Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (54 page)

But that’s not the important bit. It doesn’t matter if Paul is truly my father of not. He’s a human being who once played a part in my life. And he is being manipulated, just as I am, by Stonehart.

That’s what I will always remember. Seeing Paul thrashing on the floor was worse than when Stonehart showed me tapes of my own few days of captivity. Because it happened to someone else. Because I felt responsible for Stonehart’s actions.

He doesn’t know what the trip to Cedar Woods did to me. It changed things, irrevocably, between us. Whereas before, a tiny, nonsensical, and very emotional part of me might have held out hope that there really could be some sort of acceptable future between myself and Stonehart… one based on a relationship not defined by the contract… that part has been obliterated.

All for the better, for me. And for the worse, for Stonehart. I don’t know what his intentions are or how they might have changed since I first arrived in his home. All I know is that I am more steadfast and resolute than I’ve ever been in my life. Thanks to Cedar Woods.

The only thing that comes close to the sense of purpose I feel now was in high school, when the drive to succeed, to not end up like my mother, propelled me to bury myself in my books and aim for the Ivy League. I made it. The acceptance letter from Yale was the final vindication of all my effort.

That was the greatest achievement of my life. The joy I felt, the satisfaction, it made all the sleepless nights and weekend study sessions spent as a hermit worthwhile.

I know it will be nothing compared to the feeling I get when I bring Stonehart down.

Applying to college was following a defined path. It was identifying a process and exploiting it, like so many others have done before.

There is no process for what I intend to do now. That makes it more exciting. I’m breaking new ground. I’m going head-to-head with a madman… who also happens to be one of the most successful business minds in the country.

It’ll be my wits against his. My cunning against his cunning. My intellect against Stonehart’s intellect.

It’ll be a chance for me to prove, to myself, the type of woman I really am. I thought, some six, seven, eight-odd months ago, that my work with Corfu Consulting was my chance to showcase my abilities to the world.

But that was peanuts compared to this. The stakes are so much higher now. I’ve played the role of prisoner for long enough. Stonehart might think me tamed. Has he lowered his guard yet, as well?

Perhaps. Though, perhaps not. I cannot underestimate him. But what else would have prompted him to take me out of the mansion, to bring me to Portland, then to Florida, and then here?

I refuse to believe that his actions are as clear-cut as he claims. All that bullshit he spewed the night of the Christmas dinner… his nonsensical justification of his actions, the apology he gave me, the ‘reason’ for starting to be enamored with me… I know that’s all a lie.

He showed who he truly is when he introduced me to Paul. He showed me that he can never change. He showed me that I was a fool for believing otherwise.

I smile, and get out of bed. I should thank him for that visit. Because, against his best intentions, and despite my near-hysterical reaction afterward… it was a watershed moment. It will stand out in my mind, as clear and hard as any diamond: The point when everything changed.

Chapter Thirteen

After I shower and get dressed, I wander out to the deck of the yacht.

We’re sailing over the water. A sense of alarm rifles through me when I realize that I can’t see any land anywhere.

I hurry to the captain’s quarters, where I discover Stonehart steering. He has a great big grin on his face. He’s wearing white cargo shorts, boat shoes, and a baby-blue, casual t-shirt that’s unbuttoned halfway exposing his chest. I catch a glimpse of his hard body through the V. Memories of last night’s lovemaking come to me unbidden.

“Hello, beautiful.” His smile widens when he sees me. “Enjoy your rest? It’s a glorious morning.”

He’s right about that. The sun is bright. There’s not a cloud in the sky. The air smells fresh and clean.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“What, you couldn’t think we’d stay moored to that dock forever? What’s the point of a yacht if not to explore the open ocean? We’re taking advantage of her power.”

I frown at him, not from any great displeasure, but to show him that his shtick of avoiding answering my questions is growing old.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he tells me, kissing my crown. “For now, why don’t you go lounge on the deck? The weather’s perfect for sunbathing, and I would love to see that flawless body of yours in a tight little bikini.”

***

‘Soon enough’ turns out to be four
days later.

When the yacht continued sailing, all through that first day, I began to suspect that Florida was never our intended destination. But Stonehart deflected all questions about where we were going no matter how hard I tried to wring out an answer.

Aside from that small irritation, though, the days were generally agreeable. I showed no bitterness toward Stonehart, and he seemed to appreciate that. He would never say it out loud, but I began to suspect that, for all his posturing, he was as glad as I to inject a semblance of normalcy into our time together.

The surprise came some days later.

It was just after lunch when I first spotted the tiny islands dotting the horizon. They looked like pebbles from far away, As we approached, I began to make out their lush, green splendor. They were uninhabited. White sand covered the coasts and beaches, framed by enormous palms.

I ran to Stonehart the moment I saw them. He wouldn’t say a word, but I knew from the twinkle in his eye that my reaction was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

As he expertly navigated the yacht through the waters, the hot sun shining brightly down on us, a palpable excitement started to form in the pit of my stomach. Growing up on the East Coast, where it was always cold save for the few precious months of summer, I had dreams of a tropical paradise. It was something my mother and I shared. Before our relationship collapsed, we would spend whole nights talking about scraping enough money together to buy a pair of tickets to the Caribbean, or the Cayman Islands, or somewhere warm where we could leave behind all the troubles of our day-to-day lives, just for a week or two.

It was never more than a pipe dream.

A wave of sadness washes over me with that thought. One of our biggest disagreements came when I was fifteen, a few years after she began drinking. That was about the time I started getting serious about my aspirations to build a better life for myself. Money, of course, was always a hot-button topic in our small, two-person family. The year before, I’d been working part time anywhere that would accept me, doing my best to help with rent. But that summer, before school began, I knew I had to make a choice. I could either keep working, and risk becoming my mother… or, I could start focusing solely on school, forget the odd jobs, and do everything I could to make a proper, educated woman out of myself.

We were barely scraping by as it was. So, when I announced my intentions to my mother, she became hysterical. I tried to ease her into it. But, there was no sugar-coating the truth. School had to come first. I could not keep working.

The blow came when, in a moment of severe indiscretion, I declared that maybe we’d have enough money for rent if she just had the self-control to lay off the booze.

I cringe at the memory of her reaction. If I thought she was hysterical before… well, it couldn’t hold a candle to her reaction then. She went berserk. She told me to get out, that I was ungrateful, that I was a leech, a mooch, that I was no better than my deadbeat, good-for-nothing father.

It was the first time she’d ever made reference to him.

Obviously, even the strongest, most self-reliant fifteen-year-old would be crushed by such accusations—especially when they came from someone so close. I left the house in tears and spent the night with a friend. The next morning, when I slipped in quietly to pack my things, I found my mother waiting for me on my bed.

Her eyes were red. She looked like she’d been crying, too. She apologized the moment she saw me, told me that she didn’t mean what she’d said, and begged me to forgive her. I did… But things were never the same again between us after the fight.

That’s why the sudden appearance of the islands has such a strong effect on me. Coming to a place like this was a dream my mother and I shared, even if we both knew it was impossible. And now… being here, on this yacht, with Stonehart… it just… it just… gets to me.

“Lilly. Lilly, are you all right? Lilly!”

I shake my head and snap to attention. Somehow, I’ve ended up on the floor. Stonehart is kneeling beside me, his hands on my arms. Why am I on the floor?

“You wavered and fell,” Stonehart says, as if reading my thoughts. Concern is plain on his face. “Must be the damned sun. You’re overheated and dehydrated.”

“No…” I shake my head. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what?” Stonehart poses.

“I… don’t know. I’m okay, though.” I start to stand. Stonehart helps me. He doesn’t let go even when I’m upright.

“You’re not sick? How are you feeling? Here, let’s get you in some shade…”

I let Stonehart lead me to a nearby beach chair shielded by an umbrella. He sets me down carefully, as if I’m a fragile, porcelain doll.

“Would you like some water?”

I give a small nod.

“Stay right here. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

I watch him hurry out of sight. He returns a moment later carrying a tall glass full of ice. He pours water from the nearby pitcher into it and hands it to me.

I cradle it with both hands. “Drink,” Stonehart says. There’s undeniable command in his voice. I place my lips around the long metal straw and take a delicate sip.

He watches me intently. It strikes me at that moment, that right now, Stonehart is taking care of me. Stonehart. Taking
care
of me.

It’s almost too much to believe.

“You need to be more careful,” he scolds. But his words are soft. As he runs his hand over my smooth thigh, I feel a tingle of pleasure from his touch. “I would hate for anything to happen to you from an oversight on my part. From now on, we’re going to limit your sun exposure.”

“What, here?” I say, casting a look around at the pristine, sparkling waters surrounding us. “Good luck.”

He chuckles. “In that case, we’ll make sure you have enough fluids in you. I need you strong and healthy, my dear Lilly-flower. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you wilt.”

I smile. That was sweet. “You know, despite evidence to the contrary, I’m not nearly so delicate as you might think.”

“I know you’re not,” he says. “But I also know you’re damned stubborn. You demonstrated that when you held out against the contract for as long as you did.”

Involuntarily, I shy back. That was in the
past
, and though I’m never likely to forget it, hearing him refer to it is discomforting.

Stonehart catches my withdrawal. He curses under his breath. “Dammit woman, I’m not going to apologize for what I did to get you here. But haven’t the last few days proven that things are different?”

Maybe in your mind
, I think. The only answer I give him is a little nod.

He gets up. “Would you like to know our destination?”

“You mean, you’re finally ready to tell me?”

“Not tell you,” Stonehart says. He extends his hand to me. “Show you. Come here.”

I take his hand and he pulls me up. As we walk toward the front of the yacht, he runs his thumb over my knuckles in a strangely endearing, yet oh-so-innocent fashion.

In the distance, but so much closer now than I remember stands a beautiful, uninhabited island. At least, that’s what I think at first. It takes me an extra second to pick out the little hut that’s cradled in a nook of the shore.

Then I realize how far away we still are, and it dawns on me that the hut is not so little. Stonehart has turned the engine off. But, we’re still floating onward, propelled by both our momentum and the tide.

“That,” Stonehart says, his eyes shining, “is our destination.”

“It’s yours?” I ask. I know it’s a stupid question, but it gives me something to say.

Stonehart gestures around us. “I own all of these islands,” he says. Then, he hedges the proclamation a bit. “Rather, Stonehart Industries does. They were purchased by my real estate team at the dip of the 2008 recession. They made plans to build resorts on these shores and transform them into a magnificent tourist destination. Unfortunately, trouble with the locals got in the way.”

“What happened?”

“The usual. They protested against us ruining nature’s gift with commercialization. It was expected. I was ready to ignore them, until one day I had my pilot fly me over the land. I hadn’t seen it before. I was immediately struck by its beauty. The protests made sense. I decided, instead, to keep all of these islands as a preservation. But for more selfish reasons than they ever knew.

“You see.” He turns to me. “The moment I lay eyes on these islands, I knew that they were something special. They were purchased as a business investment, but during that flight I became enamored with them. And I had this image… this vision… of finding one woman to share them with.”

He steps close to me. My heart starts pounding hard. “That woman, Lilly,” he says, tilting my chin up, “is you.”

And he sweeps down to kiss me. It’s a kiss full of passion. Full of life. I cling onto his shoulders, drawing him close, intoxicated by the beauty of the moment and the sweetness of his words. Even if they are a lie. Even if they do come from a sinister place.

They still affect me.

Kind of how
he
affects me.

Chapter Fourteen

The yacht lays anchor and we take a small raft to shore.

There’s a small group of waving natives on the beach. Where they came from, I have no idea.