S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel (17 page)

As the wind rattled my windows that evening, I felt grateful that Scott and I had
arrived a year after Hurricane Katrina and her sisters, Wilma and Rita, ravaged the
city. Except for Isaac and a couple of other tropical storms that bent the trees and
shattered some glass, there hadn’t been a huge disaster on the scale of those hurricanes
since, something this Michigan girl was grateful for. I was prepared for wet weather,
but not the dangerous kind that sometimes happened down here.

I sliced open the pillowed envelope and spilled its contents on my bed. An outfit
for tomorrow had been selected for me: a pair of tight white capris, a pale blue silken
tunic cut low, a white scarf, black Jackie O–style glasses, and heeled espadrilles,
all of which of course fit beautifully.

The next morning, I kept the limo waiting as I tried knotting the scarf different
ways around my neck, eventually
settling on wearing it as a kerchief. A glance in the mirror and I had to admit I
looked a bit aristocratic. Even Dixie, who stretched out at my feet, seemed to give
her approval. But I’ll never forget the look on Anna’s face, a Bayou woman born and
bred, as I plucked a collapsible black umbrella from the stand in the foyer.

“If it storms, you’d be better off using an umbrella that comes on a fancy drink,”
she huffed.

I wondered if I should say something to her, make up a rich boyfriend, just to stop
the curiosity about the limo from brewing into something bigger and less benign. Not
today, I decided. No time.

“ ’Morning, Cassie,” said the driver, holding open the door.

“Good morning,” I said, trying not to sound too accustomed to being picked up by a
long black limousine in the middle of Marigny.

“You won’t be needing that where I’m taking you,” he said, nodding towards my little
umbrella. “We’re leaving this gray weather behind.”

How exciting, I thought. The traffic was sparse that morning, and if there was any,
it seemed to be heading away from the lake we were driving towards. Near Pontchartrain
Beach we kept right and drove past South Shore Harbor, hugging the violent shore,
which, from time to time, I could make out between construction gaps on the dam. The
water was choppy and angry, even though not a drop of rain had fallen. At Paris Road,
the driver stayed left, moving along the bumpy gravel road and keeping the lagoon
on our right.
Five minutes later, we made another right down yet another gravel road. I clutched
the leather seat, fear creeping up on me. We came to a clearing in the brush, where
the propeller of a dark-blue helicopter was making slow, ominous circles before speeding
up.

“Um. Is that a helicopter?” A stupid question, the better one being:
Do you expect me to go up in that thing?
But the second question was lodged in my throat.

“You’re going on a very special trip.”

Am I? He clearly didn’t know me very well. The idea of my getting into a helicopter
was ludicrous, no matter what promises lay beyond the ride. The limo came to a full
stop twenty feet from the helipad. This was not good at all. The driver stepped out
and opened my door. I sat frozen in my seat, the word
no
emanating from every pore of my body.

“Cassie, there is nothing to be afraid of,” the driver yelled over the loud wind and
the even louder propeller. “Please follow that young man! He will take very good care
of you! I promise!”

It was then that I noticed the pilot, who was holding his cap and running towards
the limo. As he got closer, he combed back his sun-bleached blond hair with his fingers
and placed the cap on his head, giving me the impression he rarely wore it otherwise.
He saluted me in a sweetly awkward way.

“Cassie, I’m Captain Archer. I’m meant take you to your destination. Please come with
me!” He must have seen me hesitate. “It’s going to be fine.”

What choice did I have? I suppose a few, including one to remain welded to the seat
and demand that the driver take me home. Instead I launched myself out of the limo
before my brain could convince me to do otherwise. Captain Archer clasped my wrist
with a big tanned hand and we made a run for it, ducking under the speedy propeller.

In the helicopter, that same hand reached across my lap, brushing my thighs while
he secured me in the back seat.
It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay
, I kept telling myself over and over again.
There’s nothing to be afraid of
. I felt the lash of stray hairs on my cheek and was grateful for my kerchief. As
he carefully placed large headphones over my ears, I could smell mint gum on his breath.
Then he looked at me with eyes that were deep gray and intense.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, his voice now buzzing directly in my ears through his
microphone. Was that an Australian accent?

I nodded.

“I’ve got you, Cassie, don’t worry. You’re safe. Relax and enjoy the ride.”

I did find it a little unnerving that S.E.C.R.E.T. participants all seemed to know
my name.
This is my life
, I thought kind of headily.
A limo picks me up. No big thing. Makes its way to a waiting helicopter. Whatever.
And an impossibly handsome pilot whisks me away to parts unknown
.

We lifted off and once we were above the ominous dark clouds, the day looked completely
different, like one in a tropical paradise. Captain Archer caught me staring down
at the clouds as we left the bad weather below us and angled towards the sunrise.

“That’s a big storm brewing. But where we’re going it won’t touch us.”

“Where
are
we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, his eyes smiling, lingering on mine.

My butterflies were still there, but they were becoming more manageable, and the fear,
something I could push through. That I would willingly head off in a helicopter when
a storm was brewing, flying above it to who knows where, to do who knows what with
who knows who, would have been impossible to imagine five months ago. But today, beneath
the natural fear was a feeling I recognized as sheer excitement.

Once we had stabilized above the clouds, the helicopter sped towards the vivid blue
Gulf. I alternated between watching the water below and watching the pilot’s sculpted
hands flicking this and that button with efficiency and ease. His forearms were tanned
and lightly furred with pale blond hair. Was he going to be the one? Was he part of
my fantasy? If so, we were off to a solid start.

“Where are we going?” I yelled, pulling off my scarf and letting my hair cascade.
I was flirting. For the first time in my life, it seemed to come naturally.

“You’ll see. It won’t be long now!” he said with a wink.

I held his gaze, this time letting him be the one to break it first. I’d never done
that
before and it was a little intoxicating, flirting through my fear.

A few minutes later, I felt the helicopter begin to descend. Panic crept in. I couldn’t
see directly below us, so from my back-seat vantage point we looked to be landing
directly in the blue Gulf waters. When the helicopter skids hit something solid, I
realized we’d landed on a boat. It was a very big boat. In fact, a yacht.

The pilot hopped down and opened my door, offering me a hand.

I leapt onto the polished landing deck, shielding my eyes from the now-blinding sun
and thinking how quickly weather can change.

“This is unbelievable,” I said.

“It is,” said the pilot, giving me the impression he might not have been referring
to the boat. “I have been instructed to bring you here, and now I must leave.”

“That’s too bad,” I said, meaning it. From the upper deck, I could look around. It
was a yacht, indeed, and one of the most beautiful vehicles of any kind I’d ever seen
in my life. The deck was gleaming, polished wood, the hull and the walls a vivid white.
“Can you stay for a drink? Just one?”

What was I doing? The fantasies usually unfolded before me, and now I was interfering
with whatever was planned for me. But the helicopter trip had energized me, and I
wanted to continue the flirtation.

“I supposed one drink wouldn’t hurt,” he said. “Join me in the pool?”

Pool? My breath stopped when I leaned around the bow and saw the oval-shaped pool,
on a yacht
, circling the deck in
front. White lounge chairs lined both sides, red-and-white striped towels casually
folded over their backs.
For me? Was this all for me?
Whatever happens to me here doesn’t matter, I thought, so long as I get to
swim
, in a
pool
, on a
yacht!
And though the waters were starting to get a bit choppy, the boat was huge and felt
rock-solid, even with a small helicopter perched on top. It dawned on me that a bathing
suit wasn’t among the clothes provided, but the pilot was already making his way to
the pool, dropping pieces of his clothing before turning the corner and disappearing
from sight.

I waited a beat, then followed him. No one else seemed to be aboard the boat, the
windows to the pilot’s bay so darkly tinted you couldn’t see the crew inside, if they
were there. By the time I reached him poolside, the pilot was submerged, and by the
look of the pile of clothes he’d left behind, he was naked.

“Get in. It’s warm.”

“Will you get in trouble?” I asked, feeling shy.

“Not unless you protest my being here.”

“I won’t do that,” I said. “But … would you mind turning around?”

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, facing the other way. He was tanned all over, though
I could see that his butt below the surface of the water was shining white. I hesitated
for a moment, and then shook off the remnants of fear. I was in charge of this fantasy,
it seemed, and no one was stopping me. I slipped out of my clothes, then carefully
laid them across a
lounge chair. I eased into the water, which felt warmer because there was a slight
chill in the air, the kind of chill storms bring. The sun still shone hot, but there
were dark clouds on the horizon and a feeling of electricity in the atmosphere.

“Okay, you can turn around now,” I said, keeping my arms across my breasts, which
were below the water. Why was I so shy? I also realized he hadn’t asked me to accept
the Step, which had become almost Pavlovian to me. After uttering those words, I slipped
into a kind of trance that allowed me to go along with a fantasy. This time,
I
was the one propelling things forward with a man not already earmarked, though he
should have been. I had never been one for blonds, but he was so masculine, his brown
arms reaching for me, pulling me towards him through the water’s resistance.

“Your skin feels amazing in the water,” he said, running his hands down my back, lifting
me onto his lap. I felt him stiffen. He bent to take one of my nipples boldly into
his mouth, and his hand squeezed my naked buttocks. Our bodies splashed against each
other as the pool water got choppier and choppier with our movements. At least that’s
what I thought was making the waves. I opened my eyes to the sky again and this time
it cast a very different glow, a more malevolent one. The sun was obscured by indigo
clouds, the kind that caused Captain Archer to stop nibbling at my shoulder.

“Oh jeez, that’s a bad, bad sky,” he said, standing up, toppling me from his lap.
“I have to get that helicopter off the boat or it’ll get tossed into the Gulf. You,
my dear, are going below deck and you’re not to move until someone
comes to get you, do you hear me? This was really not in the plans. I’m sorry for
that. I’ll radio for some backup.”

He was out of the pool in a second. There was no time for vanity. He held up a towel
that swallowed me whole and placed my clothes in my hand. The wind whipped up a frenzy,
nearly taking us both over the side. He grabbed me and pressed me against the wall
of the bow, plucking a lifejacket off a hook above me.

“Go below, change, and put this jacket on!”

“Can’t I go with you?” I said, fear gathering in my gut again. I clutched the towel
under my chin and padded after him, dripping the whole way to the helipad.

“Too dangerous, Cassie. You’re better off on this boat. It moves fast. It’ll take
you from the storm. Go below now and don’t leave until someone comes to get you. And
don’t fret,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“But does anyone know I’m here?”

“Don’t worry, all is well, my dear!”

I pulled the towel tighter around me as he fired up the propellers. When the helicopter
lifted off the landing pad a few feet, a gust of wind took it for a little spin. I
ducked into the cabin and watched in amazement and horror as he expertly navigated
through the turmoil, grateful I wasn’t aboard to throw up on his shoes. I heard the
yacht’s motor starting up, the vibrations traveling up through my feet, setting my
teeth chattering, or maybe that was the terror. Then it died just as quickly. Where
was everyone? If a crew was piloting the yacht, where were they? Inside the cabin
I threw
my clothes on, crossed the bar area and made my way to the stairs leading up, presumably
to the captain’s bridge. When I opened the deck door, I heard the downpour, the harsh
rain slapping the wood with loud echoes.

I saw the black sky above me.

“Not good,” I muttered, shutting the door. The portholes were blurry with rain. But
I needed to find someone from the crew, to tell them I was here and to find out the
plan, if there was one. I punched the door open again, and braced against the rain,
now streaking sideways and pricking my skin. I was about to head to the bridge, when
I heard a voice. I thought it was coming from a speaker on the yacht, but it was actually
coming from the deck of a Coast Guard tugboat that had pulled up next to the yacht.
From the deck, a tall man in a white T-shirt and jeans yelled my name through a megaphone.

“Cassie! My name is Jake! You must disembark now! We need you off this boat, right
away, before this storm gets any worse. Come here and I’ll grab your hand. I’ve been
sent to rescue you.”