When You Are Mine (16 page)

M
ange!”

The gruff voice was followed by a cracked bowl of beans and rice sliding across the floor to Walsh. He gulped back the nausea he had fought for the last two days. He assumed it had been two days. They’d taken his watch and there were no windows in this rank hole. It wasn’t the rats and roaches he could hear scurrying around him that caused his stomach to turn and his skin to crawl. They’d shot Paul, the missionary from the orphanage the foundation had considered funding. It was the stench of Paul’s corpse beside him that sickened him. In addition to the rot of early-stage decomposition, his body had expelled its final waste, and it puddled around him. The poor man had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

With the wrong man.

Walsh blinked back useless tears, still reeling from the incomprehensible events that had landed him here. He would not give the thug bastards the satisfaction of one tear. Not one. The emotion almost leaking from his eyes was not from fear of what they’d do to him, though he did feel fear. He kept seeing Camille and Josiah, Paul’s wife and young son, in the pictures he had so proudly shown Walsh. Surely by now Camille knew her husband had been kidnapped. What she didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that it was Walsh’s fault.

He had pieced it together in his mind. It was no secret he was from a wealthy family. In addition to his being on a fact-finding mission to identify where they could pour large sums of money, his profile had been pretty high over the last few months. Hell, the kidnappers might even know about his “supermodel” girlfriend and their extravagant lifestyle back in the States. His captors had probably been watching him almost since the beginning, and when he and Paul had struck out to scope land in the mountains for possible expansion, they had made their move, ambushing their car and snatching them both.

Walsh banged the wall behind him with a weakly clasped fist. He had awakened in this darkened, infested pit to find Paul already sitting up beside him against the wall. Both of them had nursed wounds on the backs of their heads.

“These men are mercenaries,” Paul had whispered, his eyes holding Walsh’s in the dim light. “But they aren’t fools. Your family is one of the most wealthy, prominent families in America. They won’t kill you. They just want money. We’ll get out of this.”

The door had burst open, revealing two of the three men who’d snatched them in broad daylight. Their tirade of French went over Walsh’s head, but Paul understood every word.

The tallest pointed to Paul, his voice echoing off the narrow walls.

“Tenir à vos pieds!”

Paul had stood slowly, casting an uncertain glance back at Walsh before unfolding to his full height.

“Faire demi-tour!”
Their captor gestured for Paul to face Walsh, his back toward the three men with guns. Paul turned to face him, and Walsh saw a deathly resignation on his face. He spoke in a rush.

“Take care of my fam—”

Paul didn’t get to finish, but Walsh knew Camille and Josiah were in his final thoughts when the tallest captor pulled the trigger.

“No!” Walsh heard himself scream as if from a distance, the horror and senselessness of Paul’s death stealing his breath.

Paul collapsed, falling forward, eyes stretched open in a death stare, a crater blown into the back of his scalp. Walsh surged to his feet, heedless of the danger, lunging toward the tall man looking at Paul’s lifeless form dispassionately. The man raised the barrel of his gun, catching Walsh under the chin. He used the butt of the gun to hit Walsh in the face, slamming his head to the side and leaving a thin trail of blood under his eye.

“Sit down,” he said in heavily accented English, his eyes flat and expressionless, as if killing a man didn’t even scrape the surface of his soul.

Walsh stumbled back, tripping over Paul’s body. He fell against the wall, sliding down its length into a crouch, resting his head back, wincing when the already-painful wound hit the wall.

“You have seen I am not afraid to kill.” The man gestured with his gun toward Paul. “This is not an idle threat. I know your family will pay to get you back. I am not asking for much. One million American dollars. They will pay. You will go free. It is a simple transaction, as long as you cooperate.”

Walsh hadn’t said a word, only watched, wishing he could make out the man’s features. They’d all worn bags over their heads before, and even then, the man’s dark face had been hard to see in the dimly lit room.

“Mange!”
the man repeated now when Walsh made no move toward the bowl of rice. He couldn’t eat with Paul’s body there beside him. Complete darkness shrouded the room, but nothing could obscure the image emblazoned in his mind’s eye. The image keeping him sane. Keeping him hopeful.

Kerris
.

He hoarded every image he’d collected in the short time they’d known each other. As he awaited his fate in that darkened cage, he held on to the hope that he would see her one more time. He hated to think his last words to her would be those he’d spoken in her kitchen. Words of anger, frustration, and resentment.

The scratching of unseen rodents tortured his ears, and the shadows tore at his sanity, but Walsh clung to the depth of the feelings he had for her. Though she’d never be his, she had ignited and illuminated something inside that he knew would make him better. It ennobled him, elevated him, expanded him. He lost the fight against oblivion, succumbing to undernourished exhaustion, clinging to the promise of things to come.

Walsh pried his eyes open. He glanced at the bowls of untouched rice lining the wall. They kept coming with depressing regularity even though he hadn’t eaten even one. Three new bowls meant another day had passed. He must be up to five days in this crevice of hell.

The sound of raised voices, a bastardy of French, Creole, and broken English, roused him. He forced himself to his feet, unsure of what to prepare for. Death. Freedom. At that moment he welcomed either with equal enthusiasm. Two men dressed in camouflage with grease-painted faces, wielding automatic weapons, rushed in.

“Walsh Bennett?” one of them demanded, his eyes rapidly assessing the small, dank space, seemingly unsurprised to see Paul’s body at Walsh’s feet.

“Yes.” Walsh’s voice was a wisp of smoke.

“Your father sent us,” the other man said. “Come on.”

Walsh glanced at Paul’s long-still form and guilt welled up inside. Paul would still be alive if it weren’t for him. They’d taken his life to prove a point, to gain a psychological edge. Now Camille was a widow and Josiah, fatherless.

“We have to bring him with us,” Walsh managed to say, nodding toward Paul.

The men exchanged a quick look of disbelief before swiveling that look to Walsh. He planted his feet and hardened his expression. This was the least he could do.

“He has a wife and son.” With a look Walsh dared them to challenge him, straightening his back despite the ache. “We’re taking him home.”

W
alsh was home.

Kerris had managed to avoid seeing him since he’d returned from Haiti a few days ago, but Cam and Jo wanted to throw a “we’re glad your ass didn’t die” party at the cottage. As much as she had hoped for Walsh’s rescue, she did not want to see him. She couldn’t trust herself not to throw her arms around his neck and rain kisses all over his face. Just to feel him, solid and alive. He could never be hers, and she could never be his, but to think of him dead or harmed was more than she could bear.

She wouldn’t see him alone tonight. She might be able to control herself, but she couldn’t fight them both, and in her heart she knew his defenses would be like hers—low and weak. They had so much to celebrate, but she had a bad feeling about tonight. As hard as she tried, it wasn’t a feeling she could shake.

A few hours later, the party was in full swing. All the old gang was there, and many people Kerris didn’t recognize. She really wasn’t sure how they’d ended up hosting the party, but Jo had been insistent that it would not be at Kristeene’s house.

“I want Walsh’s friends to see that he’s okay,” Jo had told Cam and Kerris a few days ago. “But I don’t want all those people at Aunt Kris’s house. She’s been through a lot and doesn’t need any more stress. She needs to rest.”

Kerris laid out more of the wings they’d picked up, arranging little pots of ranch and blue cheese dressing within dipping distance. She paused, remembering Jo voicing similar concerns right before Cam’s birthday party. She made a note to ask her if Kristeene Bennett was in good health. She shuddered to think how Cam would take it if anything were wrong with Kristeene. And Walsh—he’d be devastated. On the heels of the kidnapping, she wasn’t sure how much more her little family could take.

Family.

She really did think of Jo and Kristeene and even Uncle James as family now. She swallowed the guilty lump in her throat, thinking of Walsh’s self-imposed exile from his family for the last year. Even though the circumstances that had brought him home were horrific, at least they would get some time with him.

She made sure nothing needed to be replenished. Everyone seemed to be eating and having a great time. The hostess in her let out a sigh of relief. The woman in her braced for the first sight of Walsh. She needed a few moments to bolster her defenses.

“You okay?” Meredith snatched a wing and a stalk of celery to munch.

Kerris avoided her best friend’s sharp-eyed glance.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You look great.”

Meredith gestured to the bright green tunic Kerris wore, falling about mid-thigh over her black leggings. She’d finished it off with black knee-high boots. Peacock feather earrings peeped out from the dark tendrils of hair she’d left falling around her shoulders and down to her waist.

“Thanks.” Kerris plucked at the feather earrings dangling by her neck.

“When’s Walsh getting here?”

“Um, I don’t know.” Kerris scoured the room for anything that needed doing, cursing her own efficiency. Everything was perfect. “Soon, I guess.”

“And what about Sofie?”

“Who?” Kerris struggled to focus on the conversation.

“Uh…his girlfriend, Sofie?” Meredith’s wide eyes and raised brows asked Kerris if she was losing it.

“Oh, yeah. Sofie was on an assignment in Dubai. She’s on her way back.” Kerris scooped her hair up off her neck and fanned. “Is it hot in here? Maybe I should adjust the temperature.”

“Feels fine to me. Besides, you don’t want to miss Walsh’s arrival.”

Kerris wondered what Meredith saw with those eagle eyes.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss that.” Kerris glanced around the room, wanting the night to be over already.

“Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Meredith nodded toward the cottage entrance.

Walsh stood in the small foyer, flanked by Cam and Jo. The simple jeans and navy blue sweater he wore didn’t fool anyone. The wealth hid in the details of his expensive watch and Italian shoes. The power lay in the force of his personality and the way he commanded a room just by entering. He shared an easy grin with the people who immediately surrounded him. The party noise reached a joyful crescendo, swelling up and around Kerris, giving her cover to study Walsh with covert concern. Did anyone else notice how his smile strained at the corners? The dark circles under his eyes made them seem greener, though not as bright. Whatever horrors he’d experienced in Haiti had dulled the somber, beautiful eyes that eventually, inevitably, met hers across the room.

It was only an instant. The look that passed between them was like a flare in the pitch of night. Bright. Hot. Sudden and then gone. Her skin heated as if Walsh had kissed her. As if he had caressed her. As if he had possessed her. And maybe he had with one look. Kerris glanced around, searching each face, certain someone had witnessed the moment. So intimate out in the open. All the things she couldn’t say and shouldn’t feel rose up in her chest, suffocating her from the inside.

“I’ll be right back,” Kerris said without looking at Meredith, afraid her friend would see all her secrets.

“Where are you going?” Meredith’s eyes seemed to peel away layers of skin and see all the way to the bone.

“Just to the office to grab my iPod.” Kerris pointed to the stack of old albums lining the living room shelves. “If it’s up to Cam, we’ll listen to his records all night.”

“You’re going now?” Meredith raised one perfectly plucked brow.

Kerris turned and tossed her words back, feeling the weight of Meredith’s probing eyes between her shoulder blades. “Unless you want to hear Marvin Gaye and the Doors all night. We won’t even make it to the seventies. I’ll be back.”

Kerris steadily plodded through the crowded room and toward the screened-in porch. She walked into the office, pulled a cleansing breath into her restricted lungs, and hoped no one had noticed her abrupt departure. She had always considered herself strong, but tonight she was as vulnerable as a tower of toothpicks. One wrong move and everything would tumble.

She leaned against the closed French doors. This was her oasis. Vanilla-scented candles dotted the windowsills and tables, some even scattered on the floor, illuminating the dimly lit room with soft light. She could let her guard down in here for a few minutes.

“And these boots are killing me.”

She slipped off the high-heeled boots and even her socks, relishing the cool hardwood under her feet. She pulled out her pad and charcoal pencils, settling into the darkened corner of the window seat. Using the little light reaching her, she sketched the pictures she’d been carrying around in her head, needing something to distract her from that moment. From that man. She heard the French doors open and close, but didn’t move or make a sound. From her secluded nook, she watched Walsh walk in and prop himself against the wall, flopping his head back. The sigh he released sounded like he had held it all the way from Haiti and waited for this moment to let it out.

“That bad, huh?” she asked, wondering if he’d recognize his own words from the night in the gazebo.

Walsh opened his eyes, and even though she knew he hadn’t known she was here, he wasn’t surprised. Whatever force always seemed to draw them together was still at work. Wouldn’t leave them alone, even tonight. Especially not tonight.

“Hi.” He didn’t bother with the smile he’d given everyone else.

“You’re the guest of honor.” Kerris laid her pad down, sitting up from her lounging position. “Shouldn’t you be out there?”

“I needed a minute.” He crossed one ankle over the other, looking at the floor instead of at her. “It’s a lot.”

“Was the party too much too soon?”

“Nah. It’s good to see everyone, but it’ll take me some time to get back in the swing.”

Walsh pushed off the wall and took a few steps in her direction, close enough for her to smell the scent that was his alone, but not close enough to touch. The flickering candles vaguely lit the thinner planes of his face. She winced at the cut below his eye and the angry bruise laying bluish black against his left cheekbone.

She was a danger to herself. That needy, wanting thing inside her longed to burrow into him and hold on tight. One wrong word, one wrong move could ruin everything. She had to be careful. They could talk about the weather. About global warming. About peace in the Middle East. They could talk about everything except what bubbled under the surface of every word and every look that passed between them.

“It’s certainly good to have you home.” She tucked away the emotions that would overtake her face if she let them.

“It’s good to be home.”

He lifted his brows and quirked his mouth as if to mock the inanities varnishing their conversation.

“Are we really going to do this, Kerris? I almost died. Someone
did
die. It was…life-changing. And you want small talk?”

“No, Walsh.” Her fingers were a fleshy, twisted mess knotted against her stomach. “Of course not. I just don’t know what to say. I’m glad you’re okay. I wasn’t…Jo said you hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone about it. So I didn’t want to pry.”

“Pry.” The one word was measured and careful, but his eyes were reckless. Telling her everything he should not say. Drilling into her heart. “I’d talk to
you
.”

She shouldn’t. With the sparks crackling between them, she shouldn’t. She should wish him well, walk through the French doors back into the party, and find her husband. To stay, to talk, to be the one Walsh confided in, was a recipe for catastrophe. She knew it, but she scooted over anyway, making room for him beside her on the window seat.

He poured out every detail he could recall, along the way fighting back emotion when he spoke of Paul and the family he’d left behind, Camille and Josiah. Walsh told Kerris he’d seen Camille before they left Haiti, her eyes bleak and abandoned as she held on to Josiah. She had quietly thanked him for his empty condolences. He’d already had Trish make sure all of her financial needs would be more than met, and he had every intention of doing anything he could for as long as she needed his help.

“I feel awful for her.” Kerris blinked several times, unable to hide the sheen of tears his words pricked behind her eyelids. “I can’t imagine losing someone you love that way.”

Kerris couldn’t imagine losing Walsh.

Though the words didn’t leave her mouth, her watery eyes said them. Every fiber of her body screamed them. And she knew Walsh saw them written on her face. Their eyes caught and held until his jaw clenched and her nails cut into her palms. Kerris closed her eyes over the tears sliding down her cheeks. Walsh cupped her face in both hands, rubbing his thumbs over her tears. She leaned deeper into the roughness of his palm. She raised her hand, touching the bruise under his eyes. She watched her touch affect him. Saw him close his eyes and shudder when she ran her fingers gently across the cut on his face. She traced the prominence of his cheekbones and brushed shaking fingers across the firm beauty of his mouth.

“Kerris.”

His breath on her fingers and her name on his lips made her tremble. She saw it too late. Saw his will to resist topple and fall around them. Before she could say another word, he pulled her thumb into his mouth. Past the knuckle and up to the base of her hand. He feathered kisses across her palm and suckled the pulse that pounded in her wrist, laving the raised daisy-shaped scar with his tongue. He dropped her hand only to reach around to her nape and bring her forehead to rest against his own. He fisted his hand in the luxury of hair spilling across her shoulders and down her back. They were silent, both with eyes closed and every cell, every fiber, fixed on the other.

“If anything had happened to you…” She didn’t finish the thought, starting another. “I was so scared. We didn’t know if…if…All I could think about was how we argued the last time we saw each other.”

“I know.” He barely moved his lips, but she tasted his minty breath feathering across her mouth. “The thought of seeing you one more time was the only thing that kept me sane. I know this is…nothing, but it saved my life. It was my lifeline when I wasn’t sure I’d make it.”

Kerris bit her lip until it hurt. This was not
nothing
. It was a betrayal. It was more intimate than anything she had ever shared with anyone, and it shamed her to acknowledge it. Cam had been inside of her, had been her only lover in life. And this was deeper, closer than that? She reached for Walsh’s hand, entwining their fingers for a stolen moment before pulling away, guilt ripping through her.

Her husband was down the hall. She
did
love Cam. This was…she didn’t know
what
this was. Didn’t have language to articulate this desperation, this recognition she had never asked for nor been able to escape. Her emotional lexicography was limited, stumped by the depth of her response to Walsh from the moment they’d met.

“I should go.” She glanced up, pulling back. “Good-bye, Walsh.”

She leaned in to drop a chaste kiss on his cheek, with every intention of walking through those French doors. But he turned his head, brushing his lips across hers, and they both went still. The sweet, hot memory of the one kiss they had shared paled beside the reality of his lips against hers. With a groan, Kerris pulled the curve of his bottom lip into her mouth, the taste of him a forbidden pleasure she promised herself she would never know again.

His large hands wrapped around her jaw and the delicate bones at the back of her head, thumbs pressing against her chin until her mouth dropped open. He hovered there for seconds, savoring her breath flowing in his mouth in sharp pants before leaning forward. He sucked her bottom lip as she had done his, the kiss an illicit covenant between them. She groaned, pulling his top lip between hers. His tongue plunged in, frantically exploring the roof of her mouth, running over her teeth, bathing the lining of her cheek. It was mere seconds, but the outside world seemed to freeze, allowing them this slice outside of time.

The bright overhead light flaring the room into unnatural brightness shocked them both. Kerris pulled back abruptly, but not soon enough.