She couldn’t take one more second of this. She began to wriggle to free herself and he suddenly stopped, whispered, “Watch.”
She jerked toward the point his eyes were fixed on. They were at the top of a dune where the shore extended to her vision’s limit. She held her breath, felt him holding his as the red sun seemed to accelerate toward the darkening azure waters. Then they touched, seemed to melt into one another, and he exhaled, molded her closer, as if to echo the celestial embrace.
A long moment passed as they shared the evocative display of sheer beauty, before she at last insisted he put her down.
He tightened his hold. “You’re sure you’re not uncomfortable walking barefoot on the sand?”
“It really was just a shock how good it felt.”
A strange watchfulness descended on his face. Then he slowly released her, his eyes clinging to her face as if he wanted to record her reaction, memorize every nuance passing through her.
For the first time, she didn’t want to hide her responses from him. She felt he had a right to witness them, in return for this gift he’d given her.
She moaned in pleasure as she again felt the sand flow between her toes, tickling her skin and massaging her soles.
The feeling was incredible, energizing. She gave in to it, to the unadulterated freedom and vitality it imbued her with.
She whooped, giggled, ran.
With every bound on the magical medium she’d lived her life looking at and never seeing, never experiencing, a burst of speed poured into her limbs. She heard his deep chuckles pursuing her. Unfettered laughter escaped her in response. And if a voice told her she must have plummeted into a parallel universe, to be running on a beach with Ferruccio Selvaggio chasing after her, it was silenced as soon as it spoke up. So what, if it felt this good?
Then she cleared another dune and saw it by the gently frothing waves. A huge circle of torch-topped, polished brass poles with a table set for two in its middle.
She turned to him in excitement, then sped ahead, the setup’s details coming into focus. A lavender silk tablecloth draped the table, undulated like something alive in the gentle breeze. Gleaming black plates contrasted with its dreamy hue, while glittering silver utensils and crystal glasses added flashes of splendor. A buffet was set to the side.
She arrived at the table, swung around and grinned at him as he caught up with her, her breathing and heartbeat accelerating under the effect of his approach rather than from exertion.
His breathing was a bit quicker, but even, easy, his eyes gleaming silver with exhilaration. “Not only do you run like a lioness in that constrictive skirt, but you beat me, too. How fast would you be in something suitable?”
More heat rushed to her head, her cheeks. “It isn’t that constrictive. And you weren’t trying to outrun me.”
He huffed a chuckle. “I gave it a good shot, believe me. I’m pretty fast. But you’re much faster.”
Her grin widened with pleasure at the ease with which he admitted she’d beaten him, his obvious enjoyment of the fact even. “I’ll tell you my secret so you won’t feel bad about it. I held my university’s record in the indoor pentathlon for three consecutive years, and the regional one for two of those.”
He looked genuinely impressed. Even though she got the feeling he already knew that. “And it’s clear you’ve kept in shape ever since.” His eyes again detailed how much said “shape” pleased them. “And now you’ll add outdoor events to your repertoire. Including swimming in the sea. With me.” She opened her mouth, closed it, the images his words had playing in her mind’s eye turning her mute. Suddenly his smile’s wattage spiked. “I bet you’ve crossed from hungry to starving after the unexpected exercise.”
He tugged her to the buffet, exposed hot and cold serving plates, piled her plate with mouthwatering delicacies. She didn’t protest. After going without more than a cup of tea since seeing her father yesterday, she was famished.
What followed was something she’d only dreamed of.
Even in fantasy, it had never been so easy, so natural. So unbelievable. They ate and exchanged anecdotes about their lives, opinions about almost everything, agreed, teased, laughed, and she found herself with the man she’d seen that first time—the one she’d felt connected to. Before everything had crashed around her ears and remained there in ruins for the past six years.
Now it was as if the years hadn’t passed in tension and avoidance, as if this was the natural progression of that moment she’d thought so enchanted. And it did feel enchanted, yet more real than anything she’d ever experienced. He felt real. His real self, not the persona he projected when he moved through the ultra-formal settings where she’d made sure they always met with the buffer of her family around. Now that he was away from it all, he showed her sides of him she hadn’t suspected existed, every glimpse enthralling her, embroiling her in the exhilaration of tangling with his wickedness and wit.
Sunset had morphed into the most breathtaking twilight she’d ever witnessed. The impossibly clear, totally unpolluted skies became a sweeping canvas of hues jeweled by strokes and patterns of clouds that had seemed to materialize just to reflect and prism the lingering light into ephemeral paintings that stunned the senses. Then it all gradually faded under the dominion of darkness until moonless, star-blazing night had taken over. She was dazzled by the spell of the ambiance, but more so by her companion.
He’d just served her fresh watermelon, grown on the land everyone had given up as irreclaimable, among many vital crops of which she’d seen oranges, tangerines, olives and grapes. As he sat down she commented on that before resuming her comments on one of his latest takeovers, and he leaned back in his chair, grinning.
“I always let my opponents fight me until they’re exhausted, all the while showing them how sweet surrender would be. Then, when I judge they’ve had enough, I move in, and at that point they’re ecstatic for me to take over.”
Air escaped her lungs in a rush. She couldn’t draw it back.
That could describe what he’d been doing to her.
It could, because it did.
Dio, what a fool she was. She should have known, when it had all felt too good to be true, when he’d started lavishing praise and understanding on her.
He had done so to make her putty in his hands. And he’d succeeded. He’d made her forget what he was, the danger he posed to her, the reason she was here. He hadn’t just overcome her antipathy and turned its tide into acceptance and eagerness, he’d negated reason and memory, silenced every caution. And he’d done it imperceptibly.