Taken With The Enemy (8 page)
I took the glass from his hand and managed a sip before he retrieved it. “Did it ever occur to you that you might not be missing?” he asked.
"That makes no sense."
I tried to ponder his words, to find the underlining meaning, but it took too much concentration and made my head hurt. I'd think about it later, when I had a clearer head.
"Anyway,” I chirped. “I've answered your question. Now you answer mine."
"I won't tell you anything so that you will never be forced to lie. When you leave here—and yes, you will one day leave here and return home—people are going to ask you questions about where you've been. And when you answer, you will be telling the truth. You will not have to feel guilty about hiding things from your friends, nor will you ever have to worry about slipping up and saying something you shouldn't. You will never have to fear keeping all your stories straight."
"You mean like, um ... plausible deniability?"
"In some things, ignorance truly is bliss,” he said. “Trust me."
Trust.
There was that word again. It rattled in my brain. “Why is it so important that I trust you?"
"Because if you trust me, then I can trust you.” He took a swig from his glass. “And I need to be able to trust you. I need to know that you can do the job I have brought you here to do, without the fear that you might purposely...” he trailed off.
"What job?"
"Do you always like to ask the hard questions?"
I shrugged. “Do you want an easier question?"
"Yes."
I thought it over. Oh! There was something I'd always wanted to know, but was too afraid to ask.
Here's to the benefits of liquid courage.
"You know that room in the hallway with the padlock?"
He nodded.
"What is it?"
Relaxing back, he took another sip of his drink. “Here's a tip. Around this place, you'll get much more information by asking yes or no questions."
"Is it some kind of torture chamber?” I whispered.
His expression blanked out. Then he leaned toward me, staring me straight in the eyes. “Brenna,” he drawled, matching the volume of my voice. “Are you seriously asking me this?"
Shit. Was he going to be pissed if I answered yes?
"You are,” he said slowly.
I bit my bottom lip, and lowered my gaze.
"No, Brenna. It's not."
I gave a relieved sigh. “That's nice."
"I can't believe you would think—"
"Hey,” I said lightly. “It was valid question. And you don't want to hurt my feelings by making me feel stupid, do you?"
He awarded me a small smile. “No, I would never want to do that,” he said, then swallowed the last of his drink. “I really like this side of you, doctor."
"What side?"
"Your diplomatic side."
I laughed. “Oh, that's a skill I picked up after dealing with so many ornery patients."
"No, it's more than that.” His gaze roamed over me, slow and thoughtful. “You're warm and expressive. I'm enchanted by your sweet candor and innocence. You're beautiful tonight, sitting here in your pajamas, your cheeks rosy, your eyes sparkling with laughter."
"Enchanted?” I was sure my cheeks just got pinker. “I-I don't know what to say."
"Say what's on your mind."
"Thank you. You have a beautiful way with words. I don't get many compliments like that.” I then added, “Are you trying to butter me up?"
"No, I'm just being honest. I've spent a lot of my time...” he trailed off, as if he caught himself saying something he shouldn't. “Whenever I can, I want to be open and honest. Especially with you."
He rose from the couch and began collecting the dishes. I watched him silently as he cleaned up, then took everything to the kitchen. I heard him turn on the sink, I assume to wash out the bowl and cup.
A domesticated man's man ... was that right? Or was I drunker than I thought?
As I thought about his poetic flattery, I felt that tugging in my heart. It was a feeling I always got when I was falling for a guy. I needed to tread carefully, I needed to erect my personal barriers again and put distance between us. If I didn't, I'd soon find myself taken with the enemy, and that was something I could not allow, no matter how much I wanted to.
God, I so wanted to believe him, believe
in
him.
It almost broke my heart.
If only things were different, then maybe ... Perhaps one day, in another time, in another place, in another life.
When he came back, I looked up and forced a smile.
"I think you need to go to bed.” He held out his hand. “I'll help you up."
I hesitated.
Distance yourself.
Oh, what was one more little touch? He really did have the most impressive fingers.
I placed my hand in his.
He pulled me off the couch. The ground moved beneath my feet, I leaned into him to steady myself. I was so going to regret this night when I was nursing a hangover in the morning.
"Thanks."
"What's wrong Brenna?"
Distance yourself!
“A little vertigo, that's all."
He held my gaze, searching my eyes for an answer.
"Probably all the alcohol,” I said. “I just need to sleep it off."
He didn't seem convinced.
I glanced down at my feet. “I'm fine, really."
"You've shut me out again."
Was I that damned easy to read?
“No, I haven't."
"Look at me, then. Look at me and say it."
I shook my head.
"That's what I thought."
His words were enough. They hurt and I couldn't stand it anymore. If he cared as much as he said he did, then let him bear some of this pain.
"What do you want from me?” I hissed. “And I'm not talking about why you brought me here. I mean now, at this very moment. You say that you want to be open and honest with me? Then prove it. Right now."
His lips suddenly captured mine, hot, demanding, and utterly consuming. I yielded to him, not because I had to, but because I wanted to. And I wanted more. I wanted to taste more, to feel more, to have more. Like the water that spills out from a ruptured dam, my shocked senses surged. I was flooded with desire, engulfed by pleasure, and drowning in need. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him closer, intensifying the kiss and taking it to dizzying heights.
He broke it off.
"God, Brenna,” he gasped. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."
I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but his words faded into a dull hum.
What a kiss!
I was simply awed by it. It had to be the most amazing kiss ever.
Staring into his wonderful eyes, I smiled as the world started falling away beneath my feet. “Wow."
Then everything went dark.
I don't know what kept me in bed longer ... my hangover or my humiliation.
What in the living fuck was I thinking last night?
I touched my mouth again. The memory of the passionate kiss was so fresh in my mind my lips tingled, as did other parts of my body.
No, they didn't tingle.
They ached.
An empty, throbbing ache.
And that was the root of my humiliation. I had tried to seduce him last night. He wouldn't have me. But had I been given the opportunity, I would have slept with him. Not because of the alcohol, but because I wanted to.
I desperately wanted to place the blame on the Jack and Coke, wanted to say that I was drunk and didn't know better, but as I lay there, sober as could be, nothing about the way I felt the previous night had changed.
I still wanted him.
I still wanted to sleep with the enemy.
Please, someone shoot my traitorous ass and put me out of my misery.
However, it was so much more than lust. Yes, my body was attracted to him, but my heart had fallen as well.
How could this have happened? It was wrong on so many levels.
I had spent the morning trying to console myself. My mind tried to give me a million and one excuses as to why this wasn't my fault—he was manipulating me, I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, I was drunk and taken advantage of...
Lies, lies, lies.
Not his.
Mine.
I was lying to myself.
But I wouldn't allow myself to travel down the false road. I was a grown woman, capable of making decisions and taking responsibility for my actions.
Last night, though I had been drinking, I wasn't oblivious. I remembered everything. I knew full well what I was doing. All the alcohol had done was lower my inhibitions, and even then, if I was truly honest with myself, I couldn't claim that it had solely been the alcohol.
I had been looking for an excuse to open up to him—guilt free.
It didn't matter. What mattered was my next course of action. What was I going to do when I saw him again? Should I pretend like last night had never happened? Should I talk to him about us? Or should I just ignore him totally?
Ignore him,
my mind screamed.
Talk to him,
my heart interjected.
My head's throbbing intensified.
Shower, dress, eat, take a walk, and then decide.
Rubbing my eyes, I crawled out of bed, trying to will
him
out of my thoughts. But it didn't work, not after seeing what was waiting for me on the vanity. I picked up the two aspirin and popped them in my mouth, then I uncapped the bottle of water and took deep drink.
My ever-thoughtful enemy.
After finishing a simple repast of toast and fruit, I picked up the phone and requested my usual post-meal walk. I knew I had a couple of minutes before my captor would come, so I went to my room and slipped an
abaya
over my jeans and tank-top, remembering the compliment he gave me the last time he saw me in one.
I didn't want to examine why I cared.
I made my decision early, choosing to talk to him about the kissing incident. We were adults and we could do this. It was what adults did. We would have a calm, civil discussion about last night.
Now I just had to figure out what to say. Obviously, I had to tell him that the kiss could never be repeated. But should we talk about why it happened? Did I dare ask him why he kissed me? Did I dare share why I let him?
Knock-knock-knock.
The rapping told me that the armed escort had arrived. After all, my captor never bothered with such formalities. He always just walked in.
I can't believe he didn't come himself...
I knew I shouldn't feel disappointed by that, but I was.
When I answered the door, I looked up, only to see a big grin spread across my escort's face. I almost smiled back, but his shining eyes glimmered with knowing humor, like someone who had some big, funny secret they desperately wanted to share, but couldn't. My cheeks instantly flamed as a flood of memories from the night prior assaulted me.
Fucking cameras.
Huffing, I pushed past him and made my way toward the courtyard. My escort followed silently. When we arrived outside, I went straight to the center of the garden, sat my ass on the stone bench, and stared off into the trickling fountain.
I should have been embarrassed by the things my escort probably had seen, or at the very least, had heard about. And in a way I was. But that was not why I was so hurt. The more I thought about last night, the more I played with the thought that my captor might be avoiding me.
How ironic.
What a damn coward.
I wanted to avoid it all, but I made-or was going to make if he'd been here-an effort to talk about it.
He could be gone again ... and maybe he just didn't say goodbye?
I glanced over at my escort, milling about. “Hey, is my captor around?"
He looked up at me quizzically, as if he had no idea who in the hell I was referring to.
"You know, my captor. The other guy who usually takes care of me."
He continued to give me an empty expression.
There was no way he didn't know who I was talking about. He had to know. I asked a yes or no question, so what was the problem here?
"Okay, I've only met two of you,” I explained. “I don't know his name. He's my ... my captor. The one who brought me here."
When my escort winked at me, I finally figured out what he was doing...
Friggin great. I guess in his mind, I wasn't a prisoner either. I didn't know how he could think otherwise. After all, my
escort
was carrying a rifle just to walk me around an enclosed courtyard.
"You know damn well who I'm talking about,” I muttered.
My escort had the gall to smirk.
I threw up my hands in frustration. “Fine. You win. Is my ...
host
here? In the building?"
He nodded.
That meant ... “He's avoiding me."
My escort didn't deny or confirm my statement.
"I take it you saw what happened last night. The kiss and all."
At first, my escort just stared at me. But I held his gaze, demanding that he answer the question. Finally, he slowly nodded, a smile touching his lips.
I wanted to ask him why he was here with me and not my captor, but that would be an open question. So, I figured I'd have to go through the list of possible reasons as to why my captor wasn't here.
I went with the reason foremost in my mind; the one that worried me the most, the one question with a ‘wrong’ answer that could literally shatter me into a million pieces.
Did I really want to know?
"Is he embarrassed?” I asked. “Is that why he did not come to collect me?"
My escort went wide eyed in shock. He actually looked at a loss for words—or gestures in his case.
Taking his silence as a concurrence, I hung my head in shame, tears of humiliation instantly welled in my eyes.
Oh, my God. He was embarrassed to have kissed me.
In my mind, it had been the most amazing kiss of my life. I guess my captor felt differently.
"Was it that horrible for him?” I whispered.
Suddenly, my escort's booted feet came into view. I glanced up when he put his hand on my shoulder and leaned in. He pointed at me and shook his head. Then made an indication of bringing a glass to his mouth.
