Pleasure Island

by TG Haynes

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Reclusive, enigmatic Roxanna May - self styled Princess of `Pleasure Island? - fiercely guards her privacy to such an extent that no member of the press has managed to obtain an interview with her for several years. Undaunted by this fact, enterprising freelance journalist, Nikki Foster, is determined to obtain the scoop of the century by securing an interview with Roxanna. Displaying admirable ingenuity, Nikki persuades the Princess to grant her an exclusive. There is a catch, however. The interview must take place on the Princess?s Caribbean Island retreat. Though Nikki is fully aware of the rumours regarding the debauched lifestyle that Roxanna supposedly leads, she feels that she has no choice other than agree to the Princess?s terms. Determined not to get drawn into any intrigues, Nikki sets off for the Island. Upon arriving Nikki quickly realises that temptations abound, none more so than the devilishly handsome Matt Darnley, Roxanna?s right hand man. Soon caught up in the heady atmosphere that pervades the Island, can Nikki secure the interview before giving in to her desires?

Release date: June 26, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 200

Sample

Chapter One

Uninvited

Nikki felt like a fraud as she wandered around the sumptuous marquee. In spite of the £1,000 dress she was wearing, she knew that she didn’t really belong there. As she wandered past two burly security men, both dressed in dinner jackets, she half expected them to challenge her, then throw her out. Instead, one of them smiled at her. Fighting her natural instinct to return the smile, she turned her head away in what she hoped seemed like a display of haughtiness. The gesture was much more in keeping with the manner of the guests at the party. It seemed like every single one of them was an A-lister, apart from her.

She turned back to find the guard looking down at his shoes in an embarrassed manner. Her heart went out to him. She simply couldn’t be that callous, so she flashed him a brief smile. He looked grateful to have been acknowledged by one of the guests and seemed to grow in stature. He nudged his companion surreptitiously as if to say, ‘Did you just see that? She winked at me. She actually winked at me!’

Nikki decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat before the second guard asked the inevitable question. ‘Yeah, but who is she?’ By the time the men glanced up again, she had drifted away.

Stepping out of the marquee and onto the lawn, she looked up at the resplendent old manor house. The ticket, which she had somehow managed to wangle, only covered access to the grounds. Entry into the main building was by invite or bribery only. She certainly wasn’t invited and she didn’t have enough money with which to tempt the doormen to allow her access. Nevertheless, having got that far, she was determined not to falter at the last hurdle. As one of the waiters walked past, she stopped him and took a flute of champagne from the tray that he was carrying. Sipping it, in an attempt to hide her nerves, she approached the flight of stone steps that led up to the main entrance of Morton Hall.

The building might have belonged to a bygone age, but it looked as magnificent as ever. Two soaring Greek columns flanked the entrance. As Nikki approached the grand old doors, she noticed that the doormen were watching her every move. At the last moment, she veered off. She tried to make it look as casual as possible, as if she hadn’t meant to actually enter the hall at all, as if her intention all along had been to take a turn around the terrace. The doormen relaxed as she headed off towards the side of the house. Wandering along the terrace, she wondered how on earth she was going to get in.

While everyone else at the party was there to enjoy themselves, for Nikki Foster, the evening was a last throw of the dice. Two years previously, she had qualified as a journalist. Rather than opting to pursue a safe career at one of the media giants, she had decided to remain freelance. Initially, the gamble had paid off and she’d had a number of edgy articles accepted. She specialised in getting interviews with controversial figures, and editors began to look out for her work as she built up something of a reputation.

For the first year or so, all went rather swimmingly. Alongside her burgeoning career, her personal life was also in fifth gear. In her final term at university, she had started dating the captain of the rugby team, Rob. On the second anniversary of their first date, he had proposed to her.

Nikki hadn’t accepted immediately. For one thing, she’d felt it was slightly too soon to be rushing into marriage, as she was anxious to develop her career further. For another, she had promised herself that if she ever got married, she would do so on her own terms.

Alas, Rob had different ideas and so he staged a series of grand, romantic gestures to try to persuade her to accept his proposal. It was a long weekend in Prague that finally clinched it. Nikki would have challenged any girl not to get carried away by the city’s wonderful Bohemian atmosphere. After a five-star meal at a sumptuous restaurant in Wenceslas Square, Rob had insisted they walk back the long way around to the hotel, via the Charles Bridge. Exactly halfway across, just as the clocks were striking midnight, he had dropped on one knee and proposed once more. How was she supposed to say no?

On their return to England, the wedding preparations began in earnest. Though they had agreed to share the planning, Nikki increasingly found herself taking on the majority of the tasks and decisions: which church they should wed in, finding a suitable evening venue, booking caterers, sorting out the invites, hiring a car – in fact, it got to the point where she began to wonder what Rob was doing. When she questioned him about it, he told her that he was happy to “defer to her better judgement”. How Nikki wished that she had questioned him further. As time went on, her work began to suffer. Though she had felt uneasy about it, she had tried her best to reassure herself that she would pick it up again after the wedding was over. For six months, she had devoted herself to organising their big day. Six months of her life that had been completely wasted. The flashbacks of the night it had all gone wrong still haunted her.

Matters all came to a head on the very day that Nikki was due to have the final fitting for her wedding gown. To start with, things hadn’t gone well at the dressmakers. To her chagrin, the dress still wasn’t right and it had taken an age to explain to the seamstress the alterations she wanted made. She had tried to ring Rob to ask if he fancied meeting her in town. She thought that a spot of Italian and a glass of wine might cheer her up. She couldn’t understand why he had his phone switched off – until, that is, she arrived home.

The second Nikki put the key in the lock, she instinctively felt something was wrong. As she stepped into the flat, she refrained from calling out. Though the lights weren’t switched on, it was clear that someone was home. With a growing feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach, she made her way down the hallway to the main bedroom. She hesitated momentarily before opening the door. The low moans of pleasure were enough to indicate that something was seriously amiss. She didn’t need to see the scene – she knew it would only plague her memory – but she just couldn’t help herself. The fingers of her right hand closed around the doorknob. She twisted it and pushed.

For a few moments, the couple on the bed weren’t aware that they were being watched. Nikki stared at the nightmare tangle of limbs in front of her. Her rising anger was coupled with a strange sense of fascination. The scene was horribly mesmerizing. She found it difficult to look away and felt another sharp pang as she recognised the girl: one of the secretaries from Rob’s workplace.

Even in his infidelity he couldn’t be original. A secretary from his office and the missionary position. Nikki almost felt sorry for the girl.

Clothing littered the bedroom floor: discarded shirts, stockings and suspenders. At the time, she’d noted that the secretary’s abandoned skimpy panties were exactly the same pair that Rob had bought her for the previous Valentine’s Day – and, bizarrely, she had felt disappointment over any other emotion.

On the bed, the girl was lying beneath Rob. Her eyes were closed tightly and she had an almost pained expression on her face. Nikki half wondered if that was how she herself looked when she made love. From behind, Rob looked quite awkward as he thrust away. He reached around the girl’s back and fondled her bottom, then slipped a finger into her anus – well, so Nikki assumed, judging by the way she suddenly threw back her head and yelped. Strange, she thought, surprised. He’s never done that to me.

However, the secretary seemed to like it. In response, she raked her fake fingernails down his back. He let out a low, strangled moan and the girl repeated the action. Rob quickened his rhythm. The girl started panting loudly, then her mouth opened wide, forming a telltale “O” of pleasure as she came. As if sensing this, he withdrew his cock and sprayed her inner thighs with spunk. Odd, Nikki mused, he’s never done that to me either. She wondered if it was some long-hidden desire of his that he had never felt comfortable enacting with her, or if he simply hadn’t wanted to come inside the girl.

Only when her orgasm was spent did the girl finally open her eyes. Seeing Nikki in the doorway, she gave a start. Wondering what on earth was wrong, Rob glanced over his right shoulder. If the situation hadn’t been so hideous, Nikki would have found their reactions comical. The girl let out a little cry of shame, pushed him away from her, then hid herself in the bedsheets.

Rob sprang off the bed, stumbling as he did so, which sent him sprawling across the bedroom floor. ‘I can explain.’

‘Don’t bother.’ Nikki held the door open. ‘Just get dressed, get out of here, and never come back.’

‘But darling …’

Nikki shook her head. There would be no buts. She allowed the girl to scurry away, but refused to listen to Rob’s pleading. She barely said a word to him. She simply waited until he got dressed then threw him out.

Nikki was proud of the way that she ignored Rob’s barrage of phone calls, texts, Facebook messages and emails. The flowers he sent went straight in the bin, as did the cards. Not the chocolates, though. She might have been grievously upset, but, after all, handmade Swiss chocolates were handmade Swiss chocolates.

After getting over the initial emotional shock, Nikki experienced an even harsher blow in that she found she had lost her reputation in the media industry. Although she managed to secure what she considered to be a couple of notable interviews, neither was picked up by any of the magazines that had previously bought her work regularly. Gradually, it dawned upon her that in order to rebuild her career, she would have to make a real splash – interview someone who was high up on several editors’ hit lists. Someone who never gave interviews; who shunned the press; who would be guaranteed to sell copy. With great care, she drew up a hit list of potential contenders. From the moment she first put pen to paper, an obvious candidate stuck out. Roxanna May, self-styled Princess of the Caribbean.

For someone who had such a high profile, it was uncanny how little was known about Roxanna May’s background and personal life. The more that Nikki dug around, the more intrigued she became. Roxanna had made her first million by the time she was 21, largely due to the success of the chain of lingerie stores she owned. By the age of 25, she was a multimillionaire. Though she had always been quite a private figure, it was around then that Roxanna became a virtual recluse. She used part of her vast wealth to purchase a tiny Caribbean island. That was when the gossip columns had really become interested in her.

Rumours began to circulate as to what took place on the island. Tales spread of wild parties, lurid orgies, and outrageous behaviour. Roxanna flatly refused to confirm or deny the gossip; her response was to ban any kind of camera or communications device from the island, save for the use of her private phone with permission, and to stipulate that all of her staff and guests sign a contract before journeying to the island. This legally binding agreement swore the party in question to absolute secrecy. All of Roxanna’s staff and those who were invited were more than happy to sign it. No matter how high the press set the bounty, to date not one visitor or employee had agreed to dish the dirt. This, of course, only raised the stakes higher.

The media finally thought they had their man when a former personal servant of Ms May’s agreed to be interviewed. But it swiftly became apparent that the gentleman in question was a hoaxer who hadn’t bothered to do his background research correctly, for he didn’t even know the few rudimentary facts that were public knowledge regarding his supposed former employer.

Nikki knew that if she could secure an exclusive interview with Princess Roxanna May, she was sure to be welcomed back into the press fold. The only problem was how to go about obtaining one. She called in every favour she was owed in an attempt to try and gather details of Roxanna’s whereabouts during her brief trips back to the UK. Though Roxanna didn’t appear to abide by set routines, there was one event that she did attend on an annual basis – the Earl of Rutland’s summer ball at Morton Hall. Security was, naturally, tight. Again, Nikki called on every contact she could and just about managed to secure a ticket to the event. Unfortunately, unbeknown to her, the party was two-tiered. It wasn’t until she arrived that she found out that only a select number of guests would be allowed into the hall itself, which was where Roxanna would be hiding all night.

While wandering along the terrace, Nikki sipped her champagne and tried to devise a plan. It was so frustrating. She was so close and yet, in many ways, so far. As financial bribery was out of the question, she wondered if it would be possible to persuade the guards in another manner.

Standing nearly six feet tall in her heels, she knew she cut quite a striking figure and was fairly confident in her looks. However, she also knew that sexual flirtation was a high-risk gambit and if it failed, there would be no second chances.

Deciding there were no other options open to her, Nikki placed her champagne flute on the low stone wall that ran around the perimeter of the building. Reaching up, she undid the fake-diamond slide that pinned her hair back, and shook her golden locks loose around her shoulders. Pursing her lips, she struck a couple of provocative poses, winked, and blew an experimental kiss or two. It had been a long time since she had felt sexy and she was rather out of practice.

Although she didn’t know it at the time, she was in fact making an extremely favourable impression upon a guest who had just watched her little routine from inside the hall. As she pouted and wiggled her hips enticingly, the figure at the window pulled back slightly. In order to remain unobserved, the voyeur edged behind one of the rich velvet curtains and looked on appreciatively. Nikki’s graceful build perfectly suited the flowing, scarlet dress she was wearing. The material hugged her figure tightly, showing off the curve of her hips to good effect. As she turned, her admirer imagined what it would be like to hold Nikki in their arms and steal a kiss from her sensuous lips.

Chapter Two

The Girl in the Green Dress

As Nikki was smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress, she sensed she was being watched. She glanced around but couldn’t see anyone. Putting it down to nerves, she screwed up her courage and decided to try her luck at the main entrance to the hall. She hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps when she heard something click behind her. Turning, she saw one of the French windows open and a man in a dinner jacket step out. At first, she thought she had been rumbled by security and had half a mind to make an excuse and beat a hasty retreat. However, before she had a chance to do so, the man addressed her.

‘Please don’t be alarmed,’ he said.

‘I’m not,’ she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

He approached and introduced himself. ‘Matt Darnley, at your service.’

She curtseyed in response. ‘Nikki Foster.’

‘A pleasure.’ Matt bowed slightly. Nikki found herself acting instinctively and offered him her right hand. She was only expecting him to shake it; however, Matt raised it to his mout. . .