Fever by Autumn Archer

13

How have I ended up in a man’s world, wearing butch clothes and swilling a mop in a bucket? Beyond the mirage of paradise, lives a network of hardworking serpentine veins leading to the heart of a vision—an ideal.

Not only have I fallen into another dimension, but I’ve also encountered a monster without boundaries, morals, or respect.

My day dwindled from the breaking of day to nightfall, trapped indoors with rags, eucalyptus essential oil, and an assortment of ecologically clean ingredients. It was a surprise to learn the oasis focuses on sustainability, only allowing products that won’t impact the environment. Apparently, el Fantasma gives back more than he takes. I had to bite my tongue when Sal sang his praises. From my experience, he confines and threatens. Takes and keeps on taking.

I considered telling him about the incident outside the staff cabana. Except Sal is loyal to a fault—devoted to my enemy. What would I say exactly? Your boss fingered me against my wishes, made the earth shake and my heart pound. That would really get the defense hackles raised. I bet he’d pat me on the back, wink, and then give me a high five.

Unlocking the door to my suite, I shiver in relief when a fresh lick of invigorating air chills my face. Each slow inhalation offers a reminder that I’m alive, even if I’m traipsing through life without a purpose. It’s an inside joke how this room temporarily snips the nightmare in two. I find comfort in a personal hideout nestled in remoteness and ruled by oppression.

The overhead fan whirs, replacing the tireless rhythm of nature. Momentarily, I pretend this is a swanky eco-village, and Emmie is in the next cabin with my parents. Then I flip off my cap and shake out my curls. Indulging in dreams won’t change reality. The ache in my head intensifies. This isn’t a vacation. It's luxury masking hell.

I pinky swore. I promised Emmie I’d be home in time for her thirteenth birthday. With a decade between us, I adore my parents' late life miracle baby as if she was my daughter. We have a bond. A sisterly love. She doesn’t deserve to live through this crippling misery.

That’s what burns beneath my skin most of all. El Fantasma hasn’t only hurt me, he’s shattered her perfect world. A trembling palm skates to my heart, accepting the agony of breaking a promise.

On the bed, a folded satin nightdress with shoestring straps rests next to several pairs of silky panties rolled up like cigars. Beside them, there is a tray dressed with a cotton napkin, tall glass of sunny juice and a rainbow fruit salad in a coconut bowl.

It’s a pleasant surprise, given my throat is tight from holding in frustration. As usual, I shed the unsightly uniform and mosey into the shower room to wash off the long day. Immersed under the tepid water, I close my eyes. The second they shut, I’m plagued with a peridot gaze and a hot swell between my thighs.

Bastard.

I’m physically held captive, and now thoughts of him harass my privacy, inciting wrongful intrigue and deceitful feelings. He’s a parasite invading a forced host. Underneath our bad blood, an insane spark awakens something reckless in me. I refuse to accept it. I’m not willing to become a mindless female who worships a master. I won’t invent an el Fantasma syndrome where he becomes my everything. I loathe him more than the depleting fires that obliterate the fragile ecosystem and threaten the extinction of rare species.

The glass panel wobbles under the force of my furious fist. My eyelids ping open, welcoming steam and a lush landscape while banishing the recollection of his roaming fingers. He’s in my head, and it scares the hell out of me. Instead of beating myself up about it, I focus on lathering shampoo and polishing my legs from ankle to thigh with an oily salt scrub, freeing myself from the imprint of absurdity.

Supremely soft towels wrap around me in a comforting embrace, reminding me of another simple gesture he’s stolen. This isn’t the life I’ve chosen. Whatever that would look like. I wasn’t certain how my ideal future would actually look. My parents expected weddings, followed closely by children. They were overjoyed when Keith proposed. I got caught up in everyone else’s ideals. It felt like something I should do rather than what I wanted to do. Marriage was expected even though my one true aspiration was becoming an ecologist and dedicating my life to saving the planet.

The dream was that simple. Not lavish and unattainable. And now I’m a nobody.

Wandering back into the bedroom, I collapse beside the tray. Beads of moisture run the length of the glass, from top to bottom, tempting me with a promise to satisfy my thirst.

This afternoon, Sal accompanied me to the staff cabana for lunch. For the entire break, I watched the door, pleading for space. That’s exactly what we got. El Fantasma didn't appear. In that period of grace, I devoured a bowl of spiced fish and enjoyed a shot of sugary espresso. It kept me going for the rest of the day, until now.

I pick at the chopped fruit, eyeing the cocktail in a highball glass with crushed ice, long bamboo straw, and a thin wedge of lime.

An aqua blue radiance reflects birds in flight under a low setting sun on the terrace beyond the windows. It lures me to the outside deck where I sit on a curved wicker lounger, taking my time to enjoy the refreshing juice. It has an odd taste—a little bitter with syrupy sweetness and a pinch of something peculiar.

The tropical sun slides to the treetops, closing the curtain on my first full day in servitude. I consider how long I can survive before my mind snaps.

If he keeps his distance, I can figure something out.

I’ll never stop fighting for freedom or seeking a way to escape.

Lying back, my lashes flutter, heavy and unruly. An army of tingles marches over my legs. Pivoting sideways, I manage to set the empty highball glass on a bamboo table before slumping to my back again. The strange sensation running through me must be the evening humidity or from hours spent cleaning.

Every breath turns shallow, growing louder within my mind. The sun switches place with the moon when I surrender to the immense relaxation the jungle has gifted me. Gazing up to the amaranthine sky, I observe a universe of glittering trinkets twinkle above. So carefree, surrounded by clusters of constellations, where each one belongs. Even stars have a purpose. They have a home in the solar system.

I’m floating or soaring—so light and dreamy. Through dreary eyes, I’m almost certain a stealth wild cat is skirting the length of the pool. A shadow prowls closer with its body gilded in a blanket of silver light. The beast stays in the shadows, eyes concealed. Dangerous and dominant. Instincts warn me to move, yet my body stays in a relaxed daze.

My head swims, feeling woozy or tipsy. Shapes move, and what I thought was a rogue animal turns out to be a human silhouette. Extraordinary green eyes survey me. The heavy thump of a heartbeat slams in my throat. I can’t quite fathom the tones of intrigue held in its stare.

Panic urges me to sit. When my torso lifts, it’s met with a forceful leather-clad hand. “What have you done to me?” I demand, straining against the strength nudging me backward.

Glaring eyes lower, bringing a sonorous rumble to the dusk air. “Who are you?”

A glorious fresh scent of citrus both warns and chills my visitor’s manly presence.

“Iris Kitson,” I whisper. “Who are you?”

As my name drifts free, the intruder catches a beam of moonlight. The heavenly structured face of el Fantasma is dangerously close.

“Why are you here?” I demand, palming my temples, then scrubbing my eyes. If I keep them closed long enough, perhaps I’ll wake up from this nightmare. Behind my shuttered sight, I sense him drop to his haunches.

“Where do you live?” he asks with a deceitful calmness. I’d rather stay mute until the bad dream subsides. Oddly, my brain is firing answers and truths that I’d rather protect. After three steadying breaths, I blink in the bearded face of my captor. “Where do you live?” he repeats, setting gloved hands at either side of my thighs, penning me in with an unspoken threat.

I shiver, weakened by the pulse pounding in my chest. “What have you done to me? I feel different.”

“Answer my questions, and you’ll sleep it off, unharmed.” A flare of his impatience sparks a fire inside me.

“I live in the Scottish Highlands,” my reply rushes out. “With my parents, even though I’m twenty-three and should have my own place.” Information overload.

“How do you know, el Fantasma?” That question. That name. That man.

“What do you want from me?” My hands ball, curling obsidian fabric clinging to his taut chest.

He flinches. “Don’t touch me. Answer the damn question.”

“I don’t know you. Or him. I’m not interested in playing your sick mind games. Leave me alone.” Whiskers brush over the curve of my neck. I mewl softly when my nipples pebble from the light contact of his T-shirt. “El Fantasma is a man who thinks it’s his right to hold me prisoner.” I squirm. “A man who makes me feel emotions that should never be combined. A man who makes me want to fuck him and kill him at the same time.” Holy shit! Why did I say that?

I feel his chest rise as he inhales the shock of my statement. My inner thoughts are flowing freely, as if he’s coaxed them out with friendliness and charm. It’s confusing. I swallow hard and raise my chin, staring to the jungle beyond him instead of sparring gazes.

“Who is Maria Rebello to you?” The harshness of his cadence is grittier and edgy as if I’ve rattled his cage.

I sway my head, fixing my gaze on a waving palm. “Is she one of your so-called employees too? I’ve only met men.” A zesty sigh blankets my prickled skin, welcoming a surge of wrongs to charge through my veins.

“Why did you come here?” He leans closer, infecting me with a psychotic thrill.

With adrenaline at an all-time high, my awareness returns. El Fantasma crouches at eye level with locks curling his nape, and heavy-set brows pinched. The sharpness of his nose is exquisitely formed, and the depths of dark green eyes flash with a notion of attraction. They don’t warn of danger; they flicker with something I don't understand.

I press both palms to his chest, trying to push his sinewy muscles out of my personal space. “You know why I’m here. This interrogation is pointless. I’m an ecologist. A simple woman with a boring life caught in a tropical prison. I’m held hostage by an asshole who hides from everyone because he’s a coward.” I shouldn’t be so blunt. However, the filter to my thoughts has vanished. I’m incapable of censoring the words oozing from my brain. “The storm ruined all our hard work. Bruce’s samples were washed away. He died. The man actually died, and no one buried him. I left the camp to save myself from the wildlife and bring help. To give him a proper send-off. Now that I think about it, I’ve lost my passport and, most importantly, my journal,” I ramble.

El Fantasma doesn’t speak as he rises like a rattlesnake ready to strike. “Can I trust you?”

“No,” I bite out. “I want to leave this place and never come back. I won’t stop trying to get as far away from you as possible. I long for the day I’m at home where I belong, so I can forget you exist. If that means becoming a stowaway on a departing helicopter, then so be it.”

I bite my bottom lip at my admission. A sensible answer would have been one word—yes. Except I’ve foolishly revealed my intentions and implied I’m untrustworthy.

“Who would you run back to?” He runs a hand through thick wavy hair, and it’s only then I realize he’s not hiding from me.

A thin crease nestles in his brow as he waits for my answer. I take a second to assess his stern features and hair smattered cheeks, repulsed by the character and baited by his physical appearance.

“This is ridiculous,” I murmur. “I’ll go straight to Scotland to see my family. Remember the parents whose hearts you’ve shattered. And my little sister, Emmie.” Rage siphons through the sickly desire plaguing my being.

I adjust my inner compass to hang off hatred and hide from the absurdity of attraction. Then, one by one, he unpeels the gloves guarding his scars, tossing them to the padded cushion beneath me. In a hasty swoop, a bare hand clamps around my neck, ordering my gaze upward.

“Who do you love most in this world?” Our gazes clash. His curiosity warring with my disgust.

As much as I demand freedom, one impulsive move and he could squeeze the breath right out of me. My racing pulse skids at the sharp contact. The pressure weakens, lessening his initial harshness. I’m no fool. This is his territory. I’m disposable.

“My sister. She’s innocent, beautiful, and smart. I miss her.”

His breath warms my cheek. “Why would you put her life at risk to spy on Dante Valez?”

“Who the hell is Dante Valez? Why aren’t you listening to me?” The ball in my throat moves against his palm. “I’m not spying on anyone. You’ve trapped me here. You’re the one making me stay in this prison.”

“Tell me more about el Fantasma.”

My toes curl when his lips hover too close for comfort. I lengthen my neck in a reckless gesture, inching a fraction into him, purely out of defiance. He tips away, licking his lips like he wants to taste me. My morals beseech me to behave, and a surge of adrenaline flips my belly. “I’ll tell you what I know about him. He’s the most vile and arrogant man ever to walk this Earth.” I don’t say the words with bitterness. They dance off my tongue in a simple admission of truth. “He expects obedience and demands respect. Yet he hasn’t earned my compliance, even though—” His lips quirk, baring bright white teeth in warning. “Even though my hatred competes with fascination. I despise the man and crave his hands all over me.”

His throaty grunt burrows under my skin, blitzing every cell with a greedy, forbidden longing. I watch his nostrils flare, and his lips part like I’ve caught him off guard. That makes two of us. He’s stolen my existence, and now he’s prizing out my innermost fantasies.

“Omigod, why do I keep saying that?” I whisper, succumbing to the flames rising to my eyes.

“Because it’s the truth.” His voice is softer now, not welcoming but not accusing either. “Close your eyes, beija flor.”

“No.” I gasp, chilled by his unknown intentions.

“Are you scared of me?”

“Yes.” Damn him. I should’ve said no. I have no control over my answers. What should remain as private thoughts are dropping onto his lap like falling coconuts from the highest palm tree.

“You should be.” The hand cradling my jawline guides my body to standing. “Inside.” Held prisoner in a single movement, I tip into him only for support as my legs betray me. “Walk.”

Together we move indoors. Me stepping reluctantly as he ushers me by the neck. Once inside, he lets go and slides the door shut.

I take that wisp of distraction to bolt, darting to the exit with quaking knees. Before I reach the door, hands circle my waist, and I’m dragged backward. He effortlessly pivots me one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees. Our eyes lock in a silent war. “So, you hate me?” His left brow drifts higher.

“Yes.” My hands tremble, although I force myself to meet his haunting stare. “I hate you so much, and if at all possible, I detest you even more, knowing you’ve spiked my drink and stolen my damn privacy.”

El Fantasma glues his narrowed gaze to the rampant goosebumps showering my skin. Hungry eyes eat up the sight of my naked flesh. This man has had the upper hand since I met him, and tonight is no different. Without a protective layer of material, he can observe everything. Every nervous tremor and rush of uncertain prickles. I’m exposed to his every glance and whim.

“And even though you hate me, you wish for my hands to own you?” His tongue skates between his lips, and I swear he shivers.

“Fuck you,” I grit out.

My mind is screaming in agreement, but I’m determined not to reply. Instead, I nip my tongue until a sharp sting reveals a copper trickle that blends with saliva. What I’m feeling is unnatural. I bet he’s poisoned me with ecstasy, inducing a euphoric lie. I’m drawn to him against my will. That’s the only conceivable reason for this curse.

Powerful palms glide to my shoulders. My ass hits the wall. Chills dart down my spine. “How can you hate me, beija flor, when you want to fuck me?” A wicked smirk interrupts my loathing. “You can only speak the truth tonight. So, tell me, what do you want?”

“Freedom,” I blurt out, spraying his cheek with spatters of scarlet.

He wipes the speckles with mottled fingers and runs his tongue over the tips, tasting the fluid containing hidden truths. Clean fingers hollow my cheeks. My heartbeat speeds up when I slam balled fists into his chest. “Get the hell away from me. And stop calling me stupid pet names. They christened me, Iris.”

Thrashing fists are restrained. He wrestles my spine against the wall. Our hips collide, overpowering my body with his firm physique. “I told you, Iris is dead. Beija flor is a hummingbird in Portuguese. An inquisitive colorful bird that exists in a habitat with fatal threats.” His nostrils flare as his fingers tighten around my wrists. “You want to fly away.” My spine straightens to prove my strength. I’m not a fragile bird with clipped wings. “But you can't. Perhaps you aren’t my enemy. I haven’t decided that yet. Either way, it won’t change what you’ve seen.”

This desirable devil is a menace. I’ve divulged too much already. Painful secrets are exposed. He’s using my misplaced gravity toward him as a weapon. “Leave me alone. Like I’ve already told you, I despise you.” I emphasize my hatred as a decoy, hoping it’s enough to get rid of him.

As his groin nestles closer, he raises my arms above my head. “I’m going to fuck you. Do you want to feel me move inside you? To give in to this fading fascination between us once and for all?”

He’s a victim of this raw attraction too. The situation repulses me. My body helplessly responds to his presence. With every rushed breath, I inhale his sensual heat and intoxicating dominance. An infuriating thrum between my thighs begs for attention. That inglorious satisfaction will only be granted over my dead body.

“Answer me,” he snarls, the grit to his baritone turns raspier than before, almost desperate. “Choose silence, and I’ll find the answer for myself. I guarantee you’re wet like you were before.” The bastard actually hums as the corner of his mouth twitches. “This body . . .” His eyes darken, a liquid swirl of black lust snakes peridot. “It can’t deny how you really feel. With or without the truth cocktail you greedily enjoyed. Hearing your consent isn’t necessary when it coats my fingers. Tell me your darkest, dirty secret, beija flor. Do you crave your master’s hands, his hard cock, and his ownership?”

My muddled brain agrees with the pulsating veins of fire within me. Before I can fight to conceal my inner desires, the answer trips past my lips. “Yes,” I breathe permission in a whisper. It’s almost audible, like the wings of an angel spreading wide before it topples from the heavens. “I don’t want to be here,” I snarl through gritted teeth.

It’s too late. I’ve agreed. He jerks forward, butting his forehead to mine. “Yet here we are.” His features remain stern and dangerous. “I don’t want you in my oasis, snooping about my business.”

“Then let me go.” I fight against him, squirming with no chance of breaking away. “Torture someone else. Drug that woman, Maria, or whatever her name is.”

“I’ll do more than drug her.” My stomach knots when his voice hints at an unhallowed deed. “I'll kill the lying, deceitful bitch. That’s what happens when people break my trust.” Hairs tickle my jaw. It’s both gratifying and felonious. “I’ll personally escort you to a chopper when I’m convinced trust isn’t an issue. Until then—”

Any contact we had suddenly wanes. He steps back, fluidly stripping out of his clothes. I slap my palms over my eyes, trying to right this wrong. As the metal zipper on his shorts clunks to the floor, my heart skitters.

Whatever happens tonight, I’ll survive. This man won’t ruin me. He won’t see my fall from grace. I sneer behind my blacked-out vision. Allowing a man like him to use me for sex is deplorable.

“I won’t let you touch me,” I blurt out, bringing my gaze to the naked muscular beast primed for attack.

“Yes, you will.” His throat works as he swallows. I’m in awe of gloriously golden skin, impeccable and firm from his rugged face to his defined legs.

“I’ll fight back.”

An inky twist of hair drapes his forehead, teasing thick, serious set brows. He grabs his proud cock, smiling when he catches my lashes lower to watch him stroke the length. “Fighting will make it more enjoyable. That way I know you're engaged, that you're giving in to your instincts.”

“No.” My hair bristles at the root. “Please, don’t do this.” I opt for meekness, hoping it will derail his need for war.

“I’ll ask you one more time.” He stalks closer with swirling eyes, narrow hips, and shoulders more powerful than any animal roaming the jungle. “Do you want me to fuck you, beija flor? I’ll remind you how I treat liars.”

Our eyes lock. I whimper in defeat. My heart shatters into a million pieces of shame when I give him an honest response. “Yes.”

Panic spews through my limbs when he reaches out and snares my throat in his damaged palm. “That’s the right answer. Whether I decide to fuck you is another thing entirely.”

As he holds me under inspection, I sense a reservation like he’s thinking of tenderness and passion, not brutality. Or perhaps that’s how I wish him to feel, to pretend this isn’t punishment for finding his hideout.

The hand travels lower. Instinctively, I grab his wrist, halting its descent. His free hand slides around my hip, yanking me into him. I mirror his movements, slapping my palm on his snaking arm. His eyes glisten at the challenge. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

I swallow hard. “No.”

In a flash, he spins me around so my breasts slam into the wall. He kicks my legs apart. I tremble at the roughness, flinching when fingers dance down the contour of my spine. A hand wraps the lengths of my messy hair in a fist as if he’s fixed me to a leash. My palms press to the wall as my head tugs backward. Warm feathery lips cover my exposed neck. Rapture twists with fury. I want this. I don’t want this. I crave him. I detest him.

Hands explore every inch of my nakedness. He takes his time, mocking a lover who worships. Tingles detonate beneath my skin, firing up an intense craving for more. Recklessness extinguishes my retaliation. The fight subsides like a pathetic submissive learning to obey. That realization fills me with blistering remorse. If I give in once, he’ll continue to plunder and take.

“Stop,” I pant when he traces my buttocks.

A deep growl spreads prickles all over me. Jerking my head, he trails me by the hair to the bed with possessive control. Quickly letting go, he seizes my hand, forcing it to clamp his hardened cock. “Is this what you want? Or do you need my tongue inside you?”

I flinch, yanking my hand free because it feels utterly divine. “Why are you doing this to me?”

His eyes darken with a density that matches the grim jungle at midnight. He stuffs fingers into the hair at my nape, snapping our foreheads together. “Because you’re intoxicating, and I haven’t craved a woman in so long.” His tone drops to a husky murmur. My stomach burns. “And because we both want it, you and I.”

With that admission, he shoves me onto the bed and clambers on top. My fists pound brawny, flexed muscles toughened like armor and unaffected by punches. Teeth nip and bite my tingly flesh. I moan as a wave of excitement crashes over me. The weak protest subsides when he stoops into my neck and inhales, breathing me into his lungs. If I weren’t so furious, I’d be gushing over his reverence. I shudder at the sensation of his cock prodding my hipbone.

“I hate you,” I whisper when he finds slick heat with exploring fingertips.

“But this”—he pushes a finger in deeper, so I shiver with the wicked sensation of iniquity versus pleasure—“this you like,” he bites out with a sting of venom to match my own.

A second finger joins the first. I notice how he snatches a breath as they glide in with ease. Naturally tensing, my mind begs for mercy. The wicked intrusion bursts millions of devilish tingles over my scalp. It’s a sinful secret that no one will ever learn of. Only this man and I will know what has happened here, making it easier to believe it's a figment of my imagination. An unrighteous act that I’m hungry for. That I’ll store in the darkest depth of my insanity.

My groan of indulgence chills searing blood. Teeth sink into my nipple. I cry out, convulsing in gluttony and resentment.

Our lips never meet. Our gaze never breaks. Our hatred never lessens. Yet furious passion thrives when I relent to the mania hissing under my skin, and he rewards it with overbearing control.

My icy resolve thaws under his dominance, misted in sweat and pliable to his every rough touch. The beast within him snarls, directing masterful fingers to everything beneath my throat. He squeezes my breasts and sucks the flesh into his mouth as if he hasn’t devoured a woman in years. It’s demanding and immoral to witness the loss of his self-preservation. As I relinquish, he gives in to his own hysteria with thick grunts and flared nostrils.

What I relish in pain, he then sweetens with pleasure. Messy waves hang to his eyes, fringing the wildness in his gaze.

“Kiss me,” I beg, lifting higher when he positions himself between my knees. “That’s what I want from you.”

The ache scorching through my core sets alight my regrets. It’s too late for me now. Roaring skin branded like flames presses down on my ribcage, effectively halting the silly urge. Trapped beneath him, my spine molds into the mattress, and he lowers his face. I gasp, clawing at the sheet as the wildness breaks free. I skip over our mutual hatred when his teeth graze the sensitive bundle of nerves.

I lose sight of tomorrow.

I disregard self-respect.

Because I have nowhere to hide when he’s roaming freely in my mind, savagely occupying my body with tortured fingers and demolishing me with a felonious tongue. It's true, I wanted this, and now I have to figure out how to deal with it in the morning.

He looks up, and instantly our gazes fuse. In that second of insanity, I lose myself in his authority, his zingy scent, and his primitive arousal as he rises over me.

Flesh to flesh.

Danger to sanctuary.

I catch a tinge of his vulnerability when I suck flawed fingers into my mouth and taste myself blended with his unique flavor. That unexpected find, a wisp of amity, nudges me deeper into the forbidden world we’ve spawned.

His hand returns to the apex of my thighs. A fierce orgasm catches me off guard when he circles the highly sensitive, swollen flesh. It crashes through me like a devastating cyclone.

I come for him. Hard. Furious. Extraordinary.

My tingly skin is alive.

My heart thumps out of time.

My lashes bat like butterfly wings, hastily retreating from a threat.

I never knew torture could feel so incredible.

In the aftermath of frantic pleasure, he bears down on my wrists and stares into my eyes. Ferocious green to uncertain brown.

“Can I trust you, beija flor?” The urgency fastened to that question screams of despair.

He’s been hurt. This man seeks one genuine quality. It’s not adoration or a physical connection.

El Fantasma craves loyalty.

“Yes,” I pant, fighting heavy eyelids.

My head spins while my limbs melt into the mattress. Tiredness shivers over me in an uncontrollable torrent. “What did . . . you . . . give . . . me?” I hear my whisper as the words float past my lips and darkness descends.