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"Hey, Serena. Come on." He trailed after her, following her into her bedroom.
She turned abruptly, blocking his further entry into the one place she could garner some privacy. "I need to be alone."
He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. Damn me and my blurting. I never meant to hurt you."
"Hurt me? You didn't hurt me. Confused me, yes, but hurt me? I'd have to care about you for you to hurt me. I'd have to love you for those words to stab at me. And I don't. I don't care about you, nor do I love you. Today isn't any different than five days ago when we met. Great fucking and no emotional attachment."
His eyes darkened. "Are you sure that's what we are?"
"Positive," she said, ignoring the ache of loss streaming through her. She'd been so stupid, so damn naive. But not anymore. Now she saw things clearly. "We're great bed partners, Michael. We fuck well together. Let's just keep it at that for the rest of the time, and neither of us will get hurt. Okay?"
She didn't buy his hurt look for a second.
"Fine," he said, his teeth clenched. "If that's the way you want to play it. I'll meet you at five for some fucking great group sex."
He turned on his heel and stormed off. She slammed the bedroom door and threw herself on the bed, damning the tears that welled in her eyes, damning him for making her care, and damning herself for involving her heart in what should have been a week filled with physical pleasure.
She fought the tears, refusing to baby herself. Then, angry at feeling anything at all for someone who so clearly didn't deserve it, she washed her face and chose her outfit for the next activity.
Femme fatale was in order, she thought. She wanted to allure some of the more attractive men, or couples, or whoever it was she'd attract in a group sex environment.
She chose a black dress, skin tight, short, with laces between her breasts.
Spiked heel shoes, and a skimpy black and silver thong. She left her hair long and flowing down her back and spritzed on a tiny bit of perfume, did her makeup and applied "fuck me red" lipstick.
Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled. Perfect. She'd dressed perfectly for the part she'd play. She looked like a seductress, a siren, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, who'd demand satisfaction.
If this getup didn't generate her some group action, nothing would. She'd show Michael Donovan who was desirable. She'd have men crawling at her feet to lick her toes tonight, begging for a chance to fuck her. And fuck her they would. She'd have as many as she wanted--maybe even more than one at a time.
And she'd make Michael watch. Not touch her, just watch her come over and over and over again with different men.
He didn't want her. Fine. Others would.
Straightening her shoulders, she inhaled a breath of courage and strolled slowly into the living room.
Michael was there, his back to her. Her heart pinged in her chest at the sight of him in black shorts and white tank top. Casual, yet so incredibly handsome that merely looking at him fired heat between her legs, her panties damp. Her nipples pebbled against the stretchy tight dress. More the better, she thought. He could see that she was ready for action.
"You ready for a little action?" she said.
He turned and his eyes darkened before he had a chance to hide his reaction with a frown. "Yeah, I'm ready."
Okay, he may not love her, but she sure as hell turned him on. And that she could play with. "Let's go."
"Anxious are you?"
She smiled as she stepped out the door in front of him, then grabbed his arm as he moved alongside her. "Very. I've never had group sex before. Just the thought of fucking a bunch of strangers makes me wet."
He arched a brow, and a tic pulsed in his temple. "Does it now?"
She nodded, playing her femme fatale role to the hilt. "Of course. It's the ultimate fantasy, don't you think?"
Shrugging, he kept his eyes straight ahead. "Sounds like fun to me."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Serena struggled to balance on the stilt-like shoes. Not quite the same as running around in flat sandals or even regular heels. But these made her legs stand out. And she wanted everything about her to stand out tonight.
They arrived to a packed house. Morgan, the resort manager, greeted them and showed them in. Serena was surprised to see her, and commented to that effect.
Morgan laughed, a lilting sound almost like a soft song. "I try to stay in the background and let the guests have a good time."
"Don't you participate?" Serena asked, accepting a glass of wine from one of the waiters.
"Oh, no. This is my job. The adventures are for the paying customers."
Serena recognized the loneliness reflected in Morgan's sapphire eyes. She'd seen it enough in her own mirror. Wants and needs unfulfilled. Morgan quickly masked it with a bright smile, and excused herself to greet other guests.
Milling about the room, Serena evaluated potential sex partners. There were about thirty people present, plenty to choose from. Various ages and shapes and sizes, she made eye contact with a few of the men, satisfied when they smiled and nodded in her direction.
She might not have a ton of actual sexual experience, but she recognized interest on a man's face. Several of the men in the room were definitely interested. Some not half bad looking, either. Even if they weren't six-foot-two with hair like midnight and eyes like the ocean.
They were men. They had cocks. They wanted to fuck. That's all she needed.
Despite the niggling discomfort settling in her stomach, she was bound and determined to enjoy what she'd paid for--some sexual adventure. She hadn't come here to fall in love, and she wouldn't leave without getting her money's worth of eroticism.
*
Michael tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible under the circumstances, preferring to spend his time keeping an eye on Serena rather than scouting potential sex partners.
He'd blown it. Big time. Blurting out that he loved Serena had changed their entire relationship. Hell, it had changed his feelings.
Despite what he'd told her, he had really meant it. He did love her. And that realization scared the living shit out of him. Which was why he'd told her what he had, made up the lame excuse that all men said shit like that.
He'd hurt her. He could tell from the way the blood drained from her face, the way her hands shook despite the front she'd put on. And he had damn good hearing, too. He'd heard her sniffles from behind her bedroom door, and ached to comfort her, to take her in his arms and tell her he'd lied, that he did have feelings for her.
But what purpose would that have served? Telling her how he really felt would only have prolonged the inevitable.
When the week ended, they ended.
And tonight? Damn he didn't want to do this. Not with her, not like this. The thought of another guy touching her filled him with jealousy.
You're a number one prick, Donovan. You don't want her, and you don't want anyone else to have her either. But she made her own choices, and she'd chosen this. And he was shit out of luck. He'd just have to grin and bear it.
Well, he didn't feel like grinning. And he didn't want her to bare it.
Laughing pathetically at his own pun, he downed another glass of champagne and searched out Serena.
She mingled through the cro
wd like a beauty contestant, smiling and introducing herself to some of the men. Michael steamed at the lecherous glances she received from some of the guys, and even a few of the women.
With any other woman this would be a wild night of debauched fucking, something he'd certainly be up for. But it wasn't just any other woman, it was Serena. And he didn't want anyone else to touch her.
Michael groaned and searched out another glass of champagne. When he found it he downed it in one gulp and wiped the remnants from his lips.
"You're sure putting it away tonight."
Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm thirsty."
She pursed her lips and nodded. "Whatever takes the edge off, I guess."
They stood together in silence, watching people mill around. Inevitably, one approached them.
An attractive couple, both in their early thirties, sidled up next to them. They introduced themselves as Jeanine and Rafael.
The woman was tall, built like a brick shithouse, and made up like a Parisian whore. The guy was smarmy and sweaty and looked like a thug.
Michael looked to Serena, whose eyes widened in panic. Michael couldn't help the smile that curled his lips as he politely declined sex with the couple.
Two other couples approached them. Both times, Serena gave him eye signals that clearly indicated she wanted no part of sex with that particular person or couple.
Groups began to pair off, the sounds of sex growing throughout the darkened room. Groans of pleasure and lots of heavy breathing permeated the place.
And yet Serena hadn't seemed too interested in getting down and dirty with anyone who had approached them. And Michael sure as hell wasn't going to make any suggestions. In fact, he'd be happy as hell if they turned around and walked out.
"You ready to go?" he suggested.
"Why?"
"It's obvious you don't really want to do this. Why don't we get the hell out of here and go back to our room."
With a defiant lift of her chin, she said, "Who says I don't want to do this?"
"I do. You've turned down every guy who's approached you."
"They were icky."
He hid his smile behind his glass of champagne, emptying it and setting it on a nearby table. "Let's go, Serena."
When he took her arm she wrenched it away. She half twisted toward a man standing nearby and tapped him on the shoulder. When the man turned, Michael groaned. This one was right up Serena's alley. Tall, tanned, athletic body--fucking perfect. And the woman with him was, too. Slender and fine boned with dark exotic eyes and raven hair that fell midway down her back.
