Escape From Paradise (20 page)

Marco nodded, a half-smile on his lips. “I shall work out an arrangement for this evening.”

Colin stood. “Many thanks, Señor Ruiz. Until then I think I’ll retire and paint my view from the balcony.”

Marco stood also, and the men grasped hands. Colin finished his drink and set it down. The last thing he heard as he left the pool was the shout of feminine ecstasy rising up from the hot tub to a background of mariachi music.

As much as the high priced whorehouse gave Colin the creeps, he had to admit the view was inspiring. Señor Acosta had requested a painting that incorporated the sea. Colin stood on the balcony with his paints. So many colors. But too much darkness stirred inside him. His brush went to the blue, dabbing in a bit of red, then black to make a deep navy color.

When his brush hit the canvas his mind swelled, blocking out all thought and letting the movement of the strokes take over. His hand moved with a ferocious speed as anger and sadness coursed down his arm. It was the only time he let his emotions surface. What they created was a dark image of a terrifying sea, its mysterious depths swelling, a wild wind blowing shadowed sea flowers sideways with powerful force.

He dropped his arm and realized the muscles were sore. What time was it? The sun was lowering, preparing to set. He lay down his paint brush and went in the room.

“Fuck me,” he mumbled, running his palm over his barely-there hair. He’d been painting six hours. In the mirror, he caught sight of himself and a smudge of blue across his jawline. He brought the easel and painting inside the room, and then showered, dressing in khakis and a blue button up shirt. He rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the bottom of his tattoos, and left the top three buttons open to stay cool.

A light knock sounded and Colin found the male slave at his door, shoulder length hair tucked behind his ears, wearing only a pair of crisp, black trousers and that damned collar.

The guy openly eyed Colin before clearing his throat. Colin was used to men eyeballing him, so it made no difference.

“Ah, good evening, Señor Douglas. Dinner will soon be served and the Master would greatly enjoy your company.”

The Master. Bloody hell.

“I’ll be there.”

The young man nodded and dropped his eyes, turning to leave.

Dinner was mostly a pleasant affair with small talk about the Spanish economy. Colin tried not to stare as “Masters” around the table fed bites to their slaves. Still no sight of Angela. Colin was beginning to lose hope, and wondering if a whole week at the villa would be a waste of time.

“Mr. Douglas,” Marco suddenly said. “And how did you fare this afternoon?”

Colin set down his fork and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. “Quite productive, actually. Thank you.”

“I’d love to see what you’re working on, unless of course you don’t share works in progress.”

Colin kept a neutral look on his face, knowing full well the bastard had probably already seen his painting on the cameras.

“It still needs a bit of work, but you’re welcome to see it at any step of the process, Señor.”

This seemed to make Marco happy. “Perhaps one of these walls can someday be adorned with a creation of yours.”

“Aye. I would be honored to paint something for your home, Sir.”

The guest who owned the European girl spoke up. “What style of painting do you do, Señor Douglas?”

The conversation steered into artistic territory as Colin explained his use of water color and style of Abstract Expressionism.

“And where did you attend school to learn your craft?” asked the wife he’d seen in the hot tub. Her dark hair, streaked with a few strands of gray, was pinned up and she wore a straight gown with spaghetti straps.

“I was self-taught in my youth, Señora, but I honed my skills at university in Glasgow.” This earned Colin a round of raised eyebrows and impressed sounds.

As soon as the dinner dishes were cleared away, the man beside him broke out a silver box and set to cutting lines of cocaine.

“Anyone interested?” he offered.

The classical music that had been playing softly overhead changed to something modern with a faster tempo and louder volume.

Everyone but Marco partook of the cocaine. Colin did one line. Then he watched as the man wiped his finger across the remnants of powder and brought the fingertips to his slave girl’s nose. She breathed it in and shuddered with bliss.

Colin felt the room going wonky. Sounds were off, getting quieter, then suddenly louder. He felt his heart rate jack up. He was accustomed to this feeling, and he knew one line wasn’t enough to overtake his mind. He basked in the energy ricocheting underneath his skin.

“Se
ñor Douglas,” Marco said in a low voice. Colin looked at him. “I have a surprise for you.”

Shite. Colin hated surprises. Especially the type criminals liked to spring.

Colin braced himself and followed Marco’s stare toward the doorway where a head of light blonde hair was being led into the room, crawling, her shoulders and backside swaying with the movements. Colin held his breath, his heart accelerating, unable to tear his eyes from her as she came to Marco’s side and stopped. She wore a gold and white bikini. Even with her head down, Colin recognized the oval face. The small nose and perfectly shaped lips of Angela Birch.

“This is Angel,” Marco said. He was calling her a different name. Colin made note.

His mind swam with euphoric relief and excitement, but he kept a straight face. She was really fucking here. Marco had kept her hidden, but somehow he’d made enough of an impression to bring her out. He bit back a smile of triumph.

“Señor Douglas.” Marco’s voice was hard. “You look almost as if you recognize the girl.”

Colin tore his eyes away and landed them on Mr. Ruiz. Armed men from around the room stepped closer at the deadly sound of Marco’s voice. Colin’s buzz increased, setting his entire being on edge.

This was a test. Lucky for him, Colin prided himself on acing tests.

“I do recognize her, Señor Ruiz,” Colin said, his voice going husky. “From every fucking wet dream I had as a lad.”

One person at the table began chuckling, and others joined, until finally Marco relaxed and smiled. He snapped his fingers and said, “Time for the dancing.”

The lights dimmed and all of the slaves stood. A Spanish pop song with a rhythmic beat began and Colin felt his high cresting as the bodies began to move. When his gaze found Angela again, he couldn’t look away. She was no longer the soft, happy, innocent girl from the photographs and video. She was a woman now, with haunted eyes, and a sexy fucking body. Acrid guilt spilled through him for thinking it, but he was a man with eyes, after all. And a cocaine high. He wanted to shake the dark thoughts away, but they clung.

Colin barely noticed when Marco inclined his head toward him, sending Angela dancing closer. She turned, moving perfectly with the beat, her gold-thonged arse close to his lap, and God help him. His cock sprung to life, pressing tight against the inside of his trousers from the sensuality overtaking the room.

Ah, fuck. This was the girl whose parents were helplessly searching for her. The girl he’d come to rescue from her captivity. He shouldn’t have had a bloody fucking erection for her. Hot shame flamed inside his chest, but for the life of him he couldn’t look away. He wanted to touch—to see if her skin was as smooth as it appeared, her hair as soft.

Blood whooshed inside his ears and he vaguely heard someone speak. Whatever Marco had said caused Angela to lower herself to her knees in front of Colin with her hands on his thighs, and for the first time their eyes collided. He felt as if hot irons were branding the inside of his flesh—heat spread through him. They both froze momentarily, staring.

Every curse word Colin had ever heard, and some made-up new ones tumbled end over end through his mind. He’d never been as stunned by anything as he was at that moment by the depths of her brown eyes, a well of sorrow and lost hope. And he swore her breath caught as she froze, captured by his gaze as well.

It’s because I’m a westerner
, he thought. That had to be why she was looking at him like that. And he was turned on because he was high. Stupid fucking drugs. That’s all this was.

Then her hand slid up and squeezed his cock through his pants. Colin hissed, scooting lower in his seat.

“Yo cuidaré de ti,” she said in a sweet, seductive voice. He turned the phrase over in his mind, breaking it down until he realized what she’d said.
I will care for you.

He didn’t stop her as she undid his belt and had his erection out in record time. Her small hand circled the base of him, but her fingers and thumb didn’t come close to meeting. Her pink tongue ran up the slit of his head, gathering his precome before her hot mouth surrounded him.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Colin whispered. His head fell back and he slunk lower. Then he raised his head again to watch her.

This was wrong. He should have tried to find a way out of it. She was doing this because she had to, not because she wanted to, and that made Colin want to kick his own self in the balls. But damn it all to hell…for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. And what reason would he give Marco for denying the girl he’d already admitted was his fantasy?

He was doing this to save her. That’s what he’d tell himself. It was the sacrifice they’d both make for her freedom. He watched her, slipping his rough fingers into her hair, which did turn out to be just as soft as it appeared.

She’d been cute in the videos, however he’d never expected to have any desire to fuck her, or fuck her mouth, as it was. But cute wasn’t at all how he’d describe her now. As her head bobbed up and down, perfect suction, tongue teasing his flesh, one hand stroking his base while the other slipped up his shirt to feel his stomach… she looked up at him, fire in her eyes. He felt her nails dig lightly against his abs.

Shite.
He wasn’t going to last long.

He grasped her chin and pushed her head slightly back, holding her mouth open as he grabbed ahold of his slick cock. A low, growl of a grunt came from him as he watched his load shoot into her mouth, spraying her tongue and back of her throat. She stuck out her tongue, catching it all until he was done, then swallowing. The moment he finished she licked the last drop from his tip and went into her kneeling position next to him, her hands on her thighs and head down.

And that’s when reality struck, ugly and foul.

He was in a room full of people, a few of whom were now clapping. For him. Because he’d just received the best blowjob of his life. From a slave. Who he was being paid to rescue.

Colin swallowed, wanting to vomit. He stood and inclined his head toward Marco, who looked rather smug.

“Thank you, Señor. Exactly what I needed, that. I’ll continue working now, if you don’t mind.”

Before Marco could answer, Colin turned and headed for his room.

He should have played it cooler, but he was freaking the fuck out. In his room his hands shook as he frantically opened his paints, looking for one particular color.

Gold.

He propped the canvas against the wall and painted on his knees. Gold rounded the flowers. Gold crested the tips of the wind-whipped waves. Gold flecked the moon.

What had he done? He’d never been so furious with himself, but at the same time, her image was stuck in his mind, spreading its golden softness, and he couldn’t stop his hand.

She was fucking everywhere.