by Girard, Dara
His arousal grew more intense as he thought of the fire and Victoria, his breathing more labored, desire increasing to a level he couldn’t control. He removed his trousers and gripped his hardened penis. He rested one hand on the tree to anchor himself, his knees growing weak as the movement of his right hand quickened. Finally the release he needed exploded through him and he groaned deep in his throat and surrendered. When he was through, he rested his forehead against the trunk, oblivious to the cold wind racing past his backside and the now limp organ in his hand. He sighed. Next time he’d be inside Victoria and it would last longer.
He started to stiffen again at the thought, but this time took control of his desire. He pulled up his trousers then glanced at the house again, his ears alert for any telling sounds of danger. Fire trucks would be coming soon and he didn’t want to be spotted. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced toward the cottage house. No doubt Victoria could feel his rush. She could sense his pleasure. He wondered if the experience had been good for her too. He hoped so. Suddenly, his joy turned to dread as he watched a figure in a night dress race toward the building. Victoria! What was she doing? She knew better than to enter a burning building.
For the first time horror gripped him. He knew that was exactly what she meant to do.
He raced toward her, shouting her name, but she disappeared inside before he could stop her.
* * *
Victoria burst into the house; the heat of the fire seized her skin. Thick smoke blinded her and attacked her lungs. She darted up the stairs and rushed to Foster’s room. She shook him awake. He stared up at her groggy
“Get Amanda. There’s a fire.”
She entered Ms. Linsol’s room, it lay empty. Relieved, she turned back to the hall and saw a large flame grab a wood railing causing an overhead beam to fall. She looked down into the space below and saw the living room up in flames. -Feeling that heat, she backed away until she was flat against the wall. Soon she felt Prescott’s presence. She saw him coming toward her like a demon from the underworld.
He stopped a few feet away, his face a mask of rage.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re not supposed to be in here.”
“You were supposed to come after me not them.”
He smiled, his teeth frightfully white in the thickening haze. “I did. I did this all for you.” He held out his hand. “We’ll talk about it later. Come on. I’ll get you out of here.”
She made a sideward movement. Something was wrong. She felt it in the air. “You shouldn’t have done this.”
“I shouldn’t have done a lot of things.”
The smoke was darkening fast; soon she wouldn’t be able to see him, he would just be a voice in the blackness. The fire was speaking to her, but she couldn’t interpret its message. Something was wrong. “I don’t think—”
He made an impatient gesture. “Come on Victoria, don’t make me angry.”
For some reason she was glued to the spot, paralyzed by terror. From what, she couldn’t tell. “I can’t.”
“Trust me, I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
She slid to her knees, a wave of dizziness washing over her Hadn’t Robert said those very words to her? “You have to leave.”
“Not without you.”
“Victoria?”
Anger pushed through her paralysis at the sound of Robert’s voice. What was he doing here? He was supposed to wait outside. He was supposed to be safe.
“Victoria!”
“Don’t say anything,” Prescott warned. “Come on. We don’t have time.”
She pushed herself from the wall, moving toward the sound of Robert’s voice. “I can’t leave him here.”
“He’ll blame you for this. Can you face that? He doesn’t understand you like I do.”
The truth of his words hit her like a back draft. He was right. Hadn’t she been blamed for her cousin’s death in Jamaica and her aunt’s flower shop going up in flames? Robert had every right to hate her now It was her pride that had put his family in danger and had caused him to lose the inheritance his father had left. Without speaking she headed down the hall. Satisfied, Prescott followed her.
Then she sensed a warning and began to move quickly. Though Prescott hurried his pace it wasn’t fast enough. The floor groaned beneath his feet and then gave way. His eyes widened in shock as he fell through the floor. He grasped the edge, his legs dangling over the inferno below. The arms of the flames reached for him.
“Victoria!” he screamed. “Victoria! Help me!”
The sound of his cries raked at her heart. She could not watch him die. She tied her night gown around a pole, anchored herself against it and reached for him. She knew he could pull her to her death, oddly she felt no fear. She grabbed him, but wasn’t strong enough to hold him. Her muscles strained and trembled, and she bit her lip not wanting to shout out. She felt as though her shoulders were being pulled from their sockets. Pain shot up her arms as sweat streamed from her forehead and down her back.
The flames below began to move and sway while the room seemed to go from-large to small then back again.
“Don’t let go,” he said, his nails biting into her flesh. She could feel her skin tearing under his hold and the slow trickle of blood that followed.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t think I can hold you.”
She heard the low groan as the pole began to give way and a loud rip of her nightgown as it began to tear upper her side. She wouldn’t be able to pull him up. She looked into his eyes. His dark brown eyes reflected the look of horror and pain on her face then shifted to mirror something else: the sight of a man with no heart. A man full of evil, an evil as tangible as the flames below him. He would never release her. If she didn’t save him, he meant for her to die too. “I can’t hold on any longer.” She tried to release him, but he held on tighter.
“Don’t let go,” he said in a low voice that had become eerily calm. “We were meant to be together. This is our destiny.”
“Victoria!” Robert called.
The pole gave a low ominous moan; she could feel her body slowly sliding across the floor closer to the edge. “Robert! Help me!”
She felt him appear at her side, no longer able to see through the smoke. He crawled low on the ground holding a wet face towel over his nose and mouth.
He removed it and told Prescott, “Grab my hand.” Prescott shifted his gaze to him and said, “I can’t.”
Robert tried to remove his deathlike grip on Victoria, but failed. “If you don’t release her, you’ll pull her down with you.”
“You can pull us both up, but I’m not letting go.”
Robert wrapped his arms around Victoria’s waist and lifted her toward him, when Prescott’s head came into view, he grabbed Prescott’s belt and lifted him up.
Prescott collapsed on the ground gasping for air.
Robert seized one leg of Prescott’s trouser and forced it up. He grabbed the gun Prescott had hidden there then put it inside his jacket. Prescott sent him a venomous look; he ignored him. “Stay low,” he ordered. “We’re going to crawl out of here. Follow me.”
Victoria forced herself to crawl though every time she rested on her arms, pain ripped through her.
Robert led them to the far west wing where the smoke cast a hazy fog, an illusion of safety as the fire rumbled behind them. The arm of the fire had yet to ascend there. Robert touched a door then opened it. He didn’t make it inside. Prescott hit him on the back of the head with a marble statue he’d grabbed from a floor stand. Robert fell to the ground.
Prescott pushed him over and grabbed his gun. He then looked up at Victoria. At first she stood paralyzed then ran. He lunged at her and grasped her wrist.
“Let me go.” She struggled to free herself “We can’t leave him.”
He dragged her behind him. “We don’t need him now.”
She held on to a column, but her arms were too sore for her to hold on. �
��I am not leaving him.”
Prescott pulled her angrily towards him. “Don’t upset me again.” He touched the barrel of the gun against her forehead. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do.”
She shivered inside, but showed no fear. A denser smoke began to fill the corridor. Stars began to dance in his eyes as a faint feeling slowly encased her. “I can’t leave him.”
“You will. We’ll never be free with him around. Don’t you understand? We need to escape.”
“I won’t go with you.”
He softened his voice and used the nozzle of the gun to trail a tender path along her jaw. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”
She boldly stared back. “I’m not afraid of death.”
“Then this will be easy.” He cocked the gun. Before he fired, there was an explosion of shattering glass as the fire reached the third floor landing with its arched window pane. Startled, Prescott fired, but missed her. She twisted away from him and ran. He fired again. She felt something rip through her side and fell to the ground.
Prescott rolled her body over and knelt beside her as blood seeped from the wound. “Pity,” he said then pressed his lips against her mouth and raised the gun again. Before he could aim she hit his kneecap with the edge of the candleholder. He cried out in pain and dropped the gun. She reached for it, but he grabbed her hair and yanked her back then struck her. She stumbled and fell lying motionless. Prescott rose to his feet and looked down at her in disgust. He didn’t have time to kill her now; he didn’t know where he was and needed to find a way out. The smoke was burning his, lungs and if he didn’t get out soon, he knew he’d be dead along with the rest of them. Victoria and Braxton would never regain consciousness. He glanced at their motionless bodies then made his way down the hall.
He dashed up some steps, fighting dizziness and nausea. Once he reached the landing he placed his hands against the walls to guide himself. To his surprise one wall moved slightly inward. He shoved it open, entered and then halted. Instead of the sight of moonlight seeping through a window he found darkness. He turned back to find the door then heard a hollow sound beneath him. He dropped to his knees and felt the ground. His fingers brushed across a latch. Relieved to find a way to escape, he grabbed the latch and lifted it.
* * *
Victoria slowly pulled herself to her knees, cradling her side. Her head ached, but fortunately the bullet had only grazed her. Suddenly, large hands grabbed her. She cried out in fear and pain.
“Victoria, it’s me.” Robert said, his voice close to her ear. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay. I need to get us out of here.”
Crawling on their hands and knees, Robert led them to a far room. Once inside Victoria grabbed several sheets off the bed and stuffed them under the door. Robert opened the window. He reached under the bed, grabbed an escape ladder, which was in every room, and attached it to the windowsill.
Victoria felt her knees buckling, her lungs constricting. “I don’t know if I can make it.”
“You’ll make it,” he said without sympathy. “Because you’re going first and I don’t plan to let you die.”
“I’ll follow you.”
“Would you prefer I push you out? I think the fall may hurt.”
Fueled by anger she descended the ladder. When her feet touched the ground the world began to spin. Robert grabbed her before she hit the ground. He lifted her up and carried her a distance away. When Amanda saw them, she dashed towards them.
“You’re hurt,” she said, tears streaming down her face. Victoria managed a smile. “I’ll be all right.”
Amanda didn’t believe her and began to sob.
Robert fell to his knees and took her in his arms. “It’s okay. We’re all safe now.”
Foster and Ms. Linsol, followed by Benjamin, soon appeared from the other side of the house. Ms. Linsol said Benjamin had saved her life. She had followed him out of the house. Soon the sound of sirens pierced the air.
Victoria stared at the burning house with anguish. She was cursed. Destruction followed her everywhere. She tried to shrug off Robert’s arm from her shoulders. “This is all my fault. He was supposed to come after me not you. Your beautiful home is turning into ashes. Now all that you love is gone.”
He kissed Amanda on the forehead then turned to her his heart in his eyes. “No, all that I love is right here in my arms.” His mouth stopped any protest and soon she had none to offer. She drank in the essence of him, reveling in the warmth of his kiss, and the strength of an embrace that held her with a possession she found exhilarating. She truly belonged to someone, not out of obligation, but because someone had chosen to claim her.
She kissed him back, matching his possession, promising to be the guard of his heart, the shield of his honor. He smelled like ashes and soot, but no longer would the smell repel her. No longer would the past hold her captive; it, too, had burned in the flames.
Robert drew away and gazed at her with such love, tears filled her eyes. “Rest your wings butterfly,” he whispered. “With me you’re already home.”
* * *
Days later fire investigators found a body in the Safe Room, charred beyond recognition.
EPILOGUE
Victoria lay in the hospital bed, cradling her new son as Amanda peeked over her shoulder.
“He’s so beautiful,” Amanda said in awe.
“Do you think he’ll open his eyes?” Foster asked.
Victoria smiled down at him. “He probably will like sleeping like his father.”
Amanda glanced at her Uncle who rested his head on his hands on the other side of the bed. She lowered her voice. “Will Uncle Robert be okay?”
“No,” he grumbled. “Uncle Robert will not be okay. Uncle Robert wants to kill whoever came up with the concept of sympathy pains.”
Victoria affectionately patted him on the head. “You were wonderful.”
Robert groaned. “God, the first three months were hell.”
“I didn’t have morning sickness.”
He lifted his head and glared at her. “I know.”
She bit back a grin.
He held his head as though still in pain. “And twelve hours of labor.”
Victoria looked down at Winston. “I think he’s worth it.”
Robert looked up at Foster, Amanda, and Victoria. To outsiders they probably made a strange picture. An older white man, who was more father than assistant, a niece that he considered his daughter, and a woman who saw more than others would realize. What an odd family, but it was his family. His gaze fell on his son and he felt a warmth of pride spread through him. “Yea, it was all worth it.”
* The End *
Read on for a taste of Honest Betrayal. Another thrilling read by Dara Girard.
CHAPTER ONE
The Past
Brenna Garrett was afraid of two things. A large man with the habit of barging into rooms unannounced was not one of them. She watched the intruder settle himself in front of her desk, without any attempts at civility, such as introducing himself or explaining why he was there. Instead he took off his sunglasses and pushed them in his jacket pocket. Brenna glanced at her assistant, Pauline, who hovered in the doorway. Her wispy brown hair surrounded a pale round face, reflecting an expression of dismay.
Brenna sent her a reassuring smile. At Love by Design, her match making service, she had been forced to deal with all types of people (desperate virgins, melancholy widows, impatient bachelors) and had become skillful at handling a large number of situations. Undisciplined men, while not a specialty, presented yet another challenge. Pauline nodded, acknowledging Brenna’s smile. She glared at the back of the man’s head, making her thoughts of him clear then shut the door.
Brenna returned her gaze to the large figure who sat before her. He boldly stared back. A shiver of awareness raced up her spine as she looked into the piercing darkness of his deep-set brown eyes. Arrogant, cocky and incredibl
y sexy, she thought. Brenna was used to quickly assessing potential clients, but didn’t like the direction of her thoughts. Unfortunately, a man like this seemed to resist typical hackneyed adjectives such as ‘good looking’ or ‘handsome’. He looked as though he’d been raised from the earth. His skin the color of a dust storm, his eyes the center of a whirling abyss, his lips too soft for such masculine features while his eyelashes curled as though a sculptor had taken special care with them. He was—in a word—trouble.
He stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Brenna watched as the fine material of his black trousers moved against his thighs. She was certain that trousers shouldn’t fit a man that well. Legs were a fascination to her because her left leg was deformed. His were, no doubt, as well formed as the rest of him. Large shoulders diminished the back of the chair, while long elegant fingers gripped the arms. She redirected her attention to his face ready to deal with the matter at hand.
“I take it you’re upset about something,” she said in an ironic tone.
His jaw twitched, but he remained silent.
She resisted a sigh. He was going to be difficult. She had hoped that today would be as peaceful as the spring afternoon outside her window, spreading a ray of sunshine on her carpet, while she listened to her favorite Caribbean station on the radio. She glanced at the Jack Russell terrier puppy as he played in the corner, his leash tied to the closet door handle. She was looking after the puppy for Pauline, who planned to give it to her niece as a birthday gift later that day. She pushed the remainder of her chicken pattie and potato chips aside and leaned towards him. “Your rather grand display makes it clear you’re upset, but I’m afraid I am not a mind reader, so you’ll have to tell me the reason why.” She turned the radio off.
“I’m Hunter Randolph.” His voice was low, deep and smooth, moving about the quiet of the room like a serpent. There was no anger in his tone, an unnerving contrast against the fire in his eyes.
