Stolen Life

by Charmaine Pauls

  He smiles as if my questions amuse him. “As often as I can.”

  I fold my palms around the cup and let the warmth seep into my skin. “What about when you’re not here?”

  “What about it?” he asks, putting slices of cheese and a hard-boiled egg onto my plate.

  “Where do we go?”

  He stills with his hand mid-way in the air. It’s only minutely before he takes the pot of honey. He doesn’t look at me when he replies. “You stay here.”

  My heart slows a beat before quickening with anger. “Forever?”

  His answer is flat. “Yes.”

  My jaw drops. He must be joking. The lodge is paradise, but I can’t stay in this room for the rest of my life.

  Regarding me from under his lashes, he says in an even tone, “Eat.”

  Too angry, I’m no longer hungry.

  He watches me, measuring me, as he bites into a bread roll. “We’ll go to town after breakfast to fit you out.”

  “Fit me out?”

  He reaches for the sugar like he hasn’t noticed how furious I am with the helpless anger twisting me up inside. I don’t know what I expected, maybe too much after the intense way he took me last night. Maybe I’ve read too much into the sex. He warned me not to harbor silly hopes, yet my heart has gone and done that anyway.

  “Not hungry?” he asks, looking at my untouched food.

  “No,” I say rudely.

  He finishes off the last bite on his plate and pushes to his feet. “In that case, let’s go.”

  Spitefulness makes me want to reject his offer to fit me out, but I can’t deny the fact that I need clothes or turn down an opportunity to visit the town. I need as much information as I can get, because information is power. Will the town be the same as I remember it? It has been eight years since I’ve been in Vic Falls. I was sixteen when my parents brought me here.

  He drives us back to the main building where he goes in search of Shona. He finds her in the reception hall, polishing the furniture.

  “I’m taking Cas to town,” he says. “We’ll be back after lunch, so don’t worry to keep food for us.”

  “Um, Ian,” I say when he turns to leave.

  He pauses and regards me with a raised brow.

  “The pill.” I clear my throat. “Will we find a pharmacy in town or did you have to send for it from elsewhere?”

  Shona stops polishing and gives him a funny look.

  He only stares at me.

  Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it in front of his staff, but I needed to ask before we leave in case it had been delivered to the main building already.

  “Come,” he says after a beat, a command he likes to give.

  Ignoring the weirdness in the atmosphere, I go after him lest he changes his mind about going to town.

  The ride is bumpy until the turnoff that goes to the town, but from there we’re on a tarmac road. The property is fenced with guards stationed at the gates. Acacia and Msasa trees frame the high fences on either side of the road. The mesh is electrified, designed to keep the animals in and trespassers out. Poaching is always a problem, especially when rhino horns sell for thousands of dollars per gram. It also makes it difficult for a prisoner locked inside to escape.

  The drive takes thirty minutes. By the time he pulls into town, the sun is hot, and the clothes are long since dry on my body. I peel out of his jacket and dump it on the backseat. Town hasn’t changed much. Shops line the main street, their merchandise displayed on the pavements. Dust coats the windows and the goods. We pass an electronics and thrift store and stop in front of a general store with mannequins dressed in white Nile cotton standing guard next to the door.

  Ian parks and cuts the engine. “There isn’t much in town, I’m afraid, but this should see you through until we can put in an internet order for something more befitting of your beautiful body.”

  I let the compliment slide. I’m not interested in the clothes inside the store. My attention is fixed on the faded pharmacy sign two shops down.

  By the time he catches up with me, I’m already halfway down the pavement.

  “Hey.” He locks a hand around my wrist, holding me back. “Don’t wander off like that on your own. It’s not safe for a woman like you alone.”

  I free my arm from his hold and take off the sunglasses. Looking him in the eye, I secure the glasses over the visor of the cap. “You were right behind me.”

  He lowers his head, putting our mouths close. “Next time, wait for me.”

  Even that small move makes my breath catch on a hitch. It makes me want to go on tiptoes and take the kiss he’s teasing me with. For a moment, I think he may do it, kiss me right here in the street, but he pulls away. Disappointment cools the heat under my skin. I wanted him to be the kind of man who kisses me like we’re the only people here, who doesn’t give a damn about who’s watching. I want a man who isn’t scared to show his affection, a man like my father who always held my mother’s hand in the street. That’s why they’re called fantasies. They’re not supposed to be real. More importantly, I shouldn’t harbor fantasies about my kidnapper.

  I’m about to resume my walk when he grabs my wrist and tugs me behind him into a side street. My back hits the wall before I can get out a word. I barely have time to gasp before his lips close over mine.

  The kiss is searing, burning me all the way to my core. Liquid heat gathers between my thighs from the mere swipe of his tongue over my lips. I sag in surprise and delight, submitting to the caress that tortures me with an aching throb between my legs. He drags a palm up under my T-shirt, cupping my naked breast. I nearly come when he plays with my nipple. I don’t need more than a little pressure. Wrapping a leg around his ass, I arch my hips and grind myself against the erection straining under his jeans. He lets me find my pleasure, using him in a quiet alley while he keeps perfect control.

  My climax hits hard and fast. It takes off the edge but fades quickly, leaving me wanting. More. I need so much more from him. I keep my eyes open to take in his beautiful face as I try to catch my breath. He’s watching me, drinking in my expression, but he’s also glancing at the top and end of the street, making sure we’re alone. Safe. He kept his control so I could lose mine.

  I don’t know if I should be ecstatic or disappointed that he is who I want him to be. My knees buckle a little under the weight of the knowledge that sinks with his kiss into my heart. Ian is more than my fantasy. He’s my dream man come true.

  When he pulls away, carefully testing my balance after letting my leg down, my lips tingle and the skin on my chin burns from his stubble. Disoriented and taken aback by what just happened, I don’t trust my legs to carry my weight. I lean against the wall for purchase as he straightens my T-shirt. I’ve all but forgotten about my sore ankle.

  Framing my face, he brushes strands of hair from my temples with this thumbs. “I can’t let my guard down here, not even for a second. Understand?”

  I do. The town can be dangerous. With my blond hair, I stand out. I’m a target for kidnapping and rape. Just like poaching, human trafficking is a reality.

  “You have to stay at my side, baby doll.”

  I nod. I’m not ignorant or naïve. He just sometimes makes me forget about everything I should remember. He has the magic ability to make me think with my heart instead of my head, and that scares me more than being his prisoner. A prisoner always has the hope of escaping, but once I’ve given my heart it’ll be forever. I’m my father’s daughter. When he fell in love with my mom, she rejected him at first. He said he fought as hard for her as he did because he knew there would never be another. It was either her or live alone for the rest of his life.

  Ian adjusts his hard-on and shoots another glance toward the road before taking my hand.

  I hold back. “What about you?” I’m dying to trace the outline of the broad head of his cock with my tongue. He’s perfect in every way, but his manhood is the most perfect part of him. He’s straight and beautifully
proportioned, just long enough not to make me gag and thick enough to stretch me deliciously without hurting.

  His lips tilt in the corner. “I’m good.”

  He doesn’t seem to mind that I’ve just come in my panties at the cost of him suffering from blue balls.

  We carry on down the main street like what took place in the alley hasn’t happened, but the swell of his chest is a little more pronounced, as if he’s proud of making me come. Instead of letting him drag me inside the general store, I carry on toward the pharmacy.

  A bell chimes when I push open the door. The odors of eucalyptus and valerian hang in the small space. Shelves line the walls from the floor to the ceiling. The produce vary from hair oil and straighteners to insect repellents. Most of the boxes are covered in dust, looking like they’ve expired a couple of years ago. Jars full of dried herbs stand on the counter. The one next to the cash register is filled with jelly worms that are sold at ten cents per piece.

  A man wearing a white, short-sleeved, crimplene shirt with square pockets on both sides looks up from a cash register book. His round eyes widen behind his black-rimmed glasses.

  “Can I help you?” he asks, glancing between Ian and me.

  I lean in. “I’d like the morning-after pill, please.”

  He shoots an uncertain look at Ian. I peer over my shoulder to gauge the reason for the man’s reaction, but Ian is standing stoically with his arms crossed.

  The man clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him.

  He shuffles his feet. “I’m afraid we don’t stock that.”

  Shit. “Do you know where else I can try?”

  “Uh.” He pushes his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “Nowhere around here.”

  I turn back to Ian. “You have a clinic on your property.”

  “They administer the birth control shot,” he says.

  “Surely they must have some damn morning-after pills in case of an emergency.”

  His tone is firm. “No.”

  I refuse to give up. “You said you flew in medicine. You got my chronic medication from Johannesburg.”

  “That took time.”

  I narrow my eyes. “How much time?”

  “Long enough not to matter any longer by the time it arrives,” he says with meaning.

  The endorphins from my orgasm vanish and my happy glow with them. “When exactly did you order my heart medication? You kidnapped me the day after I called you. If it takes as long as you claim, you planned on bringing me here long before you kidnapped me.” I cross my arms, mirroring his stance. “Either that or you’re lying about how long it takes to fly in the pills.”

  Despite the pharmacist, who’s nervously following our conversation, Ian maintains his calm. “Told you, baby doll, I wanted to see you again, and I like to be prepared.”

  No. When he dropped me off after our night at the Kloof, he was saying goodbye. He’s lying, but I can’t fathom why. He can’t seriously hope I’ll fall pregnant. Most guys run a mile at the mere thought that a girl may try to catch them. He won’t sabotage himself like that.

  He drops his arms, taking a more relaxed stance as he intertwines our fingers. “Don’t worry about it. What’s the chances of anything happening?”

  I think about it. He’s right. One broken condom doesn’t mean I’ll fall pregnant. Plenty of women try for years to fall pregnant after they go off the pill. Still, I don’t like leaving it to chance.

  “Come on.” He pulls me to the door. “I don’t think Anesu wants to hear all of this.”

  He’s right again. The poor man doesn’t know where to look.

  “Thanks,” I say in a poor effort of politeness to make up for my indiscretion as Ian pushes me back into the street.

  It eats at me all the way to the general store and while Ian takes jeans and tank tops from the shelves and pushes the clothes into my arms to try on. I use a cubicle with a curtain at the back of the store and find a couple of jeans and a pair of shorts that more or less fit. I don’t bother to try on the tank tops. The fabric has enough stretch to cover a few sizes.

  The underwear section is sadly lacking. While I go for a couple of cotton panties, Ian grabs a handful of slutty red and black lace thongs with matching bras. I don’t argue, because what’s the point? He’s not going to listen if I tell him to put them back.

  Armed with new clothes, we make our way back to the Jeep. The sun is high. My stomach rumbles, reminding me I’ve skipped breakfast.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  Ian checks his watch. “Almost noon.” He gives me an evil grin. “Hungry?”

  I don’t reply. Lifting my chin, I walk ahead of him.

  His chuckle follows me down the pavement. “Someone should’ve eaten her breakfast.”

  Ah. He’s enjoying my discomfort now. It’s a lesson in obedience, teaching me to eat when he gives the order. I scoff.

  He gets my door and helps me into the Jeep, all the while wearing that I-told-you-so smirk on his wickedly handsome face. Ignoring him, I put on the sunglasses.

  After hopping in, he takes a banana from the glove compartment and places it on my lap. He doesn’t say anything to rub it in, but his smile remains as he starts the engine. Too hungry to be proud and defiant, I peel the banana and eat it in a few big bites.

  Instead of heading back to the lodge, he heads in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, remembering he told Shona we won’t be home for lunch.

  He switches gears. “Lunch.”

  I give up on questioning him. Anyway, the noise of the engine makes it difficult to talk. I discard the banana peel in a trash bag he keeps handy and sit back.

  After a ten-minute drive, he turns into the gates of the Elephant Hills hotel. The place used to be popular when tourism was still booming. In recent years, most of the tourism has moved to the Zambian side. The big hotel building has kept its luxurious reputation and still manages to attract the odd, adventurous tourist. We park in the circular driveway where a valet takes the key to park the Jeep.

  The white walls of the lobby are decorated with plaster images of elephants, their tusks painted gold. The marble floor is shiny, reflecting the birds-of-paradise flower decorations framing the door. An archway gives access to a dining room with windows overlooking the falls. It’s spectacular.

  Sucking in a breath, I make my way over. I’ve seen this as a teenager, but the power of the water gushing over the ravine and the rainbow it catches in a semi-circle can never grow old.

  “Like it?” Ian asks softly in my ear.

  The intake of my breath takes a different turn. I shiver as his stubble grazes over my neck. This deserves the truth. “I love it.” Meaning both the vista and what his touch does to me.

  “Good.” He takes my arm and leads me to a table by the window from where we have the full view. When the waiter has seated me, Ian says, “I recommend the porcini gnocchi. It’s delicious.”

  Too hungry to waste time looking at the menu, I nod at the waiter. “I’ll take that, thanks.”

  Ian orders the grilled sole.

  The double-pane glass reduces the noise of the crashing water. Outside, it’s a loud gush in your ears. The spray mists over your face, and when you stand on the grid running over the edge of the falls and look down, you get the most terrifying rush of vertigo and fear. The falls always make me realize how vulnerable we humans are, how helpless against the onslaught of a natural disaster like a landslide or flooding.

  Resting my hand on my chin, I say, “I love this place.”

  He smiles. The gesture lights up his whole face, making him even more gorgeous with his rebelliously long hair and shaved half at the bottom. “This place as in the hotel or the surroundings in general?”

  “Both.” The memories are sweet, those of my parents and I eating macadamia nuts while adventurous boys dive from the lower chutes into the churning water to impress me. “My parents brought me here to show me the Zimbabwe ruins.
Legend says it was the dwelling of the Queen of Sheba, and the mystery fascinated me to no end. It was my sixteenth birthday gift. We didn’t stay here though. We stayed in one of the cheaper B&Bs, but we had high tea here.”

  He listens intently, his attention not focused on his phone or what he’s going to say next, but on every word I care to share. He drinks it up like a thirsty person, and when I stop talking he waits quietly for more.

  “Not long after that, the drought started and lasted for more than two years,” I continue. “That holiday is my last good memory of our family together. Times were tough after that. By the time I was finished with high school, we’d lost the farm.”

  He reaches under the table and takes my hand. “Is that why you didn’t go to university?”

  “Yep. We didn’t have the money, and my grades weren’t good enough to get a loan, let alone a bursary, so I started working at the bank.”

  He hooks his pinky over mine. “Did you enjoy your job?”

  “Not really, but it paid the rent. I meant to save to go to college and study something less expensive but practical like for a beautician or secretary, but with the medical bills, I kept on running out of money, always a little bit into the red until all the little bits rolled together. Six years down the line, I could hardly afford my rent.”

  “What about your parents? Where did they go after giving up the farm?”

  I sigh at the memory. “They moved in with my mom’s sister and her family in Brits. My aunt had a small plot. My dad tried to keep busy by taking care of the vegetable garden and helping my aunt oversee the building of their new house on the property while my mom took over the cooking to make up for living there for free. My aunt is a difficult person though, and I knew they weren’t happy.”

  I don’t know why I’m telling him this, only that he’s a good listener and easy to talk to. “They died in a car accident on their way to visit me in Rustenburg. A truck driver lost control and pushed them off the road.”

  His words are sincere without sounding pitiful. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. They were great people, good parents. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss them.”