by Tia Fanning
As I danced, I sang. Yes, I was fucking up the lyrics, but I kept trying anyway, determined to get it right. When the song finally ended, I collapsed on the couch, out of breath, and waited for the next track.
Mandy.
I finished off my drink and opened my last package of Rolos, popping one into my mouth. Sitting back down, I closed my eyes as the lonely tears, brought on by Barry's melodic voice and the beautiful lyrics, flowed.
Sandalwood.
My thoughts drifted to my captor. Even though he'd been gone for days, it was like I could smell him now. I wanted to see him, wanted to touch him, simply wanted to be with him.
When the song ended, I wiped at my cheeks and giggled. “Damn. There's nothing worse then a crying drunk, Brenna."
"I agree."
Fuck!
Startled witless, I shot up to my feet. The room swayed and I grabbed a hold of the armrest to steady myself. “Oh, shit! You're back!"
He flipped off the CD player. “Yes, I am. I hear you've been having fun without me,” he remarked, his tone carrying his displeasure.
My heart dropped to the pit of my drunken stomach. “Are you upset at me?"
He eyed the bottle of Jack, then gazed back up at me. “No, it's my fault. I should have told the others not to give you alcohol."
Oh good. He wasn't mad at me. “Why?"
"Because I need you alert in case there's an emergency."
"Like a medical emergency? Or like a ‘crap, we're being attacked and I need you to run’ kind of emergency?” I lifted my hands and shook them in front of me in mock fear, then covered my mouth to stop from laughing.
"Actually, both."
The room suddenly lurched and I began tipping over. He was there then, his strong arms wrapping around me. Once I was steady again, I leaned my head on his chest and breathed in deeply. My body tingled in reaction to his yummy scent. I smoothed my hands across his rock hard muscles, pressing closer to his warmth. For being the enemy, he was incredible sexy. When he tilted my chin up and looked into my eyes, I took his hand and brought it to my lips...
"Be a good girl, Brenna,” he whispered, removing his finger from my mouth.
I moaned my disappointment with a pout. He tasted good. I wanted to taste more.
He shook his head. “No."
"Fine,” I conceded reluctantly. “I'm not supposed to do that stuff with you anyway."
Holding my arm, he guided me back to the couch.
"Thanks,” I offered, dropping into the pillows. “I guess I shouldn't have drunk that last one. I wasn't feeling this...” hot, wet, aroused, “...tipsy a few minutes ago."
Sitting inches from me, he reached forward and lifted the empty glass off the table. “May I use this?"
When I nodded, he poured himself a drink. “Was there a reason why you were crying?"
"The song. It's a beautiful song."
At last, he laughed. “Moved to tears by Mandy? And here, I thought you might have been missing me."
"That too. I missed you,” I responded automatically.
He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Are you always this open when you've been drinking?"
"Yep. Do you always smell so good?"
Another look of amusement crossed his handsome face.
I was feeling very proud of myself. It was nice to be the one with the upper hand. I was turning the tables on him, catching him off guard with my words. True, tomorrow I would probably regret everything I was saying now, but hey, that was tomorrow.
"Well?” I pressed.
"I guess. Thank you for the compliment."
"How was your trip?” I asked, burrowing into the cushions.
The stoic silence returned. Leaning forward, he pulled out the note from under my empty ice cream bowl. He read over it, then looked at me curiously.
I shrugged. “I don't know. I don't read Arabic."
"What was your question?"
"What do you mean?"
"The last person you talked to. What was the last question you asked?"
"I asked for champagne and chocolate."
He shook his head and smiled. “Not a request. A question."
It took all my concentration to remember. “Um ... I think I asked my escort why he wouldn't talk to me, or something along those lines."
"He must like you a lot."
"Why?"
"Because he answered."
I sat up. “Really?” Yeah, he liked me. “What did he write?"
"A voice, like a name, can be used to identify you,” he translated.
"What the hell does that mean?"
He gave me that arrogant grin and clucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
I waved him off. It was obviously another one of their secret things that I wouldn't understand. “Well, it was sweet of him to take the time to write me anyway. Give him my thanks when you see him."
"Should I be jealous?” he asked, his tone playful, perhaps even flirtatious.
"Why?” I giggled.
"I'm starting to think you like him better than me."
Caught up in the banter, I batted my eyes. “Well, my other keepers bring me ice cream when I'm sad. You haven't done that."
The cocky smile faded from his face. “I wish you wouldn't call us that."
I wasn't going to let him ruin my good mood.
Pasting on my most innocent expression, I placed my hand on his forearm and gently squeezed. “What else should I call you all? I don't know any of your names."
I knew it was a risky move, one that could come back to haunt me later, but I wanted him to be happy again. I wanted just one night where we could be normal people before we had to go back to being enemies.
My plan worked. A smile touched his lips. “Okay, you got me there."
"So?"
"What?"
"What's your name?"
"Can't tell you that yet."
I sat back, letting out a long, noisy breath. “Oh, okay."
Honestly, I hadn't really expected him to tell me anyway.
"Sorry,” he offered.
"Why can't you tell me anything?"
"I'll tell you what. First answer my question. If you answer mine completely—with totally honesty—then I will answer yours. Agreed?"
"Okay, ask."
"Why were you sad earlier?"
It was another personal question. But, why not tell him? Maybe if I just said it aloud, I could get this lump out of my gut. Gulping in all the air I could handle, I folded my hands together and rested them in my lap.
Keep it simple and easy.
"I was sad earlier because I've been watching the news for five days, but no one seems to notice I'm missing. I'm hurt because I feel like no one cares enough about me to know that I'm gone. This made me look back at my life and, you know, I am truly alone in the world. And I realized, to my utter horror, that you were absolutely right when you told me that I don't let people in."
There. I said it. And did so without breaking into tears again.
Go me!
On top of all that, I did feel better for sharing. It was hard after a while to keep everything bottled up inside. But the serious confession was killing my buzz. I didn't want to leave the alcohol-induced euphoria just yet.
I took the glass from his hand and managed a sip before he retrieved it. “Did it ever occur to you that you might not be missing?” he asked.
"That makes no sense."
I tried to ponder his words, to find the underlining meaning, but it took too much concentration and made my head hurt. I'd think about it later, when I had a clearer head.
"Anyway,” I chirped. “I've answered your question. Now you answer mine."
"I won't tell you anything so that you will never be forced to lie. When you leave here—and yes, you will one day leave here and return home—people are going to ask you questions about where you've been. And when you answer, you will be telling the truth. You will not have to feel guilty about hiding things from your fri
ends, nor will you ever have to worry about slipping up and saying something you shouldn't. You will never have to fear keeping all your stories straight."
"You mean like, um ... plausible deniability?"
"In some things, ignorance truly is bliss,” he said. “Trust me."
Trust. There was that word again. It rattled in my brain. “Why is it so important that I trust you?"
"Because if you trust me, then I can trust you.” He took a swig from his glass. “And I need to be able to trust you. I need to know that you can do the job I have brought you here to do, without the fear that you might purposely...” he trailed off.
"What job?"
"Do you always like to ask the hard questions?"
I shrugged. “Do you want an easier question?"
"Yes."
I thought it over. Oh! There was something I'd always wanted to know, but was too afraid to ask.
Here's to the benefits of liquid courage.
"You know that room in the hallway with the padlock?"
He nodded.
"What is it?"
Relaxing back, he took another sip of his drink. “Here's a tip. Around this place, you'll get much more information by asking yes or no questions."
"Is it some kind of torture chamber?” I whispered.
His expression blanked out. Then he leaned toward me, staring me straight in the eyes. “Brenna,” he drawled, matching the volume of my voice. “Are you seriously asking me this?"
Shit. Was he going to be pissed if I answered yes?
"You are,” he said slowly.
I bit my bottom lip, and lowered my gaze.
"No, Brenna. It's not."
I gave a relieved sigh. “That's nice."
"I can't believe you would think—"
"Hey,” I said lightly. “It was valid question. And you don't want to hurt my feelings by making me feel stupid, do you?"
He awarded me a small smile. “No, I would never want to do that,” he said, then swallowed the last of his drink. “I really like this side of you, doctor."
"What side?"
"Your diplomatic side."
I laughed. “Oh, that's a skill I picked up after dealing with so many ornery patients."
"No, it's more than that.” His gaze roamed over me, slow and thoughtful. “You're warm and expressive. I'm enchanted by your sweet candor and innocence. You're beautiful tonight, sitting here in your pajamas, your cheeks rosy, your eyes sparkling with laughter."
"Enchanted?” I was sure my cheeks just got pinker. “I-I don't know what to say."
"Say what's on your mind."
"Thank you. You have a beautiful way with words. I don't get many compliments like that.” I then added, “Are you trying to butter me up?"
"No, I'm just being honest. I've spent a lot of my time...” he trailed off, as if he caught himself saying something he shouldn't. “Whenever I can, I want to be open and honest. Especially with you."
He rose from the couch and began collecting the dishes. I watched him silently as he cleaned up, then took everything to the kitchen. I heard him turn on the sink, I assume to wash out the bowl and cup.
A domesticated man's man ... was that right? Or was I drunker than I thought?
As I thought about his poetic flattery, I felt that tugging in my heart. It was a feeling I always got when I was falling for a guy. I needed to tread carefully, I needed to erect my personal barriers again and put distance between us. If I didn't, I'd soon find myself taken with the enemy, and that was something I could not allow, no matter how much I wanted to.
God, I so wanted to believe him, believe in him.
It almost broke my heart.
If only things were different, then maybe ... Perhaps one day, in another time, in another place, in another life.
When he came back, I looked up and forced a smile.
"I think you need to go to bed.” He held out his hand. “I'll help you up."
I hesitated. Distance yourself.
Oh, what was one more little touch? He really did have the most impressive fingers.
I placed my hand in his.
He pulled me off the couch. The ground moved beneath my feet, I leaned into him to steady myself. I was so going to regret this night when I was nursing a hangover in the morning.
"Thanks."
"What's wrong Brenna?"
Distance yourself! “A little vertigo, that's all."
He held my gaze, searching my eyes for an answer.
"Probably all the alcohol,” I said. “I just need to sleep it off."
He didn't seem convinced.
I glanced down at my feet. “I'm fine, really."
"You've shut me out again."
Was I that damned easy to read? “No, I haven't."
"Look at me, then. Look at me and say it."
I shook my head.
"That's what I thought."
His words were enough. They hurt and I couldn't stand it anymore. If he cared as much as he said he did, then let him bear some of this pain.
"What do you want from me?” I hissed. “And I'm not talking about why you brought me here. I mean now, at this very moment. You say that you want to be open and honest with me? Then prove it. Right now."
His lips suddenly captured mine, hot, demanding, and utterly consuming. I yielded to him, not because I had to, but because I wanted to. And I wanted more. I wanted to taste more, to feel more, to have more. Like the water that spills out from a ruptured dam, my shocked senses surged. I was flooded with desire, engulfed by pleasure, and drowning in need. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him closer, intensifying the kiss and taking it to dizzying heights.
He broke it off.
"God, Brenna,” he gasped. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."
I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but his words faded into a dull hum. What a kiss! I was simply awed by it. It had to be the most amazing kiss ever.
Staring into his wonderful eyes, I smiled as the world started falling away beneath my feet. “Wow."
Then everything went dark.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Ten
I don't know what kept me in bed longer ... my hangover or my humiliation.
What in the living fuck was I thinking last night?
I touched my mouth again. The memory of the passionate kiss was so fresh in my mind my lips tingled, as did other parts of my body.
No, they didn't tingle.
They ached.
An empty, throbbing ache.
And that was the root of my humiliation. I had tried to seduce him last night. He wouldn't have me. But had I been given the opportunity, I would have slept with him. Not because of the alcohol, but because I wanted to.
I desperately wanted to place the blame on the Jack and Coke, wanted to say that I was drunk and didn't know better, but as I lay there, sober as could be, nothing about the way I felt the previous night had changed.
I still wanted him.
I still wanted to sleep with the enemy.
Please, someone shoot my traitorous ass and put me out of my misery.
However, it was so much more than lust. Yes, my body was attracted to him, but my heart had fallen as well.
How could this have happened? It was wrong on so many levels.
I had spent the morning trying to console myself. My mind tried to give me a million and one excuses as to why this wasn't my fault—he was manipulating me, I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, I was drunk and taken advantage of...
Lies, lies, lies.
Not his.
Mine.
I was lying to myself.
But I wouldn't allow myself to travel down the false road. I was a grown woman, capable of making decisions and taking responsibility for my actions.
Last night, though I had been drinking, I wasn't oblivious. I remembered everything. I knew full well what I was doing. All the alcohol had done was lower my inhibitions, and even then, if I
was truly honest with myself, I couldn't claim that it had solely been the alcohol.
I had been looking for an excuse to open up to him—guilt free.
It didn't matter. What mattered was my next course of action. What was I going to do when I saw him again? Should I pretend like last night had never happened? Should I talk to him about us? Or should I just ignore him totally?
Ignore him, my mind screamed.
Talk to him, my heart interjected.
My head's throbbing intensified.
Shower, dress, eat, take a walk, and then decide.
Rubbing my eyes, I crawled out of bed, trying to will him out of my thoughts. But it didn't work, not after seeing what was waiting for me on the vanity. I picked up the two aspirin and popped them in my mouth, then I uncapped the bottle of water and took deep drink.
My ever-thoughtful enemy.
* * * *
After finishing a simple repast of toast and fruit, I picked up the phone and requested my usual post-meal walk. I knew I had a couple of minutes before my captor would come, so I went to my room and slipped an abaya over my jeans and tank-top, remembering the compliment he gave me the last time he saw me in one.
I didn't want to examine why I cared.
I made my decision early, choosing to talk to him about the kissing incident. We were adults and we could do this. It was what adults did. We would have a calm, civil discussion about last night.
Now I just had to figure out what to say. Obviously, I had to tell him that the kiss could never be repeated. But should we talk about why it happened? Did I dare ask him why he kissed me? Did I dare share why I let him?
Knock-knock-knock.
The rapping told me that the armed escort had arrived. After all, my captor never bothered with such formalities. He always just walked in.
I can't believe he didn't come himself...
I knew I shouldn't feel disappointed by that, but I was.
When I answered the door, I looked up, only to see a big grin spread across my escort's face. I almost smiled back, but his shining eyes glimmered with knowing humor, like someone who had some big, funny secret they desperately wanted to share, but couldn't. My cheeks instantly flamed as a flood of memories from the night prior assaulted me.
