Page 16 of Fall
Water splashes. I peer over my shoulder to find him beneath an open-air shower. A monsoon of water sluices over a mighty fine golden physique. Drips undulate down his glorious skin. The man is the epitome of sex and strength.
I hear my gulp, blushing at the secret observation. I’m eying the man I’ll never touch again. Intrigued by the obsidian panther sprawling his back, I step behind the nearest wooden column to hide my shameless inspection. It’s a conscious decision. An urge to see if he’s wearing underwear. Frenzied droplets drench firm ass cheeks, sculpted and indented at either side.
He’s kingly. Magnificent. A breathtaking sight of masculinity. Godly in stature on the outside, yet a paradox of contradictions on the inside.
The downpour of fresh water edges the far corner of his stilted home, minus glass screens or privacy. Dropping his chin, he welcomes water to wash away his savagery. Mid lengths of relaxed curls glisten when they catch pale moonlight.
I suck in a sharp breath, freeing it slowly when I pull the gun from my pocket. The steely firearm looks out of place in my small palm. Nonetheless, it acts as an insurance policy. Self-defense. A way to safeguard the aggressive desire syphoning through my veins. Having it between us prevents the idiotic animal magnetism taking a hold of my wits.
“It suits you.” With a towel snug to his hips, he appears from around the whittled pillar. “You look like a bad girl who’s been to war.” A smile dances on his lips.
“I have been to war.” I bite back behind an invisible heart flutter. “And ironically, even though I have this...” My fingers curl around the handgrip, gently teasing the trigger. “I’m still your prisoner.”
Viridian eyes trail from the loaded weapon to my lips. “Tonight, you're my guest. This is a safe place.” His arms stretch outward. “Minha casa é sua casa, beija-flor.”
That accent does terribly bad things to my core. “Am I safe?”
“None of us are truly safe,” he mutters. “If you want reassurance that I won’t kill you, then you have my word.”
“And what is your word worth to me?”
“Everything. It’s all I have left.” Bare feet breach my invisible boundary. “You need a shower. This coat is covered in dirt.” Mottled fingertips clasp the zip, inching it lower.
I wave the gun so he’s aware of its presence. “I’ll shower on my terms.”
His hand retreats, and he nods once. “Take your time.” With a step sideways, he covers my hand with his large palm, gently forcing the gun downward. “Don’t get too cocky with that thing, beija flor. Would you really shoot an unarmed man?”
“You’re not a man, el Fantasma.” I grit my teeth. “And that asshole in cabin thirteen wasn’t armed.”
An eruption of anger flashes behind his eyes. “His cock was out and ready to fuck you.” A cracking voice needles with exasperation. “And his filthy fucking hands were clawing at your pale skin. Why can't you see I did it for you?” He scrapes his jaw and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, forget it. I shot the fucker, and I don’t regret it. He’s rotting in the jungle now. It’s all over. I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll take the couch. My bed is all yours.” There’s an odd hesitation like he’s about to say something else, then he twists away.
“So now you’re my hero? The master who ended unwanted vermin?”
He folds his arms, patience wearing thin. “Hewasvermin.”
I shrug helplessly. Buried within my soul are filaments of misplaced virtue that agree with what he did. I won’t openly admit it. Dante saved me from a rapist, and el Fantasma eliminated him. In a freaky switch of morality—I’m grateful. “If I’m a guest, does that mean I’m allowed to leave?”
He fiddles with the towel wrapped around him. His expression slips to stern. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”
I freeze. “What?” My heartbeat skids to a halt. “Where am I going?”
His eyes jump to mine. “I’ll organize a seaplane to take you to Brasilia for a connecting flight. You’ll be back in the UK in a few days.”
“Just like that?” My breathing changes rhythm, going from regular to uncertain gasps––and I don’t know why.
He walks away. “Yeah. I have important matters to deal with. I don't need the distraction.”
Distraction?The nonchalance in his tone infuriates me. “What’s changed? How come you’re happy to let me go now.”
His head snaps around. “Not right now. I have until sunrise.”
“To do what?” He doesn’t answer, instead he prowls to the kitchen and gathers two short bamboo cups from a shelf. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell the world about el Fantasma?” I question.
Unscrewing the cap from a bottle of clear liquor, he tips it to his lips and takes a mouthful. Then he pours a healthy measure in each cup and flicks his lashes up, pinning me with a fatal stare. “You won’t,” he says with an heir of cocky confidence.
“How can you be so sure?” I pull my lips back into a cautionary smile.
“Because I’ve pressed the reset button between us. You’ve repaid your debt, and I’m fulfilling my promise to let you go. Don’t forget, I know everything about you and your family.” He trails his fingers through damp waves so the unruly strands settle away from his brow. “I’ve read the inside of your body like it's braille. I’ve explored the lush landscape of your skin. And, I understand why you hate me. Aside from that, I’m painfully attuned to your inner battle againstthis.” His hand waves from him to me to indicate our unspoken attraction. “You believe it’s wrong to want a ghost like me. Am I right?” Collecting the drinks, he carries the cups from across the room. Smug bastard.
