Page 12 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

A s prisons go, Honey Cove is luxe. I’ll give them that. The villa the doctor escorts me to is way smaller than my father’s mansion, but almost as fancy and well built.

The ceilings are high, the windows huge and sparkling.

Sunshine spills across tiled floors, and waxy green houseplants hang in baskets from hooks on the walls.

There’s a purple woven rug; a jug of cucumber ice water waiting on the counter.

A butterfly flits by the nearest windowsill.

A bookcase covers the length of the living room, and a bowl of juicy-looking peaches rests on the coffee table.

Beautiful. Not that it matters.

Pretty places can still be rotten underneath.

And there are clues, too—reminders that this is no vacation. There’s no kitchen, for starters, and no sharp or heavy objects. When I peer around the bathroom doorway, the shower has some kind of lock on the temperature controls.

God forbid I hurt myself. I’m my father’s property, after all.

“Does it pass your inspection, Miss Lennox?” The doctor’s tone is sour as he follows me from room to room. And okay, I guess I’ve been kind of a brat to him so far. But hey, how else am I supposed to behave with my prison warden?

Even one with those deep brown eyes.

“It’s okay.” I close the bedroom door with a snap and stroll into the center of the living room, nudging at where the driver left my suitcase abandoned on one end.

I flip the zipper over, scratching at the hardy fabric with my fingernail.

“I mean, if you hold me captive here, I’ll sue you for every last cent you have—but sure, the cucumber water is a nice touch. ”

It’s a bluff. I can’t afford a lawyer. Until I get my ruined summer trip refunded, I can barely afford bus fare.

But there’s that frown again. Thick eyebrows pinch together, just a couple of shades darker than the doctor’s bronze hair. He rubs a hand over his jaw, his stubble crackling in the silence, and watches me steadily.

“You’re not a captive.”

I beam at him. “Awesome. Then I’ll leave.”

He lets out a long sigh. Like I’m so unreasonable, when he’s the one playing jailer. “After your assessment, if you are deemed medically fit—”

I wave an airy hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

See, I’m sure Hot Doctor trusts the process, but I know that my medical notes from back home are worth jack shit.

Every professional in a fifty mile radius is wrapped around my father’s finger; he probably wrote those notes himself, word-for-word, or at least got one of his slimy aides to do it, then told my doctor where to sign.

And those notes are gonna be my ‘context’? I’m never getting out of here.

Pushing down the gnawing despair, I stretch up my arms, yawning until my jaw cracks. Making a big production of how tired I am. “Well, it’s getting late—”

“It’s four fifteen.”

“—and you’ve still got all those other patients, right? So.”

“So,” Hot Doctor agrees. But he stands there watching me for another long moment, the sunlight spilling over him through the window. The way it glints gold in his hair makes him look almost leonine.

His toned chest presses against his white coat with each breath he takes. Even with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders relaxed, I can feel the tension humming through his frame.

Damn. This guy really hates me.

Well, he can join the club. My father probably hands out lapel pins.

“Dinner is at seven.” I half listen as Hot Doctor rattles through the welcome talk, my fingernail still scratching at my suitcase. When I swallow, my throat is tight.

I can’t believe this is happening. Can’t believe my father did this.

It was just a trip. A few stolen weeks of independence. I wasn’t gonna embarrass him, or hurt his chances of reelection. I wanted to tour the freaking museums. Would that be so bad?

“Miss Lennox.”

I jolt back to myself, blinking my eyes into focus. Hot Doctor’s still watching me, but his frosty veneer has cracked the tiniest bit. He’s staring at me with something that looks suspiciously like concern, shifting his weight like he’s about to come closer.

“I’m good.” I hold up my palms, my laugh rusty. “Calm down, Doc. It’s all good. Don’t get your panties in a knot.”

Quick as a blink, that concern drops away—and maybe I am crazy, because I miss it. Instead, we’re back to a clenched jaw and open distaste.

“Come to my office at 9am tomorrow, Miss Lennox. We’ll do your assessment right away.” The doctor turns on his heel and leaves the villa without another word.

I watch him go, stomach churning.

Man. Even the doctor is desperate to be rid of me.

* * *

Click.

The villa door closes behind Hot Doctor, the lock whirring into place, and the second he’s gone, panic crawls up my throat. So am I well and truly trapped here? Will I need to crawl out of a window?

One step at a time, Poppy.

Gah.

My hands shake as I tug my suitcase down to lay flat on the rug.

It smacks hard against the floor, the thump echoing in the large room, and I drop to my knees at its side.

The zipper catches, biting down on the fabric, and I tug the case open in jerky spurts.

The fiddly metal zipper is slick in my sweaty grip.

No time to panic.

Deep breaths. Deeeeep breaths.

This is a setback. A solvable problem. I’m gonna regroup here overnight, get my head on straight, and then it’s time for sweet, vicious revenge. Except—

“No.” Tops and handfuls of underwear fly across the villa. A pair of black period panties smacks against a painting of the beach before dropping to the floor. “Shit. No. Shit, no .”

If Hot Doctor peers through my villa window right now, it won’t help my assessment. I must look insane, hunkered over my open suitcase, flinging everything I own at the walls, but I can’t find them.

My phone.

My purse.

The freaking tools of my escape.

What use is it being free to go if I have no money or phone? No chance at getting by? Especially since my father is richer than god, and once I expose to the world what he’s done, he’ll be out for my blood. I definitely packed them.

My ears ring as I sit back on my heels, the empty carcass of the suitcase splayed in front of me.

They’re not here. Someone took them already.

Fuck Hot Doctor. Blistering rage fills me in a sudden flood, brimming up inside me until my bones ache and my muscles twitch. He acts so professional—so high and mighty—but he’s just the same as the rest of them.

In my father’s pocket.

Ready to ruin my life at a single command.

“Shit!” I yell it out, loud and shrill, because what does it matter now? Who cares if I seem crazy? They’re gonna lock me up here either way. The proof is in that empty suitcase.

My lips are numb as I slide down onto my ass, flopping onto my back. Hours pass and the time for dinner comes and goes, but I stay here, gazing up at the ceiling.