If I’m not careful, I will fall into the ocean.
The danger of it only makes my blood sing hotter.
I am so lost in the motion of Erik’s tongue between my legs, dragging me nearer a forbidden ecstasy, that I almost don’t realize that someone has opened the gate on my father’s summer property.
By the time I do notice it, the gate is already wide open, and I see no car.
“Wait,” I say.
Erik doesn’t listen. He laps at me, nips my lower lips, makes my whole body spasm.
A groan rolls through my chest. “Wait. Someone is here.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. The wind is too loud, my legs clamped around his head, unable to control myself. Erik is as lost in me as I am in him. He pays no mind to the danger that must be approaching the house as we speak, even as I ignore the danger of the man between my thighs.
Neither of us realize that there’s already someone else in the house.
“Stop,” I say, trying to push Erik off of me, eyes rolling into the back of my head as the orgasm makes my muscles seize.
That’s when Raoul steps onto the balcony.
5
They will uphold this moment in court later as evidence that Erik doesn’t care about me.
He is a sociopath, they will say. A murderer. Incapable of feeling anything that resembles love, much less feelings of protectiveness.
They will show photographs of my father’s house as evidence.
An expert witness will have marked the photograph for scale, showing the distance between the balcony railing on which I teetered and the deadly drop to the rocks below.
He tried to push her over the edge, they will say.
And I will agree.
The testimony that Raoul and I give about this moment will surely damn Erik.
But I know the truth, deep in my heart, no matter what the lawyers instruct me to say on the matter. I will remember this moment with crystal clarity even when my lips are uttering lies on the stand for the judge and every member of the jury to hear.
I will always remember that Erik tried to save me.
-
Raoul strikes at Erik, ripping him away from me.
My grip on the balcony isn’t good enough for this.
Between the ripples of ecstasy that have ripped away all self-control, the sudden change in balance, and losing Erik’s grip on my legs, I don’t stand a chance.
I tip over.
It seems to happen in slow-motion. My fingernails scrabble at the railing as my feet lift above my head and the cliff flips upside down. The ocean is now above my head. It’s not a natural place for the cliff to be. Yet it feels right now, considering everything that has been happening to me.
Survival instinct is a powerful thing. I find strength that I didn’t know I possessed, and I manage to hang onto the railing, even as my arms twist in their sockets.
Everything flips right side up again.
I am dangling over a cliff, with nothing between my toes and the water but empty air.
I don’t think I’ve even managed to scream.
Raoul punches Erik again. I’m watching through the rails as editor attacks author, and even in the gloom of the night, it’s easy to tell the difference between them. Raoul moves with the fury of a man who has been wronged, while Erik moves with the power of a hunter.
Erik slams him into the ground hard enough that Raoul’s head ricochets. I hear the crack of skull.
Slowly, my fingertips slide from the wood.
My strength is failing me.
“Help me!” I cry, finally finding my breath.
Both men look up.
As different as they are, the fear in their eyes is nearly identical.
Erik shoves Raoul away. “Christine!”
He struggles to his feet, trying to save me.
I slip.
My hands lose their grip on the top of the rail. I only have a heartbeat of zero gravity, a heartbeat of free fall—and then I catch myself on the bottom of the balcony.
I can’t see them anymore.
All of the problems that were on that balcony seem tiny now, no matter how huge they were ten seconds ago.
The life of Mario Stone.
My father’s relationship to Erik.
The book we are writing.
Contractual obligations to Durand-Price.
Raoul’s discovery of my physical relationship with Erik.
My helpless surrender to the man.
None of that matters now. The only thing I care about is how hard the wind is pushing me, urging me to release my grip on the banister. The few seconds that it takes for me to fall would be peaceful, I suspect. I would have no time to regret anything. I would simply arrive at the bottom and that would be the end of everything.
It might not be that bad.
But it’s impossible to tell that to my pounding heart. I am the caged bird again, with wings clipped and the bottom of the cage vanished.
If only I could fly.
“Help!” I cry again, tears streaking my cheeks, whipped away by the wind along with my sweat-dampened hair.
It’s possible that the men are still fighting on the balcony. I can’t hear them above the wind and the pounding of my heart.
But when I look up, I see the shape of broad shoulders leaning over the railing.
I am saved.
“Help,” I weep, not knowing who I’m calling for.
I don’t know who I hope to be reaching for me.
A strong hand grips my wrist.
“Hold on, Little Christy,” Raoul says. “Don’t let go of me.”
It’s not disappointment I feel upon realizing that it’s the editor who has arrived to save my life, but a new kind of fear.
If Raoul has reached me first, then what has become of Erik?
Somehow, I release my grip on the railing long enough to clutch at Raoul’s arms. For a breathless heartbeat, he is the only thing that keeps me from falling into the ocean. And then he is hauling me over the side of the railing. Our balance changes. We both fall to the balcony.
I push myself to all fours to look around. Though I feel secure in my footing, I am still terrified, heart pounding, blood raging through my veins.
Where is Erik?
The doors into the house stand open. The whipping curtains frame the stairs down to the first floor.
There is no sign of Erik Duke anywhere.
I am alone with Raoul.
He pulls me into his arms, and I can hear that his heart is pounding as wildly as mine. “Christine,” he murmurs, stroking my hair, “Christine.”
If I thought I was dreaming a few moments earlier, there’s no mistaking that I’m awake now. Raoul is so firm, so alive, so real. He smells of expensive cologne and the penthouse. I cling to him.
What have I been doing?
The day that I have left behind is no longer like a dream, but a nightmare, and my mind is flooded with memories and regret.
Coming to the house alone, being lured to the bedroom, trapped by Erik, and punished until I wrote the book he wanted.
And then whatever happened on the balcony.
I am a fool. I’m disgusting.
Raoul cradles me in his arms, wrapping me in his jacket, kissing me in relief, and I don’t deserve any of it.
When another man runs onto the balcony, I am momentarily paralyzed by fear, thinking that it will be Erik and that another altercation with Raoul is forthcoming. But it’s not. It’s the detective that came to the penthouse earlier—Mifroid.
He is holding his gun. The badge glistens on his belt.
“I lost him somewhere out front,” he says. He looks so angry at himself. “I’ve called for backup to search the surrounding area. He won’t get away.” Mifroid holsters his gun. My eyes track it as he lifts the hem of his jacket to slide it into his belt. I am terrified to think of him trying to use it against Erik—for the sake of the detective. “You’re safe now, Miss Durand.”
&n
bsp; “You’re safe,” Raoul murmurs in agreement against my hair.
They obviously have a different definition of “safe” than I do.
“How did you find me?” I ask, even though I know the answer must be that his driver told him. I quickly amend the question to, “More importantly, how did you know you needed to come here with the detective?”
“After what happened, I feared the worst,” Raoul says. “And when neither of you showed up for the meeting—”
“Wait, what happened?” I interrupt.
Raoul helps me off of the ground. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re safe.”
He tries to lead me into the house. I don’t let him.
“What happened, Raoul?” I ask, gazing up into his eyes.
But I can tell what he’s thinking, just by the dire fear in his eyes and the presence of the detective.
“Mario Stone died in the hospital today,” he says.
-
All He Asks: Part 5
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