Read [Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon Online

Authors: Daire StDenis

Tags: #Tantra, #sexy contemporary romance, #Bestseller, #billionaire bad boy, #adult contemporary, #bestselling romance, #alpha males, #tantric sex

[Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon (8 page)

BOOK: [Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon
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“Some men would treat a woman as an object,” he says, running his hand up my side, barely over my bra and then to my shoulder. Sweeping my hair back, he comes in lower. “I understand that.” Though his breath is hot in my ear, I stiffen. Yes, even in my imaginings I am affronted by Christophe’s blatantly sexist remark.

“You are a beautiful thing to behold.” He strokes my throat. “The old me would want to possess you. Own you.” His grip tightens about my neck. “The more you tried to deny me, the more I would have wanted you.” His hand slides down my bare back to my skirt. He bunches it in his fist, rubbing me hard from behind. “God, I would have enjoyed making you submit.”

I try to pull away, no matter how hot he’s making me. No matter that this is my fantasy, my imaginings...I think.

Though it feels like something else completely. It feels as if my mind is going in other, unexpected directions, like I’m watching a movie that I don’t know the ending to.

His hand releases my skirt and comes around to cup my breast, gently squeezing, holding me in place. “But men who see women only as objects are missing the most beautiful part.” He dips a finger into the glass of scotch and paints the side of my neck.

He breathes in deeply before gently licking the alcohol from my skin. Lapping, nipping, sucking.

“I knew you would pair well with this Glenfiddich. So delicious.”

There is something so erotic about watching him kiss and lick my neck, I am almost willing to forgive his arrogance. Almost.

“What is the most beautiful part?” I ask.

He turns me toward him, tilting my chin up to him. “Your soul.”

The plane jerks beneath me and the seatbelt light comes on. One of the flight attendants comes over the intercom to ask passengers to return to their seats as we experience turbulence.

I’ve had my phone charging and I check the time on it. I nearly drop it out of shock—we are five hours into the eight and a half hour flight.

What?

How is that even possible? I
just
closed my eyes!

However, I have no time to worry about it because the plane lurches and the attendant comes on sounding much more distressed, demanding everyone get back to their seats and buckle up.

I’ve experienced turbulence before. This is something else. Something more. This is mayhem. This is imminent death. We are a toy plane in a giant’s clothes dryer and are being tossed around losing all concept of up and down. My ears plug, some baby (I think it’s a baby) shrieks from back in the economy seats and loose items roll from the back to front (which means the nose is down and that does NOT comfort me!) and then back again. 

The man across the aisle pulls out one of those bags from the seat pocket in front of him and vomits. I’d pull out one too except that I can’t seem to let go of the arm rests. My knuckles turn white from gripping and all thoughts have left me—there is
no
flashing of ‘the life and times of Tessa Savage’ through my mind’s eye—as I prepare for my demise.

Correction. There is only one thing on my mind. An image. A man’s face...

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. There is a very large storm system that is affecting a good part of the eastern seaboard. All flights into New York, Washington, and south are cancelled. We are being directed to land in Miami.”

The groans from the passengers are cut off by another massive jolt to the airplane.

Someone screams.

No one complains after that.

It’s another twenty minutes (that feels like a lifetime) before the madness stops. The remaining flight is subdued and the flight crew runs out of alcohol.

When the plane finally touches down, we break into applause. The woman beside me is weeping silently and I give her a wobbly smile to let her know I’m feeling pretty much the same way.

When we finally get to our gate, I’m among the first to disembark. I feel as if I’m exiting the plane into a fog, as if I don’t quite believe that I’m alive and that this long barren tunnel is the one that will take me to the
other side
(and I’m not talking baggage claim).

“Ms. Savage?”

“Yes?”

An official looking person is waiting for me outside the gate. “I’m from the airport authority. This way please.”

She leads me through the terminal and past customs, nodding to the official at the gate as we pass through.

“What’s going on?” I’m so confused and disorientated, I have no idea what to do except to follow the woman. Did they find something in my bag? Did something happen to Talal? Am I suspected of being a terrorist because I was seen with a prominent Middle Eastern man?

Oh God. I don’t think I can handle a run in with Immigration. Not after no sleep and the flight from hell.

She takes me through a door marked “Officials Only”, down a hall, down some steps and then out onto the tarmac. There’s a black, unmarked sedan waiting for me.

Stopping beside the car, she turns to me and says, “Passport please.”

Still confused and totally discombobulated, I hand over my passport without question, which she scans with a handheld device before passing it back to me, smiling. “Have a nice day.”

If it wasn’t for the driver of the car getting out and opening the door of the sedan for me, I’d probably have stood on the tarmac in a confused fog for an indeterminate amount of time. However, just the sight of him holding the door knocks a bit of self-preservation into me. I’m not about to get into an unmarked car with a stranger, not after barely surviving a transatlantic flight. I can just imagine the headline.

Woman Survives Flight, Murdered Minutes After Landing

“Who are you? What’s going on? Where are you taking me?”

“To the marina terminal. The plane is waiting.”

“The plane? What plane?”

“The one to take you to your final destination.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My instructions are to pick you up and take you to the terminal. That’s all I know. When you get there you can ask more questions.”

This sounds reasonable. Or does it? I don’t know. I’m still so fucking confused and numb from my near death experience, I don’t know if it’s shock or what. I just know that my brain is
not
firing on all synapses but somewhere in my cerebral cortex is my fight or flight instinct and I still don’t like the idea of getting into a car with someone I don’t know, heading for an unknown destination.

We take a service road that brings us to another part of the airport altogether. There’s a smaller tower here with small hangars adjacent to a canal.

He pulls up to a newer looking hangar and pulls up to the dock where a small float plane is tethered.

A woman comes from around the side of the plane. She’s wearing khaki shorts and a black shirt. Mirrored sunglasses hide her eyes.

She strides toward me, hand out, all no-nonsense. “Tessa. Good to see you again. Not sure if you remember me. I’m Joely. I’ll be your pilot.”

Okay. First of all, of course I don’t remember her. Why would I remember her and I say as much. “No. I don’t think we’ve met. I don’t know you. And I am certainly not going anywhere with you.”

Joely smiles secretively which bring me to my second, and more important, point...there is no way in hell I’m getting into a plane with someone who looks barely a day over sixteen years old as pilot. Are you kidding me?

She raises the sunglasses to the top of her head and says, “Sure you are.”

She fondly pats the puddle jumper we’re standing beside as if it’s an old family pet not a flimsy-looking piece of machinery. Which is my third and probably most salient point; I am NOT getting into a puddle jumper to fly off to some unknown destination. No way. Not after the flight I just endured. “Look, I have no idea what’s going on. But this...” I motion dismissively to the plane. “Is not happening.”

She frowns. “Did you just insult Wanda? Damn, girl. That’s just asking for trouble. Wanda’ll take it personally.” She strokes the plane, murmuring, “She didn’t mean it, baby.”

Turning to me with a twisted grin, she says, “Trust me, Wanda is the most reliable plane you’ll ever have the pleasure of flying in.” Her eyes sparkle with some form of mischief. “I’m surprised you don’t remember her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Look we need to get a move on if we want to get there before the storm hits. So enough chitchat. Climb aboard.”

“Get where?”

“Eden. Where else? You got the invitation didn’t you?”

“Y-yeah.” This doesn’t make sense to me. None of this makes sense to me. How did she know about the invitation? Why does she keep acting like we’ve met and I’ve been to Eden before?

Oh my God!

Maybe I really didn’t make it through that last flight. Maybe we crashed and my earthly body is fish food right now and this woman-child is like a female version of Saint Peter and I’m standing at the pearly gates—my version of it anyway.

I know that sounds far-fetched and yet it’s no more far-fetched than what’s happening right now, if what’s happening is real.

“Am I dead?”

Joely laughs as she prods me along to the open doorway. “No. And, if there’s one thing I can guarantee, Eden will make you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt before.” She slides her glasses back into place before boarding. “So let’s go. The island’s waiting.”

Chapter Eight

“M
s. Savage? Tessa?”

“Hmm?”

My name is whispered again, a tinny voice inside my head.

Eyes still closed, I roll a crick out of my neck.

“We’re here.”

My fingers find the headset I’m wearing. Headset?

Oh yeah.

Plane. Joely the child-pilot. Eden.

When I open my eyes it’s like I’ve been transported through time and space because as I look out the window, the Miami canal has been replaced by crystal clear azure colored waters. Wow. Talk about a time warp.

I disembark and find myself on a wooden dock leading to what can only be called tropical paradise. A castle, that smacks of fairytale princesses, is visible from where I’m standing, surrounded by lush tropical foliage and the heavy scent of frangipani blossoms. There’s an entourage of uniformed employees to greet me. One woman dressed in a smartly tailored skirt and blouse, has a champagne flute on a silver tray. Two extremely handsome young men stand to the side, waiting to tote my bags.

The pilot addresses them, saying, “We had to leave before her bags arrived.” To me she says, “I’ll have them delivered as soon as they arrive.”

A tall, dark-haired man comes forward and says, “I’m Andre. I’ll be your concierge for the duration of your stay. Your villa will be equipped with everything you need until your bags arrive.”

Pointing to a golf cart, he says, “Please have a seat. You’ll be staying in the private villas on the far side of the island.

Before climbing aboard the cart, I swipe the champagne flute from the woman holding the tray and down it. This has been the longest day and a little champagne is exactly what I need to unwind.

As we start driving, Andre gives me a brief history of the island.

“The resort has been operating for almost a decade. The castle was purchased in Scotland by The Master and moved, stone by stone, to the island where it was rebuilt and modernized. There are many sections and it’s much larger than it looks. It’s unique in that every stay is tailored to its guest.”

“Wait. Who owns this island?”

“A very wealthy man. Most people refer to him as The Master.”

“Does he have a name?”

Andre smiles. “Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me his name?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“He’s requested he remains anonymous.” He glances at me and winks. “Now, the villas where you’ll be staying are reserved for our exclusive guests. You’re welcome to use all the amenities in the castle, and on the rest of the resort, but I think you’ll find your needs will be met where you’re staying.”

His smile is enigmatic.

It makes me wonder how Wade and Connor can afford something like this. It’s crazy.

Andre continues his monologue for the duration of the car ride, pointing out all the restaurants, bars, night clubs, swimming pools, giving me the low down on the activity schedule; yoga classes, cooking classes, dance lessons, all typical activities and amenities of a tropical resort. Then there are the atypical amenities, the indoor and outdoor BDSM club, the hedonist pools, the nude beaches.

“The Master has created a resort where fantasy is made into reality, so please do not be shocked by what you see. It is all consensual.”

The information, while interesting, is too much for my foggy brain to take in.

“Have Wade and Connor arrived yet?” I ask, stifling a yawn.

“Who?”

“Wade Messing and Connor O’Reilly.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with the names of those guests.”

I’m too tired to care. I’m sure they’re here already or will be soon. We take a turn through some dense foliage and then through an automated gate that slowly opens between two stone walls that must be at least twelve to sixteen feet high. Following a circular drive, we pull up in front of a pillared archway covered in climbing vines. Just the palapa style roof of the villa is discernible through the trees. We make our way along a winding stone path until we come to the entrance of the villa.

Seriously?

What were Wade and Connor thinking? How can they afford this?

“Are there any other guests arriving today?”

“You are the first to arrive.” Andre stops outside the closed door and fishes a delicate gold bracelet out of his vest pocket. “May I?”

“Of course.” I hold out my wrist and he attaches the bracelet. It fits me perfectly. Not too loose, not too snug. There is a flattened gold section that has my name scripted on it.

“It’s embedded with a microchip.” He takes my wrist and holds it up against a small black square just above the door handle. “It’s your key.”

The door swings open and I’m greeted by a cool breeze and...the scent of frangipani blossoms again. I love the scent, sweet and promising, they remind me of the little hotel Chase and I stayed in Hawaii when we were there for our honeymoon.

BOOK: [Invitation to Eden 24.0] How to Tempt a Tycoon
9.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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