Queen's Island Read online

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  © 2018 Queen’s Island, All Rights Reserved

  Paper Gold Publishing; a subsidiary of Loch Sloy Publications

  Introduction

  At thirty-four, Claire Townsend found herself fatigued, fifteen pounds overweight, and in need of medical help. When Doctor Marie Petit prescribes a month-long stay at an exclusive spa on a remote island off the French Riviera, Claire believes she's being sent for some rest and physical rehabilitation, but when she arrives, the 'spa' is not at all what she expected, and neither is her assigned therapist, Cade Malone.

  The handsome Aussie is both annoying and alluring by turns, confusing Claire and driving her mad as he invades her personal space, and then withdraws. Things become more muddled as the spa’s sexy head masseuse and the athletic activities director both make plays for her. Despite all the unexpected male attention, it’s Cade’s kisses she desires, his touch she craves against her better judgement after a sexy encounter in the warm sea that later leads to a sharp rejection. Her pride stung, Claire decides to cut her time short on Queen’s Island. But fate, and the weather, have other plans.

  When a new patient arrives Claire’s prescribed spa vacation turns dangerous fast. Trapped on the exclusive island resort in a gathering storm, lives are threatened as secrets are revealed. Can Cade keep her safe or will Claire become a pawn in the deadly game played by a loan shark who never bets on anything less than a sure kill?

  Disclaimer

  This story is a work of fiction. All characters, settings, and situations are products of the author’s imagination and in no way are representative of or related to real persons. This book is the exclusive property of the author who holds all rights to it, and cannot be shared, copied, offered by any site for free in any form without the express permission of the author. Any attempt to pirate this book will be taken seriously, and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Copyright violations are serious charges carrying a punishment ranging from $200 to $150,000 for each work infringed. Infringer pays for all attorneys’ fees and court costs. The Court can issue an injunction to stop the infringing acts. The Court can impound the illegal works. The infringer can go to jail. Please respect the author’s work.

  Cover by M.E. Gwynn.

  Editing: M.E. Gwynn

  Copyright © 2018 All Rights Reserved, Xaviera Snow and M.E. Gwynn.

  Queen’s Island is published via Paper Gold Publishing a subsidiary of Loch Sloy Publications.

  Prologue

  Claire

  Riverside, California

  I sat with my hands in my lap, waiting, as Doctor Marie Petit read through my chart. The thin blue paper robe I wore barely covered my backside, and I could feel the chill from the overhead air vent. I’d been a little run down lately, tired and listless. Since I was approaching my thirty-fifth birthday, I figured I’d better get off my ass and get checked out.

  I’d been a patient of Doctor Petit’s for the last six years. She was pretty great. I liked her a lot. When I moved to Riverside, I asked around for recommendations for a good physician, and more than one female acquaintance mentioned her name. I could see why they liked her. Doc Petit had that casual confident air about her. She was French, and still maintained a slight Parisian accent despite living in California for the last fifteen years. She was tall, blonde, and gorgeous in that European way, and she listened. I liked that about her best. She didn’t try to rush me through my appointments, and I never felt like she was in a hurry or detached. She cared. It was also a big plus that she handled in-house pelvic exams because the very idea of a man going there, what with my weird issue with personal boundaries, made me reticent to keep up with regular pap smears otherwise. I kind of felt that since I wasn’t having sex anyway, what could possibly go wrong down there? It was a perfectly preserved ecosystem, an untouched rain forest where all my microbial wildlife roamed free without a care in the world for predators. At least, that’s how I rationalized my choice not to visit a gynecologist before Doctor Petit. She made sure to let me know that was not okay, and immediately stressed the importance of vaginal health.

  Finally, she looked up. “Claire, everything seems to be okay except for one thing.”

  I sucked in a breath wondering what that ‘one thing’ could be. Oh God, is it cancer? Holy hell, please don’t be the Big C!

  She smiled and reached out, patting my shoulder. “It’s nothing terrible. But your Vitamin D level has tanked.”

  I let out my breath in a whoosh. “Oh, that. Well, that’s not a big deal.”

  “Yes, actually it is. Low levels of Vitamin D are why you feel so tired and rundown,” she said.

  “So I just need to get out into the sun a little more? That’s not a problem, I guess.”

  “That may help, but not as much as you need. As we get older, we lose the ability to process the sun into enough Vitamin D for our bodies, so we have to take a supplement. It’s essential for your body’s immune system, brain function, breast health, and more.” She started writing on her script pad. “I’m going to prescribe you a super dose of fifty-thousand units. You will only need to take one every two weeks. I’ll give you a three-month supply, and then I want to see you back here so we can follow up.”

  I stared at the little piece of paper she handed me. So, I needed the super D. Nice way of making it clear I was getting older.

  “I also noticed you’ve picked up fifteen pounds since our last visit.” She stared me in the eye. I felt like a bug pinned to a board, under a microscope. I tugged the blue paper robe a little tighter around me feeling it give and rip on my right hip. Great.

  “Yeah, I guess I haven’t been getting out as much as I used to. I’ve just been so tired.” I babbled off the excuse which, turns out, was the truth.

  Doctor Petit grinned. “Well, now that we know why you’ve had no energy, we are going to fix that, and get you back to your normal levels of activity. How’s your love life?”

  Woah! That came out of left field!

  “My love life?” I asked, like she was asking for my PIN number to my bank card. No one ever wants to answer this question. No one! Well, unless they actually have a love life.

  “Yes, are you dating? Last year at this time you said you were going on a date with someone new?” She sat down and made a few notes in my chart. Did she notate the color of my underwear from that visit too? Good grief, how in the world does she remember this stuff?

  “Oh, yeah.” My mind flew back to Donovan. He was a friend of a friend, someone I was set up with on a blind date. I still don’t know what madness allowed me to let that happen except that I was thirty-three, about to turn thirty-four, and starting to feel like my chances were dwindling rapidly. It was a disaster. Donovan was a southern conservative son of a Baptist preacher. Had I known that beforehand, I would never have agreed to meet him for dinner. I’m just glad I drove my own car. It made walking out so much easier after he began laying out exactly what he expected in a wife. Wife! I don’t know how anyone goes from ‘Hello’ to ‘Let me make my Neanderthal intentions clear.’

  “That didn’t pan out,” for him.

  “That’s too bad.”

  I didn’t think so.

  Doctor Petit looked at me. “No other men since then?”

  I was beginning to think she might be hitting on me. All these questions about my love life sounded like the kind of digging men did when they wanted to know if a woman was single. Not that I’d know this much first-hand. I’d had two boyfriends in my life, and both seemed so long ago now that I’d forgotten what it felt like to even have one. Seven years was too long for anyone to go without physical contact. I hated to even think about it because the thought was damned depressing. It wasn’t that I was unattractive. At least, I
didn’t think so. Sure, I was fifteen pounds overweight now, and I was never skinny to begin with; always curvaceous. Bust. Butt. Thighs. Yep. I have good hair – a dark brown that’s almost black, and hazel eyes. My face is decent. I used to get a lot of compliments on my smile, and back when there actually was a man in my life, he told me my eyes were beautiful. That was Jay, my last boyfriend. He also loved my boobs – told me they were ‘goddamned sexy as shit!’ He loved squeezing them, touching them, licking them. I loved that too. I missed that part of it, but I didn’t miss Jay. He left me for a woman he worked with. I didn’t even see that coming, more fool me.

  “No.” I was afraid to say more. If Doctor Petit turned out to be a lesbian, I figured I was going to be flattered, because she is quite beautiful, and to have a beautiful French doctor hitting on me can’t be a bad thing, but I would also need to find a new doctor, because having her shove a finger inside my vagina annually after I refuse her advances is just not going to work.

  She reached into a drawer and pulled out a pamphlet. Then she scribbled on her script pad once more before ripping off the sheet and handing both over.

  “I think you need some prescribed physical rehabilitation. This spa is very exclusive, and you can only get in with a prescription from a handful of select physicians. I want you to call the number on that pamphlet tomorrow and tell them I am sending you for a little R & R. It’s a month-long program where I expect you to get your vitamin level back up, and also to shed those excess pounds. They have quite a unique, top-notch facility.”

  I looked at the pamphlet. It showed what appeared to be a tropical resort. It was written in French.

  “What does it say?”

  She pointed to the title. “Queen’s Island.” Doctor Petit got up and stood before me. “It’s on an island in the French Riviera.”

  “The French Riviera? How in the world can I possibly afford this? My insurance won’t cover it! I mean, I’m just vitamin deficient, not in need of specialized treatment!” I was dumfounded. This also meant flying. I didn’t care for that either. I was afraid of heights.

  She smiled. “First, it is very exclusive, and second, yes, your insurance will cover it because it is a medical facility. No worries, Claire. My office will code everything and submit it to your insurance. I’ll have Nina call you with a referral confirmation by the end of the day.” She gripped both my shoulders, pinning me with her blue eyes. “And you absolutely need specialized care.” The secretive smile on her lips had me wondering just exactly what kind of ‘specialized’ care I’d be receiving on Queen’s Island.

  Chapter One

  Claire

  my job allowed me to work from wherever I happened to be. As a website graphics and content provider, I was contracted with maintaining the web pages for several businesses around the world. My responsibilities were to provide fresh related content to the sites as well as market them out using SEO to keep them popping up in the top five of their categories for engine searches. I usually designated a good four hours a day in the mornings towards this end. After that, my days are mine barring any problems such as security breaches which don’t happen often, but when they do, they are a pain in the butt to fix. Cyber attacks are not uncommon occurrences for these high-tech companies. They actually have separate security that monitors the sites, a company I always recommend when I’m employed for the upkeep and content on any site, but it still requires me to rebuild the areas destroyed once security goes in to rip out malicious code.

  Doctor Petit’s office manager, Nina, cleared my stint at Queen’s Island Spa with my insurance company. I still couldn’t believe that any island stay in the French Riviera could be a covered service, but who was I to argue? I also still didn’t exactly know what kind of care and treatment I was going in for. I’d tried looking the place up on the internet, but found absolutely no references or web pages for Queen’s Island or a spa on Queen’s Island. I asked Nina, and all she said was, “It’s very exclusive. Only patients determined in need personally by Doctor Petit and a select handful of physicians around the globe are ever sent there, and in my time as her office manager, I’ve only known her to refer five other patients. Each came back the better for it. Glowing, in fact. Don’t worry, Claire. You’re going to be pampered like you’ve never been pampered before. Your fatigue will disappear, and they will help get your body back on track functioning at your optimum level, I promise.”

  It took another half-hour of convincing me that flying there wouldn’t lead to my early demise, and all for a mere fifteen pounds!

  Now, as I sat staring out the window into the clouds from my business class seat, I found myself smiling for the first time in a long while. I only gripped the armrests hard enough to break bone until we were in the air. Then, it all smoothed out and I didn’t feel like I was falling, so I tricked myself into thinking everything was okay, I wasn’t really thousands of miles in the air speeding like a rocket towards France.

  I really had been working myself to the bone. Sure, I designated only four hours a day in the mornings to website maintenance, but I had to face facts. I spent far more time checking in than that. Having virtually no life outside of my work, I was always on call, always curating new content ahead of time, like the article about picking locks in case a person accidentally loses their house key. That one was interesting, in an amateur sleuth kind of way, and good for the home security company’s website. I had a file for each page with at least five days-worth of articles and information at the ready. I kept it that way by spending too much time online. That’s probably where my Vitamin D deficiency came from…being strapped to a laptop all day instead of getting out with friends, enjoying some sunshine, and playing. When was the last time I played? I couldn’t even remember.

  I’d neglected myself terribly. And it must be worse than I thought because somehow, I became the sixth person Doctor Petit referred to this very exclusive health spa.

  I had no idea what to expect once I arrived. All I knew was that I’d be met by a driver who would take me to a ferry. From there, I would travel out to the island. It would be dinner time the next day when I finally set foot on the grounds of Queen’s Island. That was nearly twenty hours from now. I sure hoped my bed had a lot of pillows because the first order of business was certainly going to be sleep.

  ***

  The flight was long, and I was glad when the plane touched down, landing safely at the airport. I looked out the window as we rolled to the gate. I was in France. France! I’d only ever traveled outside of the United States once and that was a college trip to Cancun. This was the first time I’d left the North American continent. It was morning now, and the first day of the month of May. After the stewardess served my breakfast of rubbery scrambled eggs and a tougher sausage patty, I swallowed down my first big dose of Vitamin D with the last of my orange juice. I eyed the large, greenish gel cap for a full minute before doing so too. “Okay, D, it’s time to work your magic.” With that, it was down the hatch with the horse pill. I tried not to gag. I hated taking pills.

  Shortly after ingesting my medicine, breakfast trays were taken up, and not quite an hour later, we were descending to Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. From there, I would hop a domestic flight to Nantes where I’d be met by a driver whose only job was to take me to the ferry.

  I stood, stretching before I stepped out into the aisle to pull my carry-on from the overhead bin. I had one more suitcase checked straight through so didn’t have to worry about that one. But I did, and that’s why I had so many essentials in my carry-on, just in case. I’d read enough travel horror stories to know that sometimes luggage went the way of socks in a dryer. Missing. Still, the thought didn’t sink my mood. I was in Paris, the city of lights, even if all I was going to see of it was the airport. I had a two-hour layover which meant friends back home would be getting some spiffy, Parisian airport gifts.

  I thought about my two best friends, smiling. Tricia would definitely want something feminine. She was a gi
rly-girl through and through. Since college, she’d felt it her sacred duty to dress me anytime we went out. According to her, I lacked fashion sense.

  “Jesus, Claire, you’re never going to get laid in that outfit!”

  I never understood what was so wrong with being comfortable in jeans and low-heeled sandals. Why must I walk around like a circus bear on my toes wearing a tutu to attract a guy? Why can’t a guy be into me and not what I’m wearing? My arguments never won with her then, and still don’t to this day. Her answer was and is always the same.

  “Because no man is going to even notice the gift you are until you wrap yourself up like a Christmas present. No! I don’t want to hear it!” She would always hold her hand up at this point expecting me to disagree. “It’s going to be pretty, shiny paper and ribbons, missy!” Then she’d pull out three outfits from her own cache of clothing because she knows me better than anyone, and my closet does not have anything she considers the least bit Christmas package-like.

  Yes, Tricia will want frilly, pretty, and slightly slutty. I hoped to find some kind of lingerie store in the massive airport. But Liz, on the other hand, would want something a little more classic. She likes kitschy stuff, so anything that says it’s from Paris will do. Still, I definitely wanted to get her something special, unique. It was going to be a fun couple of hours at least.

  As soon as I stepped off the plane, I turned on my cell phone. There were texts from both of them asking how my flight had been and letting me know that they would probably still be sleeping by the time I got their messages. Liz’s made me laugh.

  Hey, future chick, this is your bestie from the past (okay, only what, six or seven hours or so in the past). Hope your flight was okay. Call me when you arrive at the island. I still can’t believe you’re off on a freaking health vacation. Who the hell gets one of those to a French island, anyway? I hate you so much right now. Okay, love you!! Smoochies.