Blood Debt (Touched Series Book 1) Page 16

  “Drake, don’t.”

  He whispered conspiratorially, “Tell me you haven’t thought about me, and I’ll stop.” I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. His finger tips continued lightly caressing my knuckles. My heart was still racing; I pulled my hand away from him and put them both on top of the table.

  Feigning a resolve I didn’t feel, “I haven’t thought of you.”

  “Not at all?” He didn’t look wounded - more like he didn’t believe me.

  I straightened my back, and shook my head. “Not on purpose.” Holy crap, I’m an idiot.

  Drake leaned way over the table. He was only inches away from me, his voice low, “That’s too bad. Every time I shut my eyes, I see you stretched out on the deck chair.”

  My resolve started to seep from my voice when I reminded him, “You do realize you’re still engaged to Bianca, right?”

  “From what you said - not for long.”

  “I’m not going to be a rebound. Whatever you decide is between you two. Leave me out of it.”

  “Rebound? I’m not in love with her, Camille.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be marrying her.”

  “Not to state the obvious, but I think that plan will be off the table soon.”

  “Look, I don’t know what happened on Sunday or why, but I’m not looking for anyone right now.”

  “I know what happened on Sunday. You felt the same sparks I did. You acted without thinking first – probably for the first time in your life. You’ve been beating yourself up about it ever since.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “Sure, until a couple minutes ago. Things happen for a reason, Camille.” Drake reached across the table and took both my hands in his. His hands were calloused and weathered, strong, yet his thumbs caressed the top of my hands as light as a feather. I could feel my frozen sensibility thawing “As much as you hate that you lost control for a few amazing seconds, maybe it was supposed to happen.”

  We sat there watching each other. I’d noticed his eyes before; it was impossible not to: the light blue pierced me, my resolve ebbing away. I had always had a thing for guys with long hair: Drake’s was short, definitely too short for my liking. I’d do nearly anything in the world for a big smile with dimples: Drake wasn’t even giving me a grin. It creeped me out when men stared at me, but Drake wouldn’t drop my gaze. With all this, I should have heard warning bells, an internal siren telling me to hightail it out of there, but I didn’t. I knew that my face mirrored the same irrational longing that he had for me.

  I remembered my conversation with Daniel from Sunday night, my confession of everything and his warning that no man only cheats once. “So what happens if you’re sitting next to another woman and you get the urge to kiss her? Losing control is okay as long as it’s supposed to happen?”

  Drake was still holding my hands, still caressing the top of them with his thumbs. He pulled both of them across the table toward him, closed his eyes, as his soft lips grazed my knuckles. When his eyes opened, he still held my hands to his lips. I waited for him to deny it, to tell me that he’d never be unfaithful, that he was a decent guy. Instead, he pushed an image of the two of us to me without words.

  We were again on the yacht, no one with us. I was wrapped in a towel staring out into the ocean. Drake came up behind me, circled his arms around me and pressed his body to mine. His lips swept my neck, our skin only separated by the towel covering me. His strong arms glistened in the sun, and I heard him whisper in my ear, “I want you, Camille.” I pulled my hands away from him, and the fantasy evaporated instantly.

  I tried to shoot him a fiery response, but I couldn’t do it. The best I could do was, “That wasn’t an answer.”

  “Anyone can tell you what you want to hear. I thought you’d rather see how I felt.”

  “It still wasn’t an answer.”

  Drake shook his head and confessed, “You’re the only person I’ve ever lost control with. You’re the only person who I’ve dreamt about while I was awake. I can’t get you out of my head, and if I could, I wouldn’t want you out.”

  So he wasn’t a poet, but my willpower wasn’t as strong as it had been. His back was to the approaching Bianca and Gage. I knew she had let Gage in on her little plan, too - they were both all smiles. Gage, Drake, and Bianca seemed nearly giddy with the idea. I still wasn’t convinced. When the two sat down to join us, I moved to the seat to the right of Drake. We ate our pizza chatting about everything but Bianca’s plan.

  I couldn’t get the image Drake had pushed to me out of my head. It was as if it were on a continuous loop in my mind, and I had trouble keeping up with the conversation. I figured out that Drake was purposely touching his knee to mine. Every time our knees touched, the fantasy he shared with me went a little further. When the “Fantasy Drake” whispered in my ear, “You’re beautiful, Camille. Tell me you want me, too,” I abruptly pulled my knee away from him. The three talked about football, the beach, Bruce’s wedding, and I don’t know how many subjects I couldn’t pay attention to. Every few minutes Drake would touch his knee to mine, and I’d be back on the yacht, alone in his arms. I figured with all the talking going on at the table, eventually someone would bring up Bianca’s plan - not a word.

  I felt Drake’s hand under the table. He discreetly wove his fingers with mine, and just as before, lightly caressed my hand with his thumb. This time the image he pushed had changed. It was evening, the stars were out, not a single cloud blocked the night’s sky. The grass was cool and wet; we lay on a blanket overlooking a pond. A single candle’s light glowed beside us, a bottle of wine chilled off to our side. “Fantasy Drake” combed his fingers through my hair, his lips skimmed my neck, his breath was warm in my ear as he whispered, “Give me a chance, Camille.” I let his hand go, and once again I found myself back to reality, seated at Andolini’s with Bianca, Gage and Drake. I was embarrassed, wondering if the other two could see what he’d been doing, but they were still chatting about nothing I was interested in. My eyes met Drake’s in disbelief. He returned a shy grin before turning his attention back to Gage, who was still talking about a baseball game.

  As the waitress cleared the table, Drake leaned over and quietly whispered directly into my ear, “Can you meet me tonight?”

  I caught myself starting to feel the same excitement that it looked like the others were feeling. I should have said no. I should have told him I needed to think about it, but the desire I felt for him wouldn’t let me. “Where?”

  “The pond, just to the south of your parent’s estate. Meet me at ten.”

  I nodded my silent consent, wondering if his image had been pushed to me to ensure I’d say yes. Despite the logical part of my brain screaming that I needed to get to know him better, the illogical, hormone-infested part began pumping adrenaline steadily through my body. I needed the gentle kick under the table from Bianca to remind me to block my thoughts! When lunch was over, it was clear that Bianca and Gage were ready to rekindle the romance that neither wanted to give up on a month ago. I was sure public displays while dating were way over the line, but Bianca left with Gage, and Drake followed me to my car.

  I sat in my car’s driver’s seat. Drake stood outside my door and motioned for me to roll the window down. As the window rolled into the door, I saw Drake look from left to right through the parking lot. He was satisfied that no eyes were watching, at least none he was concerned with. He reached his left hand through the window and gently pulled my face toward his. I thought his lips would seek mine out, but instead he moved his lips to my ear. In a heavy whisper, “Don’t be late tonight. If I don’t see you soon, I may combust.” His lips kissed my ear lobe gently before he pulled away. Tingles ripped through my whole body as I watched him walk to his car.

  I hated it when my girlfriends got overly infatuated with guys they hardly knew. I didn’t believe in, nor was I ever someone who wante
d to hear about love-at-first-sight: the whole idea was a crock of crap. There was something different about Drake, seriously different from anyone I’d dated, or for that matter – ever met before. The way he could push a fantasy to my consciousness and it be so vivid made my toes curl. I couldn’t imagine what would happen with the two of us alone, experimenting with this particular skill. I shook my head at myself as I looked in the rear view mirror; I knew I couldn’t wait to find out.

  I was still new to the area. I was on a street that was vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I would find Will and Gretchen’s house immediately. Normally Brent drove when we went anywhere. When Bianca and I left for the restaurant, she had been navigating. I felt like I was in the general vicinity of the estate, but I was equally certain I had taken the long way back. I told myself it didn’t matter: the long way back would give me a chance to think through everything – in reality it just got me more excited for tonight.

  Chapter 23

  I turned a corner and saw a classic Bentley along the side of the road. It looked like a 1970-something, beautifully polished, all black, with flared fenders. As I approached, I saw a metal jack hooked to the rear of the car, the trunk propped open, and an older woman waving for help. The woman was standing behind the car, her hair white and flowing with what little breeze the day offered. I slowed down and saw the sweat drenching her long floral print dress. This wasn’t a well-traveled road; if I didn’t help her, she’d have a heat stroke soon.

  I pulled up behind her car, leaving a couple of car lengths between us. Her relief spread wide on her face as she started walking toward me. “Car trouble?” I called through the window.

  She gave me an exhausted smile, “My tire is flat.” I reached in my purse to fish out my cell phone when I realized I hadn’t brought it with me. It was still at the house. It felt like an oven outside, so I considered driving her to Will and Gretchen’s house so she could call someone to change her tire. Just as I was about to offer, it hit me – I’d only seen Centaurs at their house. What would they think of me coming back with a sweaty old woman?

  Helping the lady would help me get my mind off my meeting with Drake tonight. I knew how to change a tire, and I didn’t want for this lady to be in the heat any longer than necessary. It had been months since I’d done something kind for a stranger. The last time I’d helped pay for someone’s groceries when they were short at the cash register.

  I walked past the old woman to the passenger side of the vehicle. As I looked at her tires, both were fully inflated. I started to walk toward the other side of the car when a man who had been crouching low to the ground leaped at me from near the front fender and put a white cloth over my nose and mouth. Before my mind registered what was happening, everything around me went dark.

  I came to and knew I was in the car’s trunk. I silently swore at myself for stopping to help. I knew better. When I didn’t have my phone with me, I should have offered to go to my house and call someone for her. What the hell was I thinking? Newer cars had glow-in-the-dark trunk releases installed; that hadn’t been a consideration thirty years ago when this one was new. I could hear the rhythm of the road: thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. It felt like I would suffocate. Sweat dripped off me; the air was hot and heavy. My head throbbed. I felt all around it to see if he’d given me a concussion after he knocked me out. Satisfied that I didn’t have a head injury and the splitting headache had to be a hangover from whatever substance was on the cloth he put on my face, I started kicking at the back seat to try to get air. It was futile. I couldn’t make the seat cave in, and if the driver heard me, he ignored my pleas for help.

  After I don’t know how many kicks, I remembered a television show where someone was locked in the trunk, and they’d messed with the wires and somehow shut off the car. I started pawing in the darkness looking for wires, a fuse panel, anything. I turned my body over to the other corner, still nearly suffocating from the heat and did the same panic search for something that would stop the car. My search was fruitless, and I felt myself losing consciousness. My last words were, “Mom, help me.” The darkness swallowed me a second time, and I believed the trunk had run out of air. I told myself I’d see her soon.

  I awoke again, still in the darkness. The car was driving slower; I could hear gravel under the tires. I assumed we were nearly to our destination, and I searched for a tire iron or anything I could use as a weapon. The car’s trunk was empty except for me. I cursed myself again for ever stopping to help the stranger. I’d seen enough television shows to know abductions rarely turn out well if the victim isn’t found in the first twelve hours. I didn’t know how long I’d been in the trunk but vowed silently not to be a victim. I wouldn’t go down without a fight. It didn’t matter that I was a giant sweat ball who desperately needed air – I’d be ready to spring as soon as the car stopped and the trunk opened.

  I felt my mind clouding again. I tried counting silently in my head – anything to keep my mind occupied so I wouldn’t lose consciousness again. I got to 326 when the car came to an abrupt stop. I slammed up against the car’s wheel well but refused to release a whimper. I heard the car shut off, two doors open and close, then footsteps walking away on the gravel. They were leaving me in the trunk! I knew I couldn’t hang on much longer. I started screaming with what was left of my energy, hoping a passerby might hear me. “HELP!! LET ME OUT!! HELP ME!! HELP!! LET ME OUT!! HELP ME!!” More silence was all that answered. I continued screaming for help until my voice refused and my body went limp.

  I felt air on my face and looked up into the darkening sky. The same man who had ambushed me stood looking down at me. I couldn’t focus on his face, my body was too busy sucking in the fresh air. He held out his hand to me; I refused to take it. I lay there in the trunk, immobile from fear, unwilling to move. When I didn’t accept his hand to climb out, his gruff voice said, “You don’t want out? Fine, sleep in there tonight!” He reached for the trunk’s lid and every muscle in my body flexed; my arms and legs flailed trying to get out before the coffin closed on me.

  My reaction pleased him; an evil grin emerged on his face as he held out his hand to me a second time. I looked at his hand but instead wrapped both of mine around the lip of the trunk while I swung my leg out onto the ground.

  I stood propped up against the car, taking in my surroundings. It was a fortress that stood in stark contrast to the environment around it. It was in a swamp – literally: tall grass, Cypress trees with their knees protruding from the water, and Spanish Moss everywhere. It was dusk, and the life all around us seemed to be waking up. Even in the diminishing light I could see bright blossoms from nearly every plant that lined the flowerbeds around the house. It looked like a welcoming plantation house, a large two story front porch, eight pillars across the front, big windows to catch the marsh breezes. It looked like something from Gone with the Wind, until I put my back to it and saw the swamp and foreboding trees that surrounded it. I saw a one lane bridge with enormous metal gates deterring visitors further down the lane.

  I looked for a second route onto the estate, but in the diminishing light, I didn’t find one. There was a beautiful garden suitable for an English castle to the rear of the house – I immediately thought of Hannah’s warning to me a few nights ago. A woman’s voice brought me back to the present when she said, “There’s no use looking for a way out. You’ll be here for a while.” It was the same old woman who had flagged me down for help earlier.

  I glared at her, “Who are you?”

  “Zandra Chiron. I’m your grandmother.”

  My eyes widened. Gretchen had mentioned her in a conversation with Will. I hadn’t been paying attention. “You kidnapped me?”

  “Your father was being difficult. He told me you would be escorted at all times, yet my driver and I found you without an escort. No Centauride of age should be left unguarded. You’re lucky we found you.”

 
I answered her but moved my glare to her driver, “He put me in the trunk! I could have died!”

  “Watch your tone, Camille. Aragon did what he thought was best.”

  “Putting me in the trunk and driving me. . . where the hell am I?!”

  “I’ll not warn you again. Watch your tone. You will not be the pampered princess at my estate. You are here for your protection and education. Aragon will show you to your room.” Without an apology, a thoughtful word or a kindness of any measure, she turned and walked away. I could see a vague resemblance to my mother, but she was so vile to me that I didn’t want to see any part of my mother in her features.

  The chauffer pointed toward the house. As we stepped into the foyer, I demanded, “Where’s the phone? I need to call my father!” Aragon neither responded nor acknowledged that I’d even spoken. I hated myself for it, but I stamped my foot like a child and screeched, “Where’s the phone?!”

  He put a firm grip on my shoulder and physically moved me to the stairs. I didn’t know where this man was from, but judging from his size, he had to be part Samoan or maybe a retired Sumo Wrestler. When I still refused to give up my ground, he picked me up like a sack of potatoes and carried me up the steps. When we reached the upstairs landing, he glared at me, as if daring me to continue to be difficult. I wasn’t.

  Aragon pointed at the last room on the right and followed me into it. I didn’t have any luggage, so I wasn’t certain what his purpose was. The room was dimly lit; the paint on the wall was old and peeling near the ceiling’s edge. I spotted a long forgotten spider web on the window. It looked like no one had been in this room for a very long time. Rather than continuing to stare at Aragon, I explored the room. It was the size of a large studio apartment, with four windows that had to be at least seven feet tall spaced evenly along the east wall overlooking the front of the property. There was a sitting area with sofa and winged chairs just inside the room. A bathroom was attached to the room that was not accessible from the hallway; a closet was full of dusty clothes that looked to be long forgotten. I dug through the drawers in the closet and found an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt that seemed not to have absorbed the dust I saw everywhere else. As I stepped out of the closet, I announced, “I need a shower.”