Tamed In A Tri-love Resort

"Good grief, Lilia, don't worry so much." Scarlett tossed her duffel bag into the front of the boat and began to tie the waterproof tarp over her belongings. "I used to camp by myself in the Blue Ridge all the time during college. And you said I'd be perfectly safe there, that the only reason you all lock your doors at all is to keep out the occasional sticky-fingered fisherman." She straightened, eyes twinkling, and pointed. "There's the island. I'll be a dot, but a very visible dot, when I reach the dock." "But Lance could take you over in the Whaler. You know, boating like this, by yourself, it's not safe. And I feel so bad, because I had hoped - " "Don't start again," Scarlett took her friend's hand. "I'm glad you've been asked to go on a book signing tour. Strange as it sounds, and as much as I enjoy your company, I think I need the time alone. I'm going to lay out on the beach, cook myself dinner, and read books until I sack out at night." Her chin tightened. "This is my gift to me." "Well, just do me a favor and give my machine a call once a day, okay? I'll check it from Toronto. I know Brian will be there, but I'd still feel better knowing - " "Whoa, back up, rewind. Brian?" Lilia waved away Scarlett's narrow look. "He's the caretaker, carpenter, fix-it person. He keeps a little crofter hidden on the island. His phone number is in my kitchen if you need him. If he's not on the island, it forwards to his cell. And don't worry," Lilia grinned. "I'm not setting you up for a D.H. Lawrence novel. He's gay. He has a male 'friend' that comes down a lot and works with him on some of his projects. It's real obvious, they're both drop-dead gorgeous. They won't bug you." Scarlett sighed, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "I don't know. I get a private tropical island all to myself for the weekend, nothing there but a handful of million-dollar retreat homes of world-famous artists and writers. I have to lay on the beach and watch two good-looking guys in tool belts who aren't the least bit interested in hassling me. It sounds wretched. I'm booking a flight back tonight." Lilia smiled and then surprised Scarlett by pulling her into a tight hug. "I knew you'd bounce back," she murmured into Scarlett's hair. "You always do." Yep, she was like a rubber ball, just bouncing off of every wall. Scarlett embraced her friend, but her control slipped, and she held on longer than she intended. Lilia waited just long enough, then eased back with a teasing smile as if she hadn't noticed anything amiss. "It's probably good I mentioned him," she added. "He's a little strange, and he might have startled you when and if you do meet him." "Strange, how?" Scarlett snapped on her inflatable PFD. "It's hard to describe. If you get a chance to talk to him, you'll see what I mean. I think he's stayed on the island by himself too long." At Scarlett's raised brow, Lilia lifted a shoulder. "It's like he's so used to silence, he has to think about how to form words. He'll look at me as if he's said something and he's waiting for an answer. Then he realizes he didn't say the question out loud. It's fascinating." "I sense a character about to be born," Scarlett said. "Honey, that's a done deal. You remember Gazing at Sirius , Jeremy -" It was twenty more minutes before Scarlett pulled in the dock lines and turned the JY16 toward Goat Island. Lilia had to assure herself Scarlett had the charger for the cell phone, which was at the bottom of her bag, and hug Scarlett several more times. The wind was coming in perfectly across the starboard side of the boat as Scarlett situated her feet under the hiking strap, and sheeted in the main and the jib. She had not sailed in some time, and the eager leap of the craft thrilled her as it took her out of the cove. She looked back and raised her hand. Lilia waved and waved until distance and the movement of the water reduced her to a tiny figure. Sailing had taught Scarlett patience, the expectation that things go wrong. It tended to balance that with an ironic tranquility, the peace of working with nature to reach a goal. It was a view of life she had internalized, and was reflected in who she was professionally, as well as sexually. She had graduated with honors from Duke University, and then fought her way to the top of their grueling medical program. She divided her residency between rural clinics in the New york tobacco towns and the busy emergency room of the university hospital. A prestigious pediatrics practice in Atlanta accepted her immediately upon passing her boards. Now she was almost thirty, with an established base of patients, and two published papers to her credit. Her family received appropriate and thoughtful gifts from her on birthdays and holidays, and she had a small group of loving childhood friends. She was healthy and happy with her life. Scarlett raised the dagger board, letting the counter weight of her body against the sails do the work of balancing the boat, and the craft responded with another burst of marvelous speed. She lifted her face to the wind and closed her eyes. Yes, she was happy. But she was somewhat different than her close friends and colleagues. On Friday nights, when she bid goodnight to her co-workers, some would go to the bars and restaurants that catered to unwinding professionals, while others went home to the spouse and children. Scarlett went home and prepared for a far different type of evening. She would begin by pampering herself for an hour in her clawfoot tub, filled with scented bubble bath and surrounded by pillar candles. When at last she stood up, she would let all the bubbles slide down her skin like creamy silk before reaching for a towel. She bought her towels from a bath-and-body shop, where each towel was rolled and tied with a satin peach ribbon and a sprig of lavender.  Each Friday night merited a new towel from the shop. She would dry herself with gentle presses and strokes of the absorbent cotton, awakening nerves that had to be encased in steel during the week. When she laid aside the towel, she sprinkled her body with a light dusting of silver glitter. She applied her favorite perfume, an exotic sandalwood scent, to her throat, wrists, and inner thighs. Her outfit of the night might be a thigh-high skirt and short jacket, severely tailored and woven of soft linen to follow the curves of her body like a second skin. She might wear a shell of shimmering black stretch gauze with a pearl embroidered collar beneath the jacket. The demure lapels and conservative pearl embellishment would frame the shadowed but distinct curves of her breasts, visible through the transparent fabric.