I find myself suddenly hungry so I head over to the fridge to see what I can forage. It is bursting with smelly cheeses, cured meats, sausages, jars of fat, and so much foreign food, I become truly overwhelmed. I immediately shut the door, and as I do, notice a basket of baked goods sitting on the counter. Taking the whole basket with me and snatching a bottle of red wine sitting next to it by the neck, I go and plop on the couch.
The house is eerily quiet, but I’m a bit hesitant to switch on the small TV in case it keeps me from hearing what is going on outside. To my delight I manage to find an English book amongst a collection of novels on a shelf, and begin to read while digging into the basket of baked goodies. Whoever baked them did an amazing job. The butter cake was to die for, and that was before I started on the pastries.
Chapter Thirty
Brand
I walk in with Mark a few minutes after midnight, our coats dotted with falling snow.
“The second twin was awfully quiet,” he comments, referring to the men we met earlier to do some business with, “do you think they'll be able to pull it off?”
“They better,” I respond, my eyes already searching around the house. “They fucking better.”
Perhaps she’s upstairs, I think when there is no sight of Liliana.
“Anyway, Antoine called earlier but you couldn’t take the call. He said they have a man who takes care of the house each day. He will be here tomorrow so you’re free to give him your instructions. The fridge is fully stocked and there’s a complimentary pastry basket from his wife waiting for you in the kitchen.”
I turn to Mark, my eyebrows raised. “That’s a lot of talking for you at a go.”
He grins. “I’ll be on standby in the cottage next door. Unless you have something else you want me to do?”
“No, it’s all right. Get some rest.”
With a quick nod he exits the house, and I am left alone.
Walking as softly as I can so that I can mute my approach, I head into the living room. And lo and behold! Liliana is sprawled carelessly across the sofa and fast asleep. Her hair is sweeping onto the floor and there are crumbs of cake around her face and on the floor. There is a book on the floor. It looks as if it has fallen out of her hands. I move around to the front of the couch, pick it up to place on the coffee table. Ah, the obligatory bottle of red wine.
Then I take a deep breath and … let my eyes take in the splendid sight of her.
She is creeping into my heart. Slowly but soon it will be impossible to let go. Whether it is infatuation or love, it doesn’t matter. All I know is that she is constantly on my mind. I hate to admit it, but the excitement of her presence in my life adds a livened gait to my step. It’s now harder to get my blood boiling at the least thing.
I look down at her deep in slumber. She looks so sweet, so innocent.
I know her father must have started actively searching for her ever since I sent him the message, so this little getaway at an acquaintance’s cottage is the best location while I plan what to do next.
I reach out my hand to touch her silky hair, but then stop myself. Until I sort out my feelings towards her, minimal contact is necessary. Turning around, I start to walk away. Then I stop. I can’t leave her sleeping there. She would get up with a stiff neck.
I find myself carefully lifting her into my arms. She makes a little purring noise and burrows closer against my chest. Then with superhuman strength, I place a cushion under her neck, cover her with a blanket, and walk away.
Chapter Thirty-One
Liliana
I feel wonderfully warm when I wake up the next morning.
The taste in my mouth however is quite unpleasant thanks to all the cakes, pastries, and wine I stuffed myself with. It put me in such a stupor that I actually drooled during the night. Wiping the corners of my mouth, I look through a window and see it is full on snowing outside. It is only then I notice the thick blanket spread over me.
My heart skips a beat when I realize Brand must have arrived last night. Instantly, my feet land on the floor. Throwing off the blanket I rush up the stairs, only slowing down to inspect each room as discreetly as I can. I don’t exactly want to show my eagerness to see him again. When every closed door has been searched with no signs of him, only a black suitcase and another smaller one with my name on it, I feel surprisingly deflated.
As I brush my teeth I look into my eyes and I can see the disappointment there. I freeze when I hear the front door opening. Hurrying back to the banisters, I peek down. A guy in snow boots and a furry hat is standing at the threshold. His hands are filled with grocery bags. He doesn’t see me and heads straight to the kitchen. I run my fingers down my messy hair and follow him. My bare feet make no sound and I stand at the doorway and watch him unpacking the fruits and ready-made meals from his bags. He seeks out a fork, opens a container of what looks like potato salad, and helps himself to a piece.
Tossing the fork into the sink, and chewing noisily, he takes off his coat and throws it onto a chair, only to turn around and almost jump out of his skin in terror at the sight of me watching him.
“Oh putain!” he curses.
“I’m sorry,” I immediately apologize, somewhat amused at how startled he is. He looks no older than me, and just a few inches above my height too. His cheeks are full and his effort to grow a beard most probably to cover his acne is not paying off at all. There’s bits of disconnected facial hair everywhere and it all makes him seem so animated. I instantly know I will like him.
I dig up my rusty French and quickly introduce myself with a smile. “Bonjour, Je m’appelle Liliana.”
“Bonjour,” he greets, his hand still on his startled heart. “Je suis Pierre.”
We stare at each other … all awkward smiles and stances until he cracks up in laughter. It brings one out of me too, but when he attacks me with a splattering of French my amusement immediately disappears. “Oh, I'm sorry I don’t speak French all that well.” I crinkle my forehead. “Didn’t pay attention during French classes. I think the only word I still remember is merci.”
“And bonjour and Je m’appelle,” he adds with a twinkle to his eye.
I grin. “And … où sont les toilettes.”
“Yes, very useful phrase,” he agrees gravely.
“Oh, excellent. You speak great English.”
“Not really, but I do know a little more than thank you, hello and where are the toilets?”
“It will be enough for me,” I say with a smile and head over to the counter to inspect the food he has brought into the house. As he makes us thick strong coffee, I soon learn that he is the house and grounds keeper for the owners of the house. “They only say that a close friend come here for a short time so I am to help him out.”
“Mmm,” I exclaim, with the fork still in my mouth at the delicious salad. “This is really good. Did you make it?”
“No. I can only cook eggs. Antoine’s wife made it.”
“Hmm … Did your employers tell you how long the guest will be staying?”
He shakes his head in response and downs his coffee.
“Monsieur Abe told a man would be living here. That is why I am so surprised to see you.”
“You are his daughter perhaps?”
“Ah ... No … We’re just ...well, friends.”
He looks at me with a knowing look. “Ah … friends.”
“We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Of course.” He rises then and heads over to the sink to wash the dishes.
“Will you be here all day?” I ask.
“No,” he replies, “I’m here just to put the food, and wash a little, and then I go.”
“Okay,” I say foreseeing yet another gloomy day alone. With a sigh I take a long sip of my glass of kiwi juice and look on, my thoughts filled with Brand. I wonder if Brand will decide to come back while I am still awake. I keep thinking of the end of us. It isn’t long now, I can sense it, but how are we to part ways? With o
ne of us dead, on civil terms, or … I don’t have the confidence to consider it but I note the brief flutter of my heart before I am called again by Pierre.
“What events do you have lined up today?” Pierre asks.
I shake my head pitifully, and say in my best French accent, “Zero.”
“It is too cold to go out anyway,” he says.
I gaze out at the outer pool and hedges covered completely in snow. It looks beautiful, but I wish Brand would come back. “Pierre,” I call.
He turns to me while rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. He deposits some soap suds on it and it extends his nose. He looks so funny I can’t help laughing.
I rise and take my empty glass over to him. As he takes the glass from me, I ask, “Pierre, what do you do if you want to get close to someone?”
He pauses for a moment to think before he responds. “Spend time with them.”
Fat chance of that happening when Brand has decided to become more evasive than a ghost. My face drops.
His smile almost blinds me. “You are in love?”
I nearly choke. I settle for a staggeringly hideous frown. “No, I am not.”
My answer seems to genuinely confuse him. “Why do you want to be closer then?”
“I owe him … a debt,” I say.
“Then pay him,” he says simply as if it is the most obvious answer in the world.
“You’re no help,” I say and return to my seat.
He wipes his hand and comes over to take the seat by my side.
“Okay, okay … maybe it is more … complicated,” he says. “Spend more time with him.”
“He doesn’t want to,” I explain. “Spend time with me.”
He gives me a dry look and I almost don’t want to hear it. He leans into me and says it anyway. “So, make him fall in love with you.” He links his fingers together. “You are beautiful woman. It is easy.”
“How exactly do you make someone fall in love with you?” I ask.
He leans back into the chair and raises up two fingers. “Two ways. Be helpless, or be mysterious.”
Propping my elbow on the table, I rest my head against it, before it explodes with his strange advice.
“Helpless? What do you mean?”
“Do something that make him be forced to spend time with you. Like break your leg, or your arm.”
Or go blind I add in my head. That would really up the ante.
He goes on. “Add to dis … show him you are good … exciting. Then maybe he begins to fall in love with you.”
“So breaking my leg doesn’t guarantee he will fall in love with me?”
To my surprise he takes the question seriously. “No. Fall in love is two other different things.”
I curse myself for even asking in the first place.
If he expects me to break anything else I will break his leg, I say in my head.
“Poison him or make him jealous.”
I blink, not sure that I have heard him well. “Pardon?”
“Joke,” he says, laughing heartily, obviously beside himself at his humor.
I have none left in me.
“Make him jealous,’ he says. “And he will begin to notice you.”
I think about this for a moment.
“Or give him woman poison.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not joke.”
“Woman poison?” I repeat, wishing I had never begun this conversation in the first place.
He shimmies his shoulders suggestively and lets his eyes drop to my breasts. I rise to my feet then, exhausted to my soul.
“Have a beautiful day,” I say to him and leave the kitchen.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Liliana
I settle in front of the television with a bucket of popcorn to await Brand that evening. Dressed in a pair of jean shorts from my suitcase and an oversized dress shirt I found inside Brand’s suitcase, I feel quite homely and relaxed.
The evening passes away and I nod off to sleep. The next thing I know I’ve jerked awake. The lights are still on, and I look around, slightly disoriented to check the time. It is past 2.a.m in the morning.
I hear a sound upstairs and quickly hurry up the stairs. I rap my knuckles on the wood, and even though I don’t receive a response, I take the liberty of pushing the door open and walking in. His room has a king-sized bed.
It looks mighty comfortable and reminds me of our first time together on a bed. A mini panic laced with hot-blooded desire instantly tries to bully me into turning away, but I stand my ground and keep walking forward.
“Brand?” I call tentatively.
As I near the bathroom I hear the sound of the shower running. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. The clothes he wore that day are discarded on the tiled floor.
Through the frosted shower glass, I see the outline of his naked frame and my heartbeat starts to spiral out of control. What am I doing? This is Brand the Maniac I am intending on provoking. Have I gone mad? What has made me so fearless against someone who has threatened the lives of both my father and I? Then I think of Lindy saying he was like a mother bear with her cub when I was ill. He cares, but he hates himself for it. Before I leave I have to make him understand that I didn’t reject him deliberately. That I always regretted doing it and wished with all my heart I could turn back the clock and change the way I acted. The sooner I make this better the sooner I can return to my family.
You’re making this right, I remind myself. You’re trying to atone for past sins. You are doing this for you and him.
Even telling myself that doesn’t give me the courage to slide open the door and I find myself chickening out and turning around to exit the bathroom. I only manage two steps before I hear the shower stall door slide open. I freeze instantly on the spot.
His voice is as cold as steel. “What are you doing here?”
I am almost too afraid to turn around, but summoning all my courage I lift my chin and turn around to meet him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Liliana
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crAgnI9BF6M
Simply The Best.
He is standing in the doorway buck naked but for some water droplets. My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as I let them really study the tattoos on his arms, shoulders, chest and stomach. For the first time I have the opportunity of seeing them clearly.
They are beautiful.
High on his right shoulder there is a black rose with teardrops falling from it. A fierce tiger roars on his chest. An angel is on her knees in front of a demon on his bicep. Around them there are knives and other symbols that must mean something to him.
Of its own will my gaze slides down his narrow hips to his groin, to the virile, thick cock. I have to clench my legs tightly together to contain the ache between them.
“I asked you a question. What the hell are you doing here?”
My gaze flies up to his face. His eyes are strangely merciless. “Um … I … uh …” I stutter.
He narrows in on what I am wearing and his eyes become lidded. Alarm bells go off in my head and I find myself instinctively taking a step backwards. He is still such an unknown quantity.
“Did your little pussy get wet for me?” he asks nastily.
My jaw drops and he looks at me with a disgusted expression and slides shut the door of the shower so hard it makes me jump.
For a stunned second I can only stare blankly at the closed glass. He just outright rejected me! I offered myself to him and he rejected me. Confused and shaken, I turn around to leave, but then something inexplicable overtakes me. How dare he? How dare the bastard treat me like that when I am only trying to heal his hurt.
Well, woman’s poison it will have to be. As Mum once said about Dad. No point trying to tame a wild beast better to embrace its magnificence.
I march over to the stall and forcefully slide the door open. His head bent and under the cascade, water is rolling down his silky skin. His back
is wide and ripped with muscles that run all the way down to his firm ass. Billowing steam mists around him, making him appear almost unreal. My throat pulsates with thirst. He turns around, brushing hair out of his face.
I get my mouth to work before I can lose my courage. “You said you want me to be miserable, well I am. But do you know what makes me even more miserable? You fucking me does.”
I push my way into the stall and he looks at me with a strange expression. A mixture of desire and exasperation. Before he can stop me, I begin to undo the buttons of my shirt, but it damn well takes too long, so I rip it apart viciously. When that doesn’t take me far either, I pull the shirt over my head revealing one of the sexy bras he bought for me. I take that off too so the poison can take effect more quickly. My gaze drops to his rising cock.
“That was a four-hundred pound shirt you just ruined,” he says quietly, but his eyes are focused on my bare breasts.
“I would have thought four hundred pounds would be nothing to-” I start to say, but the words are stolen out of my mouth when he takes a step forward. He is suddenly dangerously close to me. My heart is racing in my chest and I am breathing too hard.
“Get out,” he says, “before you regret it.”
For the longest time there is no other sound, but the sound of water pattering down to the floor and our quick uneven breaths.
“I want to regret it,” is all I say.
“You fucking little demon,” he curses.
My heart flutters with fear and longing, but my hands go to the button of my shorts. I pull them down along with the thong he so thoughtfully provided. Kicking them aside, I hold Brand’s gaze as I close my hand around his cock.
“You’re no longer afraid of me?” he asks softly.
A Kiss Stolen Page 12
