Chapter 3: The Private Tour
Scott watched Carla leave the spa, a new looseness in her stride. She moved like a satisfied secret, and the image of her arching on the massage table while Zeke’s voice grunted in his ear was still etched hotly behind his eyes. He closed his laptop, his own briefcase of work untouched. The memory of her descriptions, of a stranger’s hands claiming her, was a ghost in the room.
“Feel better?” he asked as she entered, her skin glowing.
“Incredibly,” she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. “You missed a phenomenal tour.”
“I got the audio version.” He pulled her to him, his hands sliding over the soft spa robe. “It was fucking electrifying.”
She kissed him, deep and tasting of mint and salt. “It’s your turn for an adventure tomorrow,” she murmured against his mouth. “I’m stealing a day for myself. There’s a hiking tour to a private beach.”
“Should I be worried?” he asked, his fingers tracing her spine.
“Always,” she laughed, and the sound was pure promise.
The next morning, Scott was on a video call, his brow furrowed at spreadsheets glowing in the dim suite. Carla kissed the top of his head, already dressed in hiking shorts and a tank top. “Don’t work too hard,” she whispered, her hand grazing his shoulder.
“Bring me back a shell,” he said absently, his focus already splintering between columns of data.
Down in the resort lobby, a man stood waiting. He was lean, muscles corded under sun-darkened skin, with eyes the color of dark amber. He introduced himself as Refugio. “The other four canceled,” he said, his English smooth with a melodic accent. “Sudden stomach bug. It is just us, if you still wish to go.”
Carla felt a familiar, thrilling jolt. “Just us is perfect.”