Honestly. However you feel is how you feel. Do you like what we’ve done so far?”

“Yes.” The word rolled into a hiss when he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“But?”

“But I sometimes wonder what I’m doing. We haven’t even kissed yet.”

“I’m saving that.”

“For what?”

“For when I’m buried inside you and you’re coming apart.”

“Oh.”

“As for what we’re doing—it’s all for the fun of it. And I think you are having fun. Let’s check.” He trailed his hand down her midline and toyed with the edge of her bikini bottom. “Spread those American thighs for me.”

Feeling as if she might be drifting outside her body, she complied, and his elegant, manicured fingers slid between her swollen labia, making her catch her breath.

“So hot. So wet.” He crooned the words, stroking her clit with gentle insistence. “Perhaps you are not used to being denied. You should come now, so you won’t be so tense.”

“I’m not tense,” she protested, then groaned, her body tightening.

“You won’t be,” he promised, his accent thicker than ever. “Hold your breasts for me, squeeze them so the nipples pop up. Good girl. This time you may come for me.”

With his hand working relentlessly between her thighs, she did as he said, moaning when he spooned a dollop of clotted cream on each thrusting nipple. Then he fished the remote out of his pocket and held it for her to see—and pushed it to high, tossing it aside as she convulsed. He held her tight, fastening his mouth on one nipple and sucking hard, pushing her clit into spasms while the vibrator inside convulsed against her vaginal walls.

The climax ripped out of her and she dropped her head back, screaming her release. She writhed on his lap like a mad thing, pressing into his hand and mouth, letting him wring every drop of pleasure from her.

When she regained the power of thought, the sunset shone warm on her face. He’d turned off the bullet, but still had one hand stroking between her wet thighs. The other arm, under her shoulders, held her breasts up to his mouth while he laved and nipped first one and then the other.

She shuddered and he raised his head smiling at her. “I love clotted cream.”

“I think I do, too,” she managed to say.

He continued to stroke her, dipping clever fingers just inside her vulva lips to gather the seeping moisture and then spread it over her labia and clit, cupping her whole sex in his hand while he watched her face. She rode the rhythm, bottom perched on his knee, hips rocking as she climbed toward orgasm again.

“Don’t come this time,” he warned.

“But—”

“Shh. Relax. I’m only learning you.” With different speeds and pressures, he did, watching her face all the time. Now he circled her clit, then pressed down, then pinched it. She tried to relax, but the pressure built with distressing force.

“Miguel,” she whimpered.

“What is it, Roo?”

“I’m going to come.”

“But you mustn’t,” he teased, and pressed down on her clit, in the way he’d already discovered particularly wound her up. She tried to push his hand away but he held tight, his grip a clamp over her pubis. “You have a choice to make.”

“What?” she pleaded.

“Either you disobey and give in to the orgasm, in which case I’ll spank you afterward. Or...”

“Or?” She panted, totally strung out, both hands wrapped around his strong wrist. He had a finger inside her now, pushing against the bullet inside her, while the heel of his hand pressed on her clit. “Or?” She nearly screamed it.

“You take a stroll topless on the beach with me tomorrow evening.”