What She Needs (41 page)

“No. This is, in fact, the first time.”

She found herself casting him a look of doubt, teasing—yet wanting to protect herself again.

“I tell no lie, pretty lady,” he said. “My band has played here only a few weeks. We work in Miami, mostly. But this place pays well, so I find myself back on an island for a month—then we’ll see what happens.”

Hmm—so maybe he really
was
just as respectful as she’d thought. She couldn’t help wanting to know more about someone so different from her. “Tell me about your life, Andre. Are you . . . married or anything?”

He gave his head a quick shake. “No, I’m not the sort of man to cheat. I
once
had a wife, but . . . she didn’t feel the same way.”

“I’m sorry,” Jenna told him, sincerely.

Yet he only shrugged. “I married too young. It was after leaving her that I left Jamaica, too.”

“And have you been happy since then?”

Another shrug. “The world is a big place and it’s good to see much of it. Broadens the mind. But I miss home sometimes. I visit, but it’s not the same as living there.”

“Will you
ever
go home?”

He gazed at the moon shining down on the water. “Could be. I think of myself like a palm frond in the wind—I go where the sea breeze blows me. Right now it’s blown me here, to this beach, with a pretty woman named Jenna. So right now, I’m happy to be exactly where I am.” And with that, he gently slipped his hand into hers.

And she let him.

“What about you, Jenna? Married? Single? Someplace in between?”

“Very single,” she assured him.

“And adventurous.”

It was a statement, not a question, and at first she wondered why he assumed that—but then she realized, and the warmth of a blush blossomed in her cheeks. “Oh, you mean because I’m here, at the Hotel Erotique.”

She could see he was instantly sorry to have made her uncomfortable. “It’s not my business—don’t be embarrassed. I’m a great fan of freedom, and I admire the freedom I see in people here.”

“But . . . I’m
not
like other people here, and despite what I might wish, not all that free.” It felt important to make him understand she wasn’t the average Hotel Erotique guest, although she kept the explanation simple. “I won the trip—without really understanding what it was about.”

Andre turned toward her as they strolled, his eyes going wide. “A big mistake.”

“You can say that again,” she muttered, adding, “but I came anyway.”

“And are you glad?”

“I’m . . . undecided about that right now,” she admitted in complete honesty.

“Oh?”

And maybe she
was
a little freer than she thought, since right here, in this place and time, with this handsome Jamaican man on an island somewhere in the Caribbean, she saw no reason not to
keep
being honest. “I discovered that . . . it’s easy to get caught up in the mood of this place, easy to become someone you’re not. I’m not sure . . . who I’ll be now, when I go back home.”

“The way I see it,” he said, “is that wherever you go, you’re still you. Some places allow a person to . . . find new parts of themselves. Yet . . .
new
is not the right way to say it—no—because I believe all the parts were already there. So I should say that some places allow a person to . . .
release
parts of themselves.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, that’s better.”

Jenna was unsure if she agreed. “So you’re saying a place can’t change you?”

“Like I said, seeing new places expands the mind. It can only open you up, help you see some of yourself you maybe didn’t see before—but I don’t believe it can change you. Whatever you are, you are. People are complex, pretty lady—no? I think you’re complex, too.”

Hmm. “Maybe . . . more than I thought,” she confessed. “But I’m still not sure I’m happy about it.”

He smiled at her. “Ah, that is not wise. Celebrate what you are.” He gave her a solid once-over. “I see a lovely lady who turns sad, and I’m sorry if I made you that way.”

Jenna shook her head, quick to absolve him. “Oh, no, it’s not you. It’s something else. And I’m more than happy to walk on the beach and try to think of other things.”

“And
I
am happy to give you something else to think of.” He still held her hand, so when he stopped walking, she did, too. Then he took her other hand in his, his eyes sensual and suggestive in the moonlight—after which he leaned in to gently kiss her.

The kiss left her stunned at first—she’d never kissed a black man before, and she found the experience powerful, different, deep. Because it was new to her? Or was it simply the way Andre kissed?

She kissed him back, and soon he lifted one hand to her face. His mouth was firm yet tender, and she sensed confidence there, knew he was a man with experience seducing women. It felt easy to drift from one kiss into another . . . until he sank smoothly to his knees in the sand, pulling her down with him.

He’d just begun to kiss her again when she understood . . . oh God, she was entranced by the differences between them, by the exotic romance of making out with a Jamaican calypso singer, and she was charmed by his thoughtful personality—but she wasn’t . . . aroused. She wasn’t
driven
to kiss him.

In fact, it felt wrong. Because he wasn’t Brent. And he wasn’t in a fantasy that Brent was watching or had even created. And only sensual acts sanctioned by Brent, it seemed, moved her now. Oh Lord, it was awful—but true.

The realization made her lift her hands to his chest and push him gently back. “I’m sorry. It was very nice kissing you, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

“No?” Andre sighed. “That is a disappointment, Jenna.”

“For me, too,” she confided, shaking her head lightly. “I mean, you’re so nice, so strong and sexy—I must be crazy.”

“You, crazy? No,” he said with certainty. “Just . . . perhaps this is the wrong place, the wrong time.”

She nodded. “That’s it.”
And you’re the wrong guy.
Oh God, she was doomed. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

Rising to his feet and reaching down to help her up, he shook his head. “Please do not apologize. I got a lovely walk with an equally lovely lady. And a few kisses, too. Come, let me walk you back,” he said, motioning in the direction from which they’d come.

“You’re a good man,” she told him with all sincerity.

“And you’re a sweet woman. May I give you some advice?” he asked as they began heading toward the resort lights.

“All right.”

“Whatever happened here to upset you, don’t . . . let it change the way you view yourself. Because everything I see in front of me right now is good, all the way through. You’ve got a good heart, a good soul—I can feel that. So promise me you know just how good you are, Jenna.”

His kind words nearly took her breath away, and compelled her to more honesty. “I do know,” she promised him. “But I also think I’m . . . foolish. It’s not so much what I’ve done here that’s hurting me—it’s that I’ve . . . come to care for someone here who doesn’t care back. And I’m realizing it’s no one’s fault but my own.”

“Ah, a broken heart,” Andre said with consoling eyes. “Well, no wonder kisses weren’t enough to fix it. Hearts take time to heal. And it has to come from within—no one can do it for you.”

“Did
your
heart heal?” she wondered aloud. “After your wife?”

He seemed to be considering her question as they moved back up the beach, the tide still washing in around their feet, until he finally answered, “Very slowly. Now I am only sad to think what could have been. But I also appreciate what is. I take advantage of every goodness that comes my way—I appreciate every warm breeze, every sunny day, every smile, every walk on the beach with a pretty girl. Don’t let your heart stay broken for long, Jenna. Life is too short to spend it suffering. Instead, live it. Enjoy it.”

She let Andre’s words sink in as they walked; she tried to analyze what they meant to
her
, right now. Wouldn’t living life, taking advantage of it all, mean enjoying the last fantasies Brent offered her? Wouldn’t it mean enjoying her last times with him, despite the hurt?

And yet, she simply didn’t think she could do that. Sometimes it was best to cut your losses and move on.

Still . . . somehow coming home from this—from Brent and the Hotel Erotique—and getting back to real life, sounded impossible. She knew it
was
smart to move on from this—she just wasn’t sure how to.

 

 

When Jenna returned to her room, she opened the door to find an envelope had been slid underneath. She leaned back her head with a sigh, then stooped to pick it up.

On Hotel Erotique stationery, she found a handwritten note from Brent.

Jenna looked at the map of the grounds and found the indicated spot was labeled GARDEN OF EDEN. She’d never even noticed it on the map before and the very name made her suck in her breath. So Brent wanted to meet her in paradise, huh?

She had no idea what he could want at this point.

Maybe to apologize?

If that was his intention—God, it would be embarrassing in a way, since she’d laid herself so bare before him, both literally and figuratively. And what happened today had proven that even if he cared for her, he surely didn’t care as much as she did for him. And she really
shouldn’t
see him again—it would only increase the gnawing ache she suffered in her chest, stomach, and between her thighs, every time he came to mind.

Still, if he wanted to tell her he was sorry . . . maybe she should let him. It would begin . . . the closure. She’d gotten
some
closure by going to his beach house this afternoon, but not as much as she’d hoped. And letting him say whatever he wanted to would be better than running away from him and everything she’d let happen here.

And so she would go. Tomorrow. Ten a.m.

As she lay down to sleep a few minutes later, Jenna found herself thinking back over all her experiences at the Hotel Erotique. From nipple rings to shaving her pussy, from stripper shoes to vibrators to orgies, Brent had . . . stripped down every sexual idea she’d had about herself and replaced it with something shocking and new.

And maybe Andre had been right—maybe such wildness had been hiding inside her all along. If it hadn’t, she surely couldn’t have done such things so easily, let herself go so completely. And despite her hurt, some of the encounters she’d had on this island had felt . . . glorious, at least at the time. And she had Brent to thank for that. So
that
was a reason to go see him tomorrow, too—another bit of closure.

Tomorrow she would say goodbye to him—then she would go home and begin finding out if this had changed her life for the better or the worse.

 

 

She barely slept. Too much had happened.

All that remained was recovering from it.

And seeing Brent one last time, of course.

The Garden of Eden appeared, on the map, to be at the far end of the island. So after a room service breakfast, Jenna dressed in the casual skirt and lace-edged tank she’d chosen to travel in and set off, following one of the many shrubbery-lined trails that seemed to crisscross the grounds.

Having seen only a handful of the Hotel Erotique’s fantasy settings, she could only imagine everything she’d missed, every other exotic or historic scenario the guides here created. No wonder Brent had retreated here from his heartbreak and never left. It was truly a fantasy world, where little was real. Despite knowing she wouldn’t want to live in a world this utterly kinky all the time, she could see the appeal of moving to an island where every day was a fantasy, where existence was about pleasure and nothing more.

Finally, she reached the end of the winding path she’d taken across the island’s interior to find an arched opening cutting through a tall hedge of bougainvillea, a sign labeling it as the entry to the Garden of Eden. Taking a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for whatever she was about to discover, she stepped inside.

Only . . .
nothing
could have prepared her.

She found herself on the edge of a pristine island meadow flourishing with lush flowers and enormous fruit trees. Colorful birds played among their branches, flying from one to another. Nearby lay a gorgeous natural island pool, a sizable waterfall tumbling into it from the hillier land just beyond—and although the space felt enclosed and private, a soft breeze wafted through the air, cooling her after her long walk. She’d never been anywhere that, indeed, felt closer to paradise.

Yet it was only when her gaze traveled lower that what she saw stole her breath. In the shade of a large banyan tree, Brent lay naked and gloriously erect on a brass bed festooned with flowering vines and draped in white satin sheets. The moment her eyes met his, violins began to play.

And tears came to Jenna’s eyes.

Brent had finally given her what she’d wanted all along—satin sheets and violins. But it meant so much more now than it could have then.

The logical, self-protecting part of her wanted to stand strong—to make him find a way to fix what had happened yesterday, or to at least admit he was wrong.

But the Jenna she’d discovered here at the Hotel Erotique, the Jenna who loved sex and got weak in the knees every time she saw Brent, the Jenna who couldn’t resist romance . . . simply went to him.

“Hey,” he said, soft and low, wearing a small, sexy smile as she approached the bed. The only other sounds were the distant waterfall and the soft violins playing . . . somewhere.

“Hi,” she gently replied.

He looked briefly like he might apologize to her or say something profound, but she could almost feel him thinking the same thing she was—that maybe none of that mattered right now in this moment that felt truly magical. Finally, he simply rasped, “Come to me, Jenna.”