Page 97 of Freckles

“You work on commission, don’t you?”

I recognise Lance’s voice and freeze in place. I’m wary of making my presence known and hope they’ll return outside any second.

The jewellery saleswoman—early to mid-twenties at the most—replies “Yes,” in such a breathless voice, it could be mistaken for another slap of the ocean waves.

“There are a couple of these pieces that pique my interest, but I really need to see how they look while being worn. Would you oblige, my darling?”

“But I’m…” The bewildered woman clears her throat. “I’m already wearing them, sir.”

He gives a soft snort, sounding so like Kincaid, I step closer, peeking past the separator.

Lance towers over the salesgirl by at least a foot, their heights appearing more disparate because her head is bowed, gaze locked on the floor.

“My girls don’t wear jewellery above their clothes. They wear it against their bare skin.” He gently cups her shoulder, then uses his knuckle to raise her chin until they’re staring into each other’s eyes. “Take your dress off for me, there’s a good girl.”

My throat clutches and I retreat to my former position before I can be seen, heart beating far too loud in my ears.

“Don’t look so concerned,” he continues. “There’s only me here to see you. I won’t let anybody through the hatch until you’re fully clothed again.”

Even though I’m no longer looking, I imagine how her eyes skate to the connecting entryway, searching for help and not finding any.

I could walk through into the cabin and put an end to it, but even with the introduction and Kincaid’s reassurances, the man scares me, and I stay where I am. Cowardly, yes, but it’s not like he’s forcing her into a four-way gang bang. There’s a rustle of movement and I turn, resting my forehead against the cool fibreglass siding.

Maybe I should clear my throat to let them know I’m here.

… believe me when I say, my uncle is so much worse.

My stomach knots with remembered fear.

In person, the man has proven to be cordial, generous, inclusive. But if Kincaid’s words are a true assessment from a boy who loves, respects, and even emulates the man, I don’t want to find out how quickly his persona could change.

If anything, his politeness worries me more than thuggery would. At least then, I’d know to keep well distant.

“It’s sweet how shy you are.” There’s a long pause and I cup my neck, the pulse beating fast under my fingers. “Now remove your underwear. No”—his voice turns sharper—“don’t worry about what’s happening on deck. Just concentrate on me. Listen to my voice and follow my instructions. I won’t harm you. In a few minutes, you can leave here and join your companions on deck.” Her breathing calms, falling into synch with his. “Should I unhook your bra? Save your shaking hands?”

I close my eyes, transported back to a steamy locker room. It’s now obvious where Kincaid sourced his playbook.

“That’s it. You’re exquisite, my dear. Far better than these flashing stones. Meet me at my hotel this evening, and I’ll have a contract for you to sign.”

“I don’t understand.”

“To be my… companion for the next six months. I pay for everything you need, and you satisfy my needs in return. Any time, any place I want you. There’ll be a signing bonus if you’re interested. A completion bonus too, paid when the six months is up or I grow bored. Whichever comes sooner.”

“I don’t—”

His voice becomes firmer. “All up to you, of course. If you’re worried, ask the lawyers to draft an escape clause, and I’ll review the conditions you want imposed. That’s fine. This is an arrangement for expediency—not a trap.”

Another shuffle of movement follows, accompanied by a long pause. “And what if I decline, sir?”

“You won’t know until you read the contract, will you? Regardless of what happens with the paperwork, I’ll take these jewels… though you’re a hundred times more beautiful than they could ever hope to be. Get dressed. I’ll have my guard bring you an appointment card and whether you attend or not is up to you.”

“Thank you, but please don’t expect me to—”

I risk another glance just in time to see him shush her with a finger. Her eyes are large, wary, yet also full of yearning.

“Your employer told me your sister’s ill in hospital. I could pay for a specialist to fly in from overseas, offer another opinion. I can’t guarantee a cure, but with the public health system overwhelmed, I can guarantee you she’ll receive a far better standard of care.”

His thumb presses on her lower lip until it forces entry, pumping inside while her eyes water. “Wider,” he murmurs, and she obliges, stretching her jaw until mine aches in sympathy and I retreat again.

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