Page 27 of Fall
“Fine,” I reply on a murmur, praying my voice doesn’t come across as weak. “It’s obvious we had different expectations of this arrangement. You’re right. I should leave.” Every part of me shakes, wishing he will change his mind. With a forced surge of strength, I walk away. “I’ll grab a shower, and then I would appreciate it if you showed me the way to the Oasis. I'd like to say goodbye to Sal.”
His teeth clench, and he scrapes the curve of his jaw with short nails. Then he takes another deep breath before he replies, “You will join me for breakfast after your shower.” Before I can respond, he pivots to the modest kitchen island.
I swallow a gulp of bitter fury. We’ve gone from fucking to hating each other all over again. Even as I think about it, I recognize the lies I’m weaving. I don't really hate him. Perhaps I never did. All I know is, he’s only interested in a woman he can control, and I’m definitely not that person. We both know it. The pandemonium of colorful parrots congregating on branches as pretty ornaments understand the dynamics.
He was my master, feeding off my submission. I was his naïve plaything, romanticizing the jungle.
“I’m not hungry,” I say casually, disguising the gaping hole of rejection carved into my chest.
His peridot gaze snaps to mine. “That was an order, beija flor.”
“Of course it was,” I mutter under my breath.
Dante pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. “We can at least be civil.”
That's the last thing I desire from him. How about equality? I shrug my shoulders, simultaneously peeling his soft T-shirt up and over my head. “Well then, please offer me the courtesy of a shower without interruptions.”
He actually groans with a ragged rasp. Rooted in place, his hands ball and a blistering green gaze flips my stomach upside down. I’m playing a wicked game of tease to win back a degree of power. Baiting his true emotions. Tugging on the fine leash that ties Dante to his hummingbird.
I’m allowed to wander to the opposite side of the treehouse, so I sway my hips and shake out my curls. The few yards of distance puts me out of reach, but not out of sight. When I glance back, everything inside me shrinks. Instead of hungry eyes, I find the back of his head showing me he’s disinterested in my little display.
In a matter of minutes, I’ve gone from agreeing to leave, to silently begging to postpone my departure. No matter the cost, he’s giving me freedom, and that’s more important than living a fake life as a disposable mistress.
I shower off the silly notion of an impractical adventure with an unpredictable, handsome man and peer over at him every few minutes. He’s since covered his eyes and shaded his face with a cap. Holding a radio to his mouth, he paces the outside deck. His body is stiff like a grenade only seconds away from detonation.
Under thundering streams of fresh water, I catch an uncertain breath and stare at his glorious physique and detailed spinal tattoo. The outline comes alive with every flexed muscle and movement. Fierce wildcat jaws snarl when he shrugs out the tension in his shoulders. A lithe feline, sketched into his skin, prepares to pounce on anyone who stands in his way.
I’ve appreciated the male form before, and even considered them to be defined. However, this man’s half naked build with hard earned muscular contours and glowing sun ingrained skin are the key to my rapid undoing. An aphrodisiac of sorts. His perfection isn’t spoiled by the scars on his hands, it’s dangerously unique and desirable.
Culpability steals the last reserve of energy from my legs. I become lightheaded in the knowledge of a downward spiral. Covering my face with both hands, I drown in the bitter revelation.
I’m falling for him. Utterly captivated by a guy who is incapable of love, never mind trust. I want to scream at myself for the tragic emotions burrowing deep inside me. They have no right to bloom where his darkness rules. I created a lie where I stayed in the wilderness for important research. That discovery was the primary reason. In truth, it was all about him. I honored Dante with a title so grand that he was bound to crumble under its weight. I considered him my re-inventor. My creator.
Birds take flight. Animals stir. Chopper blades whirl overhead. I suck in a mixture of water and oxygen, anticipating my early departure. Instead of signaling over to me, he nudges the sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose and covers his hands with gloves. He strolls along the curved walkway to a landing platform, without a single glance in my direction.
A black duffle bag drops from the sky. Dante flicks his wrists and gives a thumbs up to the pilot. The helicopter levitates, disturbing the peace—and leaves without me on board.
In a hurry, I turn off the shower and reach for a rolled-up towel. My gaze never leaves him. He tosses the hefty bag on the bed and removes the contents like he’s ripping out organs. It’s fast and angry. Whatever the items are, they’re taking the brunt of his sour mood.
Carefully padding closer, his shoulders brace. He slides off the frames, hiding his eyes, and looks right at me. His throat bobs as he swallows. Stern eyes flash with an unreadable glaze of winter green. “Clothes, beija flor. Put on the damn clothes.”
I overlook the harshness of his glare and inch towards the heaped garments. “A uniform?” My breath catches.
“It’s all I have at short notice. Does it bother you?” He folds his arms over his golden chest.
It should rattle my psyche to wear the clothes I once desperately wished to burn when I first arrived. Instead, I only feel gratitude for his timely display of thoughtfulness. “No, it doesn’t. Can I wear your T-shirt instead of the ugly shirt?”
His eyes skim over the towel hiding my nakedness, and for a brief moment, I sense indecision. He feels something. It’s written all over his tight features and cloudy stare. The awareness electrocutes my heart. A shiver of hope runs through me. And before it escalates, he moves his head from side to side and sighs. The new erection straining behind his shorts tells me he wants me too. That this display of dominance, it’s a sham.
He blinks slowly. “Take your pick, beija flor. Once you're dressed, join me outside.”
“Dante,” I whisper out his name. His lashes lift. “What’s really happening here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why can’t I stayandwalk around like I did before?”
His jaw works as he thinks on the answer. “We’re not on the same page. Get dressed.” The gravelly Latino lick scratches my questions to tatters and leaves me angry.
