I find myself standing on a wooden dock white washed by the sun watching the yacht pull away. Behind me, beyond the oddly perfect, barren stretch of white-sugar sand, lays a complex of equally white buildings with Mahogany roofs under green fronds of palm trees.

A week, I think to myself. I have a week here.

I look back out to the boat, the dash of white against the impossibly azure sea, and watch it speed away.

"Welcome to Mahogany," a deep, masculine voice rumbles in my ear.

I jump and gasp, nearly tripping over my own feet and falling into the ocean. Instead, a strong, gentle set of hands grabs my arms and steadies me. I look up and find myself staring into the most beautiful emerald-coloured eyes.

"I... I'm sorry... I didn't hear.." I stammer.

"It's quite alright," he laughs. " I should be the one doing the apologizing. I'm Michael, and you're Elizabeth." He offers me his arm and leads me off the dock towards the buildings. "I'll be taking taking care of you during your stay with us."

******

It's been about eight months since my fiancé packed up and announced he was leaving me for a 24-year-old with "a much tighter body than you'll ever have." Aaron was no GQ model himself, but he fancied himself an Adonis of sorts. Bankers, especially ones who work at the top levels of a major banking institution, generally do.

Until that day, I had never thought of myself as homely. At 32, I worked out regularly and thought I was in decent enough shape. I have full, voluptuous breasts, a well defined waist and a tight, rounded ass. Like Aaron, I'm no model, but I was happy in my own skin.

How did I manage to lose him? I kept asking myself as I looked at my own nude reflection in the mirror. Maybe I DID let myself go. I did go up a dress size in the ten years that we've been together, and I did have dessert in that fancy French restaurant Aaron took me to last week with the partners. My belly is slightly rounded, but I thought I still looked awesome in skinny jeans.

I drew the blinds to my home and wallowed in self-pity and disgust. I talked to no one the first two weeks, and only after that to clients when I have to. I work from home, spinning magic for happy couples - designing and building their dream engagement rings and wedding bands. I love what I do, and I'm good at it. But meeting clients day in and day out reminded me everyday of what I lost. My own rings, my very own rose-gold-and-diamond dream, sat on top my my work bench, winking at me daily and asking me how I could have been so careless as to let Aaron go without a fight. I sank my life into my work, as if I worked hard enough, my client's happiness would rub off on me.

Six months in, a knock on my door

"Lizzie, you look horrible."

My best friend Celine. A high-profiled freelance writer. Blond, fine featured, and legs that go on forever - especially if she decided to wear the towering stilettos she so favors. I had pretty much stopped socializing and became a hermit, living in sweats and the rags I wear into my workshop. On this particular day, there was a hole in the knee of my pants and black grease smudges on my over-sized tee.

She marched in, perfume wafting past me as I closed the door, and sat down at my kitchen table. She put down the tray of coffee she was holding and gestured for me to join her.

"Thanks for coffee Ce, but I really can't have company right now. I'm just about to carve some waxes."

"That's bullshit Liz. You know it, and I know it. You hadn't designed anything worthwhile since The Douche left. Now sit down and have a coffee with me."

I sat down obediently, head bowed. She was right - I was less than creative at that moment at creating symbols of eternal love. I could hardly manage anything more than a simple solitaire and basic bands in the last half a year. I'd start a design, cry, and throw the design away. Aaron's dick move had not only been bad for me personally, but professionally as well.

And The Douche has always been her nickname for Aaron.

I picked up a coffee and Ce took my hand in hers. She's wearing one of my earlier creations- an intricate filigree of a soaring bird in gold with vibrantly coloured sapphires. It was my gift to her the first time she won a major award for writing. This very same piece won me first place in the National Design competition five years ago.

"Lizzie, I'm worried about you. John," her husband, a well regarded publisher and nice guy all round, "is worried about you. He ran into Aaron the other day at a cocktail thing and he was flaunting his little whore of a girlfriend around."

I sunk further into my chair, spiraling deeper into myself. "Thanks for the info Ce. I really needed that little pick-me-up," I muttered under my breath.

"That's not why I'm here," Celine said, her face softening. She reaches into her purse, and pulls out a folio, the kind plane tickets come in, and slid it towards me.

"I can't think of anyone else who needs a vacation more than you."

I looked at her, puzzled. "Ce, seriously. I can afford my own plane tickets. I mean, I just got busy, that's all. Besides, I'm thinking maybe a buying trip to Thailand in a few months."

"One," she replied, "it's not like you're leaving tomorrow. I know what you're like when you're working- the trip is eight weeks off. And yeah, you can afford your own tickets, but when was the last time you went on a non work related trip? Besides, these tickets are not the type of thing you can go out and buy."

I raised an eyebrow and peered into the dark brown folio. Inside, a slip of paper about the size of a boarding pass, embossed with my name, a date, a time and the name of the nearby airport in beautiful gold calligraphy.

"Ce, what the hell is this?"

"A little place I came across when I was doing research on places that are good for the soul. I've heard whispers about this place every time I talked to someone in the know - you know, best hiding places, that kind of thing." She took a long sip of her coffee."You don't even want to know the hoops I'd had to jump through to get you this ticket."

"Yeah, but where am I going? There's no plane ticket in here."

"Lizzie, that's the best part. I have no idea where you are going. I just know it's somewhere on a beach, and you get to get away for a while. Recharge, rejuvenate..." Ce leaned forward "... maybe get laid. No strings, no fuss, no muss. One week, it's just one week."

I cracked a weary smile. "Get laid huh? I'm too old for spring break craziness in Cancun."

"Old my ass. You're at your prime! And no one said anything about fucking everything out there with a dick and two legs. Just one good looking guy for you to get your rocks off. Honey, you haven't slept with anyone outside of The Douche in 10 years."

She had a point. With his work schedule and mine, our sex life, when we had one, was stale. And since he's left, well... there just isn't one.

I didn't even remember when the last time I came was.

Eight weeks and several shopping excursions with Celine later, I was standing on the tarmac, staring at a sleek private jet.

"Seriously?" I thought to myself out loud as the door slowly flipped opened, and a well dressed woman, the purser, descended the staircase.

"Good afternoon Miss. Your Passport please."

"Um... Where am I going?"

She looked at me and smiled. "French Polynesia." She picked up my bag with ease, and gestured for me to follow her. "I will take care of your needs until we arrive, and your passport will be returned to you when you depart. Champagne?"

******

Fifteen very comfortable hours later, I arrived at a private airport at a place called Tetiaora. "The Tahitian Royalty used to vacation there," Sarah, the purser, had said to me when she served me dinner and poured me what must have been my sixth or seventh glass of Champagne.

From there, a three hour boat ride, and now I find myself on the arm of the most beautiful man I have ever encountered. Celine's comment about getting laid came back to me just at that moment. I wonder what it would be like to have him in my bed, his broad chest pressed up against my breasts.

"Is everything alright?" His voice snapped me back into the present- his was pointing out where I would dine, the spa, the library, the bar. I must have a glazed look on my face.

I blushed. "Oh... yes... Of course. Long flight. Michael, is it hurricane season or something?"

"No." his eyes sparkle with amusement. "I think you'll find the water in the ocean most comfortable. Why do you ask?"

"Except for staff, I haven't seen another person here."

"There are only four others guests on the Island. We are actually fully booked."

"Whoa, what? You guys only have five guests at this place?" I look at my grand surroundings in awe.

"Yes. We like to make sure our guests are taken care of. This is your suite."

He swings open a pair of doors and leads me into the sunlit space. There is more space in the guest suite then my little apartment. The ocean breeze blows in through giant windows. The floor is more mahogany but the furniture, like everything else, is white. The sofa looks inviting, and I'm glad I bought a mountain of reading. The bed, of course, stands on the far side of the suite. A king size dream. I sit tentatively on the edge, and wonder what it would feel like to have Michael's strong arms pulling me into it.

"Elizabeth?"

For a second time in five minutes, I snap back to the here and now. "Yes?"

He's standing in front of me, and now I can truly appreciate his body. His well defined arms and broad chest is covered by a loose linen shirt. Muscular calves and legs, no shoes, roguish brown hair that keeps falling into those dazzling emerald eyes. I'm almost positive he's got an impressive package.

"Can I start you a bath? I'll call down to the kitchen to have dinner sent up here."

"Um.... That would be great. Fantastic," I stammered again.

********

"Whoa..." I muttered for the umpteenth since I arrived, and clutch silk robe around me a little tighter.

Turns out the bathtub is outdoors, perched on a platform elevated above the ocean and connected to my suite by a walkway. I dip a toe in the water, look around to make sure no one is watching, drop my robe and climb in.

The water is lovely, combined with the late afternoon sun and the mild sea breeze, I can feel, for the first time in a long while, my body finally relaxing. In fact, I was almost asleep when I hear footsteps, undoubtedly Michael's, on the pathway. He didn't ask, and I didn't protest, when he started to shampoo my hair, massaging my scalp with his long, strong fingers. Something stirred in my loins - this should strictly be reserved for lovers, I thought.

I'm pretty sure I purred when he started with my neck and shoulders too. I was aching for his hands to slip a little lower, over my wet skin to my breasts....

"Elizabeth," he leaned over and whispered in my ear, breathing my shoulders, "I could do this all day, but dinner is ready and waiting."

"Hmmm... Okay..." I was reluctant to let to have his hands leave my skin, but when I looked up he was holding up a towel, with the intent of drying me off.

Oh god, you mean he'll see me naked?

A brief second of panic, then it suddenly occurred to me that this beautiful man is here to make me comfortable. That, combined with Celine's lack of willingness to give me information about this place, how comfortable is he supposed to make me? I wondered.

Fuck it.

I'm on vacation.

I stand up and water runs off my body, glistening in the sunset. He wrapped the towel around me, his hands lingering for a fraction longer than it should on my bare shoulder. Then I step out of the tub and drop the towel with much less hesitation when Michael offered my my robe. I look up at him and smile.

“Lead on, “ I said taking his arm again. “I’m starving. And I’m hoping you guys serve lobster.”

“I can do you one better. I’m reasonably sure there’s a steak with your lobster tonight,” he said laughing. “What kind of a vacation would this be without some awesome surf n’ turf?”

**********

Dinner was, indeed, awesome. There was too much food and too much red wine, all in Michael’s very good company. Witty, considerate and all too selfless, we talked the evening away about nothing at all in particular. At some point, I looked over and realized I had drank about three bottles of wine and it was one in the morning.

Which means I had almost no inhibition left.

“Michael,” I said, pushing my seat back, wobbling as I stood up in a wine-induced fog, “I would like to take a walk on the beach right now.”

“That’s not the most brilliant idea you’ve had tonight, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth. Not Liz or Lizzie. Elizabeth. How the hell does he make my name sound so... exotic?

“But isn’t the beach lovely? In the moon light?”

“Yes, but you’re a little tipsy, darling”. Dah-ling. “There will be another evening, and I will take you out there myself. but in the meantime...” he swooped down and picked me up, carrying me in his arms like I weighed nothing, “... I think it’s time for you to turn in.”

“But Michael...” I giggled, not doubt the wine made everything funny, “I’m not tired!”

“You’ve traveled halfway around the world today, my dear.” He walked over to the bed and laid me down gently. “Get a good night’s rest. I’ll come to you when you wake up.”

With that, he pressed a soft kiss on my lips.

Oh my god.

The world stopped when his full, luscious lips met mine.

It’s a good thing I’ve had way too much wine. I don’t think I would have been able to sleep otherwise. Instead, I fall into a deeply restorative sleep for the first time in months with dreams about Michael’s strong hands on my thighs.

*****

I wake up the next morning amongst a tangle of sheets and the ocean breeze blowing through the windows.

“Good Morning, Elizabeth.” Michael looked up from the paper he was reading at the dining table, where breakfast has been laid out.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you’d come for me when I wake up were you?” I sat up, groggy from wine and sleep. It was only when then sheets fell away what I realize I was naked, my breasts exposed. I must have blushed deeply and fumbled with the sheets to cover myself.

“We’re past all that, Elizabeth. There really is no need for all that propriety here.” He says as he hands me a cup of coffee and flashing that dazzling smile of his. “ This is a place for you, not the rest of the world.”

I accept the steaming cup gratefully, slowly remembering that he’s seen me naked already. “Michael, what is this place?”

“An escape, a place of healing, a place of self discovery.” He sits down next to me on the bed. “It’s whatever you want it to be. From the sounds of it, you need all of those places.” He brushes a strand of hair out of my face tenderly and softly strokes my face. “As for me, I’m whomever you want me to me: a friend, a shoulder to cry on...” he looks deeply into my eyes, “or your lover, if you choose. Understand, after this week, you will never see me again. But in this week, you can just... be. You will not be judged on your actions on the island, nor will anyone ever know. We just ask that you respect this place for what it is - a mirage, if you may, and not speak of it... much.”

I must have a stunned look on my face, because he laughed. “It’s a lot to take in, I know,” he said. “ But tell me, Elizabeth, have those magnificent breasts of yours ever seen the sun?”

********

I’m a sucker for Pierce Brosnan and ranks the new rendition of the Thomas Crown Affair amongst my favourite guilty indulgence. So I can’t not channel Rene Russo when I find myself, bare-breasted and bold, wearing nothing but a wide brimmed straw hat and sunglasses as I sip my drink on the beach, novel in hand. Truth is, I think I’ve been staring at the same page for hours and I have no idea what I’m reading.

I’m still having trouble believing that Michael persuaded me to come onto the beach topless. On the other hand, the sea breeze and the warm sun feels good on my chest, especially my sensitive nipples, like it’s breaking up years of congestion with a series of soft, warm kisses. The fact that my breasts are out there for all to see, it’s liberating and makes me feel sexy. Desirable even.

And aroused. Of course aroused. Every time he comes over with a new drink makes me damp between my legs, especially now that he’s offered to fuck me. I peer over my glasses as Michael makes another trip over from the buildings with yet another drink in his hand. Damn, I thought to myself, so freakin’ perfect- the shoulders, the arms, those magic hands. I wonder what else he could do with them.

Dare I admit it? He’s been paid for. For me to do what I want with.

Liz, he’s not a robot. I thought to myself.

But he can be my toy. For the week, anyway.

There’s a part of me that is horrified at the thought. Celine had paid him to have sex with me? THAT was was she meant when she said all that about getting laid?

So what? Another little voice in my head questioned. Who cares? No one will know what you did here. You care far too much about what other people think. You wouldn’t have locked yourself away for eight months if you didn’t care about what Aaron thought. 

Aaron. Damn, I haven’t thought about him in...

“Elizabeth, you’re going to burn.”

“HUH?!” I looked up, squinting.

“Elizabeth, we’ve established that you have never exposed this much of your skin to the sun. We’re close enough to the equator that even I wear some sun protection most of the time.” he frowns, holding up a bottle of sunblock. “We need to remedy this - Sunburns are no fun the first day in vacation.”

The bottle’s been warming in the sun and the lotion is warm in my skin. Michael’s obviously done this before, my shoulders, my neck, by back. His hands comes dangerously close to slipping under my bikini bottom as I sigh, my head pillowed in my arms.

“Turn over for me, will you, Elizabeth?” he whispered into my ear.

I did, and he caresses my thighs and my belly as he applied more sunblock, working his way up to my body. I look down, and I can see his fingers gliding over the delicate skin on the underside of my breasts, and ever so slowly, up to my nipple. His fingers lingered over the hardened tips, and up my chest.

I lean back and close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of his hands on my breasts. He must know that I’m enjoying myself, because his hands glided down again, This time, he squeezed my mounds, gently at first, then a little harder. I moan out loud when I feel the wet flick of his tongue on my nipples.

“Michael...” I pant, my breathing getting faster as I feel the warmth building in my core.

“Shhhhh...” he hushes me with my nipple between his teeth.

I fall back onto the lounger that I’m on and concentrate on his fingers playing with my clit. I feel the knot in my stomach drop lower and his talented hands play me like a finely tuned instrument.

Oh god... I’ve never... Aaron didn’t... my breathing quickens ... oh god oh god... that just feels so fucking good....

“Let it all out Elizabeth. Cum for me.”

When I cum, it’s almost like everything around me bursting into light. My orgasm rips through my pliant body, my back arching at the intensity as I cry out. In the last couple of months, I was disconnect with my own body and my desires. And now, on a foreign beach with a man that’s little more then a stranger, I let out a laugh.

The dam breaks as I come back down from the high, and suddenly, as Michael holds me with those magical hands and strong arms, I cry.

“Shhhhh, Elizabeth. It’s alright... it’s alright...”

The floodgates had opened. I realize I’m not crying because Aaron had left me. I’m crying because I had let everything I like about me slide for so long and I was just friggin’ repressed. When we were together, like when he left me, everything was all about Aaron.

I miss doing things just for me.

I sit up, a little light headed from Michael’s ministrations and smile to myself.

I get it, I finally get it. I’m not sure if Celine knew what she was getting me into when she booked this week, but I’d be damned if I don’t enjoy fully what this island and Michael has to offer.

“Elizabeth, would you like some lunch? I’ll get something sent over.. .as soon as I go wash my hands.” He asked with a wink in his eye.

“Of course, I’m starving.”

It’s funny, I haven’t been this hungry in ages.