Escape From Reality (6 page)

She sat for a
long time until her breathing slowed and her heart wasn’t threatening to burst
from her chest. Rising, she looked at the bed with longing and came to the only
possible conclusion – her exhausted mind must be playing devilish tricks on
her. Or, possibly – logically – she’d had entirely too much wine with
dinner.

Or the
castle was haunted.

A shiver ran
down her spine and she moved quickly around the room, blowing out candles until
the only light came from the slowly dying coals in the hearth and the single
candle in the holder by her bed.

Crawling beneath
the sheets, she leaned over and blew out the candle. The room went dark, but
after a moment Leila was aware of the moonlight coming through the window,
casting a silvery path across the floor. She turned onto her side, catching a
glimpse of the moon through the leaded glass, a wavering slice of white in one
corner. 

As exhausted as
she was, sleep remained elusive. She tried to force the carved images from her
mind, trying to concentrate on the details of her day, the series of events
that had taken her from a writer’s conference in Austin, to her
home—albeit briefly—then to an island somewhere east of Bermuda.
She turned restlessly from side to side.

But the image
of the couple—of the man—resurfaced, over and over. His passion,
his lust, everything about him had drawn her in. She should have been horrified
at watching such an intimate act, but the man had consumed her with every
movement, every sound, every look. It hadn’t been Leila watching a couple; it
had been Leila watching herself.

It had been the
man making love—wild, passionate love—to Leila. That was the
thought that tugged at her mind and confused her. It made her doubt her sanity,
what she’d really seen. What was fantasy and what was real?

Finally Leila
turned over again and looked out the window one last time. The moon had
disappeared from her view and with its departure, the ebb and flow in her body
gradually slowed, the heat inside her receding. She closed her eyes, the echo
of her name fading from her mind.

Chapter
Three

Sunlight warmed
her face and Leila opened her eyes, blinking, disoriented, her mind lost among
the fragments of a dream. She’d been in the arms of a man, and she still felt
the warmth of his embrace, the pressure of his chest against hers. She rolled
onto her back, staring up at the carved floral patterns on the canopy above
her. But the more she tried to hold on to the images, the warmth, the faster it
dissipated, until she felt nothing and couldn’t even conjure an image of the
man’s face. She picked up her watch from the bedside table. It was just after
seven, too late to go back to sleep. Leila buried her face in the pillow.
Another hour in this bed would be wonderful. Maybe she could dip back into her
dream, find the man who’d held her so tightly.

Sighing deeply,
she threw back the covers and padded to the window. She hadn’t looked closely
the night before, but now she saw it had a latch and handle and opened like a
modern casement window. Cranking the handle, she opened the window outward,
breathing deeply, taking in the sun-warmed tropical air. Far below, she could
see blue water and make out the sound of waves hitting unseen rocks and heard
the distant cry of water birds.

With a start
she remembered: Cheryl’s critique of her assignment. Leila flew across the room
and opened the door. There was an envelope waiting, similar to the one that had
started this whole adventure. She opened the flap and withdrew a folded sheet
of paper. Closing the door behind her, she sat on the edge of her bed, eyes
scanning the meticulous handwriting that filled the page.

A smile began,
spreading across Leila’s face as she read Cheryl’s words. She’d written that Leila
had created a hero that was realistic, sexy, and above all, honest. At the
bottom were the words that lifted Leila’s spirits:
good job.

Leila held the
paper for a moment longer, reading certain lines again. The meeting between
hero and heroine still seemed a bit contrived, not quite as authentic as Cheryl
thought it should be. Leila should try to make the initial meeting more organic,
maybe something dramatic. But overall, it might work.

The sudden
rumble of her stomach brought Leila back to reality. Glancing at her watch, she
laid the paper reverently on the desk and turned to the wardrobe, pulling open
the massive doors and looking over the selection of dresses. Her everyday
wardrobe consisted of pants and blouses, with the occasional skirt. This
selection was far from ordinary.

Everything she
could see in front of her was satin and over-the-top glamorous, or floral and
lacy, decidedly feminine. But this was something of a vacation; maybe it would
be fun to play dress up. She pushed aside several dresses before pulling out a
pale pink floral dress that was less frothy than its sisters. She hung it on
the wardrobe door then stepped back, eyeing it critically.

A search of the
dresser revealed an astonishing array of lingerie. Leila pulled out a gorgeous
matching bra and panty in a deep blush-colored satin, laying them on the bed.
She dropped her nightgown across the foot of the bed and headed to the bathroom
for a quick shower, indulging in a different selection of scented soaps and
lotions. She towel-dried her hair, brushing it out quickly before winding it
into a low knot at the nape of her neck, securing it with a few pins from her
make-up bag.

The lingerie
fit like a dream, the bra molding to her body perfectly as if she’d been
measured for the garment. She stepped into the dress, tugging the zipper up.
There were several pairs of shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe and she chose a
pair of ballerina flats, slipping them on her feet.

She looked at
her reflection in the full-length mirror that stood beside the wardrobe. For a
moment, she didn’t recognize herself. On impulse, she pulled the pins from her
hair, shaking it loose, letting it cascade in loose waves over her shoulders.
For a moment, she let herself believe she was beautiful.

Leila stepped
into the hall, wondering if Cheryl would be joining her for breakfast. As she
closed the door, she glanced at the carved figures, her heart skipping a beat.
They were back to their regular places, dressed, in their embrace, their faces
flat and anonymous, any hint of the passion she’d seen last night now gone. For
a moment she longed to reach out and touch the man. But she drew back her hand.
It was funny; she felt a pang of—longing, perhaps. Almost as if she’d met
a new friend and now missed them when they’d failed to appear.

She turned away
from the door, laughing at herself. It was silly. She was mooning over a carved
man on a door, acting as if he were real. Her laugh took on a slightly nervous
edge as the flood of images came back to her. It wasn’t real, couldn’t have
been. Was it?

The smell of
coffee drew her down the stairs. Dominick was in the dining room, moving about
near a buffet set between two open French doors. They led out onto a patio and Leila
saw a small table set beneath an umbrella. He turned as she entered the room.

“Good morning,
Ms. Connors. I trust your first night was a comfortable one?”

“Yes, thank
you. It was…although I think I was really too exhausted from everything that
happened yesterday to get a really decent sleep. I’m sure by tonight it will
all catch up with me.”

“Would you like
your breakfast on the terrace?” Dominick inclined his head toward the open doors.
“I can bring you whatever you like.”

“Yes, thank
you. But I can serve myself, Dominick.” Leila moved toward the buffet,
marveling at the assortment of fresh fruit and pastries.

“At least let
me get you a cup of coffee or tea. If you don’t allow me to do that, I’ll be
out of a job.” He winked as he filled a porcelain cup from a large coffee pot.

Leila moved
down the table, filling her plate with fruit and, after much deliberation, one
large pastry with something that was certain to be dark chocolate peeking from
its delicate layers. Dominick had placed her coffee on the table and held her
chair as she sat.

“Thank you. Do
you know if Ms. Bullard will be down? Or have I missed her?”

“She left word
she would meet you for tea at four o’clock, here on the terrace.”

“Oh.”
Disappointment furrowed Leila’s brow.

“She also left
this.” Dominick laid another cream envelope on the table. Leila’s name was
written in script across the front. Leila opened the envelope, withdrawing a
single page. She read it quickly.

“She suggests I
take a walk around the island, gather some inspiration, and recharge my
creative energies.” Leila laid the paper on the table and turned to face
Dominick.

“How exactly do
I walk around the island?”

“There are
actually quite a few walking paths. The rules are simple: walking down, you’ll
find the ocean. Walking up, you’ll find the castle. It’s impossible to become
lost.” Dominick pointed toward the edge of the terrace. “There’s a staircase
that leads down to the beach from here. You could start there.”

Leila smiled.
“Thank you. I think I’ll take her advice. After breakfast.”

Dominick bowed
slightly and turned, walking into the shadows of the dining room. Leila sat for
a moment and then ate her breakfast with gusto. She couldn’t remember enjoying
breakfast…any breakfast…this much. Finally she sat back, sipping the last of
her coffee, planning her day. Cheryl’s note had suggested she enjoy the island
and then work on different ways for her heroine to meet the hero, not a formal
assignment, but more like a brainstorming session. She took a moment to set the
alarm on her watch far enough ahead so she wouldn’t be late. 

Leila stood and
walked to the edge of the terrace. As Dominick had indicated, there was an
opening, a stairway of stone winding beneath the palm fronds. As she passed a
blooming hibiscus trailing over the terrace railing, she reached out and picked
a bloom, tucking it into her hair.

The steps
descended into dark shade. Leila hesitated then began walking downward, her
slippers whispering on the gray stone. It was much cooler in the shade, and she
thought for a moment about getting a shawl from her room. But she’d already
started down; it would take too much time to retrace her steps. She hoped to be
back in her room, working on additional ideas for Ms. Bullard, in time to have
something to offer during afternoon tea.

The steps
curved down and around what Leila decided must be the cliff she’d seen from the
air as she’d arrived. Craning her neck, she caught glimpses of the castle
rising above her, the occasional tower or parapet showing above the trees.

As she
continued, the sound of waves grew louder. To her left, far below, she saw deep
blue water but not a sign of the rocks.

She finally
came to the end of the stairs, which ended abruptly at a narrow sandy beach.
Ahead was a cove, the sand stretching to the water, rocks rising sharply on
either side, almost completely enclosing the cove, with just a small opening
between them that showed the rolling Atlantic Ocean.

Kicking off her
shoes, she walked across the sand, letting the water lap at her toes. In front
of her, all she could see was endless blue water, a cloudless blue sky
stretching overhead. The only sound here was the soft wash of the waves on the
sand, the louder sounds she’d heard from above softened by the pillars of rock
flanking the beach.

The water was
warm and the idea of a swim tempted Leila. But that meant a long walk back to
her room in search of a swimsuit and towel. Or it meant skinny-dipping.

She bit her lip
and glanced back at the stairs. There were no other guests on the island and
the only other people she’d seen were Dominick and Cheryl. Even if someone did
come down to the beach, they’d certainly leave if they saw her swimming.

Leila ducked
behind a shrub and tugged the zipper down on the dress, shimmying it past her
hips. She draped it over the shrub, then reached behind and undid the clasp of
her bra. It, and then the panties, joined the dress.

With one last
glance over her shoulder at the stone steps, Leila waded into the water. It
rose around her legs in a warm caress, and when it reached her waist, she dove
beneath the surface. She surfaced after a moment, raising her face to the sky
as she tread water.

She swam the
width of the cove, occasionally floating on the calm surface. The water was a
clear, crystal blue and she dove again and again down to the sandy bottom,
marveling at the clarity and warmth of the water. She’d spent summers
vacationing with her parents and swimming in the chilly waters in Maine. This
was a far cry from what she remembered.

She swam
underwater along the base of the gray rocks, rising up in the shadow of one of
the larger stones. They loomed over a narrow channel to the ocean and as she
swam across that opening, she looked out over the vast expanse of water before
her.

Leila felt
tiny, a speck floating in a vast sea, as she looked out toward the limitless
horizon. Then she dove. The sandy bottom of the cove had dropped off gradually
from the beach, but here, where the rocks reared out of the water, it dropped
off sharply, nothing but darkness as far down as she could see. The sand gave
way abruptly to rocks, fragments, she supposed, of the larger pieces rising
above her.