[Invitation to Eden 20.0] The Island of Eden (6 page)

And plotting my revenge.

I have the key to it, the literal key, in my hand.

The Bayside Marina, where I am currently standing, moors over a thousand boats, every type of boat imaginable. From luxury yachts that cost more than I make in three years, to boats that I would hardly even call a dingy. For my purposes I need something in between—a

boat that can take me about five hundred miles off the coast to a small private island called Eden. And I just happen to have a key to one.

I walk down the galley to the electronic keypad that will let me into the actual marina.  I have the code, have had it for years, ever since I once drank a yuppie ex literally under the table, after which he confessed an awful lot of his secrets, including the code to get to his boat.

No, I didn’t steal
his
keys. I’m not that crazy. I’d just been bored.

I did, however, steal my father’s keys this afternoon... the ones to his boat. He owns four, so I don’t think he’ll miss this one. At least that’s how I’m justifying it to myself.

Keying in the code, I push open the door and walk down the dock to slip 52. My bag weighs a bit on my shoulder, but I figure it’s the consequence of what I’m about to do and not the actual weight of what I carry inside. Heaven knows I’ve disobeyed my father—hell, we butt heads on a daily basis—but I’ve never gone this far.

But he just won’t listen. I
know
I’m onto something with this Eden place. I’ve heard too many rumors... and you know what they say about smoke and fires, right?

And these fires are
hot
.

I first heard whispers about Eden five months ago, so quiet that now I can’t even remember where they came from. Probably I’d been hooked when I’d discovered how hard it was to find information on the place—a secretive private island, owned by a Greek billionaire who’d all but disappeared a decade earlier? It sounded like a soap opera, and there’s a reason that people get hooked on those things for thirty years and more.

One particular rumor spoke of a big time movie star who’d tried to buy a vacation package there, only to be rather rudely turned away—that’s right, the little island in the Bermuda Triangle was invitation only.

Well... I was hooked.

And then... talk of BDSM dungeons and secret desires and wish fulfillment of any imaginable thing filled my ears. No one who left there told the same details—it was though they were each visiting an entirely different place.

And then there was the Master. Theodosius Vardalos, heir to a European shipping empire. Once engaged to the very comely Celeste Singer, he’d dropped very determinedly out of the public eye ten years earlier.

Most sightings of the elusive Greek lately... they’ve been at very exclusive, very private clubs... clubs catering to every kink I’ve ever heard of, and lots that I haven’t. And it gets even stranger... as best as I can find, he stretches out these visits as long as he can, going months and sometimes even a year between them. And he rarely visits the same one twice.

I’d been lucky enough to find one of his... I guess the term is
submissive
... yeah, one of his
submissives
. Anyway, I’d found one who’d been willing to talk to me.

She’d never seen him before the night they... oh, let’s call a spade a spade. The night they fucked. Never seen him before, hasn’t seen him since. Hadn’t even seen him
during
, since he’d worn a hood that covered his face, though the woman had led me to believe that that wasn’t really all that uncommon in the fetish community.

And she’d given me more details. Details about the man’s kinks, his desires.

I like to be honest with myself, so I have to admit... I was really intrigued. Why? I have no idea. The idea of letting any of the men I’ve ever been with tie me up and have my way with me? So not happening.

But the
right
man?

Well.

I’ll have to think about that some more.
After
I return from my mission. And nothing on this earth is stopping me from getting onto Eden and getting my story.

Dear old Dad calls it an obsession. Now, I wouldn’t go that far.
Obsession
is such a dirty word.  Preoccupation? Maybe. Fixation? Possibly.

But being obsessed with a secretive Greek billionaire? That’s just asking for trouble.

I find slip 52 with no problems.  There’s no one around to question me, and if there was I’d just ignore them, so I quietly jump onto the boat. I’ve been on boats before, lots of them—a girl doesn’t grow up in Miami and not know a little about them.  So I know enough to be able to untie the ropes, start the engine, and maneuver my way out of the marina without hitting anything. 
Winner winner, chicken dinner.

Once the still waters of the harbor are behind me, I plot my bearing and gun the engine, laughing like a loon as I’m hit with the overwhelming sense of freedom. Another thirty minutes and I’m in open water.

There is nothing like racing across the sea with the warm wind whipping my hair around my face. The blonde curls are a pain in the ass to manage and for a moment I wince, think of how I’m going to deal with the wind tangled snarls later.

But that’s just it... later. I like to live in the now.

Nothing can dampen my mood as I ride the wave of adrenaline. I am on my way to the biggest story of my career.  I am going to sneak onto the island, which I
will
find, and discover all of its delicious secrets. After this, there is no way my father will be able to think of me as some little fluff reporter. I will be legit. I’ll have earned my byline on the front of
Weekly
magazine.

I hate having to use the family business at all, but I’m not about to shoot myself in the foot. I have my eye on Time. The fact that jumping ship to a competitor would piss Dad off is just a bonus.

Factoring in the weather, which is supposed to be clear all the way, I calculate that it should take me about four hours to reach the island.  As I pilot the boat, I think about the island... and about its Master. Somehow I can’t help but even think the word with that capital letter.

There are no recent pictures of him, though I’d found plenty from before his purchase of the island. In every one, he’d been oh-so-perfectly handsome—just what you’d expect a Greek billionaire to look like. Dark and swarthy, golden skin and startling sapphire eyes. Big and hard—probably hard all over, given the fact that he seemed to have dated his way through half the supermodel population of Europe. Just the kind of man I try to avoid.

The handsome ones are the ones who’ll break your heart, and I don’t have time for that shit. Though I’m all for hot, no-strings attached-sex... and maybe, just maybe once I’m back on the mainland, I’ll have to check out one of these clubs that Mr. Master seems to like so much.

You know. For research purposes.

I chuckle to myself. My best friend, Teena, tells me one day I’m going to get myself in some serious trouble thinking like that. I just say to her that until men become telepathic I’m fine. At least I don’t say everything that’s on my damn mind all the time. I wish some of the men I’ve dated could say the same.

My spirits quickly fade when I note dark clouds rolling in on me from the south. I checked the weather forecast earlier and there was no mention of possible rain. I know weather is unpredictable, but those clouds are moving unnaturally fast toward me.

My heart starts to pound, the adrenaline of my great escape changing in tone and making my gut churn. I know the basics of a boat, but even I am not nearly cocky enough to think that I can pilot my way through a tropical storm.

I check my bearings, making sure I am still going in the right direction. From my research, I know that Eden is on the edge of the Bermuda triangle. I’ve been so caught up in my plan, it hasn’t really occurred to me until now that I don’t know much more than that.

I can all but see Teena shaking her head at me.

“Just a storm, Noelle. Deal with it.” Despite the whispers of magic that surround the island, these are real storm clouds, coming with some real rain. There’s no other explanation, because I don’t believe in that stuff. I still don’t like the look of them and my pulse begins to hammer in my throat.

I am in big trouble.

Changing my heading a little, I put on the speed. I’m still at least two hours out from the island, but maybe I can beat the clouds. If worse comes to worse... well, I’ll batten down the hatches, and try to ride out the storm below deck. I remember doing that once when I was a kid, spending a day out on the water with my parents. You know, back when my dad and I liked each other. I remember the sick churn of fear in my stomach, the nausea from the roiling waves, the bruise on my temple from being smacked into the wall of the boat with a particularly vicious swell.

But we survived that. I can survive this.

I won’t accept anything else.

Locking the boat onto autopilot, I grab my bag and open it to retrieve my jacket—at least I had the presence of mind to pack one. I slide it on, zip it up, tuck my wild, tangled hair into the hood and get back on the throttle.

The boat is bouncing now, jolting my body and jarring it painfully. Waves crash against the hull and water laps over the bow.  I am fully regretting my decision to commandeer this boat and pilot it out here. I don’t know what I was thinking. I am not a sailor. I really don’t have the skills to be out here on my own.

And by the looks of those clouds closing in on me, Teena is going to have the last word—it just might be my foolish behavior that kills me.

The wind slashes across my face and hands like a steel blade as I struggle to keep the boat on the right heading. With each wall of water that slams into me, I shudder, trying to keep my footing.

For some reason I think of the Master as the next wave hits, a backhand of icy, salty sea. The ocean wants me to submit. It is pummeling me into submission, something I thought I’d never voluntarily give.

I want to fight it. I’ve never backed down from anything before. But when I think of
him
, I feel my resolve dissolving, like the copious amounts of salt that dissolved in the waters around me long ago. 

So when the next violent wave hits me, I don’t fight it, even though I’m shaking and it feels like shards of ice slicing right down to the bone. I close my eyes and open my arms and welcome in the sudden, inexplicable warmth.

I am not afraid. The ocean will not kill me—she is in fact is delivering me to the one place I need to go. The place I know deep inside my very soul will give me exactly what I want.

Eden.

THEO

T
he last thing I expect when I take a moment to enjoy looking out at the water is a woman washed up onto the shore. I stare dumbly for a long moment, wondering if I can possibly be seeing what I think I’m seeing.

Then I’m sprinting off the observation deck on my cliffs, my muscles burning as I tear across the soft white sand to the water.

I kick off my leather sandals before splashing into the water. My fingers find cloth, and I grab hold of her jacket and drag her out of the water and onto the shore.

She’s not wearing a lifejacket, so I press my fingers to the pulse point in her neck with dread. I’m amazed to find one, one that’s surprisingly strong.

Salt water sprays into my face, blinding me as the very much alive woman sputters, coughing up the water in her lungs... right onto me. I reach for her shoulders without thinking, offering support.

I can’t see her face, can’t look at her pupils to gauge a possible concussion .The long tangle of her blonde hair obscures her face as she spits up water.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

She nods, then sputters some more. “Where the hell am I?”

“An island off the coast of Miami.” My words are distracted, because there is a subtle but discernible vibration rumbling beneath my feet.

“Eden?” The woman paws at her hair, brushing it out of her face. “Am I on Eden? Did I make it?”

“What did you say?” This is
not
the answer I’m expecting. By now, Miranda and Roan, two of my employees, have abandoned their casual stroll to join me on the beach. Miranda bends down to pick up a bag that has washed up as well. She opens it to find a camera and some kind of mini recorder.

“She’s a reporter.” A sneer distorts her pretty face as she holds it up to me. My staff knows my aversion to public scrutiny, and because I am very lucky, they are also protective of me.

There’s a time and place though, and something is swelling in my chest, threatening to rip free.

“How did you get here?” I demand this, my body stiffening. Whoever she is, no matter that she just almost drowned, Joely can fly her right back out.

I’m taken aback by the grin that I can just barely make out beneath the tangle of her hair as she slaps her hands against the wet sand. “Holy shit. I can’t believe I made it.”

She bursts into laughter.

I wonder if she isn’t a bit crazy.

“Did you come by boat? Who else was with it?” Because surely she wasn’t stupid enough to set out on her own.

Miranda also pulls out a thick, sopping wet file from the bag. She flips through it.  “She has a bunch of information about Eden and you, Sir.”

My spine begins to tingle. I look down at the woman. She’s staring up at me defiantly through the wet strands of her hair. “Who are you?”

I thread just the slightest hint of dominance through my tone... the kind that makes my submissives sit up just a bit straighter.

This woman, though? She just smirks. “Noelle Davis.”

She’s smirking at me? She almost died trying to sneak onto my private island and she’s
smirking
at me? “Are you a reporter?”

“Maybe.” She tilts her head to look at me. “Are you the Master?”

How the hell did she uncover that?
I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes, and I’ve paid well to ensure that I stay hidden.

“We’re going to get you dry, then my pilot will fly you back to Miami.” I can feel control spiraling out of my grip, all because of the defiant woman at my feet. This won’t do. Grabbing her hand, I pull her to her feet.