by Lisa Jackson
The lines around his mouth tightened a little. “I was startled, that’s all.” Angrily, he threw the last of the broken lantern into the metal trash can, and it clattered loud enough to wake the dead.
“You don’t strike me as someone who would startle easily. Come on, Trent, something’s going on. You want to get me off the island as soon as you can. You practically have me locked away in this hotel room. Every time I’m out alone, you act as if something awful is going to happen.”
He followed her into the hotel room and leaned a shoulder against the carved wood doorframe. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at her, his lips compressed, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were weighing a heavy decision. “You’ve already been hurt once and spent too much time in the hospital. I just don’t want to take any chances.”
“On another accident occurring?”
His lips thinned, and instinctively she backed up, steadying herself on the edge of the bureau. He still scared her a little, and yet she decided it was time for a showdown. She’d been walking a high wire with him, afraid that any misstep would send her plummeting into a black oblivion that she couldn’t escape. She couldn’t stand it a minute longer. “I get the feeling that you’re hiding something from me.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
He advanced on her, his bare toes touching hers as they peeked from her sandals. For a second he didn’t say a word, just studied the contours of her face, and her breath got lost somewhere between her lungs and throat. She stared into eyes a deep, mysterious blue, eyes that seemed to see into the most secret parts of her. Her palms began to sweat a little, and for a breathless instant she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Get a grip, Nikki!
“I just want to get you out of here before you really get hurt.”
“So you’re superstitious.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Because the accident happened here, you want to leave. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Unless you think I’m only accident-prone when I’m on Salvaje. Or unless you know something more than you’re telling me.”
“Like what?” Frowning, he locked the door firmly behind him.
“I have nightmares, Trent, and I relive falling over the cliff, only I don’t just take a misstep and pitch toward the ocean on my own,” she said, catching his full attention. His head snapped up and the muscles in the back of his neck grew strident. “I know someone was chasing me and that same person gave me a shove over the edge.” The room was suddenly so close, she had trouble getting enough air into her lungs. His gaze narrowed on her, and he didn’t move.
“Who?”
“I…I don’t know. I don’t remember. But it’s so real, it’s got to be true.”
“You think I pushed you,” he said, his voice flat, his nostrils flaring slightly.
Her pulse throbbed in her brain. “I don’t know what to think. But I know that you haven’t been completely honest with me.”
“Oh, Lord,” he said on a heavy sigh. Rubbing a hand around the back of his neck, he shook his head. When he looked at her again, his gaze had sharpened. “Part of your dream is real, part illusion. It’s true I didn’t see you fall over the edge. I was already at the mission, waiting for you. But no one was following us.”
“You’re certain?”
He didn’t answer. “Why would anyone push you, Nikki?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, trying to remember.
“Oh, Nikki.” Muttering a curse under his breath, he placed his hands on either side of her body, trapping her against the bureau. He leaned forward, his nose nearly touching hers. “I know you don’t like the idea, but you’re going to have to trust me. I’ll get you home. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“You’ll be honest with me?”
He hesitated, but only briefly, then one side of his mouth lifted into a sardonic smile. “Of course I will, darlin’,” he drawled, and she knew in an instant that this man was an inveterate liar, a man who would say or do anything in order to accomplish his goals.
Despite all that, regardless of her gut feeling not to trust him, a part of her wanted to lean on him, rely on him, trust him with her life. If only she could let herself feel safe with him. He smelled clean and male and… She bit her lip as he tilted her chin with one finger and whispered, “Just trust me, Nikki. We’ll be home soon and you can see your own doctor. You’ll get your memory back. Things will be better.”
Trust me. Her heart twisted. She wanted to trust him. More than anything in her life, she wanted to believe that he was telling her the truth, that they were married, that there wasn’t anyone on Salvaje or anywhere else who would want to hurt her.
He kissed her then. Slowly and deliberately, his hands placed on either side of her head, his body pressed close to hers. His lips were warm and persuasive, his tongue a gentle prod against her teeth. She knew she should stop him, that kissing him was courting disaster, yet she closed her eyes and parted her lips willingly, and his hands moved slowly down her face to her shoulders and lower still to her buttocks. His bare chest rubbed against her T-shirt, and she was lost in the smell and feel of him.
With a groan, he drew her closer, pulling her hips against his so that she could feel the hardness of his desire against her abdomen. Her blood was pounding through her veins as his kiss deepened.
As suddenly as he’d grabbed her, he let go, swearing and planting his hands on his jean-clad hips. He closed his eyes and his jaw became hard as granite. “Son of a bitch. Son of a goddamned bitch!” Raking his hands through his hair, he growled, “I’ve got to get out of here…. We’ve got to get out of here.”
She couldn’t agree with him more. Being cooped up in the small room, with only each other, was playing with fire.
“Come on,” he said, stuffing his arms through the sleeves of a bleached denim shirt. “Let’s have some breakfast and then we’ll check out Santa María. Do some sightseeing. Something. Wait a minute.” He closed the gap between them once more, and with his shirt still open, he surveyed her wounds. His thumb brushed across the scab still clinging to her cheek. “But we can’t be out long. The doctor doesn’t want too much sun on—”
“I know. I’ll wear a hat,” she said, angry with him or herself, she didn’t know which.
“I just wouldn’t want that beautiful face to scar.”
“I’ll be careful.” She felt a sudden elation at the prospect of escaping the prison walls of the hotel room and realized this would be her chance, if she ever was alone, to have the film she’d found in her camera developed.
A sharp needle of guilt stabbed at her, but she quickly shoved it aside. She had the right to learn everything there was to know about her “husband,” even if she had to sneak behind his back to uncover the truth.
He changed into walking shorts and a T-shirt, slipped a pair of aviator glasses over the bridge of his nose and headed outside. The sunbaked driveway to the front of the hotel was filled with idling cabs and cars. Trent took her hand and led her past the taxi stand to a shaded bench where the driver of a horse-drawn carriage was dozing.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, the horse—a big bay gelding—snorted, and the driver’s black eyes opened. “Ah, señor,” he said, tipping a wide-brimmed hat. “A ride for the lady?’
“Sí.” Trent fished in his wallet for a bill and asked to be taken downtown.
“To see the beautiful Santa María—just like the name of Columbus, his boat, no?”
“Right,” Nikki said, grinning. It felt good to be out in the sunshine, to see the shadows of swaying palm fronds play across the ground, to talk to someone other than Trent, to feel young and carefree despite the worrisome fact that she remembered so little of her past.
Trent helped her into the leather seats, and the driver climbed onto his perch and flicked his whip over the gelding’s ears. The carriage began to creak as it rolled forward, bouncing a little on the uneven street of timeworn cobblestones
.
With a hat to shade her face and huge sunglasses to cover her eyes, Nikki nearly felt normal. Sitting next to Trent, feeling the length of his leg rest against hers, smelling the soap and leather scent of him, she could almost imagine herself a bride on her honeymoon. Almost.
Trent threw one arm behind her shoulders, though he didn’t draw her close, and his fingers tapped restlessly on the tucked upholstery supporting her head. His eyes, hidden by his aviator glasses, were restless, always on the move. His jaw was stern, his lips compressed, and never once did he seem to relax.
It was as if he was looking for something. Or someone. Expecting danger. Lines of strain carved his skin at the corners of his mouth and his fingers kept up their nervous beat. Like a restless, wary animal, he watched and listened.
Nikki refused to let his anxiety infect her. It had been ages since she’d been out among people, and she hadn’t realized what a social creature she was. Delighted, she watched street vendors try to hawk their wares from umbrella-covered pushcarts parked on the street corners. Bicyclists and motorbikers vied for room with a few cars and ancient pickups that clogged the streets. Yet the old horse plodded on, undisturbed by the noise and motion of this lazy city.
Overhead, suspended from lampposts, baskets of flowers blazed in a profusion of color. Deep purple blooms and bright pink buds trailed from long vines and fluttered in the breeze, perfuming the air already filled with the scents of saltwater, fish and seaweed.
It was a glorious day. The sun was blazing with tropical heat, but the breadfruit trees and palms offered some shade. As the carriage moved slowly downhill, Nikki stared past the driver and haunches of the draft horse to catch glimpses of the ocean, azure and sparkling with sunlight. Schooners and fishing rigs skimmed the bay, and to the north, jagged rocks, small islands unto themselves, rose like the spiny backs of ancient sea monsters hidden deep in the water.
Involuntarily Nikki shuddered, and her good mood dissipated on the wind. She looked upward to the cliffs above the city to see the crumbling bell tower of the old mission, barely visible through the dense foliage of the hills. Why had she been running up the steep path and who had pushed her? For, despite Trent’s claims otherwise, someone had deliberately shoved her over the embankment, hoping that she would plunge to her death on the rocky shoals.
The driver pulled the horse to a stop, and as Trent tipped the driver, Nikki hopped to the ground, careful to land on her uninjured foot. For a second she felt as if someone was watching her, and she turned quickly, looking at the throng of tourists crowding the street, half expecting to meet a stranger’s malevolent gaze, but none of the tourists or locals wandering through a central square of shops and cafés near the park were paying her the least bit of attention. Most were walking slowly, a few had found a seat in the ornate wrought-iron benches to eat, read or smoke, still others threw scraps of food to the flock of birds that had gathered in the shade of several grapefruit trees.
She told herself that she was being silly—that some of Trent’s tension had infected her, but she couldn’t recapture her lighthearted spirit of only moments before.
The sound of music from a steel-drum band floated on the breeze as Trent led the way along the sandy boardwalk that rimmed the water. People strolled along the docks, stopping to barter at outdoor booths and carts, chattering in a variety of languages.
At a small café, Trent ordered breakfast of fresh fruit, fried bread and scallops. They sipped fresh orange juice and thick black coffee and watched the ocean, which glittered in the sunlight.
“You didn’t tell me about any of the women in your life,” she said as she finished her coffee.
“You didn’t ask.”
Leaning both elbows on the table and balancing her chin in her hands, she said, “I’m asking now.”
He grinned. That slow, sexy smile that caused a nest of butterflies to erupt in her stomach. “All the gory details?”
“Every one,” she replied, though a pang of jealousy surprised her. The thought of Trent with another woman was unsettling.
He took a long swallow from his cup, then frowned into the dregs. “There isn’t really much to tell. I had a high school sweetheart in Toledo, but she ended up marrying another guy—someone more stable, which translates into dollars. The kid’s dad owned one of the biggest steel mills in the Midwest. I moved from one college to another, didn’t put down any roots or leave many broken hearts.”
“You haven’t been married before.”
He shook his head.
“Never came close?”
“Not as close as you,” he said, tilting his head to one side and surveying her. “You still don’t remember Dave?”
She thought back, trying to conjure up some memory, some link to a man she’d nearly married. He was handsome and athletic—she’d seen that much in the snapshot she’d found in her wallet—but there was something else about him, a personality trait, that seemed to surface in her mind. “Not really, but I have this feeling he was very dominating.”
Trent lifted a shoulder, but Nikki was on a roll. “That’s right. Not overtly demanding, but always subtly suggesting that I should dress a little differently, act more sophisticated, get a job more suitable for a woman….” She felt an old emotion break through the void in her mind. “He…he took me somewhere once, to the symphony, or the opera, or something, and he bought me a dress because he didn’t like the clothes I’d been wearing.” She remembered opening the box, excited until she’d seen the black sheath with the gauze sleeves and skirt so short she wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably.
“It’ll look great on you,” Dave had insisted, and to keep him happy, she’d worn the dress, even letting him tell her to pin her hair up in a French braid. All evening she’d felt uncomfortable. He’d introduced her to friends, showing her off as if she were another acquisition, just as he’d proudly displayed his new top-of-the-line sports car and his gold watch. Though he’d cared about her, Nikki had always gotten the feeling that his love hadn’t gone past the surface, that if she’d been born ugly or scarred, he wouldn’t have cast her a second glance. Lips curling wryly, she wondered what he’d think of her now with her battered face.
“I do remember Dave,” she said. “In some ways he was like you.”
Trent snorted, but his gaze never left her face.
“You know—demanding, arrogant, pushy,” she teased, unable to resist baiting him.
He reached over and clasped his fingers over her wrist. “Watch it, lady,” he warned, “or you’ll find out just how pushy I can be.” She might have been frightened, but the fingers around her wrist were warm, the curve of his lips seductive.
They wandered through the small town, and Nikki never stopped looking for a camera shop. As they windowshopped, pausing to finger trinkets of silver and gold, agate and shell, she never forgot the roll of film hidden deep in her pocket.
They passed carts laden with flowers, fresh fruit, handcrafted jewelry, sweaters and kites. On the docks, fishermen sat and smoked while repairing their nets or selling their catches. Past the boardwalk, the white sand stretched in a lazy crescent surrounding the bay. Sunbathers lay on towels, soaking up rays, drinking from tall glasses. Children waded near the shore and snorkelers waded deeper into the glimmering surf.
An island paradise, Nikki thought. A perfect spot for a honeymoon. She almost believed it was true. However, one glance at Trent and her romantic fantasy crumbled. She remembered nothing of him. While staring at his rugged, handsome features, no image of being with him surfaced in her mind. Slowly she was glimpsing small, murky fragments of her memory, but never had Trent appeared in any of the tiny vignettes of her past. Why not?
Because he’s a complete stranger, that’s why!
That thought hit her like a blow, and she realized that she’d let herself get caught up in this ridiculous fantasy, that she was beginning to believe, if only a little, that he was her husband.
Even the undeveloped pictures might not
prove that he wasn’t her husband.
In the early afternoon, Nikki began to tire. They stopped to rest at an outdoor café situated on the north end of the boardwalk. Trent ordered drinks when Nikki spied the sign, a painted board attached to a short stucco building that housed José’s camera shop, which was located less than a block from the café.
She hesitated, but told herself there was no time like the present. The waiter deposited a frosty beer on the table in front of Trent and an iced lemonade for Nikki. They didn’t talk much, just sipped their drinks slowly, watching as the tourists, young and old, moved along the street. The canister of film felt hot against her thigh, and she watched the minutes roll by, hoping for some excuse to leave him.
A loud woman in a straw hat, chasing a slim youth, caught her attention before blending into the crowd that drifted slowly along the street. The seconds ticked by. Trent was nearly finished with his beer.
Nikki was taking her time, slowly drinking her lemonade, hoping for a reason to leave the table. She watched a black man without any teeth, who was playing a guitar in a doorway on the other side of the street. A thin old dog was lying at his feet, sunning himself and moving only to lift his head and sniff the air before letting out a low growl and lying back down again.
She felt Trent’s eyes on her and took another swallow. But her throat was nearly clogged and she had trouble drinking. At a nearby table, a single man was nursing a beer, and though his back was turned, Nikki felt as if she’d seen him before…in the hotel lobby or… As if he knew she’d spied him, he paid for his drink and left, never once glancing over his shoulder.
You’re imagining things, she told herself, turning back to the guitar player who was playing the soft calypso strains of an unfamiliar song. Nikki watched the crowd and noticed a tall, thin native dressed in white. A red sash was his belt and a green parrot was perched on his shoulder.
The dog lifted his head, sniffed, and spying the bird, jumped to his feet, barking loudly. The parrot flapped its great wings and squawked, trying to escape.
