Getting Lost Read online

  “Your amazing body, in my hands, is all mine.” Phoebe edged her tongue back to Stella’s clitoris.

  “Again? So soon?”

  “You’re stunning. I’ll do what I want with you.” Phoebe nibbled on her clitoris.

  “Jesus, baby. I don’t think I can.”

  “Trust me, you can and you will.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Stella?”

  Stella was nearing climax for the third time. Why was Phoebe calling her name?

  “Stella?”

  So close to the edge, all Stella could do was mumble, “I’m coming.”

  “Stella, you’re dreaming.” Phoebe’s voice echoed in her head, drawing her to awareness.

  “What?”

  “You’re dreaming. You were thrashing around just now. You need to wake up.”

  Reality began to invade Stella’s consciousness. Dreaming? She looked around, stretching the cramp in her neck. The clock indicated it was nearing three in the morning. They were on the sofa, her head rested on Phoebe’s lap, and she was wrapped in a white bathrobe that was gigantic on her.

  “I’m dreaming? You didn’t just shower? We didn’t just…” Stella’s voice faded. She was beyond disappointed. It was all just a dream. She’d just experienced the hottest sex she’d ever had and not one bit of it was real. If ever Stella felt robbed of a prize, this was it.

  “Do you always moan like that in your dreams?” Phoebe asked.

  “God, I wish.” Stella felt deflated.

  “What were you dreaming about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on? It must have been good,” said Phoebe.

  “No way. That’s my secret. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  The words hung in the air for a long, awkward moment. Stella was sure her heart had stopped beating, but before she could recover, Phoebe broke the silence.

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  “Sorry.” Stella sat and cupped Phoebe’s face in her palm. “I really am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Her brick wall now firmly back in place, Phoebe attempted to leave. “It’s okay.”

  With no other way to keep her there, Stella quickly manoeuvred to pin her down by straddling her lap. “No. It’s not okay.”

  “It’s impossible to go beyond it.” Phoebe’s discomfort was obvious, although she made no further attempt to move.

  “It’s only impossible if you try and fail.” Stella could tell her robe was gaping at the chest. She knew her actions were reckless, but she didn’t care. She longed to experience the real Phoebe, not just the dream version. This conversation was too important; the lingering effects of her dream drove her onward. “Have you tried?”

  Phoebe frowned. “No.” She sighed. “It all seems too hard.” She grasped Stella firmly by the hips and began to move her away.

  Compared to Phoebe’s lean, muscular frame, Stella was slight and easy to push aside, but she couldn’t let this opportunity pass. Stella seized both sides of Phoebe’s head and kissed her. Initially rough and graceless, Stella was driven by an undefined need, and as Phoebe relaxed her grip, Stella sank back onto her lap. Insistently, Stella opened her mouth and began a gentle exploration with her tongue. Phoebe’s resistance was half-hearted and although not actively participating, she wasn’t fighting the kiss either. Stella interpreted this as permission granted.

  Within mere seconds, Phoebe appeared to disengage her head and follow her heart. “You taste so damn good,” she muttered into Stella’s mouth.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” Stella said.

  “Do what?”

  “Stop kissing me to tell me I taste good.” Stella guided Phoebe’s hand beneath her robe and onto her breast. “Don’t ever stop kissing me.”

  What followed was pure bliss. The kiss deepened, as did Phoebe’s caress. Stella felt Phoebe’s entire hand gather her breast until her thumb and forefinger encased and squeezed her nipple, slow and steady. Her body reacted in the most primal way, and the moisture between her legs sent her squirming with a desire to have her need fulfilled.

  In the moment it took Stella to lose herself, it all ended.

  “I can’t do this.” Phoebe pulled away.

  “Yes, you can.” Stella kissed her again.

  “No. Please stop. I can’t!” And before Stella had time to protest again, Phoebe was up off the sofa and Stella was on the floor, flat on her back.

  Phoebe stared in horror at Stella sprawled and half naked. Without another word, she fled the room. Of two minds whether to go after her or not, Stella gathered herself and rushed out the door. By the time she reached Phoebe’s room, the Do Not Disturb sign had been placed on the door handle. She knocked once, but she didn’t want to wake up the entire floor, so she retreated to her room.

  It was near five by the time Stella finally slept, and there were no more dreams of Phoebe. In fact, there were no more dreams at all. She fell asleep wondering what went wrong.

  Chapter Ten

  With little else to do until the group were scheduled to gather in the foyer and travel to dinner, Stella went shopping. Although swimming in the Mediterranean was fun and she urged her group to embrace the opportunity, it was too hot for her today, and the air-conditioned comfort of the shops won out.

  Phoebe had been absent at breakfast. And, yet again, when Stella gently knocked on her door that morning, there was no answer. Stella’s mood swung like a pendulum. One minute, she savoured the memory of Phoebe’s touches and kisses. In the next, she was frightened she might never experience them again. Her solitary hope was that, at best, she at least had the rest of the tour to try to figure Phoebe out. Beyond that, she might vanish forever.

  The hot day was made more comfortable by a gentle breeze and Stella sat at a table outside a café she often frequented. She was really only there for the coffee, but found herself ordering juice and a croissant also. Her stomach churned with apprehension for what might lie in store for her and Phoebe, or perhaps it was unbridled fear that she might have blown her only chance.

  “Hi, Stella.”

  Stella’s head snapped up. “Phoebe. Hi.” She stood frantically to usher Phoebe into the seat opposite her, and in doing so, sent her own chair careening backward into another patron. Phoebe looked on with a grin as Stella placated everyone involved. “Join me?” Stella said, flustered.

  Staring at Phoebe, Stella recalled the real version of last night’s events. They had dissected, at great length, the calamity in the markets. Both agreed the silhouette was certainly in the form of a person, but beyond that they had nothing to go on. Exhausted, they had fallen asleep on the sofa.

  “Did I hurt you last night?” A concerned frown creased Phoebe’s forehead.

  “What? No. When?”

  “When I threw you on the floor.” She winced. “I didn’t mean to do that. I guess I panicked.”

  Stella wasn’t sure she fully understood, but she wanted to. “Panicked, why?”

  “This is going to sound ridiculous, but that was the first kiss since…”

  Stella gave her a moment before lowering her voice. “Since what, Phoebe?”

  “Since Rebecca.”

  It was difficult to imagine what it must be like to want to have your deceased lover’s lips as the last lips that you kissed. Stella was devastated to have taken that away from Phoebe. “Oh, shit. I see. I’m so sorry, Phoebe. I crossed the line.”

  Alarmingly, another thought entered her head and she couldn’t ignore it. Was this the sick game of a murderer who’d manufactured the perfect crime? Stella shook the thought from her mind, but it seemed the more intense her feelings became, the more she harboured thoughts of fear and dread. Surely one would cancel out the other, but it wasn’t transpiring that way.

  *

  Stella was determined not to become overwhelmed by her lingering doubts, but she struggled with the most intense attraction she’d ever experienced. She and the group enjoyed a rather pleasant e
vening in Monte Carlo, but she was distracted and not on her game all night. Phoebe attended the luscious banquet dinner but kept to herself. Stella couldn’t afford to be openly attentive to Phoebe. It was an organised dinner, and Stella was, after all, working. But they stole glances and shared affectionate smiles when they could.

  Some tension was building between Russo and his harem. Genevieve and the Brazilian girls were embroiled in some bizarre love competition for Russo’s affections. In a fashion only Russo could effect, he was reliving younger years, discussing motor racing with some lads from Melbourne, completely oblivious to the infighting. Stella was sure they could all have stripped naked and thrown themselves on a sword before Russo would have glanced up and diverted his attention away from all the car talk.

  The ritzy glamour of the casino sucked most of the group in and spat them all out a few euros lighter. Stella could always pick the winners and losers as they returned to the coach. The winners were usually drunk, and the losers simply looked forlorn, in need of a drink. Few ever heeded Stella’s advice upon arrival at the casino threshold. Every time, she would warn her group, “The house always wins,” and every time, there would be one person who would tell her later that they should have listened.

  It was after midnight before Stella eventually trudged to her room. Although not deliberately seeking Phoebe’s company, she loitered behind in the foyer for longer than necessary, half hoping Phoebe would hang back and initiate a conversation, but nothing eventuated. Phoebe had obviously retreated to her room after a long day, not unlike the rest of the group.

  Silently, Stella showered and slid under the sheet. Being alone was a circumstance she was accustomed to, but feeling lonely was foreign to her. For the first time in a long while, Stella felt lonely. She despised the feeling.

  Chapter Eleven

  Travelling down the A11, Florence looming in the distance, Stella received a text message from Ryan, a colleague posted at the Florence campsite. It read: Two groups here, gonna be a big night. You and your lot welcome. PJ party. Coach collect at 7:30 p.m. Confirm. Stella read the text aloud to Russo.

  “Awesome.” He was pumped. The following day was a drive free day, which meant tonight was the perfect opportunity to paint the town red.

  Stella grabbed the mic. “Sorry to interrupt.” Those catching up on sleep groaned at the intrusion. “But you might be interested in an offer. Our tour company has a campsite on the outskirts of Florence, and tonight there are two other tours in town. We have been invited to join them for a little gathering. It’s a free night. Take it or leave it. We won’t be taking our coach. Russo needs an evening off, but one of the other coaches will collect us after dinner and deliver us to the campsite. We find our own way back to the hotel via taxis.” The group looked keenly interested. “They serve cheap drinks at the site bar, and the music is great. So, if you would like to come along, be in the hotel foyer at seven thirty sharp. Oh, and it’s a pyjama party, so dress up, and believe me, they won’t let you in if you don’t!”

  That evening, as dinner concluded, the group dispersed. Amazingly, absolutely everyone returned to the foyer ready to depart at seven thirty, everyone with the exception of Phoebe. Wearing a white singlet top and long black pyjama bottoms, Stella cringed at the sight before her. At least half the men wore satin boxer shorts with T-shirts while the other half looked homeless in worn out track pants or actual pyjama bottoms. One of the Melbourne lads was even strutting about in underpants. The ladies looked only slightly more respectable, many appearing in brand new pyjama sets.

  Stella found herself constantly seeking out Phoebe, curious as to what she would be wearing, if indeed she decided to attend at all.

  *

  Ryan was Hawaiian—tall, dark, muscular, tanned, and undeniably gorgeous. At only twenty-two years of age, he was one of the youngest cooks working for the company, and he absolutely idolised Stella.

  True to form, not one person in the bar and pool area was without either PJs or a swimsuit.

  A deep American voice bellowed from across the room, “Is that the sexiest tour manager in the world I see before me?”

  Ryan vaulted the bar, rushed over, and swept Stella into his arms. Their size difference was vast, and as his strong arms pressed her close, she deftly wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Hey, steady on, mate,” snapped Matt, glaring wide-eyed at Ryan.

  Clearly amused, Ryan remained undeterred and winked before lowering her to the floor. “I love the new hair colour. You look more like a rock goddess every time I see you.” He kissed her fully on the lips.

  “And you look more handsome every time I see you.” Ryan was nothing if not good for Stella’s ego. “You keeping well?”

  “I sure am, sweet thing, but let me finish up in the kitchen. Order me a drink?”

  “Your usual?”

  “You got it. Oh, and promise me a dance later on?”

  “I love it when I’m on a promise to you.” Stella pinched his tight backside before he disappeared through stainless steel kitchen doors.

  With nearly one hundred and fifty people gathered to have a good time, the evening was destined to be colossal. The pool was in use until ten o’clock, at which time it was deemed unsafe to swim—everyone was way too drunk, or at least well on the way. The rule by no means deterred anyone from jumping in, or being pushed, but offenders ran the risk of exclusion if they persisted.

  Russo was in heaven, two new coach loads of girls to hang off his well-sculpted, tattooed arms, and he loved every moment of it. The sisters from Brazil, it seemed, had the same idea. They spent considerable time chatting up brothers from Canada, and given what Stella knew of their double act, she refused to contemplate quite what the new pairing might get up to.

  Stella, who had been working the room—dancing and flirting with everyone—was taking a breather and chatting amongst a group who were strangely discussing ballroom dancing.

  “It’s called the Pride of Erin, I’m sure,” one of the girls, an Australian, said, exasperated.

  “No way,” cried another. “You’re thinking of the Barn Dance.”

  “The Barn Dance? I’ve never even heard of the Barn Dance.”

  “Stella?” Phoebe beamed a kind smile that sent Stella’s stomach into a spin. “You look like someone who knows their ballroom stuff. Do you know the Pride of Erin?”

  “Well, Ms. Lancaster.” Stella returned the smile. “I do believe I know exactly how the Pride of Erin goes. The question is, do you?”

  Stella was relieved by this exchange. Although they’d shared coffee the previous morning, the conversation had progressed into neutral territory after Phoebe’s confession that Stella was the first since Rebecca. Since then, Stella had been busy with the majority of the group and she’d been unable to give any undivided attention to Phoebe. She was worried things may have deteriorated between them. She also didn’t want to come across as pushy or needy. If Phoebe needed time to process the kiss and a growing attraction to Stella, then that’s what Stella would facilitate.

  “Is that a challenge?” Phoebe seductively slid from her stool and sauntered toward Stella.

  “Perhaps it is, but if you don’t feel up to it, I’ll understand.”

  “You’d be surprised what I feel up to.” Phoebe extended a hand to Stella, pulling her toward the unsuspecting DJ as the group cheered them on.

  When the throbbing music stopped abruptly, the sweaty crowd occupying the dance floor booed in disapproval. Everyone curiously watched Stella being led onto the scuffed wooden floor by Phoebe as an extravagant classical piece began. Stella stole a quick glance at Russo, who simply raised his eyebrows and grinned.

  “Can you actually remember how this goes?” Stella whispered, awestruck by Phoebe, who looked absolutely stunning in her expensive black camisole top and floral printed shorts.

  “Ah, now the truth comes out. You said you knew.”

  “I’m sure it will all come back to me.” Stella winked. “I’ll
follow your lead. I assume you’re taking the dominant male role?”

  Phoebe grinned. “I think that would be best, don’t you, given your, um, lack of height?”

  “Point taken.” Stella glanced around at the crowd gathering, all clapping and chanting. “Come on then. Get on with it.”

  Like a pro, Phoebe twirled Stella so they both faced the same direction and Stella offered up her other hand. They waited awkwardly for the music to restart before she counted them in. Stella had been right, the steps came flooding back, and they completed three rounds of the dance to raucous applause and laughter. On the third waltz, Phoebe held her closer than before, her hand strongly drawing Stella in, firm on her lower back. Having been afraid to do so until now, Stella glanced up to find Phoebe’s eyes fixed on hers. Stella’s face was merely centimetres away from Phoebe’s plunging neckline. A powerful waft of sweet, powder fresh, expensive perfume flooded Stella’s senses. Something was pulling at Stella’s heart, and the connection caused her to ache.

  The crowd whistled, roared, and clapped as she and Phoebe retreated to the bar and the preferred throbbing dance music filled the room yet again. Stella, now rather sensitive to Phoebe’s touch, was well aware that Phoebe’s hand remained in hers as they waited patiently to be served drinks.

  “I knew it.” Matt rushed up and cuddled Stella from behind, her hand separating from Phoebe’s as he positioned himself between them. “You’re gay!”

  Stella wasn’t sure where this was heading. “What makes you say that, super sleuth?”

  “You, getting into her.” He jerked his head toward Phoebe who was now chatting to a girl from another tour. “That is so fucking unreal.” He danced away, pleased with himself.

  “Hey, Ryan,” she called to the hunk propped up at the far end of the bar. “You ready for that dance now?”

  “Sure am. I hope you don’t expect any fancy shit like that from me.”

  Stella grinned and gulped her drink, finishing it in one thirsty mouthful. “You know what I expect from you, baby.”