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“And why would you assume that?” He turned toward her.
She laughed. “As if last night didn’t happen.”
He laughed, too. “Don’t assume too much, Ms. Priestly. I’ve had my moments on that island, but they have nothing to do with secret inner circles of sex addicts, and some mysterious Marquis who lives god knows where.”
“Really? And why would I believe you?”
“You can believe anything you want. Truth is, the island is a pretty good place to take a girlfriend for a romantic adventure. It’s come in handy from time to time, which is why I know about its oddities. I’ve rummaged through the cupboards and cabinets; I’ve combed the cellar; I found all those implements of sexual torture you seem to love so much.”
“Love them?” she tried looking shocked.
“Oh, c’mon, Laney, I don’t know what else you’d call your performance last night.”
Performance. Was that what it was to him?
The sexual mayhem of the previous night was hard to think of now; a subject Laney preferred not to talk about with it still so fresh in her mind. She may have briefly forgotten the details when she awakened in the morning, but since she’d been on the boat, the incident returned to her thoughts in graphic detail, dispelling any suggestion that it hadn’t taken place. But a performance? She would never call her submission and the uproarious sexual release she enjoyed a performance; it was real and wonderful, far beyond expectations or hopes, and intimately personal enough to blush about, now that the subject had finally been broached.
“I may have displayed myself in an unusually candid manner, but you can be sure that I could never think of last night as a performance. Yes, there is a masochistic side to my nature, that’s obvious, and you seemed very capable of using it for your own pleasure.”
“That I did.”
“I guess it shows what an easy target I am for strange men.”
“I’m still a stranger to you?”
“You’re stranger to me now than when I thought of you as just a fisherman.”
“Well, I’d suggest that you keep thinking of me as just a fisherman. There’s not a whole lot more to me than that. Although I am smart enough to see that you’re not a typical female in any way. I hope you find the man you’re looking for.”
“And, I hope you can tell me where I can find him.”
“I told you before, the guy that pays me is nothing but a Post Office address in Paris.”
“You know nothing else?”
He pretended to search his thoughts for an answer, but shook his head. “Not unless you want to check out every bookstore in the city of Paris.”
“A bookstore in Paris, really?”
“Yeah. It’s not much to go on, but the man who called me, the same guy who hired me to look after the island, told me that a Paris bookstore would be in charge of packing up the books in the library and shipping them back to Paris. That was over a year ago and I’ve heard nothing about it since. It’s my guess that no o
ne really cares about the stuff anymore.”
“That’s it? That’s all you know?”
“That’s it. Wish I could help you more.”
Laney grew thoughtfully silent, feeling sure that Alex was keeping something from her, but she had no evidence of that fact, just her gut instincts, which couldn’t help but speculate about the man.
By the time she awakened from her reverie, the port was in their sights, and she watched as Alex steered the boat into the dock. On disembarking, Laney lifted her backpack to her shoulder, feeling content that she had the two books safely stored there. She’d be searching them carefully for clues about the Marquis that were not forthcoming from her guide.
Just before she walked off, Laney handed Alex her business card. “You will let me know if you should stumble on any information about our mysterious Marquis?”
“I’ll do that, Ms. Priestly,” he said smiling, but then his brows narrowed on her, “But you know, if I were in your position, I’d have that thing cut off and go about finding the guy of your dreams who will use you the way you want.”
“You think I should give up my search?”
“Just seems to me if this Marquis wanted to contact you, he would have by now.”
