So. Hot.
She leaned back in her lounge chair, sunglasses down, and one leg kicked off to the side. She hiked her cover-up toward her thighs. The implication was clear: Eden Hailstone was open for business.
Her whole body tingled at the thought.
Chapter 2
Benson
What the hell am I doing here?
The man was fresh off the private plane from Miami, where he had taken a commercial flight down from New England on a whim. This wasn’t his first time at La Mariposa, but it had been a couple of years.I thought I was over this shit.The whole setup was hot in the imagination, and God knew that his much younger self would havelovedto get up to so much trouble at an exclusive resort like this. But forty-five-year-old Benson Smith was too old for this. Too jaded. And definitely too divorced and introverted.
Yet here he was – standing on the balcony overlooking the bright, blue, sparkling Caribbean Sea. He had rented the last available cottage at the end of seven. While it cost thousands more than one of the hotel suites in the center of the island, well… that’s why he was here. To have this view. This disconnect from his phone, which was locked up in the main resort officethe moment he arrived. La Mariposa took security so seriously that even his bags had been analyzed in an X-ray machine to ensure he hadn’t brought other electronics that could take photos or track his movements. Or the movements of other guests. Let alone the Butterflies…
This view, though. This view was why he had come at the very last minute.
There Benson had been, in his high-rise office of one of New England’s grandest financial firms. His daughter had been blowing up his personal phone while one of his partner’s blew up the business phone.Drew misses me; Oliver worries about losing a client.Benson hadn’t taken a vacation in two years. The only reason he took Christmas off was because nobody else was there to work that day… and because it was worth sharing a low-key day with his daughter, who was now so busy at college that Benson had to come to terms with his little girl now being old enough to determine her fate.
But even if he took days off, he hated being anything but busy. He went hiking. He traveled with friends. He attended parties he knew he’d be desperate to leave. Anything to keep from being alone at home with his thoughts.
Which was the tragedy of Benson Smith. The man was a destined homebody. A family man. Someone who thrived with a clear distinction between work and home.
Yet I ruined it with Sydney.He swallowed, thinking of his ex-wife and the mother of his child.I ruined it with…
He sighed. Standing out there on the private balcony in his jeans and T-shirt, refusing to let his intrusive thoughts ruin this weekend.
The only way to contact people off the island was through the landline in his cabin. The only way off the island was either by boat or plane. Some yachts were docked, but that had never been Benson’s style. He also didn’t own a private plane. His onlyrecourse was flying down with some other guests from Miami. Thankfully, the four other guys on his flight kept to themselves, either scrolling through their phones or napping.
The crazy thing? They were all en route to a giant sex party on a tropical island.
What am I doing here?There were far cheaper Caribbean getaways that would leave him alone. He also wouldn’t have much trouble getting laid if that’s what he really wanted to unwind.Pick any touristy place, even the more secluded ones with lower capacity, and people open up to me quickly.Beautiful women would stare at him from across the tiki bar. Hell, even the men often asked if he wanted to join them for this and that.Sometimes with women, sometimes not.
Benson had that kind of passive magnetism. There was no reason for him to come to a place like this if he didn’t like the vibe.
But I like the vibe.
The vibe, yes. He liked those clandestine clubs where anonymous encounters with strangers and roleplaying with an old friend were the norm. His appetites wereeroticandnaughty.The word “kink” had passed his lips more than once. Again, there was a reason why the Benson of ten, twenty years ago would have salivated to come to La Mariposa. And hehadbeen there before. Hehadplayed with the Butterflies and satisfied some of his more depraved appetites that his wife considered hard boundaries.I never cheated on Sydney. But when we separated…
Every suite and cottage was supplied with a “things to do” catalog provided by the resort, which included a timeline of events. Beneath it was a much more discreet photo album that introduced a discerning guest to the flock of Butterflies. Not only did it go over the rules and how to “spot one in the wild,” but hadblurry pictures and brief bios, including their code names for the weekend.
That was what rubbed Benson the wrong way these days. He flipped through three pages of beautiful women in various stages of undress and immediately regretted it.They’re all my daughter’s age. Or barely older.What kind of fool was he, chasing after twenty-something girls? How would he feel about Drew being a Butterfly?I would vomit. Then punch somebody. Then get disowned by her, because how dare I know about this, let alone tell her what to do with her adult body?
The older he got, the older Benson’s tastes leaned. Oh, La Mariposa also had more veteran escorts in their thirties or even older (after all, they did offer MILF fantasies!) and he might request their specific company that weekend, but…
He closed the album and tossed it back on the coffee table in the living area. Busy. He had to stay busy. Maybe he should put on his swim trunks and head down to the pool for a swim. Get this irritated energy out of his body. There was still a whole day ahead before he had to decide to attend the Low Light party that night.
Something I would normally be really into…
First, the funk. He had to get out of this funk. What else was he paying for?
So Benson stripped out of his travel clothes and unearthed his black swim trunks, currently buried at the bottom of his suitcase. He preferred not to strut out there in nothing but his swimsuit, but luckily, he had the foresight to pack a black linen shirt as well. If he left it open in the front, he might look like he belonged by the pool.
He stepped out into the fresh air, arms stretched above him.Just a regular getaway.That’s what he told himself as he saw his first Butterfly, a voluptuous woman with dark skin and silky hair that accentuated her figure as it filled out a white minidressand heels. She must have been “at large,” or someone assigned to wander the grounds looking for any lonely soul in need of company.
Benson picked up the pace, lest she think that applied to him.
The pool area wasn’t too far away from the cottages. And it wasn’t too busy, thank God. Benson saw a couple of other men hanging out, swimming, and working on their tans, but otherwise, it was the bartender in the middle of the pool and a couple of Butterflies decorating the place.
