“Stop it.”
“Fuck me, Shel.”
“No!”
“Yes.” She’d pushed him onto the bed and attempted to ride him. When he couldn’t get hard, Rielle had pulled her dress top down and shoved her nipples in his face.
“Freak, get off me!” Sheldon had shouted.
Warner heard his brother and had walked in on them as Rielle’s authenticity surfaced. She stood and lunged for him, begging for his attention. Her fake pregnancy bump hit the floor and so did her billionaire scheming agenda.
“Con artist,” his brother had muttered.
At first, Warner didn’t believe it. The fake pregnancy didn’t make sense to him until he recalled Rielle stating he couldn’t touch her or make love to her while she carried the baby. She also hadn’t allowed him to go to her OB-GYN appointments, because they didn’t exist. He stood holding her shoulders as she started hitting him. In Rielle’s mind, her failure was his fault. In one night, he’d observed his engagement and baby become a shame.
Tonight in St. Barth felt no different.
Warner wiped the phlegm from his face. He reached in his back pocket for his cell and called the St. Barth’s police station.
As authorities arrived, the woman he thought he once knew scratched her own face and tore at her blouse. Rielle claimed he’d beaten her. The police didn’t buy it. When her charade didn’t work, she pretended to faint, claiming exhaustion from their miscarried love child. Her lie didn’t go over with the female officer who slapped the handcuffs on her wrists. Rielle released herself, perhaps in hopes the policewoman would let her go. Or maybe she became scared.
“Nice goin’, lady! Stand in your piss until I finish my paperwork.” The officer shook her head and chewed her gum, swearing in French. “Let the New Year’s Eve weekend loonies bloom, folks. Bonne année.”
One thing was certain, Rielle was headed for jail.
Bloody hand unattended, he left Rielle standing in her yellow puddle. In the driveway, Warner passed the broken champagne bottle he’d intended to share with Red. He slid into his convertible and drove up and down Rue de la Republique and around Gustavia Harbour in search of her. Pre-New Year’s parties were in full swing atop the yachts lining the waters. Blondes and brunettes danced and called his attention, but no redheads. No Red.
Where are you? Who are you? I have to know.
* * * * *
Why is it so impossible to get laid? Taddy walked up to the villa, her gator-skin bag under her arm. Vive stumbled three steps ahead swinging her skunk fur purse in the air. “Farnworth,” Taddy shouted after her.
Vive turned back. “Brill.” One eye opened wide as the other slid shut. “Wasup?” She unlocked the door and pushed through the living room, collapsing on the sofa in an exasperated huff.
Taddy went into her bedroom and threw the purse in her suitcase. It was covered in dirt. No good to her now. She slipped her dress off, dreaming of Garner’s hands on her body. Wrapping in a terry cloth robe, she returned to the living room.
Lex sat in a lounge chair next to Vive and sketched her fashion designs. She gazed at Taddy. “This is early for you. What gives?”
“Go first, Vive, I wanna hear how things progressed after you hit the dance floor.” Taddy hoped her friend’s night would be better than hers. From the caked mascara around Vive’s blue eyes, it appeared likely.
“One sec, my feet are killin’ me.” Vive slid one Christian Louboutin stiletto off followed by the other. “That’s better. So tonight, this hot Frenchman was eating from the palm of my hand.” She held out her arms to show the bite marks. “We’re getting it on at his hotel room over by Tom’s Beach. Oliver…I recall. Anyways my dress is up over my head, he couldn’t get the zipper down. He’s goin’ to town, eatin’ me out.”
“I’m jealous.” Taddy sighed.
“Ollie’s runnin’ his eager tongue in long strokes over my slit and into my ass. Cloud nine here I come, right?” Eyes rolling back in her head, Vive clenched her legs together and huffed, dramatically. “Between his sexy tongue stabbing my clit, he licked, nipped and bit my hard nub.”
Here my gal Vive goes…
Lex rested her hand under her chin, eyeing Vive to continue.
“He gets his belt loose and drops his pants. The dude zaps the lights before I pull my dress from my face. I must see what I’m gettin’ into. I flip the nightstand lamp on.” Vive’s head shook in apparent disgust. “When I spot…”
“What?” Taddy didn’t follow.
“Itty-bitty sores.”
“Huh?” Lex’s left eyebrow shot up.
“Little dots, sorta reminding me of the sprinkles Lex puts on her Häagen-Dazs.” Vive added, “Except they were purple and filled with—”
“Gross.” Taddy wished she hadn’t heard this. The man she Candy Land tripped with was hunky perfection, minus his bride-to-be and baby-on-board, of course. Vive won on worst-guy-to-score-with, hands down.
“We see where this conversation is going.” Closing her sketchpad, Lex stood from her nesting spot and stalked into the kitchen. Pots clanging, then the water came on. “I’m making us tea.”
“Go on.” Taddy sat back on the sofa cushions next to Vive.
“Well, he’s rock-hard. I ask him about the blisters. Ollie explains they’re some reaction to the hotel’s soap.” Vive heaved in laughter. “Granted I haven’t attended an STD class since the tenth grade, but his rash resembled those images from Mrs. Pringle’s slideshow—herpes.”
Lex came in with a Neapolitan wafer tray. “I ordered room service after you two left.” She poured herself some cream and passed it over to Taddy.
Taddy took a sip as the warm liquid relaxed her throat. She tasted Garner on her lips and an excited tremble passed through her. “This is better than champagne.” She smiled at Vive who didn’t argue. “What did Ollie do when you called him out on his—inflammation?”
“He threw me out of his room. Can you believe this shit? I didn’t intend to lick, suck nor ride Ollie’s dirty dick anyways. The nerve.” Vive crunched down on a cookie. She spoke with a mouthful. “The two studs I chatted up prior to Mr. Herpes were a couple. So cute. So bisexual.”