by Kallysten
I couldn’t have cared less what he thought. All that mattered right now was Morgan.
I was more than a little surprised when I climbed out of the cab to find a rather small house behind a weathered wooden fence. And I don’t mean small in comparison to the mansion. It was a small bungalow, nothing very special, and nothing like what I had expected. I took a deep breath, wiped my palms on my jeans, and knocked on the door.
My heart had taken residence in my throat, which would have alarmed me if I’d been able to string two thoughts together. It was only a few moments after I knocked before the door opened. I held my breath. I tried not to smile too brightly, but I might as well have tried to stop the sun from rising with my bare hands.
When I saw the woman standing behind the door, however, my smile disappeared in the time of a too-fast heartbeat.
She was gorgeous. Nineteen or twenty, at most. Long black hair, tanned body, luscious curves, bikini top and a wrap-around skirt. She was the perfect stereotypical image of what an island girl might be. And she was the very last thing I’d expected to find when I knocked on Morgan’s door.
I can’t say it didn’t hurt. I can’t say I didn’t want to turn around, go back the way I’d come, and never think of Morgan again. Since I’d talked to Miss Delilah and Irene, I’d been imagining him in pain, and this was what was really going on? Did they know? Had they said those things to me and sent me here as a joke? Who should I be most upset with: them or Morgan?
“Aloha.” Even her voice and smile were gorgeous. “Can I help you?”
I’d come all this way. I couldn’t leave without at least seeing him.
“Hello. Is Morgan here?”
I sounded like glass shards were tearing my throat.
For a couple of seconds, the girl looked at me blankly like she had no idea whom I was talking about. I had enough time to wonder whether he went by a different name here, or maybe whether I was at the wrong address. But then she blinked a couple of times and slapped a hand to her forehead.
“Oh! You mean Mr. Ward! I’m sorry, no one ever asks for him, I’d forgotten what his first name is. I’m such a spazz!”
When she laughed, I managed a weak chuckle. I shouldn’t have been so relieved that she called him ‘Mr. Ward,’ but there I was.
“He’s at the main house,” she said when she had calmed down. “Is he expecting you? He didn’t mention he expected a visitor.”
“No, I didn’t tell him…” I couldn’t help but frown. “The main house? Isn’t this his house?”
She grinned.
“God, no, this is just the caretaker’s bungalow.”
“So you’re the…”
I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or call myself an idiot.
“The caretaker, yes,” she said, laughing again. Her eyes gleamed with mirth, but she wasn’t mocking me. “You thought I was something else, didn’t you?”
“For a minute, yeah,” I admitted, smiling sheepishly. “I did.”
“I can’t say the thought didn’t occur to me,” she said with a sly grin. “But I’m not sure he even knows my name by now. Someone else on his mind, I think.”
I knew she was implying that he’d been thinking about me, and the thought was a nice one. Was it true, though? Had he been thinking about me, or about the woman he’d met on this island? I was a little afraid to find out.
“Do you want me to show you to the main house, then?” she asked.
“Can you point me toward it?”
She walked to the back of the bungalow with me, showing me the beaten earth path that curled around coconut trees. I could just see the corner of a building beyond the curtain of trunks. I thanked the girl, only realizing after I was halfway there that I hadn’t asked for her name. It didn’t trouble me much. I’d ask next time I saw her… if Morgan didn’t send me packing before that.
As I neared the curve that’d take me past the trees, I noticed a low, rumbling sound, and soon realized it was the ocean. I could almost taste it, too, the smell of salt thicker on the moist air. A few more steps beyond the turning point of the path, I stopped to take it all in.
The girl had called the house by the property entrance a bungalow. This, I’d have called a mansion. It wasn’t anywhere as large as the Ward mansion back in New York, of course, but it still was fairly imposing. A large house stood a good eight feet above the ground on thick, round pillars. Part of the space below was open, and a jeep took up some room there. Beyond the pillars, the ocean glittered; it couldn’t have been more than a hundred yards away.
I was a bit awed for a moment, forgetting why I’d come all this way. When I remembered, I suddenly became very self-conscious. It had been a long flight, and I was sure that I looked like it. My worry was deeper than that, though, and I couldn’t help wondering if Morgan would be happy to see me. This was the second time I’d been thrown into his life without anyone asking what he wanted. This time, nothing forced him to take me in. What if he closed the door in my face as soon as he saw me? What would I do then?
There was only one way to find out.
I climbed up to the main level of the house. Setting my suitcase down by the door, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself look presentable at least. Then I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The feeling of déjà vu was eerie. How many times had I stood in front of a door like this, my heart beating too fast as I waited for Morgan to appear? Would he ever stand at my door and wait for me?
It took a few moments for him to appear: long enough that I knocked a second time, feeling even more worried now. But the door finally opened, and there he was, shirtless, wearing light cotton pants, his hair mussed up, his eyes still full of sleep. He blinked a lot, his eyebrows furrowed like he couldn’t quite believe I was in front of him.
I smiled, but my throat felt tight when I said, “How come every time I knock on your door, I wake you up?”
I could have wept in relief when he smiled back. It was just a small smile hanging at the corners of his mouth, but combined with his rumbling voice, it made me feel a lot better about whether he’d welcome me or send me home.
“It is quite a skill you have there, Angelina. But I think I’ll be all right.”
I wanted to step forward into his arms, wrap my own around him, but he still hadn’t moved and something held me back. After a beat, he asked, “Lilah sent you, didn’t she?”
I gave a small nod.
“And Irene. It was sort of a joint effort.”
His smile fell, and his voice wasn’t so warm anymore when he said, “Did they compel you?”
Of course he’d believe that. I should have guessed.
“No,” I assured him in as strong a voice I could muster. “We talked like civilized people. And they convinced me that maybe you might like me to visit.”
When he didn’t reply, my heart started to sink into my stomach, acid burning my hopes. I held on to my smile.
“Now would be a good time for you to say that of course you’re happy I’m here,” I said, trying to tease.
He shook his head, and my heart stuttered.
“They’re using you again,” he murmured.
“I know. Does it count if I let them?
He sighed.
“Angelina…”
“I missed you,” I blurted out, unable to hold on to the words when it felt more and more likely that he would send me away any second now. “I promised myself I’d let you have all the time you needed, but I missed you so much. I just wanted to see you. If you want me to leave…”
I couldn’t finish. If he wanted me to leave, I’d leave, of course. But I didn’t want to, not yet, not until I’d taken in my fill of him. In the few weeks we’d spent apart, my memories of him had faded a little, and his image had taken a vaguely imprecise shape. I’ve always envied people who have a photographic memory. I certainly don’t. And that was why I looked at him so intensely, taking in every detail, from the way his drawstring pants hung low on his
hips, revealing part of the deep V that continued under the pants, to the pink pillow crease along his left cheek. The memory wouldn’t last, but if it was all I could have…
“Don’t be silly.” His expression broke onto a grin. “Of course I’m glad you’re here.”
I let out a shaky breath. That was all I’d been waiting for: a sign that my presence was appreciated, even desired. Stepping forward, I threw my arms around his neck. He drew me close and kissed me. At first it was no more than the chaste pressure of lips upon lips, but when his tongue slowly swept along my bottom lip, I was all too happy to invite him in.
The kiss was as sweet and easy as if we’d never parted, as if we’d done this moments ago rather than weeks. How can I describe how natural it felt to be there, in his arms, my mouth upon his? It was like this was where I belonged—and where he belonged, too.
I wish I could say it was all rising violins, fluffy pillows, and sweet lovemaking from that point on. I guess I could say it; you wouldn’t know any better if I did. But I’ve been telling the truth until now, so I suppose I might as well keep on with it. And the truth is, things came to a rather abrupt end when I yawned in the middle of our kiss.
Yes, it was mortifying. I must have blushed brightly enough to rival a sunset.
He gave me a gentle, teasing smile, then drew me inside, not giving me time to look at the house before he led me to his bedroom. I can’t deny part of me had hoped we’d end up there sooner rather than later, but he didn’t have the same naughty thoughts I did.
“You look exhausted,” he said as he made me sit on the bed and crouched down to pull my shoes off my feet. “How about a little nap?”
A nap was the last thing I wanted now that I was finally with Morgan again, but when he climbed in bed, propped himself against the pillows, and opened his arms to me, it was impossible to resist. I curled up against him, my head pillowed on his chest, breathing in his familiar scent and enjoying the faint breeze from the fan turning on the ceiling. I told myself I’d close my eyes for a minute, no more than that. When I woke up again, the room was darker. It wasn’t night yet, but evening was falling fast. I didn’t care about that, though, not when I was alone.
After a brief pang of fear, I noticed my suitcase on the bed. I’d forgotten all about it when Morgan had taken me inside. And on top of the suitcase, a sheet of paper was wedged under the buckle, safe from fluttering away because of the fan.
You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t bear to wake you up.
Join me when you’re ready.
M-
I touched that initial with a finger, and smiled despite myself. I couldn’t deny that it had been a long time since I’d slept that well. Probably since I’d left the mansion.
I cleaned up, changed into a sundress, and went to find him. It was a big house, but simple. Other than the oversized master bedroom with a view of the ocean and the generous bathroom with separate bath and shower, the rest of the floor plan was open. The kitchen and living area flowed into one large room, the floors entirely done in smooth, gleaming wood.
The furniture and decor exuded that feeling you can get, sometimes, in hotel rooms that are being kept functional and clean but haven’t been updated in a while, as though everything, at one point, had been modern and top of the line, but not anymore. And there was something else, something indefinable in the atmosphere, that slightly cold look that many houses get when they’re not lived in. There was no place where you could say, this chair is placed where it is because it’s convenient to drop stuff in when you come in, or this armchair used to be further from the coffee table but this is more practical. Morgan may have lived in here for a couple of months, but he hadn’t made his mark on the house yet.
I found him on the balcony, seated at a small, round metal table. The table was set for one, with three take-out containers in front of the porcelain plate. However, I only noticed that after I’d taken my fill of staring at the ocean directly in front of me.
“I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you,” he said as he watched me approach.
I really didn’t, and thanked him with a kiss to the cheek.
In truth, I wasn’t all that hungry. My body insisted that it was the middle of the night. Still, I hadn’t had dinner, and the faster I acclimated to the new time zone, the better off I’d be. I ate a little of everything—the shrimp ceviche, chilled soup, and steamed vegetables were delicious. Morgan watched me eat, and I had a feeling he was trying to convince himself I really was here with him.
Or maybe I was just projecting. I know I still had a hard time believing my good fortune.
When I was done, he put the leftovers away for me and asked if I cared to take a walk on the beach. It definitely didn’t help convince me this wasn’t a dream. His hand in mine felt real enough, as did the touch of the cold ocean and the sight of the waves, but this was like nothing I’d imagined I’d find by coming here, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It didn’t.
Eventually, we sat down in the sand, close enough to the water that the strongest of waves came up to brush kisses of white froth over our toes. The sky was slowly darkening. On our right, it was almost twilight already; on our left, pinks and oranges still colored the horizon. For the longest time, there was nothing more between us than the low rumble of the ocean. Then Morgan’s voice joined it, barely any louder.
“What did they say to convince you to come here? They didn’t threaten you, did they? I asked them both to leave you be.”
I could hear how worried he was, despite me having assured him moments after arriving that I was here of my own volition. I couldn’t fault him for that. After all, I had been trapped with him for over two weeks, and even if in the end I’d grown used to it, even if I’d enjoyed getting close to Morgan, it had still felt like captivity most of the time, and he’d realized that. It seemed normal that he’d want to know how they’d persuaded me to join him.
“Remember how I said I was leaving so you could heal?” I said with a half smile. “When Delilah had me come visit her, they told me you’d come here to… to torture yourself, basically. That being here, in the house where you lived with your lady friend, was the same kind of self-flagellation as sleeping in the bed you bought for her back at the mansion.”
His knees were raised in front of him, his arms folded over them. He rested his cheek against his forearms and observed me. By now, it was getting so dark that I had a hard time deciphering his expression.
“Do you think that’s true?” he asked in a voice devoid of emotion.
“You tell me,” I asked back.
“I asked first.”
Wiggling my toes in the wet sand, I tried to add up everything I’d seen since I arrived: the house, its surroundings, Morgan himself and the easiness with which he smiled. Had he smiled like this, back in New York? I didn’t think so, but maybe that was my memory playing tricks on me.
“Well,” I said slowly, turning my gaze back to him, “I did notice there is no mirror in the bathroom. And things in there don’t look like they’re twenty years old. So I’m not sure it was her home, and if it wasn’t, then the self-flagellation argument is suddenly out of steam.”
Even in the darkness, I could see him nod.
“Nicely observed. Her home, as you say, was basically razed by a hurricane. I had it rebuilt in the same place, but the interior is different, and a designer furnished it. I’d never seen the inside in person. She…” He had to clear his throat before he could finish. “She never even saw the final plans for this house.”
I could fill in the blanks: she’d died before the plans were drawn out.
“So… you left after the hurricane?” I asked, trying to draw the conversation away from that nameless woman.
He nodded again.
“After Iniki, yes. I’d been through other hurricanes, but that one was the worst and there was nothing left of the house. Many, many houses were destroyed. The island didn’t have power for weeks.
I had to conduct business, so I got authorization to fly my private jet here by filling it with emergency supplies. As soon as they were unloaded, we left for New York.” A shadow darkened his voice when he said ‘we’, but it soon faded again, and a trace of awe colored his words when he said, “I’d never been through anything like Iniki. It really was something.”
I didn’t say anything, didn’t mention he sounded like he’d had fun, but I was wondering about it. I’d never been through a hurricane like what he described—I hadn’t been in New York when Sandy hit—but I’d seen images on TV, of course. Everyone has, I suppose. Still, I’d never heard anyone speak of a destructive storm the way Morgan did. The darkness around us didn’t stop him from seeing something on my face, because he took one look at me and smiled wryly.
“I’m four-hundred years old, Angelina. Men don’t scare me. Not their wars, not the endlessly more devastating weapons they create. But nature? Nature can be more ruthless than anyone I’ve ever encountered, human or vampire. Nature is unpredictable. It destroys, and then it fills the voids it creates and makes things even more beautiful. We… humans, vampires, all of us… we can’t do anything against forces of that magnitude. It’s scary, and as well it should be. We should all have something to remind us that we’re not all-powerful and eternal.”
It made sense. It was even probably a healthier way of looking at it than anger against the elements. But that wasn’t why I kissed him.
He let my mouth play against his, even sucked a little on my bottom lip, but soon he pulled away and asked, “What was that for?”
“I just realized… You’re not here to torture yourself. You’re here because this place makes you happy.”
“It does, yes. But it was still lonely until you came.”
We made out on the beach until a light, almost warm rain started to drizzle on us. Only then did we go back to the house and make love.
*
