Page 26 of Fever
The glass panel wobbles under the force of my furious fist. My eyelids ping open, welcoming steam and a lush landscape while banishing the recollection of his roaming fingers. He’s in my head, and it scares the hell out of me. Instead of beating myself up about it, I focus on lathering shampoo and polishing my legs from ankle to thigh with an oily salt scrub, freeing myself from the imprint of absurdity.
Supremely soft towels wrap around me in a comforting embrace, reminding me of another simple gesture he’s stolen. This isn’t the life I’ve chosen. Whatever that would look like. I wasn’t certain how my ideal future would actually look. My parents expected weddings, followed closely by children. They were overjoyed when Keith proposed. I got caught up in everyone else’s ideals. It felt like something I should do rather than what I wanted to do. Marriage was expected even though my one true aspiration was becoming an ecologist and dedicating my life to saving the planet.
The dream was that simple. Not lavish and unattainable. And now I’m a nobody.
Wandering back into the bedroom, I collapse beside the tray. Beads of moisture run the length of the glass, from top to bottom, tempting me with a promise to satisfy my thirst.
This afternoon, Sal accompanied me to the staff cabana for lunch. For the entire break, I watched the door, pleading for space. That’s exactly what we got. El Fantasma didn't appear. In that period of grace, I devoured a bowl of spiced fish and enjoyed a shot of sugary espresso. It kept me going for the rest of the day, until now.
I pick at the chopped fruit, eyeing the cocktail in a highball glass with crushed ice, long bamboo straw, and a thin wedge of lime.
An aqua blue radiance reflects birds in flight under a low setting sun on the terrace beyond the windows. It lures me to the outside deck where I sit on a curved wicker lounger, taking my time to enjoy the refreshing juice. It has an odd taste—a little bitter with syrupy sweetness and a pinch of something peculiar.
The tropical sun slides to the treetops, closing the curtain on my first full day in servitude. I consider how long I can survive before my mind snaps.
If he keeps his distance, I can figure something out.
I’ll never stop fighting for freedom or seeking a way to escape.
Lying back, my lashes flutter, heavy and unruly. An army of tingles marches over my legs. Pivoting sideways, I manage to set the empty highball glass on a bamboo table before slumping to my back again. The strange sensation running through me must be the evening humidity or from hours spent cleaning.
Every breath turns shallow, growing louder within my mind. The sun switches place with the moon when I surrender to the immense relaxation the jungle has gifted me. Gazing up to the amaranthine sky, I observe a universe of glittering trinkets twinkle above. So carefree, surrounded by clusters of constellations, where each one belongs. Even stars have a purpose. They have a home in the solar system.
I’m floating or soaring—so light and dreamy. Through dreary eyes, I’m almost certain a stealth wild cat is skirting the length of the pool. A shadow prowls closer with its body gilded in a blanket of silver light. The beast stays in the shadows, eyes concealed. Dangerous and dominant. Instincts warn me to move, yet my body stays in a relaxed daze.
My head swims, feeling woozy or tipsy. Shapes move, and what I thought was a rogue animal turns out to be a human silhouette. Extraordinary green eyes survey me. The heavy thump of a heartbeat slams in my throat. I can’t quite fathom the tones of intrigue held in its stare.
Panic urges me to sit. When my torso lifts, it’s met with a forceful leather-clad hand. “What have you done to me?” I demand, straining against the strength nudging me backward.
Glaring eyes lower, bringing a sonorous rumble to the dusk air. “Who are you?”
A glorious fresh scent of citrus both warns and chills my visitor’s manly presence.
“Iris Kitson,” I whisper. “Who are you?”
As my name drifts free, the intruder catches a beam of moonlight. The heavenly structured face of el Fantasma is dangerously close.
“Why are you here?” I demand, palming my temples, then scrubbing my eyes. If I keep them closed long enough, perhaps I’ll wake up from this nightmare. Behind my shuttered sight, I sense him drop to his haunches.
“Where do you live?” he asks with a deceitful calmness. I’d rather stay mute until the bad dream subsides. Oddly, my brain is firing answers and truths that I’d rather protect. After three steadying breaths, I blink in the bearded face of my captor. “Where do you live?” he repeats, setting gloved hands at either side of my thighs, penning me in with an unspoken threat.
I shiver, weakened by the pulse pounding in my chest. “What have you done to me? I feel different.”
“Answer my questions, and you’ll sleep it off, unharmed.” A flare of his impatience sparks a fire inside me.
“I live in the Scottish Highlands,” my reply rushes out. “With my parents, even though I’m twenty-three and should have my own place.” Information overload.
“How do you know, el Fantasma?” That question. That name. That man.
“What do you want from me?” My hands ball, curling obsidian fabric clinging to his taut chest.
He flinches. “Don’t touch me. Answer the damn question.”
“I don’t know you. Or him. I’m not interested in playing your sick mind games. Leave me alone.” Whiskers brush over the curve of my neck. I mewl softly when my nipples pebble from the light contact of his T-shirt. “El Fantasma is a man who thinks it’s his right to hold me prisoner.” I squirm. “A man who makes me feel emotions that should never be combined. A man who makes me want to fuck him and kill him at the same time.” Holy shit! Why did I say that?
I feel his chest rise as he inhales the shock of my statement. My inner thoughts are flowing freely, as if he’s coaxed them out with friendliness and charm. It’s confusing. I swallow hard and raise my chin, staring to the jungle beyond him instead of sparring gazes.
“Who is Maria Rebello to you?” The harshness of his cadence is grittier and edgy as if I’ve rattled his cage.
