“Now, how can we help you this morning?” The man looks to me.
“I’d like to transfer all of the funds in my account.” I reach into my bag, pulling out the card that Nathan had given me two days prior, the account number written on the back.
“Will they be leaving the bank?” The man’s eyebrows meet in a worried pinch above his brown eyes.
Nathan leans forward in his chair. “No, they will be transferred to my account, here at the bank.”
“Very well.” The man smiles. “Is that the account number?”
When I nod, he takes the card, setting it before him and begins to type, his attention on the screen. “I’ll need identification, preferably a passport, for both of you. Mr. Dumont, may I have your account number?”
As Nathan speaks, I pull out my passport, a slight tremor in my hands. My fingers smooth over the rough blue plastic, opening it slightly to see my new name staring confidently back at me. Candace Dumont.
I am Candace Dumont. I was born on June 6, 1988. It’s all true. There's no reason for my hands to tremble, my heart to race.
“Mrs. Dumont, can you verify your social security number for me?”
My first lie. I recite the numbers, grateful for the time Nathan insisted I spend memorizing his sister’s social. Then I hand over the passport, aware of the change in power that is occurring right here, right now. The weight of influence shifts with every dollar that transfers from Candace’s account to Nathan’s. After this, I will be expendable, my purpose fulfilled. No reason other than honor to keep his promises and care for my father, no matter what our contract may say.
It's done entirely too quickly, the whole process taking less than five minutes. $54,236,301.59 transferred from one person to another faster than a twenty-dollar lap dance. Nathan is unhappy with the amount, a scowl stealing over his face when he sees the figure. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, scrawling a signature as I have been shown to do: a big, looping C followed by a swirl of squiggles, then the last name in clear, bubbly cursive.
He mutters something under his breath about the poor rate of interest and then signs the form. Inside, my stomach clenches. He should not have anything other than elation on his face, seeing as he is suddenly fifty-four million dollars richer.
We stand as a group, the beaming Bahamian shaking our hands and inquiring about our plans for the rest of the weekend.
Nathan loops an arm around my waist, bringing me to him. “We fly back tomorrow morning,” he says, planting a quick kiss on my neck. “We just came into town for this transfer.”
The man frowns. “You didn’t have to come here just for that. If you have any transfers in the future, please know that we can easily handle that over the phone, provided that you fax or email us your identification documents.”
Nathan winks, pulling gently on my hand, and we move toward the door. “I may have wanted to steal a few hours of her in a bikini.”
“That, I can understand,” the man says, flashing a smile as he holds open the door.
We step from the bank and onto the sidewalk, the flavor and sounds of Nassau all around us. As the doors close, my stress lifts. It is done; we have escaped, the money is transferred. Nathan grips my hand and smiles down at me.
“Are you happy?” I ask, holding up a hand against the glare of the sun.
“Ecstatic.” He beams, pulling me to him and bending down to kiss me. “Thank you,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me to his mouth, causing a squeal to leave my lips. A squeal he quickly silences with his mouth, spinning me in a small circle before releasing me. The limo, this one a small improvement over the first, pulls up, and he opens the door for me, gesturing with his hand. “After you, Mrs. Dumont.”
I tilt my head graciously, a smile tugging at my lips. “Why, thank you,” I drawl, ducking into the car and waiting for my husband to join me.
CHAPTER 48
We spend the day in town, walking through the shops of downtown, filling the car with shopping bags, and eating lunch oceanfront at a colorful strip of local eateries. In full view of the paparazzi, Nathan is the picture of a perfect husband, purchasing every item I touch and kissing me sweetly over fried conch and plantains. We walk into the hotel at four, dropping our bags inside the suite’s front door, our hands on each other before the door even clicks shut.
He lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist and carries me to the bed, our mouths fighting a frantic battle of ownership. When he bends, setting me softly on the bed, I pull back, taking a moment to study his face so close to mine. His thick brows rest perfectly above dark blue eyes, the color of deep water and just as dangerous, rimmed with thick dark lashes. His nose is slightly burnt, evidence of our time in the sun, the effect only reinforcing his All-American perfect bone structure. Those lips—full, pink, kissably irresistible. I reach up, needing him closer, needing confirmation that he is, in fact, here with me. That he is, indeed, mine in this one moment of time. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back down to my mouth.
Lust is a dangerous thing. It can seduce your mind and lead it blindfolded to the cliff that will be its demise. Nathan takes me to that cliff, my body bending and molding beneath his, my heart coming up for air in between soft caresses with his mouth while his cock hammers out a slick, rapid motion. I gasp, I arch, I dive. I’m not na?ve enough to think that it's been lust this entire time. I’ve known what was sneaking in, looking for an opening and begging for admittance. But here, in this island paradise, sharing a bed and conversation with this beautiful specimen of a man … here I can feel the final ties of restraint loosening, allowing the scary thing called love to work its way in.
The afternoon sun is streaming through our open window when he comes. The orgasm rips through him, his body heaving and bucking inside me, my name ripped from his throat as he gives a few final thrusts, his thighs trembling against my own as he buries himself fully inside of me.
I go limp, multiple orgasms turning my limbs loose and uncooperative. When he withdraws, collapsing beside me, it takes every ounce of my energy to roll over and curl up against his hard body. He moves me closer to him, dragging me higher until my head rests on his chest, his heart beating a strong rhythm in my ear, its steady beat soothing and secure. There, with his hand tracing a soft pattern on my naked back, I sleep.