18
ALISTAIR
Five Months Later …
“Welcome back to The Paradise Club, Mr. King,” a dark-haired man greets me as I step off the luxury boat. He’s dressed in navy pants and a tight, white polo shirt stretched to within an inch of its life across his chest.
“Thank you, Lawrence,” I reply, looking at his name badge.
“I trust you had a good journey, sir?” he asks as he ushers me toward a golf cart.
“It’s been a long trip. I’m looking forward to relaxing,” I answer him.
He gives me a knowing smile.
I’m going to be relaxing in the non-traditional sense. Nate invited the boys and me to the opening of The Paradise Club resort a couple of months ago, and it was wild, debaucherous, and exactly what I needed to heal my heart after Eloise walked out on me and disappeared into the night, never to be seen since.
At least I know she’s not dead from the second account I’ve set up for my online stalking I’ve been doing. She looks like she’s sunning herself on a tropical island somewhere.
The next day I called the club, and they advised me they couldn’t give any sort of information about their staff. I’ve tried everything to get in touch with her, except hire a private investigator, which Jasper told me was ridiculous. And he was right. I haven’t been back to the London club since Eloise. I wasn’t interested, but I have been to others around the world, thanks to throwing myself into traveling to get my mind off her.
Since coming back from Australia and finding out George proposed to Miranda over Christmas, I don’t spend much time in London anymore. I’m traveling, visiting my clubs worldwide, and having fun.
That’s how I’ve ended up here at The Paradise Resort. I’ve been in the states for work, and I need a holiday before going back to London for the first time in months to attend George and Miranda’s wedding.
I need to prepare before attending that fabulous shitshow.
“Would you like the guided tour? Or would you prefer to go straight to your villa?” Lawrence asks, getting into the golf cart.
“Straight to the villa, please. I’m exhausted,” I tell him.
We take off from the marina along the sandy paths through the dense tropical rainforest. Eventually, we pull up to a whitewashed villa. The sounds of the jungle are the first thing I hear once the golf cart is turned off.
Yes. This is exactly what I need.
The door to my villa opens, and the most beautiful woman steps out before me. Her white polo is stretched across her chest, exposing her generous cleavage. The last button on her polo is tentatively hanging on for dear life against the constraints of her breasts. Tight navy shorts that look like a second skin against toned, tanned legs that go on for miles. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a high ponytail. The images that rush through my mind of all the possibilities bombard me. Blue eyes, the color of the ocean behind us, and the tiniest smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, she is stunning.
“Welcome, Mr. King. My name is Sierra, and I will be your host for the duration of your stay. I’m here to cater to whatever you need while on the island.” Of course, she is. I mean, that’s the reason why I come to The Paradise Club is to have consensual sex with like-minded people, and that includes the staff. I double-check her wrists to be sure. At The Paradise Club, each person wears multicolored bands to indicate what they are sexually into, so there is absolutely no confusion, and it’s the same on the island. Sierra is wearing pink, which indicates she plays with women, a blue band, which means she plays with men, a green band indicating multiple partners, and a purple for public play. All great answers.
“Your bags are inside, sir,” Lawrence tells me. “Enjoy your stay,” he adds before jumping back into his golf cart and heading into the rainforest.
“Would you like to follow me?” Sierra asks.
Of course, I would, so I follow her into the luxurious villa.
“This is your living area.” Waving her hands through the air, she points out the large living area with its bright white oversized sofa and standard island wooden furniture with greenery in pots dotted around as if bringing the rainforest inside with you.
“Your bedroom.” She points to the open bedroom just behind the living area, where a king-size wooden, four-poster bed sits on a raised platform with white linens and way too many decorative cushions spread out across it.
“Your bathroom and closet are behind the wall.” She points to the white wall behind the bed.
Sierra takes a couple of steps toward the large glass sliding doors and pushes them back. I lick my lips as her shorts tighten even further with the movement while instantly, the sounds of the waves crashing on the beach and the squawking of the tropical birds that fly overhead fill my ears. “You have your own private pool and jacuzzi,” Sierra explains while showing me my little private oasis. There are two large white walls covered in vines surrounding my private pool area, giving me privacy from the surrounding villas. Then behind that is the gorgeous backdrop of the white sandy beach and turquoise ocean.
Paradise.
“If you would like people to visit you, then you can put this flag up here …” Sierra points out the tiny flagpole. “That will let them know you are happy for them to join you if that’s what you desire.” The way she says desire sends a thrill up my spine.
“Sounds fun.”