Reckless Abandon Read online

  We slowly inch up, getting closer to the mass of wooden boats. There have to be twenty in line before us.

  Craning my neck, I look around at the sea around us. My eyes widen at the sight of a very familiar vessel.

  I nudge Leah. “Look.”

  She turns her head and gawks over at the yacht we were spying on yesterday. It’s about a two hundred yards from us, but it’s so massive, it feels like it’s on top of us.

  “Looks like Mr. Sex-a-thon took a break for some culture this morning.”

  “How long did you watch them yesterday?” I ask.

  “Over an hour. It was enough that I had to FaceTime Adam for some afternoon delight.”

  “Ugh! You did not do that while I was sleeping!”

  “Actually, it was more like morning delight for Adam.” She grins. “Calm down, I went into the bathroom. You didn’t even know, so what do you care?”

  I sock Leah in the arm and she laughs.

  “Did they seriously go at it that long?” I am so curious. Parker and I never went longer than twenty minutes. And that was on a special occasion.

  I once heard Seth Myers tell a joke. “A new study came out that women prefer sleep over sex. Who would want to sleep for two and a half minutes?” When I heard it I thought of Parker and me.

  “Ems, he had her in every position. And I mean every position. We’re talkin’ crazy Kama Sutra stuff.”

  My hand rises to my face, feeling the heat from my blush. I am not a blusher. Let’s make that clear. But just thinking about what I saw through those binoculars yesterday made me hot all over.

  “You are so getting laid this week.” Leah winks and I glare at her. Getting in bed with someone is so far down on the list of things I want to do.

  Thirty minutes later, Leah and I are still drifting in the boat, waiting our turn, when one of the wooden rowboats makes its way over to us.

  Leah lets out a huff. “It’s about time.”

  She gets up and waits for me to stand as well. The small boat pulls up next to ours and Raphael holds on to it, trying to keep it positioned as close to ours as possible. The man in the smaller boat holds out his hand and motions for me to grab it and come on board.

  I rise and steady my feet to step over the wall and down onto the rowboat. Holding my bag with my left hand, I grab the man’s outstretched hand with my right.

  “Nessuna borsa.” The man says, motioning to the purse I have clenched tightly to the left side of my body.

  I blink back at him. There is no way I am leaving my bag and all of its belongings here with some strange man, no matter how nice Raphael may seem.

  “Emma, leave the bag. You can’t take it with you.” Leah translates in case I didn’t get the message.

  Still holding the man’s hand, I turn my head to face her. I try to give her an eye that reads over my dead body.

  “Give me the bag!” Leah orders and starts to grab it from my hand.

  “Stop it.” I bite back, pulling the bag back toward me.

  Raphael releases the rowboat and stands to say something to the effect of why I can’t take the bag. The man in the rowboat is now only connected to our boat by the strength of our hands clasped to one another.

  “Seriously, leave the bag. Give it to me.” Leah yanks the bag hard.

  I release the man’s hand and swing my right arm over to grab the bag back out of Leah’s grasp. In doing so, I lose my ground and, more importantly, my footing and barrel ass up, backward toward the water.

  I try to grab Leah’s hand on the way down but when I clasp my hand down on hers, the nerve in my palm bites back and the pain shoots up my arm, forcing me to let go.

  My arms flail and I hit the water with a splash, and the searing pain travels from my hand up into to my head.

  Black.

  All I see is black.

  My lungs feel heavy and my body is lifeless. Ashy blonde hair floats around my face. I adjust my eyes and see water . . . everywhere. In front of me, next to me, above and below. The light in front of my eyes goes black again and then backs into focus. My arms reach up to grab onto something, anything, but all I feel is water.

  It’s dark.

  My heart goes into panic mode. I try to spin my body around but there is nowhere to go. I move my arms erratically and try to swim up, but I don’t seem to be moving. A burning sensation settles in my throat and my chest grows heavier as the air locked in my lungs begs to get out.

  My body is trembling when two arms wrap around my chest from under my arms and pull me back. My body arches forward, my head and feet curving in as I am dragged in retrograde like a rag doll backward and upward. As soon as my head is above water I gasp for air and start coughing from so deep within I sound like a barking seal.

  Hair is stuck to the front of my face and I can’t see anything as my body continues to be manhandled. One very strong, thick arm wraps around my torso as the other releases its hold on me.

  “Can you hold on?” A raspy, deep voice says from behind me. The accent is American.

  Trying to process what is happening, I swallow back and attempt to understand what he’s saying.

  “I need you to hold onto the side of the boat. Can you do that?” The male voice asks again. Taking my right hand, I brush the hair away from my face and reach up with my left hand, securing my body to the boat in question.

  When I am in place, the American lets me go and hoists himself onto the boat in a rather rough manner. My body bobs in the water as the boat sways from his weight. No sooner is he on the boat does he reach down and lifts me from under my armpits onto the boat as well. His thumbs leave a prodding feeling in my skin.

  He sets me down on a seat and my stomach curls in, hugging my chest to my knees. My clothes are soaked and I’ve lost a shoe. My body is shaking, frightened from what I can now acknowledge was a near drowning.

  Looking around, I notice this is not my boat. It’s slightly larger in size to the one I was on and far more luxurious. My eyes widen with panic until I hear Leah’s voice yelling over the commotion.

  “Emma! Oh my God! Are you okay?” Her voice is close but not coming from the boat I am on. I look around and find her, about thirty feet from where I am. She is standing up and visibly shaken from her place on Raphael’s boat. Her clothes are also soaked. I must have pulled her into the water at the same time.

  “I’m okay. You?” I assure her.

  “Still intact.” She calls out. “Where’s your bag?”

  My bag? I pat my body and then do a quick search at the space around me.

  Oh, my God.

  “My bag!” I exclaim, standing quickly, I nearly fall overboard again as I launch my body toward the side of the boat to look in the water.

  A giant hand pulls me back. “That bag is long gone. No use looking for it.”

  I turn my head, and finally have a chance to look at the man who rescued me from the water. He, too, is dripping wet and ringing water from his green, linen button down shirt. Quite possible one of the biggest men I’ve seen in person, he looks like he could be a UFC fighter. His hair is buzzed close to his head and his brown eyes are large to accommodate his wide neck.

  He’s not fat in any way. To the contrary, he is rock solid with large forearms and a broad chest. His calves look like they’re the size of my thighs.

  Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But he’s built. This man is built to protect people.

  My bottom lip trembles. The back of my eyes burns as hot water pools along the ridges. “You don’t understand. I need that bag. Everything, and I mean everything I own is in that bag.”

  “Sorry to break it to you,” he says, pulling his wet shirt away from his chest. “There is no way you’re getting your bag back in this water.”

  My body starts to shiver as this terrible, awful feeling of helplessness pours over me. A dark, thick, sinister cloud of despair settles over my heart and my head fills with thoughts of desolation. It’s a familiar feeling. The one that Dr. Schueler
told me was from post-traumatic stress. The one that I have fought off but sneaks back to pay a visit every once in a while.

  What have I done?

  Everything is gone.

  I start to cry uncontrollably, my sobs growing bigger and deeper. My lungs feel as if they are being crushed down by a leaded weight. I try to breathe, but I can only gasp.

  The stranger in front of me shifts his body to the side, leaning forward a bit and then pulling back. He has no idea how to comfort a woman. And it’s a good thing. If he touches me I just might flip out on him. If I can catch my breath, that is.

  My daze is slightly lifted by the sound of Leah’s voice. She is having Raphael drive her closer to me. When her boat reaches mine, she launches herself over the rails and swings her arms around my convulsing form.

  “I was so scared. You didn’t come up for air and I thought you were . . .” Her grip gets so tight on me I know exactly how she was going to end that sentence.

  She lifts her head and I see her eyes bloodshot. She turns her head to the American sitting across from me, “You saved my sister.” Leah launches herself onto the giant man and gives him an impressive hug.

  How long was I under that water?

  Another shiver runs up my spine as I shake off any thought of what could have been.

  “It was no problem.” His smile is polite. He acts as if anyone would have done the same.

  “I dropped my bag on my way down.”

  Leah releases her hold on the giant and looks at me. Wiping a tear from her face, she asks, “I know you wanted to bring our things, but what exactly was in the bag?”

  I glance up toward the sky and wish the bag would magically float to the surface of the sea. It doesn’t, so I list the items that were in the bag.

  “My passport, your passport, our euros that we exchanged at the airport, our credit cards and my phone.”

  With the mention of my phone, Leah pats down her skirt and feels for something. She reaches into her pocket and pulls her phone out. It doesn’t turn on. “Shit. Mine might as well be on the ocean floor as well.”

  My shoulders lower and the darkness swells in the frontal lobe of my brain.

  Leah nods her head and looks at me. “Okay, lets think about this. There has to be a way to get new passports. I’m sure people lose them on vacation all the time.” She’s trying to be positive and I’m trying to appreciate it. “How much money did we have in euros?”

  I roll my neck and let out a large breath. “A thousand dollars’ worth.”

  Leah swallows; obviously surprised I had that much cash on me. That much unrecoverable cash, that is.

  “That sucks. As does your credit card. The good news is my credit card is still in the safe, so we can use that for expenses until we get home.” She pats her knees and offers a cheery smile.

  I lift my head and offer her the most grim expression anyone can make.

  Leah reads it right.

  “Oh no. Oh no no no no no!” She exclaims.

  I offer her a shrug.

  Her blonde bob, now slicked back on her head, frays out when she stands up. “Are you kidding? Do you mean to tell me we have no passports, and no money whatsoever? Not even a friggin’ credit card to our names?”

  All I can do is nod. Slowly.

  “Oh, my God, Emma! Because some lowlife in Mexico stole your suitcase eight years ago, you lost every penny we have. We’re in a foreign country! We have no phones, no money, no way to get home!”

  “I am so sorry.” My voice is low and, most certainly, apologetic.

  Leah sits down and rocks herself back and forth. I want to do the same.

  Raphael says something in Italian that I have a hard time understanding until the giant American pulls a wallet from the cargo pocket of his gray shorts and hands over a soggy hundred-euro note. The American says something back to Raphael in Italian and then thanks him in English.

  When Raphael turns the motor on to his boat, Leah and I both come to attention and get our minds back on the problem at hand.

  “Did you just send him away?”

  “Did you just pay him for our boat ride?”

  We say both sentences in unison.

  The American nods. “From the sound of it, you two weren’t going to be able to pay the man.”

  Neither of us can argue with that logic.

  “We have to get back to our rooms. He was our way back,” I say.

  “He may not have spoken English well but he understood it and there was no way he was going to take you back without payment. I only gave him a tip for his services.”

  “So he just left us here?” Leah rubs the sides of her arms with her hands.

  “I told him to.” He looks back from Leah sitting next to him, to me sitting across from him. “I can help you ladies.”

  “Thank you but you’ve already done so much,” I say, but am cut off.

  “I have a friend at the US consulate in Rome. He can rush you a pair of passports to Naples. While I make that call, you can use my satellite phone to call your credit card companies and see if they can get you a replacement card. Maybe someone back home can wire you some money as well.”

  His logic is on point. Having a contact at the consulate would be incredible. I don’t even know where the nearest one is. That said, this guy is a complete stranger and could hold both Leah and myself down with his pinky if he needed to. The offer is nice but we can handle the situation on our own.

  “That would be great,” Leah says before I can decline.

  “I’m going to take you to my boat. You can dry off there while we make the arrangements.” He stands up and starts the engine.

  I raise my hand to tell him to take us back to shore but Leah stops me. “No, Emma. You lost our money and you lost our way home. I am not spending the next seven days standing in an embassy, God knows where, getting a new passport issued.” Her tone is deep, bossy, and in full lecture mode. “The man saved your life. If he wanted you dead, he would have watched you drown. We are following him back to his boat and that is final.”

  Her brows are closed in and her button nose is pointed down.

  “We don’t even know where he’s taking us,” I whisper entirely too loudly. Obviously he can hear our conversation, but if he is a madman I don’t need him knowing I think he’s a madman.

  “My boat is right there. I’ll take you on board, we’ll make a few calls, and then I’ll take you back to shore.” He points his finger at the boat he is talking about.

  Leah looks over and I know her mouth is open just as wide as mine is.

  The American is taking us to the yacht.

  Yes, the yacht.

  The sex yacht.

  Holy cannoli.

  “Ems, we are so going with him.”

  My eyes are bugging out of my head as I stare back at the American who saved me. Is this the guy we saw having crazy freaky sex yesterday?

  Flashbacks of an ass pumping and grinding replay in my head. Looking at the guy in front me, he’s certainly in shape but he seems much larger than the man I saw through the binoculars. If this man in front of me were on top of a woman I wouldn’t have been able to see her at all. He would have engulfed her. Clearly my depth perception is off.

  I’m surprised, really. He doesn’t seem like the dirty sex kind. I mean, yeah, I just met him, but he is really quite . . . heroic.

  I can’t believe its taken this long for me to appreciate what he did for me. A complete stranger dove into the water and saved me from drowning.

  “Thank you,” I say, entirely too late.

  Even with the low roar of the engine he can hear me clearly.

  “Just doing my job,” he says.

  I look at him, puzzled by his answer. “Sorry about your wallet. Hope nothing was ruined.”

  “Nothing that can’t be replaced,” he says, offering his free hand that is not driving the boat. “Devon.”

  I shake it back, awkwardly from my seated position. “I’m Emma. And this
is my sister, Leah.”

  “Definitely had you pegged for sisters. You look exactly alike.”

  Leah smiles at the comment and shakes his hand as well. “Were you hoping to see the Blue Grotto?”

  “I can see it another time.”

  Leah and I don’t have a chance to feel terrible for causing Devon to change his plans because we are quickly approaching the yacht and our gazes are drawn elsewhere.

  OMEGA.

  The name appears in large type across the starboard side of the boat written in black over an omega symbol.

  Two grand staircases line the back of the boat. In between the staircases is an area, hidden from us yesterday, where a rectangular pool sits on a covered deck.

  We circle the boat and wind around it, getting a closeup view. The ship is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s like a new-age luxury yacht. Almost the length of a football field, the bottom half is all black with two upper decks that look like they’re made of steel.

  Three quarters through the boat, there’s a break in the ship’s middle deck to reveal an open seating area, shaded by an upper deck bridge on the third level. Looking up, I see a helicopter parked up top.

  There are two garages open in the foreground of the boat. Instead of parking the boat we’re on in the garage, Devon pulls up beside an open docking area.

  Slowing the engine, he skillfully idles up to the dock, and a much smaller man in a white uniform holds out his hands, helping Leah and I exit the speed boat onto the yacht. Devon follows us as the smaller man switches places with him to park the boat in the garage.

  Leah and I follow Devon into the outside seating area on the lowest deck. It looks like a resort, with cabana-style lounge chairs of teak and white surrounding the pool. There is a bar and a dining area as well.

  Devon walks inside and we wait on the deck until he returns wearing a dry shirt and shorts, carrying two large white towels with large omega symbols on them. Leah wraps her towel around her shoulders and I tuck mine around my chest, securing it under my armpits.

  Leah follows Devon inside the cabin and I am right behind them, walking lopsided from only having one shoe. We walk through a living room bigger than the apartment I had back in Pittsburgh. The walls are paneled in shiny, rich mahogany cut in modern lines. Looking up, I see a honeycombed ceiling illuminated with soft white light. Around the room, furnishings of white creamy leather look like they haven’t ever been sat in.