Disavow

by Halle, Karina

  If what she wants happens to be me, well, I can’t say I’d be disappointed.

  That’s kind of what this whole trip is about, if I’m being honest here. I wanted to get her out of that house, away from what’s holding her down and putting that fear in her eyes, the way she’s on edge when she’s in a darkened room, how she’s always tense and looking over her shoulder. I don’t know what it is; maybe it has something to do with her mother, maybe something to do with my father, maybe the letters are freaking her out—I don’t know. But here I was hoping she could let her guard down, if only just an inch.

  Speaking of the letters, I roll over, wincing as I do so, and grab my phone. I text my mother to remind her about the mail. I wait for her reply and close my eyes as I lie back down with my head on the pillow. Sun is spilling through the window, which makes my headache worse.

  I swear I hear clatter from downstairs.

  I really hope it’s Gabrielle, though I have no idea why she’d be up so early. Then again, it’s nearly eleven in the morning.

  Last night, my plan to get her to relax and open up morphed into getting her ridiculously drunk. I got drunk, too, hence the headache. But then while we were dancing, she practically passed out in my arms, and I had no choice but to pick her up, sling her over my shoulder, and carry her back like a caveman.

  Of course, if I truly were a caveman, I would have brought her into this room with me. But even though I’ve done some despicable things, I draw the line somewhere. I have no fears in being forward with Gabrielle, but I’m not going to take advantage of her like that either.

  My mother texts back, telling me that nothing came for my father, and with a sigh of relief, I get up and head to the washroom, then go downstairs, where the smell of coffee and food frying gets increasingly stronger.

  Gabrielle is in the kitchen, bent over the stove and flipping some eggs. She glances up at me and gives me a shy smile. “I hope I wasn’t making too much racket, but if I didn’t eat something, I was going to die.”

  I stop where I am and admire the scene. She’s wearing just shorts and a V-neck T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a low bun, and when you combine that with the fact that she’s cooking, well, all those caveman instincts come flooding back. It takes a lot of effort not to go over to her and kiss her in the crook of her neck where her shirt has started to slip off the shoulder.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks, standing on her tiptoes to grab some plates from the shelves, giving me a very nice view of her ass.

  “Very,” I tell her, my voice coming out low and gruff. Her ass looks juicy enough to bite.

  She glances at me over her shoulder, and if she notices me staring, she doesn’t seem to care. “You’re not curious where I got all the food from?”

  “It’s hard to care about anything else other than you in those shorts, little sprite.”

  Her lips twist in a dry smile as she starts sliding the eggs onto the plate. “Last night we talked about how you don’t have a cook anymore, so I thought, since I’m technically working here, I might as well make your dreams come true. Plus, I’m ravenous, like I said. So I took the car and drove to the nearest town, Cala something or other, and went shopping. I was hoping to bring you breakfast in bed, since you mentioned it, but now that you’re up . . .” She holds out a plate for me.

  “Breakfast in bed?” I ask, coming over and taking it from her. I remain in her space, not too eager to step away. Beyond the delicious smell of the fried eggs is the sweet coconut scent of her shampoo. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  “Don’t get carried away,” she says, brushing past me to take her food over to the breakfast table that’s already set up with cutlery, a coffee press filled with steaming coffee, mugs, a basket full of bread, as well as cold cuts and cheese. A very Spanish-style breakfast.

  She sits down and gestures to the food. “Don’t be afraid. Sit. I didn’t poison you.”

  “If you did, I’m sure I would have deserved it,” I tell her, taking the seat across from her.

  I thought the comment would have been amusing to her, but instead her brows furrow and she seems to busy herself with the bread. “Anyway,” she says, tearing off a piece, “I felt bad for how nice you’ve been to me, so I thought I could repay the favor.”

  “Consider it repaid,” I tell her, reaching for the coffee. “Hey, how come you don’t have a hangover?”

  She shrugs. “I’m younger than you.” Then she gives me a quick smile. “I felt like garbage this morning. I couldn’t sleep, though I barely can anyway. I went for a long walk on the beach, past the bar we were at last night, the scene of the crime. I have to say I don’t remember that much except dancing with you.”

  “You passed out in my arms, and I carried you home. And yes, before you ask, I was a perfect gentleman.”

  “Pascal and gentleman are two terms that don’t really go together,” she comments, pretending to muse over it. “Anyway, I thought about going swimming, but I don’t have a suit, and it was so early, it didn’t seem inviting.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll be doing today,” I tell her. “The perfect hangover cure is a jump from the cliffs into the water. I know just the spot too. We can stop by in town and get you a suit.”

  “Is this part of the official work schedule?”

  “As you know, this is a vacation, and there is no schedule. But yes, it’s part of it, and you have to do it.”

  “Or what?”

  “I’ll fire you?”

  “For not going swimming?”

  “Yes, and for hiding your culinary skills from me for too long. These eggs are amazing.”

  Truly, it’s one of the best breakfasts I’ve had in a while. Usually I’m just having cigarettes and maybe a croissant. Sitting with her like this, just the two of us, in a bright and airy villa with the sun streaming in and the waves crashing below us, I could be tricked into thinking that this is my life now.

  That’s the point of a vacation, isn’t it? A chance to pretend to live another life for a bit until you have to go back to the one you have. The funny thing is, deep in some part of me, I know I have so much ability, so much privilege to change everything. Maybe that’s what makes it worse. Knowing I could maybe have a life like this one day, quiet moments with someone I care about in some sunshiny place, a new way of existing that isn’t born of deception and greed, and yet I don’t have the balls to change any of it.

  After breakfast, we grab some towels and head out in the car. There are a lot of cliffs in Mallorca that are popular for jumping off, but there’s one in particular I used to go to a lot as a child, when we’d spend summer vacations here.

  First we stop by the nearest town to get some water and find Gabrielle a bathing suit. We luck upon a swimwear boutique, but to Gabrielle’s embarrassment, all the suits are of the teeny-weeny bikini kind.

  Gabrielle’s embarrassment is my victory, of course, and she doesn’t have a choice.

  “Let me see,” I call to her from outside the dressing room, where she’s been struggling and swearing at a suit for the last five minutes.

  “No!” she yells back. “It’s too small.”

  I give the salesperson, an older and overly tanned lady, a look, and she shrugs. “It is not too small,” she says in Spanish. “It is her size. She has a great figure; tell her to come on out so we can see.”

  “Did you get that, Gabrielle?” I yell at her. “Get out here so we can see.”

  “Up yours,” she says.

  I grin.

  She eventually comes out—not in the bathing suit—though she plunks it down on the cash register, about to pay. I gently shove her to the side so I can finish up the transaction.

  “I’m not letting you pay for this,” I say, nodding at the suit, which the salesperson is sliding into the world’s tiniest bag. “I’m going to get a lot more pleasure out of it than you are.”

  Gabrielle grumbles something in return. I’d like to think it was a thank-you.

&
nbsp; We get back in the car, and it’s not too long before I’ve pulled off the main road and we’re bouncing down a dirt one among a scrub forest of fragrant rosemary and sage until we come to a tiny spot for parking. Luckily, no one else is here.

  “Are you sure we’re not on someone’s property?” she asks as we get out of the car.

  “Relax. The island has a lot of secrets that tourists don’t know about.”

  I grab the towels, and we walk through the scrub, honeybees buzzing around us, until it opens up to a wide expanse of limestone cliff.

  I drop the towels on the ground and then proceed to pull off my shirt.

  I know I’m giving her a good show, because she’s trying her hardest not to stare blatantly at me.

  “You can look, it’s okay,” I tell her with a grin. “If you didn’t, I’d fear all my hours at the gym every week weren’t paying off.”

  A flush goes to her cheeks, and she looks away as I start to undo my jeans. I’m just in my black boxer briefs, which sometimes make for a better swimsuit than board shorts do. They’re also a hell of a lot more revealing, which is great at making her uncomfortable in the best way possible.

  “Your turn,” I tell her. “Put on your suit.”

  She shoots me a look over her shoulder and frowns as her eyes rake up and down my body, concentrating on my bulge. “You’re in your underwear,” she says, aghast.

  “Have you ever asked yourself what’s the difference between underwear and a swimsuit?”

  “The fact that I can see . . . um, everything?”

  “Just be glad I’m not in a Speedo.”

  “You might as well be.”

  She reaches down for a towel, giving another glance at my crotch as she does so, and then attempts to wrap the towel around her chest.

  I watch her struggle for a few minutes, trying to get her T-shirt off while still being covered up by the towel. Whatever modest game she’s trying to play, she’s losing at it.

  I can’t help but chuckle.

  She glares at me, her hair all messy, her face flustered with her shirt half-off. “You could help me.”

  “I could,” I tell her. “But this is so much more amusing.”

  Her eyes turn to slits, but she doesn’t scare me. I reach over and grab the edge of the towel by her chest.

  “Don’t look,” she warns, as if I’m not going to see nearly every inch of her body once that suit is on.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I tell her. “I’m a gentleman, remember?”

  “Then close your eyes.”

  I sigh and close my eyes, trying to keep the ends of the towel together. “You know, I could just drop the towel, and you could get changed in the open, and it would be so much easier.”

  “What if someone comes along? I’d be naked.”

  “If I don’t mind, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t mind either.”

  I hear her struggle for a few more minutes and then the snap of spandex, and true to my word, I keep my eyes closed, though the temptation to look is beckoning.

  Finally she says, “Okay, I’m done.”

  I open my eyes and take the towel away from her so I can get a better look.

  She’s literally stunning.

  Her skin is pale, touched with gold from the sun, her breasts and hips heavenly full with a dip at her slim waist. The bikini she’s wearing is tomato red and leaves very little to the imagination, but I happen to have a huge imagination, and seeing her displayed in front of me like this, vulnerable and strong all at once—achingly beautiful, undeniably sexy—my mind floods with all the things I crave to do to her.

  “I feel like I’m naked,” she says quietly.

  “I’m glad you’re not,” I tell her. “I don’t think my heart could handle it.”

  Her eyes drop down to my crotch, where I know my cock is extremely rigid and extremely visible. I grin.

  “Looks like your cock can barely handle it either,” she says.

  “Look, if you want to get all handsy with me again, I’m not going to complain,” I tell her. One of her straps on the side of her bikini bottoms is twisted, so I take a step toward her, hands out. She stills, holding her breath, but she doesn’t move as I reach down and slide my fingers against the warmth of her skin, luxuriating in how soft her skin feels on her hip. Ever so slowly, I untwist it, overwhelmed by how close I am to her, the heat between our bodies rising, becoming thick and heady, unaltered by the breeze off the sea. My cock grows bigger, thicker, until it’s almost painful, making it hard to breathe or think straight.

  Gabrielle has been focused on my hand at her side. She now gazes up at me through her long lashes, and I see a whole other world in her eyes, a million feelings swimming in the depths. I see what I want to see—lust—and it’s wild and ripening before me.

  My other hand drops to the other side of her hips, and I slowly drag my thumb up and down her skin, bracketing her in. I want so badly to pull her into me, to feel her flesh on mine, but I know the moment I do so, I’m going to lose all control. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was barely holding it together. For the first time in my life, I want a woman who has more power over me, power she doesn’t even know she possesses, power that would completely change me.

  And fuck, how I fear that change.

  How badly I want it.

  “Gabrielle,” I say in a murmur, my words coming out thick and wanting. “I need you.”

  I say it without even thinking of what it means, what the consequences are, ignoring the vulnerable state it puts me in. I say it because there’s nothing left to say.

  She gazes at my lips; then her eyes skirt to mine again, and now I see those dark storm clouds roll in, turning the lust into fear, and I think I might have fucked everything up.

  Suddenly she sucks in her breath and takes a step away from me, shaking her head back and forth, avoiding my eyes, and I have no idea what to do or say.

  “Hey,” I say, reaching for her, but now she pulls out of my grasp, and with a quick look that’s full of shame and sorrow, she starts running along the cliff.

  I’m so stunned, it takes me a moment to realize what she’s doing, but by then it’s too late. She runs along the rocky cliff top, her bare feet lithe and quick, her hair flowing behind her like a platinum cape, until she leaps into the sky and dives over the edge, disappearing from my sight.

  “Gabrielle!” I yell and start running after her. I have no idea where she landed; she just ran and jumped, not knowing if there was deep water below us or rocks.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I can’t even think. I just keep running, a prayer on my lips until I come to a stop at the edge and look over. The water is rippled where she dived, but I don’t see her anywhere.

  “Gabrielle!” I yell again, though it’s pointless. Without hesitating, I do as she did and swan dive into the blue sea below.

  I hit the water with minimal splash, diving deeper and deeper into the blue, then opening my eyes, wincing at the salt. Through the blurry mess of bubbles, I see Gabrielle’s shape, suspended in the water. I quickly swim through the haze until I get a better look.

  She’s just a few feet off the bottom, just floating there.

  For a moment I think she hurt herself or worse . . . that she’s dead.

  But when I approach her, she turns her head to look at me with those round eyes of hers, and it feels like I’ve stumbled upon a part of her I wasn’t meant to see. She’s choosing to be down here, holding her breath, not moving at all.

  Jesus, she’s fucked up.

  She’s perfect.

  I reach out and grab her arm and start kicking to the surface, pulling her up with me until we break through.

  We both gasp for air, and I have my hand around her waist, holding her up in case she wants to sink back down. “Are you okay?” I ask, spitting out seawater, brushing the wet hair from my eyes, which sting from the salt and the bright sun.

  She shakes her head and then inhales, brash and deep, that fear coming
through again. Maybe over whatever spooked her earlier, maybe because she had practically drowned herself.

  Still holding on to her with one hand, I start swimming for the shore, the tiny patch of sandy beach that’s pocketed by high cliffs, a scraggly trail leading up between them to the top.

  Once on shore, I collapse on the sand, rolling over, trying to regain my breath. I’m a strong swimmer, always have been, but I’m not used to hauling people around.

  When the air returns to my lungs and my heart slows, I sit up and peer at Gabrielle. She’s sitting, staring off at the sea, her knees cradled against her chest as she hugs her legs. I ache to reach out and touch her spine, to let my finger follow the beads of water that drip down her back. But I don’t want to set her off again, so I just watch and wait.

  Moments turn to minutes. There’s just us and the silence and the blue sky and even bluer sea and the sun beaming from up high.

  Finally, I have to ask. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “You scared me,” I admit, taking in a deep, shaking breath. For some reason, it’s easier to unload on her when she’s not looking at me. “I thought I lost you for a second. I didn’t . . . I didn’t realize how painful that would be. To lose someone. I’ve never had someone in my life to lose. I’ve always pushed people away. Shoved, more like it. I’ve acted unfettered by rules and morality. I’ve done as I pleased, and what pleased me was to make sure no one could ever get close to me. I’d been taught that letting people in meant letting your guard down, and when you let your guard down, that’s when they stick in the knife. Why would I risk it? How could it ever be worth it?”

  I start drawing lines in the sand with my forefinger, aimless, as everything I’ve kept locked away and buried is starting to surface, as if it’s found the key.