Page 11 of Mysterious Mate

Willow’s hips slowly began to undulate in rhythm with her fingers; she moaned softly, her body tensing, pleasure coursing through her as she neared her climax. With a final gasp, her body trembled as she came hard, stifling her moans.

She could feel her body release as tears started to trickle down her face. Was this what her life had become? Giving into some exhibitionist need to masturbate and hope the man she fantasized about might catch her? God, she hoped not. Willow straightened her swimsuit and prayed no one had seen her. Well, no one except maybe Weston.

No. She wasn’t going to think that way. She had to get a handle on her emotions and arousal. She wasn’t going to live this way. She wanted this thing over with so she could find some kind of life for herself.

When she’d first come to the island, she’d been suspicious of everyone—seeing potential assassins everywhere. The fear of her husband’s reach, of the Shadow League's unpredictable actions, kept her on edge. And always in the back of her mind was the man who had beaten her husband turning into a gorilla and then back again… and the dreams. The dreams of a fight between the gorilla and the grizzly bear, and then the bear becoming Weston.

Her life seemed to have become one long waiting game. Waiting for Frank to be arrested; waiting for Frank to go on trial—if, of course, the Shadow League even allowed him to go to trial. She knew both Frank and the League would do whatever it took to make sure Willow never had a chance to testify. But as the days turned into a week and then another, she found herself calming down, starting to trust the security around her. However, there was something about the way Weston watched her that kept her on edge.

Willow’s days settled into a monotonous routine, but she had another problem. Her daydreams about Weston had turned into real dreams. Hot, torrid dreams that woke her up in a sweaty mess. At first, the dreams had culminated in her climaxing, but now it was as if Weston would pull back and evaporate just before she could finish. She woke up on the brink of a major orgasm, left wanting the real thing.

These unfulfilled desires left her feeling restless during the day. She didn't think Weston liked her very much, and at first, she tried to avoid him. He was very stern—not exactly standoffish, but he evaded her personal questions and tended to stay away from her, although he was never far from sight. Willow had seen him looking at her, when he thought she wasn’t aware he was there. Every once in a while, she could see a look of primal hunger cross his face, as if he were predator and she was prey.

Willow wandered the grounds aimlessly, keeping to the areas she had been given access to. Her thoughts were a jumble of frustration, fear, and desire. She found herself gravitating towards Weston, even when she tried to keep her distance. Today was no different. She sat on a lounge chair, pretending to read a book, but her eyes kept drifting to where Weston was working in the garden. For once, he had removed his butler’s coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing well-muscled arms that flexed as he moved.

She closed her eyes, trying to push the image from her mind, but it was no use. The dreams had made her aware of every little thing about him, from the way his hair fell over his forehead to the way his lips curved into that rare, brief smile. She wanted to know more about him, but every attempt to get close had been met with polite deflection.

With a sigh, she got up and started walking towards him. She needed to talk to him, to find a way to break through the wall he had built around himself. As she approached, Weston looked up, his expression unreadable.

“Is there something you need, Ms. Carlyle?” he asked, his voice as smooth and steady as ever.

She hesitated, then said, “I’m bored. There’s not much to do around here.”

Weston nodded, his eyes meeting hers. “I understand. I can arrange some activities for you if you’d like. Perhaps a guided tour of the island, or some outdoor sports?”

Willow shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just...I wanted to talk to you. Get to know you better.”

Weston’s expression didn’t change, but she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. “I’m here to ensure your safety, Ms. Carlyle. My personal life isn’t relevant to that.”

“But it is to me,” she said softly. “I’m going to be here for who knows how long. I need to know the people around me.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Very well. What would you like to know?”

She sat down on a nearby bench, gesturing for him to join her. He hesitated, then sat down, maintaining a respectful distance. She asked him about his background, his interests, anything to draw him out. He answered her questions with the same polite detachment, but she could see the walls he had built starting to crack.

Finally, she asked the question that had been burning in her mind. “Why do you watch me?”

Cage looked startled, but he quickly composed himself. “It’s my job to ensure your safety.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“It’s my job to watch over you. I can’t do that without looking at you. Is there anything else, Ms. Carlyle?”

Feeling chastised and somewhat silly, she shook her head. Perhaps it was all in her head. Perhaps she was going mad—dreams about men turning into gorillas and grizzly bears and back again. No one right in their head would be thinking that, right? Maybe not mad, maybe just stir-crazy.

A few days later, after breakfast, Willow was once again sprawled on the lounge chair out where she could see the ocean, the sun casting a warm glow over the water as it washed ashore and back out again. She glanced over at Weston, who stood nearby in his ever-present, impeccably tailored suit. It was a ridiculous outfit for the Mediterranean heat, she thought, but there he was, wearing it with the same unflappable demeanor he always did. His professional detachment was really becoming annoying. The way he carried himself, the controlled, deadly strength in the hands that helped her out of her seat or handed her a glass of orange juice all suggested he was more than just a butler.

"Tell me, Weston, why do you wear that ridiculous suit every day?" Willow asked, adjusting her sunglasses to get a better look at him.

She had insisted he sit with her during meals because it unnerved her to have him standing over her while she ate. Over time, it had become a habit for them, a quiet ritual they both adhered to without discussion.

Weston settled into the chair opposite her, his posture as straight and composed as ever. "It's the uniform my employer chose," he replied, his tone measured and polite.

But there was something about the way he said "employer" that made Willow's senses prickle with unease. She studied him closely, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

There was a tension in the air, a silent question hanging between them. Were those hands of his deadly? Would he use them one night to pleasure her or strangle her? Willow shivered at the thought, even as another, more tantalizing possibility crossed her mind. She hoped he wouldn’t harm her, because she wanted those strong hands for something else entirely.

Willow watched Weston from the corner of her eye, a mimosa cradled in her hand. The sunlight filtering down through the pergola cast alternating shadows and light. Weston was meticulously looking over things on a clipboard, flipping pages back and forth, writing little notes here and there, his movements precise and controlled. There was something so unerringly perfect about him that it set her nerves on edge.

---