Pleasure Island Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Pleasure Island

  ISBN 9781419920796

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Pleasure Island Copyright © 2009 Michelle M. Pillow & Mandy M. Roth

  Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication January 2009

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  PLEASURE ISLAND

  Michelle M. Pillow

  &

  Mandy M. Roth

  Dedication

  To our wonderful readers at the Cave who make what we do such a joy! And to the Pleasure Cruise fans who clamored for more. It was your emails and support that inspired us to write a book related to the world.

  Chapter One

  “Lady,” Jurgen Cuyper said, gritting his teeth as his cock dug at the confines of his jeans. Music pumped from the old jukebox in the corner of the bar. It was a song that was made before he was born and it was one of the most recent songs the thing had to offer. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are but I’m trying to enjoy a drink and your yapping is makin’ that damn hard to do.”

  The woman, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, gasped. Tiny wisps of it came free and he knew it was long and slightly curly. His fingers itched to run through it.

  Her blue eyes reeled with astonishment and her tongue darted out and over her lips. “My yapping?”

  He palmed his dick through his jeans, staring her over. She’d be a sweet fuck. He was sure of that. He could almost taste her cream on his lips as he brought his glass to his mouth. The whiskey had a slight bite, nowhere as sharp as his could be. He glanced at his buddy, a fellow private pilot, and grinned. “Think she’d look good on me? Looks about my size, doesn’t she?”

  His friend laughed, lifting his drink and slamming it down. “Hell yeah. If she doesn’t fit you, man, I’ll take her for a spin or two.”

  Pure animalistic rage ripped through him and his eyes burned with the need to shift colors. His voice deepened in warning. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Putting his hands up to signal surrender, his friend hurried away, knowing better than to chance Jurgen’s wrath. He had no reason to stake a claim on the woman but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. His supernatural blood tended to control his moods more than he liked but it had never done so to this extent before.

  The woman huffed, lifted the bottle of whiskey and poured it directly onto his lap. Jurgen shot up and out of the chair, sending it crashing to the ground. Disbelief shot through him. The woman actually wasted perfectly good liquor. He was about to tell her exactly what he thought of that when he noticed the moisture in her eyes. Her bottom lip trembled and dammit if his chest didn’t get all tight.

  Fuck.

  He ran a hand over his shorn hair and glanced to the side to find most of the bar staring at him. The place was a dive but it was a dive he knew well. He glared at them and they looked away.

  Putting his hand out, Jurgen sighed. “Don’t do that.”

  She held the empty bottle out to him, her chin wobbling.

  “For Christ’s sake, lady, don’t do that.”

  She burst into tears and he growled, bending and scooping her up. He tossed her over one shoulder and stalked toward the back of the bar. She slapped at his back but he ignored her. His jeans rubbed him the wrong way and chafing was a real threat. His boots crunched the semi-sandy soil as he headed straight for one of the many tiny cabins that ran along the backside of the bar.

  “Put me down!” the pistol of a woman over his shoulder yelled, hitting at his back again.

  “I will.” He flashed a wicked grin. “Then I’m stripping these wet jeans off and I’m going to make you lick every drop of whiskey from my body.”

  She froze and it took all he had not to laugh. As much as he wanted that pretty pink tongue running over the head of his cock, he’d never force a woman to do anything she didn’t want to do. That wasn’t his thing. Though he had to admit he’d considered whisking away the livid li’l thing. He’d caught her engaging scent before she’d even entered the bar. His cock responded first, which wasn’t surprising. The thing did tend to have a mind of its own. The beast he carried within was next in line to acknowledge that she stirred something in him.

  Hell, that was sight unseen.

  Watching her sexy body sashay into the bar as she’d asked for a pilot and a plane to take her to the mainland did something to him he couldn’t explain. For a minute, the pulsing in his cock seemed to reach his head, beating, pounding out something that sounded remarkably like “claim her”.

  A shudder raced through him at the thought of tying himself to any one woman, let alone the one he held now. She was demanding, prissy, too proper, too wiggling on his shoulder.

  Her arousal assailed his senses. Inhaling deeply, Jurgen groaned, the tip of his dick leaking pre-cum. “Woman, be still or you will be fucked good and hard. Am I clear?”

  “Y-yes,” she whispered.

  He entered the end cabin and kicked the door shut behind him. She gasped as he deposited her on the bed. It squeaked. So did she. A pale hand clasped her throat as she stared up at him.

  “I-I just need someone to fly me to…”

  Her fear cooled his ragging hard-on. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Why did you bring me here then?”

  “One,” he palmed his cock again, “I’m soaked. Someone here lost their temper and dumped a bottle of whiskey on me.”

  She blushed and he wanted to kiss every spot that turned red. “Sorry.”

  “No you’re not, but good effort to make me think so. The second reason you’re here is half the bar heard you say you didn’t have any place to stay tonight. Rather than leave you to the wolves,” he paused, chuckling to himself, “I thought it safer to bring you here. We’re flying out together, it only makes sense you stay nearby.” He went to the brown army bag lying on the floor in the corner of the room. He tended to just sleep here rather than go to his place. It was close to the bar and the only airstrip the island had. He pulled out a clean, dry pair of jeans. “Want to tell me why you were about to cry in there?”

  “I came here to surprise my boyfriend, Frank,” she confessed, and from the expression on her face, she was the one who ended up surprised.

  “And?” he prompted, already wanting to kill the asshole who dared to hurt her.

  “Turns out he was otherwise occupied with another woman.”

  He stilled. “Give me his full name and I can promise to make him suffer
.” He was only half joking. Something about the woman drove him wild.

  Her lips curved upward slightly. “Only if you promise to let me watch.”

  Jurgen unsnapped his jeans, trying not to let his eagerness show any more than it obviously was. At this point, nothing was going to hide the fact his compass pointed a very due north. “Got a name?”

  “Annette Rowe,” she said, her gaze going to his groin. She paled. “You’re not going to strip right here and now, are you?”

  Hooking his thumbs in his jean loops, Jurgen pushed them down, baring himself to her. “Yep.”

  She slapped her hands over her eyes and he couldn’t stop the laughter that erupted throughout the room. The sound of his amusement only caused the pink in her cheeks to deepen. She didn’t move her hand and her fingers twitched almost nervously against her forehead. He approached the bed slowly, leaning over her so he could place his lips close to her ear. “You know you want to peek.”

  She stiffened, her hands falling slightly to reveal her wide eyes peeking at him. He laughed harder. “Tell me where exactly on the mainland you want me to fly you and I will.”

  “You’re drunk,” she stressed, looking at him and then putting her hands over her eyes again when she saw just how happy his cock was to be close to her. “And naked.”

  “I call that a good night, sweetheart.” What happened to the woman who just a few seconds ago said she wanted to watch? For a second, he thought he’d seen a break in her prim mystique.

  “You. Are. A. Pig.”

  Nope. Nothing but propriety from this one. He was a fool to be swept away by her smell. Even now it clouded his head and made him act rather than think. “Nope. Wrong animal. Try again, Miss Rowe.”

  She crawled backward on the bed. “You can’t fly a plane tonight. It’s not safe.”

  “Think it’s any safer here,” a feral smile touched his lips, “alone with me?”

  Gods curse him, he couldn’t stop. The beast inside him wanted to play.

  She jutted her chin out. “Yes, because you said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  Dammit. She had him there.

  He was about to comment when the keen awareness of how exhausted she was, both mentally and physically, came over him. He had about a half a second to reflect on the knowledge he was picking up on her emotions before he found himself crawling up and over her on the bed, still completely naked.

  “I-I should go.” Annette went ramrod stiff and didn’t make a move to leave his bed.

  Jerking on the blanket beneath them, he pulled it over his exposed cock. “Come here, sweetheart,” he said, yanking her into his embrace.

  She resisted at first but then molded against his frame like she was made to be there. “I’m not having sex with you.”

  “I know.”

  “And I don’t like being called sweetheart.”

  “I know,” he said, still holding her.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “I thought that was obvious,” he countered. “I’m giving in to those feminine wiles of yours and holding you.”

  “But…”

  “Shh,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple. “Just let it be for tonight. We’ll head to the mainland in the morning.”

  Was he actually proposing they sleep together and nothing else? His cock screamed at him, causing the beast to rant in protest. He ignored them both, using everything he had to keep calm, logical control.

  “I should call my cousin.” Annette yawned, her voice strained with the need to sleep. “She’ll be worried about me.”

  “You can do that in the morning too,” he assured her. “Right now, I’m thinking you need to be held and I’m starting to feel the effects of that whiskey.”

  She grunted and he chuckled, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply before closing his eyes. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not with his arm draped possessively over her. Nope, tonight she was all his and not even the gods could tear her away from him.

  Chapter Two

  Vaclar groaned as he stood in the assembly of the gods, listening to Bogdan, the keeper of the records, go on about his amount of power usage. It wasn’t the first time Vaclar had been called forth to answer for his actions nor would it be the last. Trouble seemed to follow him wherever he went.

  Of course, it didn’t help that he often invited it. Immortality tended to be tiresome after the first few hundred years and Vaclar needed ways to keep his interest and his sanity intact. Somehow, he’d been labeled a trickster among the gods though his intentions were always honorable.

  Okay, they were honorable, most of the time.

  Okay, some of the time.

  Bogdan droned on, but Vaclar didn’t really listen as he wondered where the goddess Aliki might be hiding. She had incredible breasts and a fetish for having sex inside dormant volcanoes. Sure, she wanted to cuddle afterwards, but Vaclar could easily get out of that. One surge of power and he’d disappear to a place she couldn’t track him.

  Damn! He’d forgotten. The whole reason he’d been dragged here was for overusing his power allotment. If he wasn’t careful, they’d take away his abilities to wield power completely. Vaclar could think of nothing worse than being powerless. He shivered at the very thought of having to dress himself or worse, get what the mortals called a “job”.

  Some idiot god decided long ago that rationing the amount of power each “lesser” god could use was a good idea. Apparently, it was to keep the lesser gods in line so they didn’t try to overthrow the assembly. So what if they did? It’s not like the assembly didn’t have all eternity to get their positions back. The higher beings would be lucky to have something so engaging to do with their time. A well-planned strategy could entertain for years.

  “You out of all the gods should know we have rules for a reason,” Bogdan lectured.

  Okay, so Vaclar did start the last rebellion. But to be fair, the “lessers” had been drinking and fucking for nearly two years without break before deciding to overthrow the killjoy assembly. The higher beings sat in their godly castle, watching the lessers with disdain, all the while bemoaning the fate of supernatural creatures on Earth. The assembly was obsessed with finding supernaturals suitable human mates. The female of that race did have their charms, in a primitive, naïve way. Vaclar found it much more diverting to obsess over mating with humans as often and as much as he possibly could—to Tartarus with everyone else.

  He tapped his bare feet on the marble flooring, waiting to be chastised for his clothing choices. He’d gone with a faded pair of blue jeans, a white muscle shirt with one of his favorite beer logos on it and nothing else. Some poor mortal in the Caribbean would be missing the attire out of his suitcase. Stealing clothes was less power draining than materializing it out of thin air. Buying them was simply not done. Not when he could take what he needed.

  Scratching his scruffy chin, he noted he had at least two weeks’ worth of growth on it. Bogdan was clean-shaven and in the normal garb of the gods—a crown of laurel leaves, a knee-length tunic with gold cords wrapped around to form a crisscross pattern, and leather sandals with straps that tied up to mid-calf.

  A door slammed and it echoed through the halls of the assembly building. A table lined with wine decanters and cups was left wobbling. The “big guy” himself must have been storming about because no other god had the power to cause a tremor to ripple through the building.

  Vaclar glanced up at a statue of a male god engaging in sex with serving girls. It, and others like it, lined the upper terrace level. The area was reserved for the elite to sit while a large-scale meeting of the gods was in session. The entire massive structure was a shrine to them all, depicting their history, their desires and some of their downfalls. The white marble statue that had caught Vaclar’s attention had been chiseled into a striking likeness of his cousin, Vincenc.

  Vaclar’s cock hardened at the sight of the serving girls’ breasts. They were pert, small, with upturned nipples—just the way he
liked them. Too bad they weren’t real. He could use a good fuck before he had to deal with the rest of the gods.

  Maybe if the rest of the gods took a moment to pole a few serving girls they’d loosen up a bit.

  Doubtful.

  Bogdan peered down the end of his narrow nose, a judgmental look upon his pinched face. The man seemed to be in constant a state of worry. “Let’s see.” He opened a scroll and the end of it fell to the floor, rolling away, listing infractions Vaclar had incurred over the course of his immortally long life. Vaclar waited for the scroll to stop unrolling and reach the end but it kept going, and going, and going.

  Tapping the edge of the scroll, Bogdan nodded, appearing to have found the answers he was looking for. “Mmmhmm, yes. It would seem you are over your limit by…”

  Vaclar shrugged, more interested in the erotic sculptures than the man before him. “What? A couple of weeks’ worth? We can ask Anfisa to stop her efforts to fix that pesky ozone problem everyone keeps crying about and that should free up some reserves. Really, are you buying this whole greenhouse effect the little mortals keep going on about? What’s so wrong with warmer weather?”

  Bogdan puffed with superiority. “Try closer to five years over your limit, Vaclar.”

  “Five years?” Vaclar ran a hand through his long black hair, wondering how it was he’d used so much power in so little time. The gods were given the amounts they needed to fulfill their sworn duties and a small amount for recreational use but nothing more. It was possible to dip into the general power pool as often as one wanted but the assembly of the gods kept a close eye upon the reserve—punishing those who dared to break the laws.

  Vaclar’s gaze darted toward the side of the assembly where statues depicted the demise of gods who had dared to challenge the others. He gulped at the sight of one of them being fed alive to a mammoth water snake. Another showed a god’s limbs being severed and fed to the lions guarding the gates of paradise.