Betrayed

by Wodke Hawkinson

  “Mind if I join you?” Her tone was playful, yet provocative.

  “I was hoping you would,” he admitted, pulling the covers aside so she could lie next to him. His heart thudded as he looked up at her. She slid out of her shirt as she entered his bed, feeling Lance’s eyes feast on her naked body.

  He threw the blankets over them both, and pulled her close. Lance reveled in the feel of her; her warm silky skin, her soft curves. He ran his hands down her sides, over her hips. She positioned herself on top of him and lowered her mouth to his. Her lips parted and she sought his tongue with hers, tasting him lightly, as if savoring a new and delightful delicacy. His response was immediate, stunning in its intensity. He cupped her face tenderly and deepened their contact, consumed by need.

  “Lance,” she whispered between kisses. “I want you. I want you so badly.”

  “Oh, Brooklyn, I want you too.” Desire lent an almost painful tone to his voice, a tone that sent molten thrills drizzling inside her.

  Slightly breathless, she raised off him and began to unbutton his shirt. He helped her while still keeping one arm around her waist. Urgency filled him and he slipped from beneath the covers and stood, yanking at buttons and zippers. Soon his clothes were on the floor beside the bed and he was back under the blankets beside her, his body radiating heat.

  Brook began trailing kisses down his neck and chest. He buried his fingers in her hair. Her hands traveled over his thighs and abdomen. When her lips reached his navel, he thought he would explode. He groaned as she ran her hand, feather soft, over his erection.

  Then she just stopped, held still as stone for a moment. It was as if ice water had been thrown in her face. Her yearning for Lance, the wild abandon she'd felt only seconds before, had been replaced with sudden, crippling fear. Her flesh crawled the tiniest bit.

  “Brooklyn?”

  "It feels wrong," she whispered. "I can't do this. They ruined me."

  "No." Lance shook his head slightly, kept his voice low and soothing. "You're not ruined."

  “But, what if I have a disease?” she cried. “What if they infected me with something?”

  “Oh, honey, I don't think you do. And besides, I’m willing to take my chances.”

  She rolled away and lay stiffly beside him, her change of heart filling the room with a dark feeling of disappointment and failure.

  “I can’t,” she said flatly. “I’m sorry.” She pulled away and rolled over.

  “Its okay, Brooklyn.” Lance’s voice was gentle as he fought back the heat of passion. He wanted to reach for her, but didn’t know if he should. She began to cry softly. He doubted the wisdom of his action, but nevertheless pulled her to his side, facing away from him. She didn’t resist. “Brooklyn, it’s alright. We don’t have to make love. It's enough just having you near me.”

  She yielded and rolled over, burying her face in his shoulder. He wrapped her in his arms and held her.

  “Lance, I …”

  “Sshh,” he said, his deep voice comforting her. “It’s okay. We’ll just sleep. It’s okay, honey.” His body thrummed with unquenched desire, but he slowed his breathing and compelled himself to relax. The feel of her next to him was all he needed for the moment. The rest could wait.

  She hugged him closer and her tears subsided. They didn’t speak; there was nothing to say that would change anything. He smoothed her hair back from her temple, and kept repeating the soothing touch until her body relaxed. Before long they drifted into sleep, listening to the wind against the sturdy walls of the cabin and the ticking of the old wind-up clock in the adjoining room.

  Brook dreamed that night of stabbing Jase with a jagged piece of glass, and cutting her own hands to bloody ribbons in the process. If I could hurt them like I wish I could, it would hurt me too. Though her dream thoughts were hazy, that much was clear.

  Chapter 43

  The next morning, Lance woke to the warmth of Brook’s lips on his, the feel of her nude body pressed against him. Still sleepy, he responded as any healthy male would. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. This time, she didn’t retreat. Together they sank into the heat and urgency of their coupling. Their hands and mouths eagerly sought out the peaks and valleys of their yearning bodies. Passion rose to a fever; ripe, succulent, heady. The moment before penetration, Brook hesitated. They paused on the precipice of surrender and Lance thought for a second she would retreat. But she didn’t. She only sighed before lowering herself onto him.

  The sensation made him reel and he grasped her hips to hold her steady, savoring the feel of her flesh enclosing him. Brook gasped as he filled her, the pleasure traveling through her in waves. The clean spicy scent of his skin, the heat of his body, and the sensuous feel of his hands drove her senses past the threshold of her fears and doubts. They made love without haste, lingering over every touch, prolonging each sensuous move.

  Afterward, Brook waited for her breathing to calm, lying against Lance’s heaving chest, and wondered how she was able to enjoy this remarkable experience in light of all she had been through. Then it came to her as an insight. The act of tenderness she and Lance had just culminated was not the same thing as the forced attacks she had endured at the hands of Jase and his gang. It would be like trying to compare a panicked escape from a prison camp to a peaceful stroll on the beach. They weren’t even in the same category. You might use the same muscles and limbs, but other than that, there was no common ground. Relief flooded her at the realization that her ordeal did not need to define the rest of her life. It didn’t need to determine who she was or what she chose to do. Not if she didn’t want it to. Elation swelled within her, buoying her spirit. She was practical enough to know there would be setbacks, times when the horror of those days would infect the present, but she would deal with them when they came. For now, she would take the joy she was allowed in this moment. She ran her hand over Lance’s broad chest, touching him with wonder, as if to make sure he was real.

  Lance entertained no such notions as he rested beneath her. The brutality she had endured never crossed his mind in the afterglow of their intimacy. He didn’t want it to ever end, and he almost spoke his thoughts. Stay with me. Stay with me always. With an effort, he bit back his words, knowing they would only divide her heart. Even the idea of her eventual departure filled him with sadness, but he pushed it away. This wasn't the time, not in this tender moment.

  I’ll just take one day at a time, appreciate each precious hour I’m given with her, he told himself. He knew all too well how quickly happiness can be stolen away and replaced by sorrow. In the blink of an eye, my friend, in the blink of an eye. There are never any guarantees in this life. He closed his eyes and stroked her hair. My sweet Brooklyn.

  Later, in the privacy of the bathroom, Brook stared in the mirror, as if studying her reflection could give her the answers she sought. Confusion threatened to pull her apart. How could she be with Lance when she was married? What about Clark?

  Crying softly, she went back and forth between guilt and desire, until she finally made a decision. There was absolutely nothing she could do about Clark at this time. She wasn’t sure what her feelings for him were anymore. But her feelings for Lance were abundantly clear and Lance was here.

  For the present time, she’d live her life in the here and now. Brook dried her eyes, straightened her hair, and exited the room with a slightly lighter heart.

  Chapter 44

  At Brook’s request, Lance handed her a damp rag.

  “I’d just like to help out around here a little more,” she explained as she approached the fireplace with its nooks and crannies to do some dusting.

  “You don’t have to,” Lance said. “But you are certainly welcome to, if you want.”

  She took down a small airplane sculpture and began wiping it. It was like no airplane she had ever seen. It had wooden wings, gears attached to the propeller, and smokestacks!

  “I’m so intrigued by your work,” she told Lance. “T
hese sculptures are just amazing. I can’t bring myself to believe an airplane like this could really fly!”

  Lance smiled from the kitchen area where he was cleaning and oiling his tools. “No, it couldn’t,” he agreed. “It’s a fantastical thing. There was an old song called ‘Steam Powered Airplane’ that inspired me on that particular project.”

  Brook wiped the light layer of dust from the nook and replaced the piece. Then she removed from another space an old-fashioned wooden case with metal pieces protruding from slots. Upon inspection, these turned out to be USB memory sticks for a computer, but they looked as if they belonged in a past century. Each one was different and unique, yet shared a similar old-fashioned look. Decorated with miniature brass pipes, tiny gears, and miniscule gauges, they had a 19th century appearance which created a sense of dissonance. Modern technology that looked antique!

  “I use those when I go to the library. Problem with not having a computer here at home is I can’t really access the data. Still, I’ve stored a lot of my research on those. It saves me time.”

  “Research?” Brook carefully dusted the small gadgets and replaced them in their wooden case.

  “Nothing horribly academic, I’m afraid.” Lance placed the tools in a wooden tote and turned to face her. “Just things I’m interested in or information I need to make things work around here.”

  Brook admired the other items. A small model of a futuristically-shaped metal house perched on a stem that reminded her for some reason of a submarine, but a very old one. A toy robot made of metal and wood with a tiny compass for a face. Brook inspected several devices of unknown purpose that were made of brass fittings and gears and appeared as if they would work, if she could only figure out their functions. There was even an odd metal steampunk goat, its joints similar to that of the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. She found the entire collection delightful and handled them with care.

  Lance ascended the ladder to the loft and returned with clean sheets and an extra pillow.

  “I thought we’d put the daybed back under the window,” he said, watching Brook carefully. Her response would tell him if that morning’s lovemaking was just a fluke or if it signaled a new beginning for them.

  “Good idea,” she said, throwing him a sultry look. “I don’t think I’ll be using it much anymore. Do you?”

  “Not if I have my way.” Lance laid the items on the bed and took her in his arms. “Unless we just get so involved we can’t wait until we get into the other room. Then it might come in handy.”

  Which is exactly what happened at that very moment.

  That evening after supper, Lance and Brook were sitting in front of the fireplace reading. The gentle strains of Neil Young’s Harvest Moon came from the radio. Brook felt Lance’s eyes on her like a caress. He laid his book aside, stood in front of her, and extended his hand.

  “Dance with me?”

  She looked up into his expressive brown eyes and placed her hand in his. Oh! I wonder if I still know how; it’s been so long. He pulled her gently to her feet as she tossed her book onto the chair. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they began to move slowly back and forth.

  Come a little bit closer

  Hear what I have to say

  Lance placed his mouth close to Brook’s ear and sang along in a low quiet voice. He had a beautiful voice, and she felt a thrill pass through her.

  Just like children sleeping

  We could dream this night away

  He kissed her neck softly and she ran her hands over his broad muscular back. She became aware of her pulse as it accelerated.

  “Brooklyn,” he murmured. “I’ve got a bit of a problem.” They swayed to the music, bodies pressed together.

  “What is it?” she asked softly, burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling his clean spicy scent. Her heart swelled in her chest like a flower opening into bloom.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  His words caused a tender cascade of sensations inside her. Her breath caught in her throat. In the heat of the closeness they shared at that instant, she could have told him she felt the same. Or she could have promised him body and soul, and meant every word. Or she could have confessed that she wanted him with an intensity that defied explanation. But she said none of these things for he placed a gentle finger over her mouth, stopping her. Then, he took his finger away and replaced it with his lips.

  Lance didn’t know what Brook might have said. He was afraid to know. So, he silenced her with a kiss. He only needed, at that moment, for her to know his heart. He didn’t need, just yet, to know hers.

  Because I’m still in love with you

  I want to see you dance again

  Still kissing, they moved slowly across the floor. Outside the curtained doorway, Lance swept Brook into his arms. She held the curtain aside and they entered the bedroom.

  Undressing slowly, each explored the other with tender touch and yearning gaze. Deep into the night, flesh joined to cherished flesh and they strained together in love’s most private dance.

  Chapter 45

  The next morning as Brook sat with Lance in his workroom, she laid her pencil on her pad and cleared her throat. He looked up from his project to find her staring at him.

  “Something is really bothering me,” she said.

  He waited.

  “As I write, I keep remembering things. Jase and his gang mentioned my car being right where it was supposed to be.” Brook frowned. “What do you make of that?”

  “I don’t know, Brooklyn. I guess it could mean a number of things. Maybe they had someone cruising around, looking for a good vehicle to take. Maybe the spotter saw your car and started following you, then called them with the location when you stopped. Or maybe someone knew you were going to that exact spot and tipped them off ahead of time.”

  “Exactly,” she said, feeling as though she were venturing into fearful territory. “And as far as I know, the only person who knew where I was going…was Clark.”

  Lance looked thoughtful but said nothing.

  “But that’s impossible.” She chewed on the end of the pencil for a second. “Isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know the man, Brooklyn.” Lance’s tone was steady, noncommittal. “You’d be in a better position to judge that.”

  “Maybe the shock of what I went through has made my memory unreliable. But that’s what I thought I heard. When you combine that with the fact that Benny had a key…”

  “It isn’t logical. I mean, you and your husband have plenty of money. From your description of him, he doesn’t sound like a criminal.” Lance bent over his project once again as he talked. “Plus, I can’t believe he’d want anything bad to happen to you. He’d have to be insane.”

  “You’re right; it’s ridiculous.” Brook shook her head and picked up the pencil once again.

  “I never said it was ridiculous. I just said the man would have to be insane to put you at risk in any way.”

  Brook doodled on her paper. “My perceptions could be a little off, I guess. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this right now. When I first sat down, I was actually planning to try and write a poem.”

  Lance looked up at her and wondered why she changed her mind about following this line of thought. He had wanted to explore the subject a little further, but if she didn’t feel the same, then he wouldn’t pursue it. He let the topic slide away. “A poem? About what?”

  “This place.” She smiled at him. “The forest, the cabin, the snow…I don’t know. Just this wonderful place.”

  “I admire people who can write poetry. I feel poetic sometimes, but could never get the feeling into words.”

  “I don’t know if I can either,” she replied. “But I’m going to try.”

  “While you’re doing that, I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Would you like some?” Lance stood.

  “Sure, thanks,” she said, intent on the page in front of her. Lance stepped close to her on his way to the kit
chen and grabbed her empty cup. He kissed the top of her head and lingered beside her, gazing over her shoulder at the curve of her cheek. She should just describe herself if she wants to create a beautiful poem.

  Chapter 46

  “How about some music while we eat?” Lance asked one evening as they prepared to sit down to supper. He turned on the radio. The reception was bad, but through a web of static they heard the familiar strains of Christmas music.

  “It’s Christmastime already? I didn’t realize. I love Christmas songs, especially the older ones.” She strained to hear the music. “What is the date, anyway?”

  “The date?” Lance looked surprised but then shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should have realized you’d have no idea of the date. It’s December 18th. I keep a small calendar taped to the inside of the workshop door of the cabinet closest to my bedroom if you ever need it. I’m sorry Brook, I should have kept you informed, it’s just that time doesn’t mean that much to me, including the date.”

  Brook smiled softly, “It’s okay, Lance. I never thought about the date until now. It’s fine.

  Lance raised his shoulders in an apologetic shrug and turned back to the radio. He twiddled with the radio knob, but finessing the dial only made the sound worse, and admitting defeat, he shut it off. He turned to Brook with a hopeful look. “Looks like we’ll have Christmas together this year.” He hadn’t celebrated any holiday for a long time. He wondered how Brook would react to Christmas. She had been through so much and might not even want to celebrate the season. Plus, she’d be with him instead of her husband or family.

  “We certainly will. And it will be a Christmas to remember.” Brook determined to make it a joyous occasion. "I'm so grateful to be alive, and safe, I feel like there's plenty to celebrate." Her enjoyment of the season would be like a thumb in the eye of her abductors, and a willful act of defiance to the bad feelings that lingered.