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.
I sway my head, fixing my gaze on a waving palm. “Is she one of your so-called employees too? I’ve only met men.” A zesty sigh blankets my prickled skin, welcoming a surge of wrongs to charge through my veins.
“Why did you come here?” He leans closer, infecting me with a psychotic thrill.
With adrenaline at an all-time high, my awareness returns. El Fantasma crouches at eye level with locks curling his nape, and heavy-set brows pinched. The sharpness of his nose is exquisitely formed, and the depths of dark green eyes flash with a notion of attraction. They don’t warn of danger; they flicker with something I don't understand.
I press both palms to his chest, trying to push his sinewy muscles out of my personal space. “You know why I’m here. This interrogation is pointless. I’m an ecologist. A simple woman with a boring life caught in a tropical prison. I’m held hostage by an asshole who hides from everyone because he’s a coward.” I shouldn’t be so blunt. However, the filter to my thoughts has vanished. I’m incapable of censoring the words oozing from my brain. “The storm ruined all our hard work. Bruce’s samples were washed away. He died. The man actually died, and no one buried him. I left the camp to save myself from the wildlife and bring help. To give him a proper send-off. Now that I think about it, I’ve lost my passport and, most importantly, my journal,” I ramble.
El Fantasma doesn’t speak as he rises like a rattlesnake ready to strike. “Can I trust you?”
“No,” I bite out. “I want to leave this place and never come back. I won’t stop trying to get as far away from you as possible. I long for the day I’m at home where I belong, so I can forget you exist. If that means becoming a stowaway on a departing helicopter, then so be it.”
I bite my bottom lip at my admission. A sensible answer would have been one word—yes. Except I’ve foolishly revealed my intentions and implied I’m untrustworthy.
“Who would you run back to?” He runs a hand through thick wavy hair, and it’s only then I realize he’s not hiding from me.
A thin crease nestles in his brow as he waits for my answer. I take a second to assess his stern features and hair smattered cheeks, repulsed by the character and baited by his physical appearance.
“This is ridiculous,” I murmur. “I’ll go straight to Scotland to see my family. Remember the parents whose hearts you’ve shattered. And my little sister, Emmie.” Rage siphons through the sickly desire plaguing my being.
I adjust my inner compass to hang off hatred and hide from the absurdity of attraction. Then, one by one, he unpeels the gloves guarding his scars, tossing them to the padded cushion beneath me. In a hasty swoop, a bare hand clamps around my neck, ordering my gaze upward.
“Who do you love most in this world?” Our gazes clash. His curiosity warring with my disgust.
As much as I demand freedom, one impulsive move and he could squeeze the breath right out of me. My racing pulse skids at the sharp contact. The pressure weakens, lessening his initial harshness. I’m no fool. This is his territory. I’m disposable.
“My sister. She’s innocent, beautiful, and smart. I miss her.”
His breath warms my cheek. “Why would you put her life at risk to spy on Dante Valez?”
“Who the hell is Dante Valez? Why aren’t you listening to me?” The ball in my throat moves against his palm. “I’m not spying on anyone. You’ve trapped me here. You’re the one making me stay in this prison.”
“Tell me more about el Fantasma.”
My toes curl when his lips hover too close for comfort. I lengthen my neck in a reckless gesture, inching a fraction into him, purely out of defiance. He tips away, licking his lips like he wants to taste me. My morals beseech me to behave, and a surge of adrenaline flips my belly. “I’ll tell you what I know about him. He’s the most vile and arrogant man ever to walk this Earth.” I don’t say the words with bitterness. They dance off my tongue in a simple admission of truth. “He expects obedience and demands respect. Yet he hasn’t earned my compliance, even though—” His lips quirk, baring bright white teeth in warning. “Even though my hatred competes with fascination. I despise the man and crave his hands all over me.”