Page 698 of One More Kiss

Chapter11

A ghastly nightterror of fierce flames and never-ending darkness becomes unbearable. I jerk awake like the devil stabbed me with a pitchfork.

My lungs scream for oxygen, thankful when I inhale deeply. I blink quickly and gaze up at the ceiling, tainted with a salmon blush streaming in from the windows. The early rise of a glorious sunrise brightens the spacious bed I’ve woken up in.

Curled up on my side, I freeze, the memories of my encounter with Tomás swarming over me in a tingly rash. I tentatively stretch out my leg, cautiously moving it across the mattress. Rather than finding him, my daring search continues until I’m certain the opposite side is empty.

He’s not in this bed—we didn’t have sex—he didn’t wake me.

The mattress beneath me holds secrets of a night I'd slept through. Did Tomás lay beside me at all? I sit upright and hear only the thump of my pulse.

The morning light is cheerful. A welcome to the oppressive shadows I’ve spent too long in lately. To my right, the expanse where I'd expected him to be is neat and the pillow undented.

My body tenses, ready to shatter like a brittle statue. Something isn’t right. The fogginess of my sleepy mind is busy mulling over why he didn’t pursue me—why he didn’t screw my brains out. Whereas my achy, bruised limbs are gradually moving, waiting for danger to pounce.

When the soles of my feet hit the floor, the quick rise of my chest isn’t a hitch of breath. It couldn’t be from disappointment after a night of safety rather than hours of sexual exploitation, so it must be out of relief. That’s what I tell myself when I pat the scar on my lip, wrap a sheet around me and pad to the bathroom on my tiptoes.

The door is wide open, showing the space is unoccupied. I rest a shoulder on the doorframe and consider my next move. If he’s not here, then maybe he left the door unlocked.

I gather the Egyptian cotton train trailing behind me and hurry to the exit, too foolish and hopeful. There’s no key, yet that doesn’t stop me from yanking the handle and rattling the secured doors in the hope they’d magically part.

Bastard.

The clothes I'd left in a pile have gone, as if I haven’t been here. Swallowing my nerves, I begin a quest to find another way out. Doing a one-eighty, I make a beeline for the window separating me from the sprawling wilderness and press my fingertips to the glass. The pretty view fogs from the adrenaline puffing down my nostrils.

There’s no sign of him on the balcony, so I push the weighty panel sideways and step into a tangerine sunrise, scented with an earthy waft of vegetation.

Delicately fragranced roses teeming with dainty orchids, grow in huge terracotta pots. To my right, sky blue water twinkles in a jacuzzi and a duo of sun loungers look out toward the misty mountains.

He’s disappeared.

A chalky wall slashes the impressive view of the Souza estate in half. Alpine evergreens blanket far-off hills. The daunting expanse leaves little opportunity for an immediate getaway without packing supplies for a week-long trek. A chorus of early morning birdsong harmonizes with the rhythm of my panicky heartbeat.

I peer over the balcony to assess the drop. Only a deranged person would try to scale a trellis woven with blood red petals and thorns. Or someone whose life depends on it.

Trimmed shrubs in full bloom and tropical trees border a pebbled path snaking a palatial garden like a winding river. It’s ironic how such elegance is appreciated by brutal men, or perhaps it’s the feminine influence of Tomás’ mother. Another perplexing character I’ve yet to meet. Something tells me I’m better off never coming face to face with her.

I trace my Cupid’s bow out of habit and squeeze my eyes shut to appreciate the familiar aroma of the jungle. Tomás may well have awoken the sexual woman inside of me, but I don’t need a man to spin a web of temptation and think it’s his right to trap me. It’s not. None of this is right. Whether I’m captivated by his mystery or not.

It’s my decision whether I lay with a sinner or saint. And right now, I’d rather get the hell out of here and return to the Oasis to search for my brother.

I’m almost certain, if I surrender my virginity to Tomás, it would be the best experience of my life. However, I’m also positive it would be my biggest regret for the short span of time he'd keep me alive thereafter.

He’s not my hero.

Besides, I'm not his virgin to do with as he pleases.

Psyched with a buzz of survival, I move inside on the hunt for clothes. That’s when I find his real lair. A walk-in closet, five times bigger than a working-class person's home.

LED lights under towering cabinets automatically turn on the instant I pull open the door. Rows of suits hang with irritating precision and racks of unworn designer shoes reach to the ceiling. A central island with a glass top houses designer watches. After an awestruck mental count, I tally fifteen and a tray of jeweled cufflinks sparkling under their own spotlight.

I finger the luxurious suit fabrics, designer sportswear and baseball caps that don’t quite fit his business-like persona. It’s clear to me there’s more to the one-dimensional man I’ve met. The sexy masculine scent of his cologne hangs in the air, along with the vision of absolute wealth. Tomás has it all—looks, lifestyle and luxury.

Stopping at a custom made chest of drawers, I peer inside where layers of black t-shirts are professionally folded as if new. Unraveling the king-size sheet I’d slept in, I let it puddle to the floor. The t-shirt I’ve picked is silky soft against my skin when it slips over my head, the size far too big. It’s like an obsidian nightdress of seductive nightmares, manly and forbidden all at once.

After a hurried scavenge, I step into his track pants and choose a pair of his socks. Everything in this walk-in is him. All of him.

Dressed in his clothes, my gaze reverts back to the display of designer items lit up like treasure. It’s only then, from this angle, that I see car keys. Three sets of fobs with logos on each.

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