Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

WILLOW

W illow was bored and antsy. Days on the island seemed to stretch on endlessly with little to do except sunbathe, wander the house and grounds, and watch Weston. Weston was becoming something of an obsession. She found herself doing provocative things just to try and get a rise out of him. Sometimes she thought she could see his cock stiffen behind his fly, but his face betrayed nothing.

The man was hot, as in sex-on-a-stick hot, even in his impeccable butler's attire. His presence was a constant reminder of the simmering tension she felt. She needed to find something to do to pass the time, something to keep her mind off the restless energy coursing through her. She was tired of living like a fucking nun. Frank hadn't touched her in a long time, and she needed to feel alive again—not just in her dreams, but in reality, as well.

Willow's fingers trembled as she tentatively touched herself. She knew she shouldn't be doing this, but somehow, she just couldn't seem to stop. The need that had started as simply wanting to feel something had quickly evolved into wanting Weston in the worst way. Knowing he could walk in at any minute and find her only made the need pulse more brightly.

Feeling powerful, yet vulnerable, Willow let go of convention and began to surrender to her deepest fantasies. She pushed her top up above her breasts to expose them. What would Weston do if he found her like this? She moved her hands over her body, her fingers brushing over her breasts and tugging at her nipples.

Slowing her movements, she used her fingers to trace over her belly, pausing momentarily before slipping inside the waistband of the bottom of her swimsuit and dipping into her soft and wet folds. She wondered if the sight of her, so exposed and aroused, might send a jolt of lust through him. She could easily imagine his cock twitching in response, lengthening and hardening, needing to be inside her.

Her fingertips moved faster, thrusting inside herself as she moaned softly. She was lost in the pleasure she was providing herself. Her breath hitched, and she increased the pace of her fingering, her other hand coming up to tug and pinch her nipples.

Willow's hips slowly began to undulate in rhythm with her fingers; she moaned softly, her body tensing, pleasure coursing through her as she neared her climax. With a final gasp, her body trembled as she came hard, stifling her moans.

She could feel her body release as tears started to trickle down her face. Was this what her life had become? Giving into some exhibitionist need to masturbate and hope the man she fantasized about might catch her? God, she hoped not. Willow straightened her swimsuit and prayed no one had seen her. Well, no one except maybe Weston.

No. She wasn't going to think that way. She had to get a handle on her emotions and arousal. She wasn't going to live this way. She wanted this thing over with so she could find some kind of life for herself.

When she'd first come to the island, she'd been suspicious of everyone—seeing potential assassins everywhere. The fear of her husband's reach, of the Shadow League's unpredictable actions, kept her on edge. And always in the back of her mind was the man who had beaten her husband turning into a gorilla and then back again… and the dreams. The dreams of a fight between the gorilla and the grizzly bear, and then the bear becoming Weston.

Her life seemed to have become one long waiting game. Waiting for Frank to be arrested; waiting for Frank to go on trial—if, of course, the Shadow League even allowed him to go to trial. She knew both Frank and the League would do whatever it took to make sure Willow never had a chance to testify. But as the days turned into a week and then another, she found herself calming down, starting to trust the security around her. However, there was something about the way Weston watched her that kept her on edge.

Willow's days settled into a monotonous routine, but she had another problem. Her daydreams about Weston had turned into real dreams. Hot, torrid dreams that woke her up in a sweaty mess. At first, the dreams had culminated in her climaxing, but now it was as if Weston would pull back and evaporate just before she could finish. She woke up on the brink of a major orgasm, left wanting the real thing.

These unfulfilled desires left her feeling restless during the day. She didn't think Weston liked her very much, and at first, she tried to avoid him. He was very stern—not exactly standoffish, but he evaded her personal questions and tended to stay away from her, although he was never far from sight. Willow had seen him looking at her, when he thought she wasn't aware he was there. Every once in a while, she could see a look of primal hunger cross his face, as if he were predator and she was prey.

Willow wandered the grounds aimlessly, keeping to the areas she had been given access to. Her thoughts were a jumble of frustration, fear, and desire. She found herself gravitating towards Weston, even when she tried to keep her distance. Today was no different. She sat on a lounge chair, pretending to read a book, but her eyes kept drifting to where Weston was working in the garden. For once, he had removed his butler's coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing well-muscled arms that flexed as he moved.

She closed her eyes, trying to push the image from her mind, but it was no use. The dreams had made her aware of every little thing about him, from the way his hair fell over his forehead to the way his lips curved into that rare, brief smile. She wanted to know more about him, but every attempt to get close had been met with polite deflection.

With a sigh, she got up and started walking towards him. She needed to talk to him, to find a way to break through the wall he had built around himself. As she approached, Weston looked up, his expression unreadable.

"Is there something you need, Ms. Carlyle?" he asked, his voice as smooth and steady as ever.

She hesitated, then said, "I'm bored. There's not much to do around here."

Weston nodded, his eyes meeting hers. "I understand. I can arrange some activities for you if you'd like. Perhaps a guided tour of the island, or some outdoor sports?"

Willow shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. I just...I wanted to talk to you. Get to know you better."

Weston's expression didn't change, but she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. "I'm here to ensure your safety, Ms. Carlyle. My personal life isn't relevant to that."

"But it is to me," she said softly. "I'm going to be here for who knows how long. I need to know the people around me."

He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. "Very well. What would you like to know?"

She sat down on a nearby bench, gesturing for him to join her. He hesitated, then sat down, maintaining a respectful distance. She asked him about his background, his interests, anything to draw him out. He answered her questions with the same polite detachment, but she could see the walls he had built starting to crack.

Finally, she asked the question that had been burning in her mind. "Why do you watch me?"

Cage looked startled, but he quickly composed himself. "It's my job to ensure your safety."

"That's not what I meant," she said. "I've seen the way you look at me."

"It's my job to watch over you. I can't do that without looking at you. Is there anything else, Ms. Carlyle?"

Feeling chastised and somewhat silly, she shook her head. Perhaps it was all in her head. Perhaps she was going mad—dreams about men turning into gorillas and grizzly bears and back again. No one right in their head would be thinking that, right? Maybe not mad, maybe just stir-crazy.

A few days later, after breakfast, Willow was once again sprawled on the lounge chair out where she could see the ocean, the sun casting a warm glow over the water as it washed ashore and back out again. She glanced over at Weston, who stood nearby in his ever-present, impeccably tailored suit. It was a ridiculous outfit for the Mediterranean heat, she thought, but there he was, wearing it with the same unflappable demeanor he always did. His professional detachment was really becoming annoying. The way he carried himself, the controlled, deadly strength in the hands that helped her out of her seat or handed her a glass of orange juice all suggested he was more than just a butler.

"Tell me, Weston, why do you wear that ridiculous suit every day?" Willow asked, adjusting her sunglasses to get a better look at him.

She had insisted he sit with her during meals because it unnerved her to have him standing over her while she ate. Over time, it had become a habit for them, a quiet ritual they both adhered to without discussion.

Weston settled into the chair opposite her, his posture as straight and composed as ever. "It's the uniform my employer chose," he replied, his tone measured and polite.

But there was something about the way he said "employer" that made Willow's senses prickle with unease. She studied him closely, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

There was a tension in the air, a silent question hanging between them. Were those hands of his deadly? Would he use them one night to pleasure her or strangle her? Willow shivered at the thought, even as another, more tantalizing possibility crossed her mind. She hoped he wouldn't harm her, because she wanted those strong hands for something else entirely.

Willow watched Weston from the corner of her eye, a mimosa cradled in her hand. The sunlight filtering down through the pergola cast alternating shadows and light. Weston was meticulously looking over things on a clipboard, flipping pages back and forth, writing little notes here and there, his movements precise and controlled. There was something so unerringly perfect about him that it set her nerves on edge.

Deciding to push him just a bit further, she whirled around on the lounge so she could face him, "You know, Weston," she began, her tone light and teasing, "you're very un-butler-like."

He paused momentarily, so quick that had she not been looking directly at him, she might have missed it. But without missing a beat, he went back to his studied nonchalance. "Is that so, Ms. Carlyle?" His voice was calm, collected.

"Yes, it is." She took another sip of her mimosa, savoring the warmth that spread through her veins. "It's almost scary. Sometimes, I wonder if you're really here to kill me." She laughed, the sound brittle even to her own ears. It was a ridiculous suggestion, of course, but she couldn't deny the thrill that the thought sent through her.

Weston turned to face her, his expression inscrutable. "That's quite an imagination you have."

Willow shrugged, trying to appear blasé despite the rapid beating of her heart. "Maybe. But you have to admit, you're a bit mysterious."

He didn't respond, but raised his gaze and trained it on her. The silence stretched between them, taut and electric.

"So, tell me," she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "are you attracted to me at all?"

The question hung in the air, charged and provocative. Weston's eyes darkened, but his expression remained impassive. "I don't think that's an appropriate question, Ms. Carlyle, and I'll thank you to keep your curiosity and those kinds of questions to yourself."

"I think it's a very appropriate question. Another interesting question is why do you consider it inappropriate?" She leaned forward, offering him what she hoped was a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. "You're always so composed, so in control. It makes me wonder what it would take to break that calm."

Weston's jaw clenched, and she could see the conflict in his eyes. He was a fortress, walls high and impenetrable, but she was determined to find a way in.

"You should probably get out of the sun," he said finally, his voice low and firm. "You'll burn."

Willow smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "Whatever you say, Weston." She stood and walked away, feeling his gaze on her back, every step a deliberate sway of her hips.

As she went inside and climbed the stairs to her room, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd struck a nerve. The idea of Weston as a dangerous, enigmatic figure was curiously arousing. The tension between them was a live wire, crackling with possibilities.

Later today or maybe tomorrow, she thought, her lips curving into a wicked smile. Yeah, that was the ticket. She'd give him a little time to stew and then see just how far she could push him.

As she reached her room, she realized there had been a time fear had outweighed arousal. That was no longer the case.

She was breaking free, and it felt good .

To break the silence and the tension, Willow called down to speak to him. "I'm bored, Weston. See if you can find something for me to do today, will you?" she asked, her voice a touch too bright, too casual.

She wasn't sure, but she was fairly sure she'd heard him sigh. "Of course, Ms. Carlyle. I can show you the media room after lunch. Perhaps you can find a film you might like to watch."

Willow grinned. Yep, she was definitely starting to get to him. She walked over to the mini fridge she'd had them install in her room and removed a can of diet coke. She took a sip, feeling the cool liquid slide down her throat. As she watched Weston from her bedroom window, she couldn't help but wonder about the man behind the suit, the man who carried himself with the grace and precision of a royal butler but hinted at something far more dangerous and intriguing.

She wondered if he might try something all alone in the dark? With the darkness to shroud his movements, would he try to strangle her, or would those strong hands wrap around her, fisting her hair and pulling her close so he could ravage her in the best way possible?

God, she was really starting to lose it.