by Lynsay Sands
"Si. I see that," Domitian murmured, his gaze sliding over burned toast, bacon that was raw on the ends and burned in the middle, and eggs so underdone the tops of the whites were clear. No, the woman could not cook, he thought and sat down in the chair at the island when she indicated it, determined to eat every last bite if it killed him.
"I'm not as good a cook as you," Sarita announced as she settled next to him. "But you made me dinner last night, so I thought I'd handle breakfast." Shrugging, she confessed, "Breakfast for me is usually cereal or toaster strudels, though, and they didn't have those here, so I did the best I could."
It was such an unapologetic apology that Domitian was hard pressed not to chuckle. The woman had no problem acknowledging her few flaws or failings and even seemed to accept having some as inevitable. He really liked that about her. Too many people tried to be perfect at everything, or made excuses for not being perfect. Sarita just shrugged as if to say "I did my best. Take it or leave it."
He was more than happy to take it, Domitian decided and picked up his knife and fork, then paused to glance at Sarita when she began to make choking, gagging sounds.
"Oh God," she muttered after spitting out the piece of toast and egg she'd apparently combined to put in her mouth. "Oh, ick. No, put those down." She slapped at his hands, making him put down his fork and knife, then snatched up both her plate and his and stood to carry them around the island, saying, "We can't eat this. It's awful. Those eggs are raw." Opening the cupboard under the sink, she tossed both meals into the garbage, plates and all, and kicked the door closed with a shudder. "Ugh. I hate raw eggs."
Exasperated, Sarita walked to the refrigerator, opened it to peer inside, and asked, "How about a cheese sandwich instead? I can manage that."
Shaking his head, Domitian stood and walked up behind her to catch her by the shoulders and urge her back toward the chair she'd just left. "How about you sit down and relax and I make breakfast?"
"Oh, but you cooked last night," she protested. "I could try again. Maybe French toast or something. That's just toast dipped in eggs and milk then fried, right? Although, I'll have to see if they provided any maple syrup here first. Do you guys get maple syrup down here or is that a Canadian thing? I don't recall ever having it when we lived here."
Sarita had escaped his loose hold and made a dash for the cupboards, but he caught her and turned her back toward the stools at the island. "Sit. It will be my pleasure to cook for you. I enjoy it. In fact you are the reason I learned to cook."
"What?" she asked with surprise, dropping onto the chair and turning to look at him.
"It is true," Domitian assured her, opening the refrigerator to pull out more bacon and eggs. "If you will recall, I lost my appetites back--"
"Before Christ was born," Sarita finished for him dryly. "Yeah, I remember." Frowning now, she said, "Speaking of which, if you didn't eat before meeting me, why did you own a restaurant?"
"I like them," he said simply. "It is where people go to celebrate happy events. Besides, I do not only own restaurants. I have a couple of hotels and a nightclub too. In fact, prior to encountering you I had always spent more time overseeing the nightclub than at any of the restaurants. I usually left those up to the managers I hired to run them."
"So why were you at the restaurant the night my father took me?" she asked curiously.
"That was pure luck," he assured her as he pulled out a clean frying pan and set it on the range. "The previous manager had left rather abruptly due to health issues. That was not the lucky part," he added dryly, before continuing. "The lucky part was that I hired a replacement for him, but had to train him myself. And then you walked in." Smiling, he shook his head. "Suddenly I was much more interested in the food than in the management end of the business. Meeting you reawakened my appetites," he explained.
"All your appetites?" she asked, her eyebrows rising. She'd only been thirteen. Surely his interest in sex hadn't--
"All of them," he admitted solemnly as he began to lay the strips of bacon in the pan one after another. Turning the flame on under the frying pan, he added, "Of course, there was nothing to do about the reappearance of my physical desire. You were far too young. But food . . ." He shook his head. "Not only did I rediscover my delight in it, but I found I had a great desire to learn to cook the meal you ate that first time. You seemed to enjoy it so, and I wanted to be able to make it for you. So I had our chef teach me how to make it, and found I enjoyed cooking as much as eating."
"So you learned to cook?" she asked, watching him turn the bacon.
"Si. I hired a manager to oversee all the businesses for me and flew to Europe to attend the best culinary schools available. I spent ten years training."
"Ten?" Sarita squawked with surprise as he turned the bacon.
"Si. I had time to fill while I waited for you to grow up," he said with a shrug. "And I wanted to learn it all. I wanted to be able to make anything your heart desired. I wanted to ply you with delicacies no one else could."
"Ten years," she said thoughtfully. "Were you here then the second time we ate at your restaurant? The night before we returned home after Grandfather's funeral?"
"Si. I had returned just three weeks before," Domitian admitted and smiled as he recalled that day. "You cannot imagine how shocked I was when my manager came to tell me someone had asked him to thank the chef for such a lovely meal and I glanced out to see you and your father just making your way to the door to leave my restaurant."
"Your private detective hadn't told you I was here in Venezuela?" Sarita asked a bit archly.
Domitian shook his head. "His report came the day after you left. Which," he added, "was probably a good thing in the end."
"Why was it a good thing?" she asked with amusement.
"Because you were no longer a child," he said wryly. "You were twenty-three, a fully grown woman." He dropped some butter in the empty pan to melt and began cracking eggs into a bowl as he recalled the wash of emotion and desire that had rolled over him at just knowing she was near. "You were leaving, your back was to me, and I could not see your face. For a moment, I just stared at your back, hoping you would turn so that I could see your face. But you did not. Once the door closed behind you I did not think, I just rushed after you. But it was a busy night and there seemed to be a waiter or customer in my way every couple of feet. By the time I got outside you and your father were gone.
"I struggled that night," Domitian admitted solemnly. "When I first found you at thirteen, I had determined I would not claim you until you had worked at your chosen career for at least two years. At the time you returned to my restaurant you had returned to university to get your master's degree in criminology after taking only one year off to work."
"My father had paid my way through university to get my bachelor degree, but I felt I should pay my own way for my master's, so I worked for a year to get the money together and continued to work while getting my master's," Sarita explained softly.
"Si . . ." Domitian nodded as he eased the raw eggs from the bowl onto the second frying pan. Glancing to her then he grinned and said, "You cannot know how sorry I was to learn you had chosen a career that needed such long schooling. Although," Domitian added dryly, casting her the stink eye. "I understand a master's degree is not necessary to become a police officer, so you took longer than absolutely necessary."
Sarita laughed at his expression and shrugged. "I want to be a detective someday. So I went for a master's in criminology with a minor in psychology."
"And then it took forever to get accepted to the police force," he said grimly.
"Yes, there's a pretty lengthy selection process," she admitted. "There are three stages of assessment with tests and whatnot at each stage. It takes a while, and then once you're accepted, you still have to go to the police college for training."
"Si. I know this," Domitian assured her. "I found it out when I learned what you wanted to do. I was trying to judge how long it would be befo
re I could come and woo you," he admitted, and then shook his head. "However, when I saw you that night in my restaurant, my good intentions flew out of the window, and if I had caught up to you, my noble plans would have been meaningless."
"Noble, huh?" Sarita asked with amusement.
Glancing up from the bacon he was turning again, Domitian eyed her seriously. "Believe me, waiting was noble. A sacrifice. I had already waited more than two thousand years to find you when I first saw you. They seemed to me to pass so slowly, but these past fifteen years?" He shook his head. "They seemed longer than the two thousand that came before."
Turning, he pushed the button to start the bread toasting and then grabbed two plates and butter. As he set them next to the toaster, Domitian admitted, "I searched for you that night. I called every hotel in the city looking for where you and your father were staying."
"We stayed in my grandfather's apartment," Sarita said softly.
"Si. That was also in the report I got the next day, but by then you were on a plane back to Canada." He fetched another plate, lined it with paper towel and shifted the bacon strips from the pan to the plate one at a time. "I forced myself to calm down then. I told myself it was fate making sure I stuck to my original plan, and I would wait until you had graduated and worked two years in your field."
Domitian glanced over to see Sarita watching him with an indefinable expression. She looked serious, but her expression was uncharacteristically soft at the same time. Wondering what she was thinking, he set the plate of bacon before her and turned his attention to removing the now perfect sunny-side-up eggs to two plates.
"And when I came for my father's funeral?" Sarita asked, walking around the island to begin buttering the toast when it popped.
Domitian almost sighed inwardly. He'd planned on skipping that trip, not wanting to upset her as talk of her father had last night, but it seemed fate was pushing them that way anyway, so he admitted, "I struggled then too, but a little less. You were in the police college. Once done I would only have to wait two years to come woo you."
"So, you were planning to come to Canada this summer?" she asked with curiosity.
"I already have the plane ticket," he admitted with a shrug. Turning off the heat under both frying pans, Domitian carried the plates with the eggs on them around to set on the island in front of their seats.
"And how did you plan to approach me?" Sarita asked, following with the toast.
Domitian held her chair for her as she sat down and set the toast on the island, then claimed his own seat before turning to her and saying solemnly, "I was going to walk up to you and say, 'My name is Domitian Argenis . . . You are my life mate . . . Prepare to be loved.'"
Sarita blinked at him several times, and then recognition bloomed on her face, and she cried, "The Princess Bride!"
"Si." Domitian grinned, pleased she recognized it.
"As you wish!" she said suddenly and shook her head. "I knew it reminded me of something when you said that, I just . . ." Sarita shook her head. "I can't believe I didn't pick up on it at once. I love that old movie. It's a classic."
"It is not that old," he protested.
"It was made before I was born," she said dryly.
"Si, but you are still young," Domitian said, and she grinned.
"Yeah, and I always will be to you . . . because you're so old," Sarita taunted.
"You do enjoy reminding me of that," he said wryly.
"Hey," she said with a shrug. "I find amusement where I can. Life is short."
"It does not have to be," he said solemnly.
Sarita had turned back to her plate, but seemed to freeze at his words. The moment she did, Domitian could have kicked himself for saying them. It was too soon. He was rushing her and would scare her off if he wasn't careful.
"Orange juice," he said abruptly, and got up to go fetch glasses and the juice.
"Domitian."
He just managed not to hunch his shoulders as if against a blow as he heard the solemn tone to her voice. Forcing himself to remain calm and relaxed, he smiled at her inquisitively as he carried the glasses and orange juice back to his seat, trying not to look like he knew she was going to say something that would alarm him. "Si, mi tresoro?"
"I've enjoyed our time together," Sarita started carefully, and he heard the but coming before she said, "But once we are off this island and I'm sure my grandmother is safe, I am returning to my job and home in Canada."
Domitian forced himself to nod mildly. "Si. And I will follow."
She frowned. "You'd follow me to Canada?"
He shrugged. "I have family there. It would be nice to be closer to my sister."
Her eyes widened incredulously. "You mean you'd move there? But what about your restaurants and--?"
"Mi Corazon," he interrupted gently, "you are my life mate. I will not rush you. I will remain patient and give you the time you need, but I will follow you to Canada and woo you as you deserve."
He saw Sarita's throat move as she swallowed, but then she turned her face down to her plate and he wasn't sure how she was taking his words. Domitian supposed he'd hoped she'd throw her arms around his neck and declare him the most wonderful man in the world and vow to be his. He knew that was a ridiculous hope, however. Life never went that easily.
They ate in a mostly companionable silence, and then cleaned up together. Domitian was about to finally get to his plan to lure her to the bedroom when she suddenly took his hand and led him from the kitchen. Thinking he wouldn't need to lure her to the bedroom and that she was leading him there instead, he followed easily. However, he frowned with confusion when instead of turning toward the bedroom, Sarita instead led him across the living room and outside.
"Er . . . Sarita?" Domitian asked finally as she tugged him toward the pool. "What are we doing?"
"We're going in the pool," she announced, releasing him to reach up and undo the towel wrapped around her torso. Letting it drop to the ground, she stepped over it and dove into the water.
Domitian stared after her with bemusement for a minute, his mind frozen on the view he'd got of her in the tiny, pale pink bikini she was wearing today. It was smaller even than the white one he'd first seen her in and contrasted beautifully with her tan skin.
"Hey! Come on. Hurry up."
Blinking, he forced the image of Sarita that was still frozen in his mind's eye away and peered at the real woman to see that she was by the waterfall and appeared to be waiting for him. That was when he got the idea she might want to talk about something that she didn't want overheard by the cameras. Kicking himself into action, he walked to the edge of the pool, dove in, and swam toward her, surfacing just a foot or so in front of her.
"I was thinking when I woke up," Sarita announced.
"Okay," Domitian said warily and waited.
"Well, we have no idea where we are and no clue what direction to go in to get to the mainland," she pointed out. "And the ocean is full of sharks and whales and other unfriendlies."
"Unfriendlies?" he asked with amusement.
Sarita shrugged, "I just didn't want to say creatures that want to eat us," she admitted with a crooked smile. "Anyway, the point is I got thinking that maybe we need a raft, and maybe there'd be something in one of the books in the office that could help with this escape of ours, so I went and took a look. There wasn't really," she added quickly. "I mean the closest thing I found to useful was Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. But--"
"Sarita," he interrupted gently. "It will be fine. We may not know where we are, but it has to be north of Venezuela, so if we go south we will find the mainland."
"Yeah, but we have no idea which way is north and which way south," she said at once.
Domitian raised an arm and pointed toward the front of the house and the dock. "That way is south."
She blinked, glanced in the direction he was pointing and then turned back to him and raised her eyebrows in question.
"I am more than two thousand y
ears old, mi Corazon. I learned long ago how to navigate by the stars."
"Oh." Sarita looked nonplussed, and then glanced toward the beach again, but followed that by turning to peer toward the jungle behind the house. "So north would be that way."
"Si," he agreed patiently.
"Okay, well see, that's good to know, because the big island is north of this island," she announced.
Domitian stiffened. "I thought you did not know where this island was? Yesterday you thought we might be on the big island."
"I found a letter," Sarita said, suddenly practically bursting with excitement. "It was from Mrs. Dressler to a friend of hers back in England, and she was saying that they were living on this island but building a new bigger home on an island not far from here. Half an hour by one of those little fishing boats with an outboard motor. Well, half an hour when Dr. Dressler piloted it, but forty-five minutes when she did," she corrected herself. "Elizabeth Dressler said she was nervous about driving it there on her own, but he marked the compass at a point between twenty and thirty degrees north and said to keep the boat heading that way and she would reach the island."
"That is good news, mi Corazon," Domitian said smiling at her widely. "It means when we get to the mainland, we can tell my uncle where the island is."
Sarita frowned at him. "Yeah, but I was thinking . . ."
"What were you thinking?" he asked, wary again.
"Look, I don't especially want to go to the island, but--"
"No," Domitian interrupted firmly. "I am not taking you anywhere near that island. The idea is to get you as far from Dressler as possible, not to deliver you and myself into his arms."
"I know," Sarita said with understanding. "But just listen to me. I was awake for the helicopter ride to the island and it was quite a long ride. Unfortunately, I didn't check my watch when we left and arrived, but I'm guessing it was a good hour, and the helicopter wasn't puttering along like a fishing boat, it was going really fast. I don't think we can make it to the mainland."
"I can swim for a very long time," he assured her.
"Pulling me?" she asked. "Because I suspect you'll have to. At least part of the way. I can swim, but not all night and day. And that's the other thing," Sarita added. "What if it does take twenty-four hours or something to get there? You're the one who said five hundred miles was your uncle's conservative estimate of where the island might be. You aren't swimming that far in a night. We'll be swimming during daylight too, without blood for you to top up on. I don't particularly want to be a walking blood bank."