Ulrich laughs, lifting his bottle in salute at my attempt, as lame as it was. He turns his attention back to the simple pleasures of being a voyeur.
“You sticking around here?” I hint with a teasing smirk.
He looks back at me with one of his own. “No, I need to head back to Germany and make sure my mother is still alive and kicking. I’ll be on the next ferry back to Barcelona to catch a flight.”
“Ever the doting son.”
He chuckles. “At least she doesn’t ask where the money comes from. I owe her something for at least making sure I made it to adulthood alive.”
It’s a reminder that I have my own parents to think about. Soon they are having an anniversary party and expect me to be there. Marbella isn’t exactly my favorite place to go, despite how beautiful it is. But I am also the dutiful son.
In the meantime, my mind is back to focusing on something even more complicated in my life than my relationship with my adoptive parents.
Namely, what the hell I’m going to do with her.
Chapter Eight
Leira
My eyes snap open at the sound of him entering the cabin. Frankly, I’m surprised I managed to sleep at all. I knotted the sheets around my chest and they somehow stayed put. My right arm is almost numb from hanging in place for so long.
Right now, I’d cut out my tongue and give it to him just to be free. I’m weak, hungry, thirsty, tired…and angry!
That last emotion comes roaring back to life, overtaking the others.
There’s still some fight left in me after all.
When he enters the bedroom, I’m steeled and ready for battle once again.
He stares at me like the headache I obviously am to him. He has a bottle of water in his hands and something in a bag. Probably food.
Even though my mouth waters at just the thought of either, I force myself not to even look down at them, lest I give away how much I want—need either. The last thing I want to do is give him any more leverage.
He still has my clothes.
He looks down at the bottle of water, and I see him debating whether or not to use it as a tool to pry some words out of me. In the end, he just sighs and tosses it and the bag onto the bed. Two bags of chips slip out of the bag.
I stare down at it, wondering what the catch is.
“Go on. I don’t need you dying of thirst while I still have you handcuffed to my bed. Even though that would make it easier to be rid of you.”
I glare at him before grabbing the bottle of water. I quickly unscrew it and gulp down almost a third of it before coming up for air.
When I look at him again, he has his hands on his hips and a deep crease in his brow.
“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what to do with you.”
I just stare, giving nothing away, even though my heart is beating a mile a minute. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m hopeful that he’s just decided to free me, if only to be rid of the annoyance, or because he’s decided on a more final solution.
“I can’t very well let you go, knowing what you know, or at least having seen what you’ve seen. ”
I give him a pleading look and go through all the motions: placing my hand against my mouth and shaking my head, crossing my heart, making the sign of the cross. Anything to get him to see reason, or at least to see that I’m not a threat. After today, I’m never returning to that damn lagoon again—that’s if I even make it home so Dad can secure the chains on my life even tighter.
“You can drop that right now. We both know you saw what you shouldn’t have. And pardon me if I don’t exactly trust your word…so to speak.”
I sigh and fall back against the bed.
“I think I’ve settled on an idea. One that gives me at least a little reassurance. The question is, do you want out, or are you fine remaining handcuffed on my boat?”
I straighten up, giving him a direct look that tells him I’m ready to do whatever I need to do to convince him.
A sardonic smile appears on his face. “Don’t get too excited. You definitely aren’t going to like it.”
My confidence falters just a little bit. What does he have planned?
“Or…you could speak up now?” He offers.
My mind is still working around what this idea of his is. I’ve lasted this long without talking. Even the worst I can think of would be far preferable to staying here like this.
“Okay then, forever hold your peace, mi tesoro,” he says, twisting his lips in warning.
I stare at him, waiting for him to get to the damn point. Then I catch the way his eyes wander over me. Even though I’m covered by the sheets once again, I feel like he can see right through them.
I sit up and give him a hostile look, cutting right through whatever ideas he has going on in that head of his.
His eyes roll up to meet mine, and he begins to laugh. “Please, I have no aims at violating that sacred bond you and your body have with Christ our Lord and Savior, at least not physically.”
I don’t back down, not even remotely calmed by that reassurance, especially with that ambiguous qualifier at the end of it.
“I was thinking more along the lines of photographic insurance.”
Before I can even process that statement, his hand whips out as quick as a cobra. The next moment, the sheets are off me, and I’m once again naked.
By the time the panic sets in, thinking the absolute worst, he has his smartphone out and snaps a photo.
I screech out something, which is fortunately incoherent. But the tone certainly gets the point across.
“I told you, you wouldn’t like it,” he says, sounding like a smug teacher who has finally managed to quiet a disruptive schoolgirl.
But I’m more than disruptive now, I’m absolutely wild. I lash out with every free limb, bearing my teeth again as I growl in anger.
“I’m glad you find this so upsetting. It gives me certain guarantees that you won’t talk. Consider this my insurance against you finally deciding to open your mouth, especially to the wrong person,” he says, completely unaffected by my outrage.
He ignores me to do something on his phone.
Oh no!
Is he sending the photo to someone?
The shame and humiliation only add fire to my rage.
But there’s something else there as well. Something that sets a deep and forbidden part of me to boil. It’s the same sick thrill that ran through me the first time I dared to swim naked in that lagoon. Doing something so taboo, especially with the slight chance I might get caught?
And now there is a naked photo of me on this man’s phone, sent to God knows who. A picture of me with nothing but a simple gold cross adorning my neck, which makes it so much more sordid. The idea that other men might be looking at my naked body, getting off on it, probably even masturbating to it…
I clamp my thighs together, stemming the sudden heat that erupts between them, even as my head fills with dread.
He looks up from his phone, having finished whatever it was he did. “That was just me saving the photo in case you should somehow get a hold of my phone to try and delete it. Once I find a new hiding place, you have my complete assurance that I will delete all traces of the photo.”
I give him a look that tells him exactly what I think of his assurances.
“Mira, I understand your anger—being a woman of God and all.” His eyes are touched with humor now. “But I have my own interests to protect. And I think we can both agree that you have secrets of your own to protect? Perhaps if you told me what they were?”
I go perfectly neutral at that suggestion.
“As I thought.” He considers me for a moment. “The picture would be strictly a quid pro quo. You don’t tell on me, and I don’t send the photo to anyone. Unfortunately, you’ve come into my possession with no other bargaining chips. Of course, if my secret hiding place should become public…” He shakes the phone in his hand as a warning to me.
; I couldn’t give a flying fuck about his stupid hiding place or whatever it is he was hiding there. I lash out some more, not caring that I’m no longer covered, and he can see everything. Why should I? He’s already saved it on his phone for posterity.
I last long enough to realize that he’s just standing there, patiently waiting for me to tire out. That puts a stop to it, leaving me limp and breathing heavily.
“Good girl,” he says in a patronizing tone.
When he settles on the edge of the bed near me, I scoot back, drawing my legs and arms back up to hide as much as possible again mostly for my own sake.
“Now, I’m going to go get your clothes and uncuff you. If you try anything, that photo gets sent to places you don’t even want to think about. I’m pretty sure even the Pope himself might run across it.”
Once again, the shame, and worse, a sick thrill overcomes me. I’m not the most observant Catholic but just mentioning the Pope is enough to stir up that good old-fashioned guilt inside of me.
And isn’t it my own damn fault for swimming naked in the first place, right next to a convent of all things?
While he goes to retrieve my clothes, I wonder if they’re missing me on the island. By now, my absence has to have been noted, though I doubt they’ve raised the alarm yet. No need to make waves sooner than need be. But it won’t be long before it eventually finds its way to my father.
That’s when the shit will really hit the fan.
A rush of satisfaction rolls through me at that. Once this man lets me go, I’ll find a way to get word out about where I am. Then, he’ll be sorry he ever met me. Once my father is done with him, he’ll wish he’d never made an appearance at that lagoon.
Until then, I’ll behave myself.
He comes back with my clothes and shoes and tosses them on the bed. Before unlocking my cuffs, he raises one eyebrow in warning.
I roll my eyes in exasperation, nodding as though to let him know that his threat has been drilled into my head to the point of overkill.
He chuckles and reaches out to free my wrist. Once free, I shake the arm, trying to get some more feeling back into it.
“Have you ever been to Ibiza?” he asks as I reach for my underwear.
I think a moment, testing the question out for any traps before shaking my head no.
I can probably count the number of times I’ve ever even been outside of California, never mind outside the country. Dad was orphaned as a young child in Mexico, where he first made his fortune before immigrating to the United States. As far as I know, he’s never even been back to his home country.
After my mother and sister died, my father became obsessed with keeping the rest of his daughters safe, especially me as the youngest, and admittedly, the most rebellious. Plotting escapes from our large mansion, situated on an absurdly large swath of land, was one of my favorite pastimes when I was younger. The only reason I have a passport, which is currently sitting in a drawer in my room at the convent, was so Dad could send me to that island off the coast of Spain in the first place.
“Well, I suppose you’re in for quite the adventure.”
Chapter Nine
Enrique
She’s being far more cooperative than I expected her to be, especially considering what a wildcat she was when I first kidnapped her.
I’m certainly not foolish enough to let my guard down. The photo sitting on my phone is probably enough leverage to keep her in line. I still plan on keeping a firm eye on her.
When I see what she looks like when she’s finally dressed, it completely fucks with my head.
“Hostia puta,” I mutter, aptly resorting to the blasphemous curse that loosely translates to “holy fuck,” though she doesn’t seem to pick up on it.
There’s something confusingly erotic about seeing her dressed like this after only having viewed her without clothing. It vaguely reminds me of my younger days, eyeing my fellow Catholic schoolmates in their skirts falling firmly below the knee. That only left me wondering about the mysteries hidden above those hemlines that the nuns were so intent on hiding from public view. It didn’t take me long to find out.
The bigger problem now is that, even without the headdress on, she looks too much like a nun in these simple, conservative clothes. Frankly, being as naked as she was before would stand out less in Ibiza than this outfit.
“We’ll have to get you a change of clothes,” I say, frowning at her and raking my fingers through my hair. “Leave the veil off.”
She stares down at it in her hands and nods, placing it down on the bed.
Such easy acceptance of that command only further proves my theory that she’s no nun, or whatever those nuns-in-training are called.
Which only begs the question even more, who is she?
Maybe this time spent in Ibiza will get me some answers. We can start at a bar. A few sangrias should loosen those vocal cords.
“We’re going to have to swim in.” I smirk at her before adding, “I don’t know how easy it will be for you wearing clothes.”
She just glares at me.
I laugh as I direct her out first. I’m not stupid enough to turn my back on her now that she’s free.
She squints her eyes against the afternoon sun, looking around to get a better idea of where she is. The beach is about a hundred meters away.
“Do you think you can make it?”
Her brow wrinkles enough for me to worry, but she turns to me with that stubborn chin of hers defiantly lifted. This one is too full of confidence for her own good. I know she can swim based on what I saw in the lagoon. But I wasn’t entirely joking about her being able to swim in these clothes of hers.
“After you,” I say, waving down toward the water.
She takes one deep breath, whether for courage or in preparation for swimming, I’m not sure. Then, she makes a perfect dive into the deep blue water.
I watch her for a moment, just to make sure she doesn’t sink. I follower her form as it glides just beneath the surface until she comes up for air.
Satisfied that she is probably okay, I dive in after her. I easily pass her since I’m in nothing but a pair of jeans, canvas sneakers, and a t-shirt. On Ibiza, the only things I need are my wallet, phone (waterproof), and my keys.
I’m about fifty meters out when I sense the problem. I stop swimming to turn around and watch her. She was swimming underwater, so I wait for her head to pop up for air. After a moment, with no sign of her, my heart seizes in panic.
Just as I’m about to sink under the surface to blindly seek her out, her head pops up as she desperately gasps for air, before sinking again too soon.
“Joder!” I curse and quickly swim back to her.
I nearly crash into her as she struggles to break the surface again. Lifting her up, I give her a chance to finish coughing up water and gulp some air down before I swim her to the shore, the same way I did earlier in the lagoon. We land in a pile on the edge of the beach where the water laps up against our legs, hers heavily draped in thick, soaking cloth.
“I should have let you drown. It would have saved me the trouble,” I mutter to myself in Spanish in between breaths.
She punches me in the arm. Hard.
I don’t know if I’m more surprised by the punch or that she has enough strength left to manage it.
Did she understand what I said? If she was from the convent, it would make sense, as most of the nuns there speak Spanish from what I remember. So why pick English when I gave her a choice?
Before I can let that brew in my head further, she musters up just enough energy to rise slightly and punch me in the chest. Hard.
Maybe she’s just pissed the hell off, which needs no translation.
Another punch follows quickly after that one. She’s obviously exhausted so this one is weaker, but her resolve keeps the momentum going, with punch after punch pummeling my chest.
I would laugh if I wasn’t so damn pissed off.
Yes, she has every right to gi
ve me this treatment considering what I’ve done so far. But the last thing I intend to do, especially now that she’s free, is give her the idea that I’m the kind of man who will take what he very much deserves.
“Ya basta!”
I grab both wrists and force her back onto the sand, pinning them up by her head. That only sets her legs in motion. I wisely twist out of the way of that rampage. The heavy skirt of her dress, weighted down with seawater, makes the attempt almost futile, giving me enough of a chance to force my body on top of her, to pin those in place as well.
“You keep fighting me like this, and I’ll be a hell of a lot harder on you than I’ve been.”
She just silently snarls at me like a feral cat who has lost its meow. Her beautiful brown eyes are wide with anger. Her full lips are stretched to show off perfect teeth. The chin of her heart-shaped face juts out, round and adorable.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
Without thinking, I lower my head to capture her silent roar with my mouth. It elicits a small cry of surprise, then a moan. At first, it’s one of protest, her body carrying the rest of the tune as she squirms underneath me.
But my mouth is a powerful persuader. The fight in her transitions to silent curiosity as she gives her body a rest and focuses all her energy on her mouth. When my lips gently pry hers apart, she allows it without protest. My tongue slips past the salty water on her lips, into the heat of her mouth.
I find her tongue, and she flinches in surprise underneath me. I press in even closer. Even through the thick, chaste cloth of her dress and blouse, I can feel the accelerated beat of her heart. It matches the rhythm of my own, fast and furious.
Any other woman, I’d take right now, here on this isolated beach. But this one, she’s still a mystery to me. And mysteries are dangerous, especially when you reveal them.
I learned that lesson twenty years ago.
Chapter Ten
Spanish Pirate: A BWWM International Legacies Romance Page 5