"I'm sorry we're leaving tomorrow," he said.
"Yes."
"So much more to see on the island."
That wasn't quite what she'd been thinking, but she nodded.
He hadn't raised the matter of that stupid contract all day or even talked about her working for him in an official capacity. As they walked back to the hotel she said, "You didn't really need an assistant here, did you?"
Ben dug his hands in his trouser pockets. "It's hard to enjoy a beautiful place like this alone. If I can't share my good luck what's the point?"
"Oh." She tried to stop herself asking the next question, but it was out in the soft, scented air before she knew it. "So you always have company when you travel?"
He looked down at her. "Not like this. You're unique Bryony Mulligan."
And she actually believed it. So she slid her arm through his and they walked on under the swaying palms.
That evening they made love on their balcony, under the stars and then they took a bath together in the big, beautiful claw foot tub.
"I feel like I'm in an ad," she chuckled drowsily, "for jewelry, or life insurance... or erectile dysfunction medication."
He laughed at that, leaning his head back against the porcelain. "Yeah, me too."
Facing him, she lay between his legs, her hands running over the dark hair of his chest. "Thank you for all this."
His eyes narrowed. "I always knew you wanted me for my body."
"What else would I want you for, Petruska?"
"I may not have your book smarts, but I have street savvy." Lifting a hand from the water, he tapped his forehead and left bubbles sliding down his face. "There's a lot more to me than you might think, Mulligan. You'll find out." He was looking smug. "One day."
"But we've only got a few hours left." She drew a wet finger across his lips.
He sighed. "Right."
Oh. She'd expected him to say something about getting back to New York and seeing each other again. "One day" must simply be a figure of speech. Of course, she hadn't signed his damn contract, had she? This was just a dirty weekend because she refused to abide by his finicky rules. Well then, she'd better leave him with something more than a crappy shell dog to remember her by.
She licked her way down his chest, took a deep breath, and descended under the bubbles to find his cock. It was resting at that moment, but she soon had it perking up again, arching tall, almost to his navel. He really was a magnificent specimen and Bry was very glad she'd got to find out the truth about Ben Petruska before they were both too old to enjoy it. Now she didn't have to fantasize anymore about what it might have been like.
Funny, she mused, swallowing his bulging knob and sucking steadily, a few days ago she'd been quite certain that all she needed with him was the one night. Then it turned to a weekend. Now she wished it didn't have to end. But it did, because she would never become the brainless, submissive slave he wanted her to be. The occasional game was ok, but Bryony would never give anyone complete control over her.
A second thought followed this—she was really glad she had this skill of holding her breath under water for lengthy periods. She was once the under sixteen champion at underwater swimming in the Brooklyn Sunset Park Pool. Something he, no doubt, didn't know about her. But he was clearly impressed by her lung-capacity now.
* * * *
Next morning a wake-up call from the front desk pierced her dreams and she rolled over to find herself alone in bed.
Beside her, on the pillow, was her copy of the contract which she'd printed out and brought along with her just to tease him about the terms.
He had drawn a line through the page and written two words in red ink along the top.
Chapter Eleven
They were late to the airport, but since it was his private jet they got away with it. Who was going to admonish Benedick Petruska? Even she couldn't do it when he sprang things on her.
"The perks of filthy lucre," she muttered.
"One of them." He grinned and winked.
Bry buckled up and looked out the glorious blue sky they were leaving behind. It made her want to cry and she wasn't usually the sentimental sort.
Across from her Ben was on the phone, absorbed in his conversation. Suddenly he reached down, took off his shoe and tipped out a whisper of sand. When he looked up and caught her smiling, he did too. That was the beauty of a good holiday by the sea. They'd be finding sand in odd places for a while.
The steward brought her a glass of orange juice and she drank it down in a few gulps. Hadn't realized how thirsty she was, but there had been no time even for coffee. Only as the drink hit her with a little slap did she realize it wasn't straight juice but a mimosa. Her head was already spinning enough and now she was slightly tipsy too.