Prize of a Lifetime. Donna Hill
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van turned into a long, winding road, braced on either side by trees and lush greenery surrounded by white gravel and stones. The vehicle slowed as it approached a gate. A guard in a beige uniform stepped out of the small enclosure at the entrance to the gate and approached the driver. He peered inside and asked to see their reservations. Each passenger handed over their documents, which were promptly returned, and the gate slowly swung open.
“They’re pretty serious about their security,” Sasha said under her breath, tucking her documents back in her purse.
“Jolly Beach is a private resort. There are no walk-ins. If you don’t have a confirmed reservation you can’t get into the facility,” Mitchell explained.
They drove down a path that led to the welcome area of the resort, which was outside, much to Sasha’s surprise. The reception desk was couched beneath an archway with seating all around. The area opened out onto paths leading to shops, the bar and the beach.
The driver began unloading bags and Mitchell took out his wallet to give him a tip. Sasha did the same, but Mitchell covered her hand with his. “Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly.
Sasha couldn’t decide whether to reject his courteous gesture or if he saw her as a helpless tourist. When they were out of eyeshot of the others she would repay him. She didn’t want him getting the idea that now “she owed him.”
They walked up to the reception desk and checked in. They were both given wrist bands that would allow them free meals and use of all the facilities while they were at the resort during the next two weeks.
“Here are your keys,” the desk clerk said in a lilting island patois with a hint of a British accent. She gave an actual key to Sasha and Mitchell then handed them a brochure of the resort’s amenities and a map and directions for the sprawling resort. “Your rooms are on Mango Lane. Make a left at the exit sign and they are across the short walkway.” She smiled brightly, not offering an escort.
“Thanks,” Mitchell said then turned to Sasha. “Ready?”
“Sure.” Pulling her bag behind her, she followed Mitchell through the darkness, the only illumination coming from the moonlight on the graveled path.
They crossed a short bridge that spanned a pond and emerged on the other side into a tropical paradise. Palms and brilliantly colored flora greeted them every step of the way, filling the air with a heady aroma. Mitchell looked at the signposts stuck in the gravel. He glanced over his shoulder at Sasha. “It’s right up ahead.”
They came upon a row of white connected cottages and went up a short flight of stone steps that opened onto another row of connecting rooms.
“I’m in 207,” Mitchell said.
Sasha looked at her key tag and was surprised to discover that she was right next door in 206. She swallowed. “206.”
“Neighbors.” He led the way down the corridor and stopped in front of her door first. “Here you are.”
“Here I am,” she said inanely.
“Need any help?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”
He nodded, but didn’t move. “Are you going in?”
“Oh,” she said, flustered. She stuck the key in the lock, opened the door and flipped on the light.
“Mind if I take a look around? Make sure everything is cool, okay?”
Sasha stepped aside. “Sure.”
“Can’t be too careful,” he said, stepping inside. He walked in, opened the closets, looked in the bathroom and went to the terrace, checking the locks. He turned to her. “Be sure to lock this whenever you leave your room.” He drew in a breath and slowly exhaled. “Well…everything looks fine. Uh, guess I need to get out of here so that you can get settled.” He moved toward the open door.
“Are you always this…helpful?” Sasha asked with a soft smile, her hand on the frame of the door.
“As the oldest with two younger sisters, my father always insisted that I look out for my mother and my sisters and treat women the way I would my own family.” His gaze settled on her for an instant too long. He looked away. “Good night. Rest well.”
“You, too. And thanks again.”
He nodded and walked out. Slowly she closed and locked the door behind him, and suddenly the brightly colored room seemed incredibly dull without him.
She shook her head to dispel thoughts and images of Mitchell Davenport. What she needed to focus on was unpacking her bags, taking a long, hot shower and settling beneath the covers of the queen-sized bed that was calling out to her.
After unpacking, she closed the drapes on the terrace windows and stripped before heading into the bathroom. The moment she walked in she heard the rush of water coming from the opposite side of the shared wall. Mitchell’s room. Her mind flooded with images of his tall, lean, muscular brown body glistening beneath the pulsating flow of the rushing water. The bud between her thighs jerked to attention and began to pulse. A soft moan escaped her lips.
It had been months since she’d had sex, and even longer that her needs had actually been fulfilled. No wonder she got turned on by the first decent-looking,-smelling,-talking man she met.
Get it together, girl, she chided herself, turning on the water and wondering if Mitchell would imagine her the same way she’d just imagined him.
She stepped under the steamy spray and using her shower gel, generously lathered her body. Her nipples grew hard and the beat of the water between her legs only intensified the long drought that she’d endured. She let the water push the scented soap off her body as she caressed the heaviness of her breasts wishing that there were hands other than her own giving her pleasure. Her fingers dipped lower, answering the demanding call.
She closed her eyes and Mitchell stood in front of her, holding her close, hard and thick between her trembling thighs, stroking her, nibbling her wet skin, pushing her closer to the edge of ecstasy.
Her body shook from the balls of her feet, charging like an electric current up her thighs, exploding in her center, the intensity weakening her knees. She shook and moaned as release wound its way through her.
The pounding of her heart echoed above the sound of the water. Her eyes blinked open. She was alone—momentarily satisfied.
Chapter 3
Mitchell rose before the sun. He wished he could say that he’d actually slept. But he didn’t. More than once he’d awakened during the night with a hard-on that could cut glass, and he owed his discomfort to Sasha Carrington. Throughout the night he’d envisioned her lush body naked in his bed, on the beach, in the ocean and him doing things to her and her to him that are only talked about on a 900 call. Her soft scent haunted him like an apparition. He’d found himself reaching for her in the throes of tossing and turning in his bed, only to discover that he’d grabbed the downy-soft pillow.
Bleary-eyed, he made his way to the bathroom and turned on the shower full-blast. Maybe an early-morning jog on the beach would shake off the effects of Sasha he hoped as he stepped under the prickling pellets of icy-cold water.
Donning a sleeveless T-shirt and his jogging shorts, he laced up his sneakers, grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom, draped it around his neck and left for the beach. Walking through the reception area he passed the bar and closed shops and inhaled the aromas of steamed fish, ham, bacon and spices as the kitchen staff prepared to open the breakfast buffet at six.
When he reached the beach, a hint of orange glowed just above the horizon. He had about a half hour before the sun fully rose, and the heat with it. He took off at a slow jog, his only company the seagulls and the ocean that rolled toward the shore.
This was the best time of day, he thought, picking up his pace, those precious moments just before dawn, when