Dangerous Desire

16

SEVEN

EVA

“Are you insane? Do you have any idea what he’ll do when he sees what you’ve done to her?”

“Aye. He’ll give me what I want.”

“He’ll slit both our throats is what he’ll do! All those bruises! And the hair! Mon dieu, how could you?”

“She cut the hair herself.”

“Did she split her own lip, too? Did she strike herself in the face?”

“No. I did that.”

“Why? You said all you’d do is scare her!”

“She’s not intimidated by threats. I had to show her I meant business so she’d be easier to handle.”

“Like she said!”

“Aye. She’s smarter than I thought she’d be.” A short pause. “And much more beautiful.”

The voices are indistinct. Both male, one is high-pitched, borderline hysterical, the other low and controlled. Coming from somewhere nearby, they’re muffled by the drone of the ship’s engines. I try to lift my head, but find I can’t. My eyelids are so heavy I can barely crack them open.

My body is so hot. I’m on fire. I’m roasting alive.

I do not want to roast alive.

The hysterical voice says, “What was that sound?”

“I don’t know. Stay here. And you’ve had enough champagne.”

A whisper of footsteps on floorboards. A creak of a door hinge and a breath of fresh air on my face, then the steps fall silent.

When I feel a hand on my forehead, I groan in relief. It’s so cool. If only I could be that cool everywhere. My skin is engulfed in flames. I’m being turned on a spit over hot coals, like a suckling pig.

“s**t,” murmurs a voice. The low, controlled one. The one that belongs to the cool, soothing hand.

I move my legs restlessly under the covers—bed, I’m in bed—trying to get some relief from the flames. I try to speak, to ask for water, but my tongue is thick and I can’t seem to form coherent words. It’s only the feeble groan that passes my lips again.

The hand withdraws. The footsteps start up again, moving quickly, headed off to my right. The sound of running water is torture. More footsteps, then the mattress on my left dips with a heavy weight. A big hand slides under my head and cradles it. Something is pressed to my lips.

“Open your mouth.”

I obey on pure instinct and am rewarded by deliciously cold fluid sliding over my parched tongue. I sip and swallow, sip and swallow, until I can’t drink any more and turn my head away.

The big hand supporting my head rests it gently back against the pillow.

“Hot,” I whisper, hearing how weak my voice is. How cracked and weak.

Nothing happens for a moment. Then, all at once, the suffocating weight on top of me is stripped away. Cold air washes over my flushed skin. I sigh in relief. A shiver like pleasure passes through my body.

“Christ,” mutters the voice.

It no longer sounds quite so in control.

Then I’m dreaming or hallucinating. I don’t know which, but it feels very real. I’m running through a dense forest at twilight, dry leaves crunching underfoot, my heart pounding fast and terror chasing me. No—someone is chasing me. Someone who wants to hurt me is chasing me. They’re reaching out with clawed hands. They’ve almost got me—almost—

Naz! Help me! Where are you?

“Shh. Hush, bhrèagha. You’re okay. You have a fever.”

The voice is almost tender now. The hand comes back, cool and comforting, resting lightly on my forehead.

I want that coolness all over my skin. I need that soothing coolness everywhere.

The faintest tremor runs through the hand. “Stop writhing or I’ll pull the covers up.”

All the softness in the voice is replaced by strain. The words are spoken through a clenched jaw.

I make an incoherent pleading noise. I have to escape from this bonfire engulfing me. I need to get away or I’ll die.

The hand disappears again, but it’s back quickly, and this time it’s brought me a gift.

Something cold and wet presses against my fevered neck. A towel? A washcloth? I don’t care. Whatever it is, it’s pure heaven.

The cold cloth slides down my left arm. Heat evaporates behind it. I make soft sounds that mean yes please more and shiver again when the cloth slides down my ribs. It follows the dip of my waist, traces the rise of my hip bone, slips down the length of my thigh.

I lie still, feeling goose bumps rise all over my skin, the dull, constant drone of the ship’s engines not quite drowning out the erratic breathing close to my side.

Then everything goes black and I sleep.

The next time I open my eyes, the light has changed. It’s twilight, and everything is washed in shades of purple and gray. I lie still for a moment, heavy lidded and heavy limbed, just breathing into the gathering gloom. The gentle rocking motion of the ship lulls me. The room is quiet and still. My mind is sluggish, lazily sliding from one thought to the next, unable to hold on to anything long enough to disturb me.

At least I’m not burning up anymore. I’m warm, but not uncomfortably so. I must’ve been sweating, because the pillow beneath my head is damp, and so are the sheets under my naked body.

My heart skips a beat. I’m naked. Why am I naked?

I sit up so fast the room spins. I have to close my eyes and breathe slowly for a moment to get it to stop. When it does, I look down at myself. Thighs, belly, and breasts all bare. A baby-blue washcloth wadded up in a ball on the floor by my feet.