Saffron Nights (8 page)

J
ackson arrived two days later, about the same time as Jack, who had been in Honolulu on business with his restaurants, leaving Maeve to fend for herself once again.

“What r u doing in that big house all alone?” Jackson had texted her from his room.

“LOL. Working. I’ve written three blog posts. What else?” She texted back from her computer—her cell phone still hadn’t turned up, which was weird for her because she rarely misplaced anything.

She was a workaholic, that one. Here they were in Hawaii and she was probably in her room at her laptop writing most of the time.

The next day a whole team of people went on a hike to find the mushrooms and they struck aphrodisiac gold. Jackson was challenged by the lack of light deep in the forest, but he did get some good shots in—especially of Maeve. He loved the way the camera was picking up her sense of childlike awe, which was all over her face as she took in every bit of the splendor of the island. He found himself amused by this new quality he’d found in his partner—normally so cynical and world-weary, even at her young age.

Later, Jackson and Maeve helped themselves to Jack’s kitchen. Jackson chopped one of the fleshiest mushrooms he’d ever had his hands on. The onion and garlic sizzled as Maeve stirred the mixture around a bit.

“Jack found my cell on the beach,” Maeve told him. “But all of my contacts have been erased.”

“That’s weird,” Jackson said. “Maybe it was damaged.”

“Well, it seems all right, now. I just don’t have any of my phone numbers.”

The slippery mushroom gave off a pungent, earthy scent. He stood at the stove looking out the window into a backyard full of exotic flowers, the names of which he would never remember even if he asked. The colors and shapes were wild. Bright fuchsia, conelike things. Purple puffs. Orange. Crimson. Aqua. He’d take his camera to the garden in the morning, he promised himself.

He heard a scuffle behind him.

“Jackson, Maeve, you are here.” It was Jack, one of Jackson’s least favorite people, with someone—a woman. But not just any woman—Mulani.

“Jackson, you know Jack,” she said, with a gleeful look in her eye.

“Yeah,” He turned around to finish chopping the mushroom. “Last time I saw you, you had a needle in your arm. Now, looks like you’ve got little Mulani.” He faced them after putting the mushrooms in the pan, the searing sound permeated with a puff of smoke.

“Well, if I am going to try the mushroom, I think I will need a real man by my side. Just in case,” Mulani glared at Jackson.

“Hey, asshole,” Jack said. “I’m done with drugs. You know that.”

“Whatever,” Jackson said. Three cooks in the kitchen was never a good idea—and with these three here, who knew what would happen? Mulani smelled the mixture and wanted to add some salt; Jack wanted to add lime. Mulani picked out a mushroom with her slender finger and plopped the slimy meat into her mouth. “Mmmm. Tasty.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” said Mulani, who seemed to suddenly see Maeve.

“Not officially, but I’ve seen you around,” Maeve said with a clipped tone, leaving Jackson to wonder exactly what she meant.

“I feel so bad about Chef. I was so sorry to hear it,” Mulani said.

“Thanks. How well did you know him?”

“Well enough,” she said. “He was quite a guy. Into some
good stuff
. Best I’ve ever had.”

Maeve’s head cocked. “What do you mean?”

“Oh well, you know . . .” she said and turned away.

“Mushrooms!” Jackson yelled, holding up a plate.

When they finally sat down to eat, Jackson wasn’t sure how it would taste, but it was good. The mushroom didn’t taste like any others he had had—it almost tasted like an earthy seaweed. He swore he could taste the ocean in it.

“Mmmm,” Mulani said. “The gods must be pleased. First to be given the mushroom, then to be so privileged as to actually eat it.”

“The problem I see with this whole book you two are working on is that sex has so much to do with the mind. For example, I bet Mulani is hot right now just thinking about the mushroom and perhaps getting laid. So, how do you know if it’s the suggestion of getting laid or if it’s the effect of the actual food?”

“I am so glad you aren’t the publisher, who by the way, gave Maeve and me a shitload of money for this and is paying for all the research and expenses,” Jackson said.

Mulani sighed. Both of Jackson’s colleagues had surely dreamed of such a deal.

“It’s good to know how you feel about it, though, Jack. I guess the job you offered me before we went to Mexico is off the table, then,” Maeve said, looking from him to Mulani.

Jackson saw the exchange between Mulani and Jack. She had no idea, of course, that Jack had offered Maeve a job. Maeve was a smart cookie. He grinned.

“Absolutely not. The offer will always be on the table,” Jack said, ignoring Mulani’s glare.

Even though they didn’t have any wine, Jackson thought Mulani looked a little tipsy. Her eyes rolled. “It’s all about the sex. Sex sells. Look. He’s the sexiest bachelor in America,” she said and laughed.

“Ha. Ha,” Jackson said, taking another bit of the mushroom concoction. “You know I don’t care about that shit.”

“Yeah, but you are getting it everywhere, dude,” Jack says.

“Yeah, well, so did you. It’s over for you, though, right?”

“Not quite,” he said and reached for Mulani.

Jackson smiled wryly at Maeve, who was trying her best to ignore them. He didn’t like the situation, and thought about his options. He could walk away. But now, he was hot and hard, watching them go at it; Mulani appeared to be insatiable.

While the moans of his colleagues filled the kitchen, he planned his escape. If he could get out of here, he may never have to see them again. Their plane left in the morning.

“Don’t go anywhere. We are not through with you yet,” said a voice at the door. Two brown, almond-eyed women were standing at the door.

“I smelled the mushroom,” one woman said. “It’s making me go mad.”

“Me, too,” the other said. Jackson stopped in his tracks. It wasn’t as if he’d never had two women before, but the look both women had in their eyes held him. They were all over him in a split second—as he unwrapped himself from them, he saw Maeve take a heaping plate of mushrooms upstairs to her room.

“Wait,” he said. “Excuse me,” he said to the women. “I’m working here.” He raced up the steps, only to have Maeve shut her door in his face, after whispering a hoarse “good night.”

M
aeve sat the empty plate down on her desk. She’d never even liked mushrooms. She hated them. But there was something about these particular mushrooms—what did they call them? As they had sautéed in the frying pan, she found the scent alluring. So, while things were getting hot and heavy in the kitchen with the other couple, she took the rest of the morsels and finished them in her room, stopping herself from licking the plate. She was ravenous.

But was she horny? Hmm. The truth was she had been frustrated for several weeks—no time for sex, and no real opportunities for it, either. Plus, there was Jackson wandering around in shorts and tank tops, with those long lean muscles sliding beneath his gleaming skin. With him standing next to her at the stove, she’d already begun to feel something—a loosening below.

As she sat at the table and looked at Mulani, who was beautiful, simmering, sighing as if she were the star in a porn flick, and playing with Jackson’s mind as she kissed his nemesis, it was all Maeve could do to
not
straddle him right then and there. It was as if whatever she’d seen in him during their saffron-infused night had intensified. He was pulling at her ovaries, every minute she sat there and tried not to look at him. Maeve simply had to leave the room. It was the only option. Their agent and publisher made it quite clear. Jackson had made it quite clear after she coldcocked him on the plane. Hell, it was clear to everybody and everything that it was not a good idea—except for her wild libido.

She was in Hawaii with her partner-photographer, a world-class chef, and his assistant, a professional dream come true, and all she could think about was sleeping with Jackson. The air was charged with passion. How to explain it? Was it really the mushroom—or was it simply her state?

A low rapping came to her door.

“Maeve?” It was Jackson.
Damn.

“Go away,” she said, weakly, realizing how sharp and intensified the colors in her room were becoming. What the hell did the mushroom have in it? She bet the damn thing was more than an aphrodisiac, maybe it had some trippy qualities to it—psychotropics?

Looking at the orange pillow on the sofa, it reminded her of the sun, no an orange, no a marigold. Oh no, it was just like a lollipop. Suddenly she began to think of tongues and lips.

“Okay, okay, But we’re supposed to be working on this together. C’mon.” Jackson interrupted her thoughts.

“I can’t let you in, Jackson,” she said, after what she thought was a moment more of considering the orange pillow.

“Why not?” He persisted in invading her thoughts.

“I feel strange. Those mushrooms . . . I don’t know.”

She took a drink of water, then went to the sink and wet her napkin, placing it on her forehead. She was actually sweating. A cold shower is what’s called for, she thought.

“Well . . . how do you feel?” he said, through door.

How do I feel? How do I feel?
She wanted to scream.
I feel like I want to ride you into eternity. I want to have sex with you until neither one of us can walk. I want to feel you deep inside me. I want to feel your skin on mine, your breath on my neck, breast, or thigh.
She shivered at the thought.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she managed to say.

He laughed. “That bad, eh? Well . . . I could help you out. We don’t have to, you know . . . have intercourse. There’s other things . . .”

“Like I don’t know that?” she said. “Who do you think I am, some schoolgirl?”

She moved across the floor to the door, plastered her body against it.
He was just on the other side.
She pictured him there, not more than two inches between them. As she laid herself against it, she felt at one with the door. Oddest feeling. She felt as if she could feel Jackson’s heat through it. And the swirling, sinking, lightening sensation moved through her, about to take over and explode. Was she actually going to have an orgasm without even touching herself?
That fucking mushroom.

“Go away,” she said. “Jackson, I’m not letting you in. I’m not feeling well. I feel kind of stoned, or something. ”

She thought about the shower, needing to feel the cold harsh water to get her back to her senses. “I need the shower.”

“Wait, wait,” Jackson said. “Maybe I can help you out another way then. I have a joke about ’shrooms for you.”

“Joke?” Okay, he was trying to piss her off, make her laugh, anything so she’d open the door. “Okay,” she said, lifting her shirt off and slipping out of her skirt. Clothes, man. She hated them. Her skin felt like it was steaming. It longed to be touched.

“So last week, my girlfriend and I decided to make love on magic mushrooms. So we each did a few caps and stalks and it starts hitting us. We begin kissing. She’s like oh my God it’s like firecrackers exploding out of every cell of my body!”

“Where’s this going, Jackson? This is really not helpful . . .” she interrupted, thinking she didn’t really want to hear these words coming out of the mouth of the man she was lusting over. The man she couldn’t have. Forbidden fruit.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he said. “So where was I? Um. Okay. She says ‘Quick, take your pants off I have to have you now!’ So I rip them off. Then she says ‘no, put them back on because—my God—your cock, it’s, you . . . you’ve got a cactus for a cock!’ ” Despite herself, Maeve felt a smile creeping onto her face. She slid down the door and sat on the floor. A cactus cock. Heh.

“I told her she was tripping, baby, it’s the ’shrooms, relax, it’s gonna be great. Trust me. Then when I looked down I was like—oh shit—I do! I’ve got a fucking cactus for a cock. So I tell her look, it’s a rather long and thick cactus—are you sure you won’t reconsider? Are you kidding me, she says, how would we get a condom on that thing?” He laughed.

Maeve tried to stifle a giggle.

“Okay, baby, I understand, but hey, would a blow job be totally outta the question? I hated to ask, but I tell you, Maeve, what a trouper. To this day, she’s still picking needles out from between her teeth. And Maeve, some advice, if you’re ever on mushrooms and need to suck cactus dick, don’t use your hands; it’s too painful. You kinda just have to go at it as if you’re bobbin’ for apples.”

A belly laugh erupted as she fell forward on her knees, and the next thing she knew, Maeve was rolling on the floor in her underwear, laughing uproariously, tears streaming down her face.

“Good night, Maeve,” Jackson said, laughing, and then left her door.

“A
nother root plant that enjoys a high reputation as an aphrodisiac is the root of the ginseng. Native to Asia and North America, Koreans drink it in the form of tea, Chinese chew it raw, and many Europeans, despite its outrageous cost, grind it into powder and put it in stews. Nearly everyone claims that their way is best and all are quite sure ginseng is effective in stimulating men and women to heightened passion. The most unusual recipe for ginseng probably belongs to the Meskwaki Indians of Wisconsin, who chop the root finely and then combine it with rattlesnake meat and gelatin to make a kind of pudding,” Maeve read from a clipping in Chef’s book.

“Great, here we are going to China and the most interesting recipe is back home in the U.S.,” Jackson said, wishing Maeve’s sudden burst of energy would quiet. He was tired. Still not feeling well from his concussion. And he was a bit on edge, afraid to fall asleep during their thirteen-hour journey, afraid of what he might miss, or might wake up to. But he closed his eyes, just so she’d stop talking about the project. The next thing he knew, she was shaking him to wake up.

“We are here,” she said, holding her cell to her ear. “It’s Alice. She wants to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“We’re making this trip shorter than expected. So you’re going to have to hit the ground running. Are you up for it?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said.

“Cutting it short because the truffle season is starting and we need to get you to Italy.”

“Italy? Christ. We just landed in Hong Kong. I thought India was next.”

“So we’re scrambling it up a bit. Be on your toes,” she said.

“What’s going on?”

“We’ve gotten some threats,” she said. “The mushroom Chef had was one that he was allergic to. Someone who knew him, knew of his allergy, fed it to him. You don’t need to share that information with Maeve right now.”

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he said. Great.
Now he was keeping secrets from Maeve.

“While you’re there, don’t go off with anyone. Stick to the itinerary.”

“Sure.” What the hell?

He handed the phone back to Maeve and rolled his eyes.

But damn, that was a bombshell. Whoever had killed Chef knew he was allergic to the mushroom. Jackson didn’t like the way this was playing out. Chef was killed. Murdered. And he’d been beaten up. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Or could it?

Alice’s voice had an edge to it. She knew more, perhaps, than what she was telling him. Of course. He was the monkey-photographer—hired to take pictures. She wasn’t going to tell him everything, just enough to worry him. What was it she had said? Keep on his toes?

 

He and Maeve waited for the line in the aisle to thin out before getting off the plane. The airport in Hong Kong had these huge, futuristic glass domes, reminding him of the Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C. When they came down from the plane on the large tube-like pathway there was a sea of people. Mass confusion. Odd, acrid smells. As they walked through customs and immigration, Maeve pointed to one dark-uniformed man. He was larger than many of the people there, watching them intently. As they dragged themselves through one more security check, they saw him holding a sign with Maeve’s name on it.

For a moment, Jackson thought he’d seen a blond woman looking at him. She was standing next to the curb one minute—the next she was gone. Was that the same woman he had seen in Hawaii?

Maeve was pulling on him to direct him to the chauffeur and their limo.

Jackson was not into men—at all—but God, he was spectacular! Who was he? A movie star?

“Hello,” Maeve said to him, sparkling from head to toe. “I am Maeve Flannery.”

“Hey,” Jackson said, shaking his hand. “Jackson Dodds.”

“Greetings. I am Ji,” he said in a crystal clear voice with a slight Chinese accent. His dark hair fell in his eyes and loosely framed his face. His eyes didn’t leave Maeve as he shook Jackson’s hand.

Jackson cleared his throat and frowned, looking directly into Maeve’s blushing face. She looked quickly away from him.

Ji placed their bags in the trunk. Evidently they had gotten there before she had.

They slipped into the backseat of the long limousine’s white leather seats. A chilled bottle of champagne awaited them, along with chocolates and cookies. Ji sat in the front and placed a chauffeur’s cap on his head. “You are staying with the Mei-Lei family. Correct?”

“Yes,” Maeve said.

This man shot her a look full of magnetism.

What the fuck?
Jackson was becoming more than slightly annoyed.

“Please,” he said. “Help yourself to the refreshments.”

She uncorked the champagne. “Care to join us?” She poured a glass and handed it to Jackson.

“No, Madame. I am your guard, your chauffeur. A hired man. It is inappropriate.”

“Oh,” she said, sipping from her bubbly. “Too bad,” she added. “The champagne is quite good. The chocolate . . . well,” she bit into it, sucking out the cherry from inside. He swerved to miss another car. “Mmmm,” she said. “So good.”

Jackson watched as the man’s eyes caught her in the mirror—looking like he could eat her with one bite. Jackson took a drink of his champagne.

“Can I have some?” he asked.

“What?”

“Some chocolate?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Sure,” she said, not even really looking at him.

Ji drove them through city block after city block. Flashing lights, marquees, and people everywhere. Finally they reached an apartment building. He pulled up along the sidewalk, got out of the car, and opened the door. She was feeling slightly tipsy, and grabbed his arm to steady her. Just as Jackson was getting out of the car, he saw the slight embrace. He pulled quickly from her.

“Madam,” he said. “I will see you later. Please go up to the fiftieth floor. They are expecting you.”

“Our bags?” she said, getting herself together, as Jackson brushed up against her.

“I will take care of everything.”

Jackson turned and looked directly into his eyes, meeting them with as much bravado as he could muster—but Ji’s black eyes held such confidence. He knew what effect he was having on Maeve—just the way Jackson knew his effect on women. Touché.

 

“So did Ji treat you well?” asked Mr. Mei-Lei, after they sat down in front of a plate of fresh shrimp.

“Oh yes,” Maeve said, peeling morsels of shrimp. “He made me feel very comfortable.”

“He can sometimes be a problem,” said his wife. “Good help can be so hard to find. He has an eye for the women, you see.”

“I noticed,” Jackson said. Maeve elbowed him.

“That’s his business,” Mr. Mei-Lei said in a gentle scolding tone. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with his work.”

“I am most interested in your work,” Maeve changed the subject. “The ginseng. I understand you have the largest supply in China,” she said after swallowing her bite of shrimp.

“Yes,” he said. “And my wife makes a wonderful dish with it—but if you want the best effects from it, it’s best to chew it, raw.”

“Interesting. Are you willing to sell some to our representatives in the U.S.?”

“If the price is right, my dear,” said his wife. “You know ginseng has been so maligned by the West.”

“Yes, well. Our book is about aphrodisiacs and the research I’ve seen suggests that Chinese ginseng is the only ginseng in the world that might actually have those properties.”

“Your research is absolutely correct,” Mr. Mei-Lei said.

Just then, Jackson felt someone behind him. He turned to see Ji.

“He is your guard and will be with you most of the day, every day, until you are tucked safely into bed.”

“Oh,” Maeve said, unable to hide her delight.

“It’s just a precaution, but we do want to keep you safe.”

“Is that necessary?” Jackson said.

“Absolutely. You agent has seen to it. We understand you’ve had some problems. We don’t want there to be any problems during your stay here.”

Jackson glanced at his bodyguard and doubted he was interested in protecting Jackson at all. And as he looked at his partner, he knew protection was the last thing on her mind—and his stomach churned in jealous rage.