Taken (5 page)

You stand and run your hands down each of my arms stealing my attention back. “I’m sorry you don’t have any other clothes, but you can wear mine. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll lay something out for you?”

I step back and run into the coffee table. You pull me forward to keep me from falling, pressing me into your firm chest still warm from sleep. “Careful.”

My nerves are quaking like some kind of freaked out animal. I tear myself away from you and stand a few feet away with my arms crossed over my chest. Confusion fogs your eyes. You have no idea what being so close to you does to me. “You can shower first,” I say, grasping for words that make any sort of sense.

You stride to the dresser and pull open a drawer. “I showered before bed.” You glance back over your shoulder. “A cold shower.” Those dark eyes hold mine, fill my mind with your meaning. You feel it, too—that raw ache that’s planted itself deep down low in my belly that only wants one thing.

It feels like we’re breathing the same breath in sync across the room, hearts drumming the same desperate, lonely beat. You turn away, and I inhale deeply, silently.

“There are clean towels in the linen closet in the bathroom.” You pull a t-shirt from the drawer and toss it on the end of the bed.

“Thanks.” I dart from the room into the hallway, my skin moist and tingling.

One look at the stairs at the end of the hall has me running through our conversation yesterday recalling your words—I’m the only one you could trust this place to. What did you hear in my voice that made you so certain I was the one you wanted here with you? What is it about you that makes me not want to leave?

It’s more than this intense physical attraction. It’s something I can’t name. Something that feels like it runs through the earth. Something ancient and eternal. Something that’s always been and always will be; bigger than both of us.

Maybe all your talk about bringing me here to right wrongs in the universe wasn’t a bunch of bullshit. Somehow I think I know what you mean.

Hot water sings through the pipes and runs down my back. The shower is small and cramped, the tile is chipped like all the other tile in the hotel, but it’s clean. Your shampoo smells exotic lathered in my hair, floral and spicy like jasmine and ginger. I rub my lips together; the cuts from trying to bite through the rope are almost healed. Thin lines of scabs circle both of my wrists, but aren’t severe. There won’t be scars. Soon there will be no evidence that you took me away and tied me to your bed. We’ll be the only two people in the world who know—it’ll only exist in our memories.

Should I let it go? Forget? Not speak a word of this to anyone?

I don’t know.

A knock on the door startles me. I squeeze my arms over my breasts. “Rachael,” you say, “come downstairs when you’re dressed, okay?”

“Okay.” You’re right on the other side of the door. What would happen if you opened it?

So much. So much could happen if I let it.

I wait and listen, but you’re gone.

Chapter Five

Your jogging shorts are big on me, but they have a drawstring that I pulled tight around my hips. The mesh material swings around my thighs like a skirt as I traipse down the stairs. The bottom of the sleeveless t-shirt you left on the bed for me is cut off. I saw a pair of scissors on top of the dresser, so I think you altered it so it wouldn’t hang to my knees.

A bird perches in the broken window above the giant front doors. It warbles at me as I walk by crunching on broken glass in your borrowed flip-flops that are way too long and wide for my feet, but better than the platform heels I arrived wearing.

The scent of last night’s fire lingers in the lounge. I find you out on the patio with coffee, fresh fruit and crusty bread. “I haven’t seen a kitchen,” I say, taking a seat beside you, “but you keep turning up with food.”

You scoop pieces of cut-up fruit into a bowl and set it in front of me. “You don’t need to be in a kitchen. I’ll wait on you while you’re here. You’re my guest after all.” You pour a cup of coffee and add two creams and one artificial sweetener, just like I like it.

“Did you make notes while you watched me at the coffee shop?” I take the mug and sip. The hot coffee goes down like liquid Heaven.

Your neck flushes slightly, and your eyes fall to your lap. “No notes. I have a good memory.”

You’re punishing yourself with enough guilt that I feel terrible mentioning it. “Thank you.” I pick up a piece of melon with my fingers and pop it into my mouth. Juice runs down my chin. There are no napkins, so I wipe furiously as I chew.

Your fingers join mine, wiping juice off my chin as you chuckle. “The watermelon’s overly ripe. I should’ve warned you. And I couldn’t find any napkins.” You lick your fingers, and I imagine their sweet taste in my mouth as I suck the juice from them. My expression has to give me away, because you reach over and run your finger across my lips. When you take it away, I run my tongue over the same spot.

If you lean forward to kiss me right now, I won’t stop you. If you keep going, keep touching me, I won’t stop you.

“I won’t…” You shake your head, reading my mind. “It has to be you.”

The sun glints off your hair, riding the dark waves to your forehead. “What if I can’t?” I ask. Making the first move has never been my strongpoint. I’m used to lusting at a distance and pining away unsatisfied until the guy loses interest. I always hold back. What if I give away what I’m feeling and get turned down? I don’t set myself up for rejection. It’s a fault of mine—I’m a successful overachiever because I don’t take risks.

You shrug. Your lips quirk down. “Then you can’t.” You cut a slice of bread from the loaf and slather strawberry jam on it before handing it to me.

“How did all of this get here?” I ask, gesturing to the fruit, coffee, bread and jam. “If I’m here as a result of your desperate impulses, how is this place stocked with food?”

“I called my assistant on the way down.” You pop a grape in your mouth and smile, proud of your ability to stock a kitchen on a moment’s notice.

I do find it impressive. “So, I read one time that when you inherited Rocha Enterprises, it was only a handful of apartment units and one strip mall. Is that true? Did you make it what it is now?”

You sit back and take a sip of coffee, propping your foot up on your knee. “My grandpa left me the strip mall and my sister the three apartment buildings. My dad didn’t want the hassle of rental properties. He was an accountant and had a job he was comfortable doing.”

“Now you have an international enterprise worth billions of dollars.” I can’t help blinking when I look at you, thinking about your success, how brilliant you must be in business. It’s like staring into a ball of fire. You intimidate me on so many levels.

You watch your finger flick a crumb of bread off the table. “Yeah, for all the good it does me.”

You’re the most tormented man I’ve ever met. “You don’t enjoy your wealth?”

You turn your eyes on me. “I enjoy that it got me here with you.” You stand and sit your mug on the table. “Care for a tour of the island?”

Just when I’m starting to scratch the surface of your past, you change the subject. I take the last sip of coffee in my cup and reach for your hand. You watch our fingers interlace. It’s a start and all I can manage for now. You squeeze tight and pull me up off my chair. “Watch where you step. There are snakes.”

“Snakes?” These flip-flops don’t seem like such a good idea anymore. Spiked heels would be much better for stepping on snakes.

“The island’s wild. Nature’s taken back over in the seventy-some years nobody’s been here.”

“There’ll be spiders, too,” I say, more to myself as a warning than to you.

You laugh. “I saw a big one inside this morning, but don’t worry, I killed it.”

My skin crawls, and I shiver. “Don’t tell me that. I won’t sleep tonight.”

“You’ll have a long night then. You’ll need something to occupy your time.” You open and close your hand around mine. I look at you out of the corner of my eye and see you smiling, waiting for my reaction.

“I’m sure I can find enough movies on T.V. to get me through until morning.” I open and close my hand around yours, making you laugh.

“Ha. No movie channels. We barely get local stations. We’re in the middle of nowhere if you haven’t noticed.” You tug me through the wrought iron gate and into an overgrown jungle of swamp grass, trees roots and vines that tug at my ankles. “We’ll need to get a crew out here to clear most of the island. I was thinking we should leave the far eastern edge wild though. How does that sound?”

We’ll
need a crew?
We
should leave the eastern side wild? Who do you mean by we? “It’s your island. Sounds good to me.”

You press your lips together and exhale loudly out your nose. “If it’s just mine…” You shake your head. “Like you said yesterday, a rundown hotel on a piece of land in the middle of the swamp does me no good. I’m not invested in this one to make a profit, Rachael. You love this place as much as I do, don’t you?”

I glance back at the three-story, white, stucco hotel with its red tile roof and exposed rafter beams. The long windows are covered by black shudders propped open, looking like they’re yawning, waking from a long sleep. “It’s amazing. There’s so much…” I can’t find the right words. “It’s alive.”

I glance up at you, and the validation is written on your face. Validation for doing whatever you had to do to get me here with you—here at the hotel we both love that deserves nothing less than the two people who dream of bringing it to life again.

You close your eyes for a moment and slightly nod before tugging me along again through the tall grass. “So, we’ll leave the eastern edge wild. A lot of the interior work we can do ourselves. Are you up for painting and helping me replace some windows?”

This has to be a test. Instead of approaching me from the standpoint of an employer offering a job, your new angle is to team up and make this a fun, friendly renovation. “Merrick, I can’t stay. You know that.”

Your arm circles my shoulders. “You can. I told you, I took care of everything.”

“How did you take care of everything? What did you tell my mom? Shannon? I’m still finishing up an internship, you know.”

Your chin jerks up in annoyance. “Internship. Please, Rachael, don’t tell me you turned down my offer because of your internship. My assistant contacted your roommate and let her know you’d changed your mind about my offer and you’re spending time in Florida to solidify your decision.”

“Nice cover story. And what about my mom?” Irritation tangles with amusement inside me.

“Your mom’s on an extended European cruise with your aunt. I talked to her personally. I let her know it was a perk for you joining me for a short time in Florida to consult on the Turtle Tear Hotel renovation.”

“What?! She’s on a cruise?” I yank your arm and make you face me. “What did you tell her,
exactly?”

You smile with your entire face, reveling in my shock and laughing softly. “On our way down here, I had a nice talk with her. I told her it was last minute, that I escorted you down here, and I knew your concern for leaving her. I asked if she would have anyone to join her on a vacation—it was the least I could do for taking you away for a while.”

I stand looking up at you, dumbfounded. “Everyone knew I was coming here except me.”

You tilt your head. “You were the last to know.”

You did take care of everything. My mind is blank, because I honestly have no idea what to make of all of this. Nobody would be worried or looking for me. What if you really had intended to hurt me? The sudden realization that I was taken away so easily sends waves of panic from my back to my chest. I try to tell myself to be calm. I’m not in danger. Don’t think of what could have been.