“No.” My head sways, yet the rest of me stays like a stone monument. “I was studying the colorful florets sprouting at the entrance of the rainforest.”
I’m not convinced he believes me when he languidly tilts his upper half clockwise and back to dominating. “Why?”
“Because I’m an ecologist.”
Without a second to inhale, he lurches forward like my answer walloped a lever of no control. Chorded muscle and energy rip me from the dense forest floor. He tosses me over his right shoulder with ease like a huntsman claiming his kill. I didn’t stand a chance against his power. My head plunges to ferns and limp legs drape his torso, petrified to fight against brute strength. Fluid strides carry me from partial shade to searing heat. I consider rebelling until my brain pleads for amnesty. If I’m lucky, he’ll relent on whatever plans he has for me now. I will myself to still, to play dead, hoping my compliance will settle his unstable state of mind.
Planks of wood speed under my head like we’re on a moving walkway. Our journey ends after what seems like an age when he kicks open a door, welcoming a cool citrusy breeze to prickle over my bare arms. Boots thud over sand-colored tiles. Palms circle my abdomen, and he slides me off his solid torso, shoving me backward like trash. I bounce, gasping in relief at the springy landing. My gaze darts from the made bed with clean sheets and plumped pillows to his furious breathing.
I recognize the layout. The aquamarine sparkle reflects from the outdoor pool. It’s my suite. He’s incarcerating his prisoner to the luxurious prison cell once again. Locked indoors. Trapped within four walls and a savage landscape.
El Fantasma cracks his neck, then flicks off his cap and ruffles damp waves with leather covered fingers. The hair separates into exquisite kinks, full and playful. He moistens his lips and drags the sunglasses down the length of his nose, then folds the frames and tosses them on the bed beside me.
Almond-shaped eyes, as green as a tropical lagoon, glisten with profound clarity. The lucidity hints at mercy but glares with an unreachable remoteness. Something horrific lives in the depth of his gaze. He’s both the warming sun and a sinister blackout. A sizzle of passion and a bite of depravity.
I scoot over the bed to the other side of the mattress, out of reach. He peels off each glove in turn, revealing damaged palms. Smooth scars mar the skin, creeping around his wrist like warped ribbons. Even with brutal disfigurement, the man defines regency. Poised like a god demanding obedience. He inhales purposefully, lungs lifting supreme pectorals. A dreamlike haze of light spans the outline of his wide stance. The welcoming air-conditioned atmosphere brings a shiver to my skin.
I’m not ready to die. Not yet. Perhaps I should pray, not to the rainforest deities, not to myself––to the man before me. My disaffected savior. The only one who can kill me or show mercy. I wonder how many miles he traveled through hell to survive the aged scars so very obvious and what that torment can do to a man’s soul.
The silent standoff finally dwindles when he clears his throat. “This is the reason you’ll never leave.” Splaying his palms outward, our gaze snags in a labyrinth of unreadable signals. “Iris Kitson saw me the night I rescued her. Every detail is stored away in her gray matter. Imprinted in her brain. That makes her a threat to everything I’ve built around me. So, when I tell you you’re no longer that person, the ecologist, that’s precisely what I mean.” His voice is hoarse and strained. The gruff rumble rolls in languid waves. “If that’s who you actually are.” A lock of hair floats to his lashes, so inky and thick. I watch it caress his golden forehead with a tenderness he permits. There must be a layer of rationality behind his wickedness.
“Of course that's who I am. Who else would I be?”
“Who is Bruce Kincade?”
“He was my mentor. The guy who ran our lab back home.”
“Fergal MacNab?”
How does he know Bruce’s assistant? “He works for Bruce.”
“And who do you work for?”
“We all work at the same lab.”
He seems perplexed by my answer for a moment. “There are only a few select people who see the real me.” He folds his arms, hiding his palms like he doesn't want me to stare at them for longer than necessary. “And the one big difference between you and them is trust. Which is a big fucking problem for you.”
“If you let me go, I promise I won’t say a word.” I lose my pleading voice in the noise of boots striking at speed.
I scramble along the length of the bed, rising to run. In a hurry to flee, my hip clips the bedside table, and a terracotta lamp crashes down and breaks into pieces. Backed into a corner, he crowds me with the essence of paradise. An eclipse of shadowy sunlight casts my world into obscurity.
Ducking down to my earlobe, soft whiskers tickle my unblemished cheek. “Won’t say a word to who?” The sandy rasp to his voice isn’t golden and fine, it's gravelly and dark. A trillion rough particles of grit, abrasive and discordant. I’m fully aware of how his body is taut, so close, yet the only connections we have are breath and hair. “Are you a threat, or is Iris finally dead?”
The request to strip away my identity almost breaks me. He shudders when I take a sharp breath. Staring up into his eyes, I whisper, “I’m not a threat. I wouldn’t tell anyone about what you do out here.”
“What do you think I do?”
“I think you hold innocent people hostage. I have no desire to find out why you’re so cagey, and I certainly don’t care what you look like.”
Ever so slowly his lips twitch as if another word would break diminishing control. “Is that so?”
“Please, if you take away my name, let me have one thing to keep for myself.” My fingers fan over my heart. “Like a hobby?”
A sound so raw and destructive roars from deep inside his chest. I freeze when he rears back, fisting both hands like he’s choking the life from every living organ inside of me. In one second flat, power and anger propel clenched fists to the wall behind me. Instantly, I’m trapped, penned in by the arms of a madman.
Barbs of electrified air prickle over my shaking limbs. Our chests heave in tandem, mine anarchic and his uncontrolled.
“Listen very carefully,” he snarls, teetering on the edge of his self-righteous throne. “You will surrender your existence to me.” His warm forehead tips to mine, not tender and definitely not wanted. My stomach roils with the possibilities of his temper snapping. His jaw clenches and both hands judder down the pale paintwork. “If you try to run away or attempt to get a message to the outside world, I’ll kill you myself.”
“How could I get a message to my family?” I gulp. “The storm ruined everything. And you’ve made sure I’m well and truly lost.” Fingers skate over the gauze taped to my wound. With one swipe, he tears it free.
“You will wear this scar as a reminder of who I am to you.” His eyes burn into the exposed lesion. “I gave you a second chance to live. I am your master now.”
Master.
That title grows with magnitude as seconds pass. I’ve somehow gone from being an employee to a worthless subject. “What you haven’t considered is the reason there're only men in my oasis.” He chuckles with a brittle edge. A repugnant layer of mucus creeps around my lungs, suffocating the simple motion of breathing in and out. “Why do you think that is?” Under the magnitude of his words, danger crawls over my scalp. “Perhaps having a woman here is the worst possible scenario for both of us.”