Prologue

 

Morning, at daybreak, just as the sun brightened the blue and yellow room and cast its golden light across the bed, Laney awakened, her hand outstretched along the smooth sheets beside her. For a moment before she opened her eyes, before she became conscious of the day, she imagined Erik having just climbed from between the covers and leaving an imprint of his body heat on the bed. With a soft smile on her lips, she opened her eyes and gazed at the empty space beside her, but there was no imprint of her husband's body there, nor were there sounds of him showering in the adjacent bathroom, or the tangy aroma she associated with the man she loved. Every morning for six months she'd lived without the sounds and sights and smells of her husband, not since the private jet went down had there been any tangible, touchable evidence of his physical being.

She gazed at her outstretched arm and the bracelet that ringed her wrist with the simple platinum band. Her heart thudded in her chest with a familiar pang of grief, although today, along side that familiar grief was a stirring physical sensation, a wildness in her belly. She tasted a new desire on her lips. She'd been dreaming of the island-Marquis Island-all night long: the air, the breeze, the scent of island wildflowers, and her legs opening wide as some man's enormous cock was driven deep between her thighs. She rubbed against the sheets beneath her naked ass, while every sexual nerve in her was awakened by the memory of that dream. Her right hand strayed to the moist valley between her thighs, a finger pushing its way between the cleft formed by her plump labia.

"No, goddammit!" she suddenly shook herself from the delightful amusement, and jumped from bed. As she headed for the shower, she tore off her nightgown and left it in her wake. Briefs to be filed in court, a new client at ten, and the verdict of Jones v. Dalton. Then dinner with Sandra and Elise.

She rubbed her lean body with the foamy, tangerine scented body wash, then stretched to rinse the suds from her elongated breasts. Her belly was flat and firm, her thighs muscled from jogging, her bottom small, round and tight. As her hands glided over her flesh, the platinum bracelet slid down her arm; where it touched, the skin seemed to burn. For a moment, she fingered the shiny metal surface, then cradled it in her palm. Closing her eyes the island returned to her again...and Erik returned to her, vivid, as if he might walk through the door alive and breathing. Her dream reformed, and behind her husband loomed the vague image of another man, an unfamiliar face cloaked in darkness. Her eyes jerked open and the real world descended on her again. The water flowing over her skin seemed to soothe the fire stirring in her belly. Sighing deeply, she shook the troubling images from her mind once again and continued to rinse herself, as if she could end the moment without any further disturbance. But then her fingers glided against the brand on her left flank. EP. Her husband's initial burned into her skin. Her belly spasmed hard, and she felt momentarily faint. The brand throbbed as hot as it had been when it was new.

Oh, please! she pleaded to the steamy air. Jerking her hand away from her thigh, and her mind from the thoughts the mark evoked, she stepped from the shower and reached for her towel.

Chapter One

 

With her arms loaded with packages, Laney awkwardly reached for the door knocker and let if fall, announcing her presence at 23 Arbor St., Elise and Matthew's brown Victorian row house. A moment later, Elise answered, looking like a vision of loveliness, as usual. Her mane of chestnut hair spread across her shoulders and her smile was gentle, although there was that fire in her eyes that Laney associated with the often high strung pianist. She was barefoot, dressed in a long, diaphanous, plum-colored skirt and a small t-shirt that rode up high enough to display her small white belly and a pierced navel. Jutting from her small breasts, Elise's bud-shaped nipples poked right through the pale yellow fabric, and might have easily diverted Laney's attention, however, those sweet buds were nothing unusual to Laney's eyes.

Instead, Laney stared at the navel ring in amazement. "Woah! Is that new?"

Elise blushed. "You like it?"

"Humm. Don't know... but I think it's...it's very you. I mean the whole outfit... you have me aghast," she laughed.

"Really?"

"You suppose you could help me," Laney asked, as she juggled the packages in her arms.

From behind Elise, the voluptuous Sandra reached out to take the packages spilling from Laney arms. "What in god's name did you bring?" she asked.

"Presents."

"Presents?" Sandra's blue eyes lit with interest.

"And wine, some cheese I bought at the deli, and Greek olives."

"Oh, I see, you're trying to make me fat. I'm on a diet, you know," Sandra said

"You can diet tomorrow," Laney crossed the threshold into the foyer. "How often is it that we get together?" She hugged Elise first, feeling the tickle of erotic excitement she brought with her bloom, then went on to melt into Sandra's soft body. She stroked her long blonde hair and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

"You both look so lovely..." Laney said, on backing off. She had to fight back tears.

"Laney, it's just the three of us, you can cry if you want," Elise said.

Laney took a deep breath, and shook her head. "No, not tonight. Tonight I'm not going to cry. Life moves on and mine will, too," she breezed by them both on the way to the kitchen. "Tonight I plan to drink some wine and laugh with my friends." She turned back as she reached the kitchen door. "Now it's time to open your presents."

 

***

 

The fire in the grate had turned into glowing embers. Three empty bottles of wine stood like small sentinels on the coffee table. The cheese and the olives, along with Elise's salad and Sandra's cold-cuts had been devoured an hour before. Now nourished, happy and just a little drunk, the trio sat on the floor before the hearth, their backs resting against the sofa and two facing leather chairs, the table between them. The warm air was like a liquid bath around them, sensuous, but alarming, because it signaled an erotic mood they might all have reason to fear. They were best friends, but they'd been keeping secrets-several months of secrets. Maybe it was Erik Priestly's death that made them close in on themselves. Laney had been their rock, their leader, and she'd crumbled like an ancient ruin when her husband died. The three became islands of their own making, afraid to talk, to touch, to laugh as they had before, driven into their private worlds where no one could disturb them.

After having opened Laney's presents-music boxes from Denmark she'd picked up on a recent business trip-an unsettling silence gathered around them like a heavily laden cloud. The music from the prettily decorated boxes had been haunting, not the gay melodies Laney remembered when she chose them. Clair de Lune had never sounded quite so sad. But it was more than just the sad notes that quashed their merry reunion. Not since the funeral had they been together like this. Yet, it wasn't just the recollection of that last meeting that colored their mood, but something that reached even further back.

"Do you ever think about the island?" Laney interrupted the quiet. She words slipped in, almost unbeknownst to her, as if she'd hadn't really spoken them and they were still dancing in her mind. But with just the tiniest ripple of discomfort sweeping their intimate conclave, she knew that she had voiced her question and it had hit a nerve.

"No, I never think about the island," Elise jumped in. She grabbed her wine glass and took another long drink of her Chablis, fidgeting nervously with her funky skirt.

"Really? I wonder why," Laney mused. She wasn't really asking for an answer.

Elise looked troubled, while Sandra's gleaming eyes surveyed them both. "I don't believe that," she chimed in with an accusation aimed directly at Elise.

She backed up instinctively. Elise could look prim and proud-something her new casual wardrobe tried to contradict, and now woefully failed to do. The modest, self-effacing Elise reemerged.

"Elise, I don't believe you," Sandra said bluntly, her eyes lit strangely now. "Things have happened...I sense they have for you, too. I don't think you can rid yourself from its influence any more than Laney and I have been able to do."

"Well, this is a switch," Laney looked at Sandra a bit surprised. She could feel her friend's fear as a layer of goosebumps spread like a rash across her arm.

At that moment, a flame burst from the fire, its flickering light dancing across Sandra's face. Something eerie, something wicked seemed to sweep through the room. Sandra hugged her arms as if she were shivering cold while Elise looked on with alarm and Laney's vibrant expression pressed her friend for answers.

"I'm not sure the island has influenced me at all," Elise said, defensively, as her gaze moved from one to the other.

"You don't you remember what happened on Marquis Island?" Laney tried again.

"Of course, I do," she shot out, as if she was trying hard to forget. "What good is it to talk about..."

"We get stranded in a storm," Sandra cut her off, "the boat won't start, and suddenly we're captive to Jason, Matthew and Erik, imprisoned in a strange house with that strange caretaker Archibald Devane and his vile book." Suddenly she's a little dreamy, staring trace-like into the fire. "Chapter by chapter we followed the path of some mysterious Marquis, and were turned into sex slaves...stripped, bound, beaten...used ..." Each word and her voice softened a little more.