Fever by Autumn Archer
17
During the return journey to the oasis, Sal and I sit in silence. He checks his watch every so often while I stew. My hands fist, digging sharp nails into my palms. It's the only way to revive me from the daze.
El Fantasma admitted the funeral wasn’t a ploy or a mind trick. It was naturally the decent thing to do for Bruce––and me, apparently. If I should endure anything, it would be stupidity. Only for the ridiculous reaction I had to his confession.
He’s capable of kindness.
The second eye-opener was infertility. He’s unable to create a child. Where that should appease me as justice served, it saddens me too. I don't know why. It’s not an emotion I can untangle, nor do I wish to dwell on it either.
I peer out the window, watching his helicopter land as we circle above. The dreamer inside of me wishes I could sprout wings and soar from my prime position in the cloudless sky. The realist, whose opinion I value more, forewarns me of the outcome. I’m not immortal. Such a bold opportunity to fly away would surely fail. He would block out the sun and cast away the moon. I’d drop from a starless black sky straight back into the labyrinth.
A sudden swoop flips my insides. Sunny blue becomes leafy green when we touch down on the helipad.
El Fantasma lingers on the worn boards a few feet away from the helipad, conversing with staff while I unfasten my harness and climb out. He was oblivious to our descent, and even now, as I’m ducking under deadly blades, he still doesn’t give me an ounce of thought. I squint, glaring at him from under the cupped hand pinned to my brow.
He has gifted me with a leisurely afternoon. Vexed irony bubbles and pops in my belly. An afternoon in my cabin, alone, with nothing to do. A prison of boredom and solitude.
The instant my ankles wobble, Sal latches on my elbow. “Are you okay?” he asks. I nod a few times and suck in steadying breaths. “Go back to your cabin and rest up. I’ll organize a feast fit for a Celt and have someone drop it off this evening. I’m sorry for your loss, Iris.” My lashes flick up, meeting caring brown eyes. “You’ve had a tough time. Sleep will reward you with strength, and meditation will center your thoughts.” A warming smile reaches right inside me.
Tiredness tugs at my eyelids and weighs heavily in my dangling hands. An arm snakes across my shoulder blades, luring me closer. I dip into Sal’s chest. His heart thumps by my ear, and he pats my hair like a brother nurturing a baby sister.
An overflow of energy from the funeral has left me emotionally and physically depleted. Seeing the site where Bruce was adamant we’d be safe was bittersweet. So much has changed since we landed in Brazil. A pang of loneliness germinates into homesickness. I haven’t been called Iris since Bruce’s thick Scottish brogue warned me of danger. The night when both Bruce and Iris died in a relentless thunderstorm.
“Why did you call me Iris? I thought he ordered you to . . .”
Both of Sal’s arms gently encircle me. “It's your name. And we’re friends now, right? We can keep it between us.” His voice is soft, but it rumbles in my skull as I stay nestled in his chest, soaking up the warm embrace.
My throat aches as I force down a gulp. “I really hope we can be friends.” It will be hard when his loyalty rests with my tormentor. “It was my name once upon a time,” I whisper, secretly admitting to myself that I no longer resemble that woman anymore. “He calls me beija flor.” The only connection to Iris is fading memories. She’s an echo in the forest, unseen beneath the canopy and unheard in the vastness. Nothing can resurrect her now.
“Hummingbird.” He smiles. “It suits you. Shall I escort you back?” He peers down at my pitiful bruised soul, offering an understanding smile.
“No, it’s okay.” I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.” Huddling within his warmth and kindness, I absorb the sensation of a simple hug. The human connection helps me feel less alone.
Sal leans away and examines his wristwatch again. I almost beg him not to let go. “I’ve got somewhere to be. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.” He lightly taps my chin with his knuckles. “And stay indoors, okay?”
“Fine.” I smile and roll my eyes playfully, replacing his hug with my own folded arms.
I trudge away with achy limbs and step up onto the walkway. It follows a sweet floral scent that I’ve quickly become accustomed to. A delicate fragrance I’ve taken for granted, even though those species are the reason I hopped on a plane to South America in the first place. Now they’re just pretty flowers masking the backdrop of a leafy jail.
What does my future look like?
He’ll stay in the shadows, out of sight like the ghost he wants to be, and I continue to work with Sal, living a life unlived, unloved, and unimportant. The urge to strip off the stifling uniform brands my brain until a noise wrenches my head up. I halt under the shade of palm fronds. Frozen. Stunned.
An exotic woman with curves, height, and flowing sable hair links her dainty arm with el Fantasma’s. I swallow shock as he kisses the crown of her head. Caramel bare legs start with stonewashed denim shorts and end in strawberry pink flip-flops. A skimpy belly top reveals a slender waist, and fine features beam with sunshine and radiance. She’s devastatingly attractive and everything I am not.
What the hell?
Adjoined, they swivel toward the medical facility, walking side by side. Even with their backs to me, I can tell how animated she is and how devoted and responsive he is to everything she says. I stagger forward, clutching my stomach. Anger springs from misplaced hurt. A crimson curse surges to my chest and swallows my pale face. This was the last thing I ever expected to witness. He told me women didn’t belong here, that all his staff are men. Contradictory tears threaten to fall. Adrenaline spits and speeds, bursting into my legs, so they tremble.
I detest the man.
He’s not mine, and I am certainly not his.
I’ve been killed off without the actual deed, drugged, finger fucked, and now I’m lost in an emotion I have no right to suffer.
I’m jealous.
With a muttered slur of irrationality, I continue along sun-soaked planks. Fast steps break into a sprint. Unfounded feelings multiply under the swaying foliage of a false paradise. My mind is adrift, lost in the silly notion that somewhere beyond his cruelty, he might have cared. I dared to imagine my keeper had redeemable qualities after he selflessly organized Bruce’s burial. Wretched embarrassment heaves in my stomach.
The truth is, he’s an unethical hypocrite. Now I know he’s fucking women all over this dreadful place. I bet he’s had a million nights just like last night and followed through on his promise to ruin. The intensity in his eyes was a lie. El Fantasma is the worst flesh-eating parasite of all. He’s diabolical, hollow hearted, and my sole enemy.
It’s absolutely ridiculous how gullible and naïve I’ve become.
Barging into my suite, I peel off the shirt that chokes my sanity and step out of the nasty trousers sticking to my sweaty legs. My limbs quake, furious and unbalanced. I’m all alone, naked, and losing control. Everything slams into me at once. The loss, the grief, the ungodly lust, the pitiful funeral, the web of lies, the one man who thinks I’m weak. The inconceivable hint of envy.
Once I slide open the door to the terrace, I suck in when the air-conditioned atmosphere crashes into mugginess. A glassy aqua blue pool calls to me, cleanses my misery, and wraps my body with comfort. Salty tears are lost in the expansive pool water. They combine and disappear, just like I have in this godforsaken jungle.
How will I survive this man?
It’s peaceful bobbing aimlessly on my back with my ears below the surface. Overreaching branches guard me from the high sun and protect my fair skin from burning. Taking Sal’s advice, I gather up my demons and focus on the lightweight sensation.
Seconds bleed into minutes. Minutes dwindle to hours. After languishing in diluted tears, I’m unconcerned with the tangerine sun's descent from a cloudless sky or how it lingers above towering treetops. Floating in the middle of a rainforest has never felt so liberating. I’m unfettered. Free from el Fantasma’s demands. Beneath the serene surface, noise mutes. A singular hush of relief. Water cherishes my exhausted limbs and holds me in a place of comfort where I can rearrange my distorted perspective.
I’m not Iris Kitson anymore. Which means morals ingrained, lessons learned, rights or wrongs lived are all things of the past. Releasing those shackles will give me the stamina to do what has to be done. To survive, whatever the price.
We aren’t compatible.
He isn’t my future.
I don’t belong here.
Repetitive thuds break the tranquility of my cocoon. Water surges. Powerful hands seize my waist. Calmness is destroyed when the persistent hum of insects returns. I go from relaxed to stormy in a split second. Green eyes fuse with mine. Water droplets dive off inky facial hair. Thick brows knit together, directing a pensive and hardened stare at my obvious astonishment.
“What the fuck are you doing?” El Fantasma snarls, planting his feet at the bottom of the pool.
I stay motionless in his grip, our confusion dances with each other in a moment of uncertainty. “What are you doing?” I hiss in a breath. “You gave me the afternoon off. You told me we were done. Why the hell are you jumping into my pool with your clothes on?” My insides vibrate. “You don’t get to order me about all the time. You can’t reach me in here.” I jab a finger at my head.
The hands circling my waist remain locked tight, unrelenting. “I was knocking. You didn’t answer.”
“Yet you didn't get the hint?” I snap.
He blows out a sigh and submerges his head. After a fluttered heartbeat, the authority around my waist breaks away, and he gradually resurfaces. Godlike. Divine. As he rises, golden sunlight twinkles over the ripples circling out from his head. Resplendent sunlight glitters on the beads of water resting on his long lashes when we meet face-to-face once again. With that one act, the fire flickers alive. I can’t stop the unspoken bond developing between this gorgeous man and this pitiful woman. As much as I try to fight against it, the fever simmering behind his eyes signals mixed messages.
In one swipe, he rakes damp hair away from his forehead and looks right at me. “I thought something had happened to you. That’s all.”
“Are you serious? Are you pretending to care for my well-being now? After mind fucking me?”
“Mind fucking?” He wades backward, putting a needed rift from his body to mine. “I’ve been honest with you from the start. Perhaps you’re the mind-fucker, beija flor.”
I notice he changed his shirt, now dressed in a pitch-black T-shirt that snuggles his torso under the surface. Then I realize I’m completely naked.
“And I’ve been up front with you. If you had asked me those questions without using a drug, the answers would have been the same. I don’t have an ulterior motive.”
His eyes never leave me, yet his breath escapes in a slow sigh. “Why didn’t you answer the door?”
“I was enjoying the peace and quiet. The water blocks out the constant animal racket.” And dulls the exhausted thoughts running through my mind.
Backed against the water’s edge, he looks normal. A guy spending the evening in a pool with friends. A man without secrets and cruel intentions. “I’ve spent many evenings floating under the stars,” he admits, swiping his uncovered palm over his jaw. “No matter what goes on out there”—hair flicks over his brow when he nods to the screening vegetation—“this place is a sanctuary.”
He doesn’t smile or continue to speak. He just stands in the pool like it’s a natural occurrence for us to talk.
The craziness seeps out of me before I have time to assess the possible fallout. Swimming to the ledge, I place both palms on the mosaic tiles and elevate out of the deep end. This time I’m not under the influence of a drug, I’m in control and wholly aware of my senses. Prickles shower my spine and rush to my buttocks, competing with languid water. Glancing back at the exact moment I straighten to stand, his unwavering attention lights every cell within my body. I shake out my curls, gently teasing splayed fingers through the spirals as adrenaline spikes. My nipples harden, and a dangerous thrill proclaims my arousal.
I want him to want me.
Perhaps that's my only tactic. Make the beast desire something new in this world he’s created.
With my ass to the pool, I prance to the sun lounger. Splashes are followed by a chorus of cicadas chirping in the stillness. Anticipation swirls with apprehension. My heart bucks, and my knees threaten to buckle.
“As you weren’t bitten by a poisonous snake and left for dead in the pool, I’ll leave.”
I spin around, inadvertently catching the hard-on fighting against dripping camo shorts. “You came here to check if I'd been bitten?” I say with an incredulous smirk.
“No. I came here to give you something.”
“There isn’t anything you could give me that I would want. Not one thing.” This time, my eyes purposefully drop to the bulge.
“Is that right?” he growls. “Well, you’ve looked at my dick twice now. That says it all.” He runs a thumb over his bottom lip, and tremors shake over my skin. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn't come here for that.”
“It’s not disappointment, it’s relief.” I force a smile. “What did you want to give me? Another cocktail?”
His silent gaze remains on mine for a second longer than comfortable. With his face unhidden and his identity laid bare, he turns ninety degrees and strolls indoors. “This.” He waves a brown notebook. A pocket-sized notebook. My journal.
I freeze, all too aware of the skipped heartbeats caused by the curveball smacking into my chest. My feet barely touch the tiles as I rush over to claim back the treasured item. “Where did you find it? I thought everything was destroyed.” I hold out my hands.
Just as my fingertips brush the cover, he whips it away. “And you said there was nothing I could give you that you would want. So, is this something you don’t want?”
“Why are you teasing me?”
“I’m only asking for honesty, beija flor.”
“Honesty? Really?” I laugh. “You told me there were no women at the oasis. You led me to believe I was the only one.” In the deadlock, my nakedness is no longer a weapon, it's my vulnerability. “I saw you with a woman earlier. Is this what you really do? Trap women and brainwash them into thinking you’re truly their master. To make them fall for you. Is it a pompous ego trip to prove you’re the true king of the jungle?”
El Fantasma goes rigid. “I don't wish for any woman to fall for me.” Iridescent eyes narrow. He might be the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, but the slice of disgust served with his response pours an uneasiness over my racing heart. “You were spying on me?”
Fuck him for thinking I’d be interested in stalking him. “Are you serious?” I palm my belly, battling queasiness. “I’m trying to stay away, not follow you around like a lost parrot. You were out in the open with a beautiful woman. It’s hardly spying if you're on the common pathways. Anyone could have seen you, Mister Not-so-ghostly.” I tip my chest in a half-mocking bow.
His nostrils flare at the flippant tone that I’ve chosen to show courage. The shift of his eyebrow announces displeasure. “And by that explosion, I can only assume you’re jealous?”
I trip over the audacity. “Me . . . jealous? Can your ego get any bigger?” My hands fly to my hips, and his eyes land on my breasts as they jiggle with the movement. “Are there more women here?”
He runs a hand over his mouth, with muscles flexed and a solitary vein pulsating in his throat, never taking his harsh gaze off me. A glowering look of distaste tightens his features. My heart withers under the gray cloud of his restless mood. “You’re the only one,” he confirms. “I suggest you tell me the truth, or I’ll toss this journal back into the jungle with you attached to it. Does this notebook please you?”
Antagonizing the man who can make me disappear is moronic. It’s not my fault that his presence brings out an animalistic temper within me. However, it’s not my anger I need to mollify, it’s his. A searing stare strips the flesh from my bones and deflates my lungs, suffocating them of air. “Yes. It pleases me.” I drop my chin and lower my lashes to free myself from his villainous beauty.
“Were you jealous?” he repeats.
I shiver at the hoarse quality of his clipped tone. “Confused,” I whisper, as though the heinous confession is swaddled in protective feathers.
I can't lie to him if I’m going to survive.
The book drops into my waiting palms. “Here.” He doesn't let go. Instead, he leans into the side of my face. Whiskers stimulate the mending scar tissue. “Do not tease me if you don’t want me to fuck you to death.”
Dusk stains the sky with a final blaze of bronze. As nightfall prepares to cast its starry blanket, the restless wildlife noise ebbs. A faint breeze from the overhead fan pirouettes around me. Freshness boosts all the hairs on my body to an upright position. Taking a slow, controlled breath, he pivots around in damp boots and marches to the door.
I dart after him. “Wait.” He doesn't slow his pace. “You told me to forget about the woman I used to be. So why did you bring me that person's journal?”
He finally stops and waits for me to reach his side. In a beat, he squats to collect the sunglasses lying on the tiles as if he’d whipped them off in a panic. “There are parts of her that still belong to you. You deserve to carry on with the important research––purely as a hobby. A pastime for your amusement. I don’t need to own your soul, beija flor.” El Fantasma angles into me and cups my cheek with cool leather. “Whatever you think this is . . .” His gaze drifts to my parted lips. “It’s your fantasy. Not mine. I’m the one thing stopping you from going home to your old life. I’m standing in the way of your freedom. Even if my instincts tell me to trust you, I can’t. I will always suspect the irresistible woman who collapsed at my boots. It’s as simple as that.” My belly knots as the coldness in his truth gusts a suffocating black frost into my lungs. “Taunting me won’t lessen this psychosis. It will only make it worse. If you think last night was a nightmare, then you’re dangerously innocent.”
I swallow hard when smooth lips threaten to unite with mine. His mouth hesitates. My insides throb, yet I refuse to give in. “Fine.” I tilt my head, trying to break free from his grip. “The absurd attraction to you was an aftereffect of the fever. Rest assured, I do not fantasize about the man who has stolen my soul. Whether or not you want to own it, you’ve taken it.”
A sharp smile forces me to catch a breath. “I’ve given you back your passion. You can study the flowers whenever you like. Wasn’t that the very reason for your trip to the Amazon?” Goose bumps scatter over my skin. “However, I can easily take it away again if you test me. Don’t think for one second I won’t.”
My palm flies to his chest, not to push him away but to steady myself from falling. And just like that, his expression flips to liquid lust.
I bite my lip, painfully mindful of how reckless it was to use him for support. “I promise to behave and work hard if you promise to leave me alone.” Straining my neck for space earns a throaty growl. That sonorous reverberation of his frustration charges me with an electrical current. I’m both the Antarctic and the Sahara Desert. Subzero and boiling point. And we both know heat melts ice. Drawing back my shoulders, I tilt back and glare at him, waiting for an answer. “Do you promise?” I repeat.
Leather contact wanes. His gaze drops to the puddle of pool water swamping my bare feet. I can’t tell if he’s about to snap or leave when his nostrils flare. Narrowed eyes flicker, and those tempting lips stay shut.
I look away, finding his strewn cap by the door. “When you jumped into the pool, did you think you were rescuing me?” I murmur, covering my breasts with my forearms.
His fingers graze my waist.
A wildfire rush of craving rockets to my core.
“Don’t question it. That was a knee-jerk reaction. Nothing more.” All contact ceases, and he takes two steps back.
Knock, knock.
His head whips around first, and then his body follows. Lightning reflexes screen his eyes before he flings open the door. A man cloaked in shadows waits on the doorstep with a tray of covered plates.
“Sir?” The employee bows in a submissive gesture, out of respect or dread. “Salvador asked me to deliver this food to the woman. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here, sir.”
"It’s okay.” El Fantasma nods curtly. “Obrigado.” He takes the tray from his possession and kicks the door shut, sauntering to the table and dual chairs. Plates clink as he organizes the dishes and places cutlery. “Get dressed,” he orders without looking back at me.
I don’t hesitate, grabbing the folded nightdress set out on the bed. It offers a temporary layer of protection, a thin barrier from the darkest side of his mood. Sensing my light-footed approach, he pulls out a chair. “Sit.”
As I settle, he wanders into the bathroom and returns barefooted. Scarred hands clasp either end of a towel draped around his neck. The soggy T-shirt is discarded and messy hair roughly dried. I shiver as the black necklace pressed to his sternum evokes wicked memories I should forget. Thankfully, wet shorts still cling to his lower half, trapping possibilities. When his contoured torso angles around, I notice a ferocious black jaguar inked into the length of his back. The artistry spans his spine with a snarling wildcat head on his shoulder.
He sinks down in the opposite chair and waves his hand above an assortment of rustic sliced bread and glossy olives. “After you.”
“You’re joining me?” I force bravery into the question, praying this isn’t a game with cruel consequences.
His lungs expand, and then a slow sigh escapes him. “I’m hungry. It saves the kitchen staff from preparing more food. There’s enough here to feed a village. I’d rather not see it go to waste.”
A tangled revolt of emotions twists in my chest and suppresses my appetite. I’d rather burrow under the sheets alone than share supper with this semi-naked, complex man. The tremble in my hand doesn’t go unnoticed when I pinch a teardrop-shaped dough ball. Taking a small bite, my stomach churns with appreciation.
“It’s called coxinha. Shredded chicken in a savory dough. Deep fried in breadcrumbs,” he explains, puncturing one of his own with brilliant white teeth.
Is this a trap?
I continue to chew, taking elfin mouthfuls while he sits in silence. Breaking open a ball of pastry, he offers me one half. “Try this one.”
How he’s gone from threatening to hospitable terrifies me even more. Only a man so unhinged could intimidate a woman with fucking her to death and then break bread with her moments later. When I reach out to accept it, our fingers clash. He assesses the flurry of heat creeping up my neck like a stalker waiting for the right time to step out of the shadows. Pulling my hand away, I pop the pastry into my mouth and take my time to swap out the rush of sexual tingles with edible pleasure.
He straightens his spine into the chair and taps the table with damaged fingertips. My gaze searches for the dull sound, settling on flawed hands and wrists.
“What happened?” I dab my mouth, curious to know but cautious in case I’ve overstepped.
He stares at the melted skin, curling his fingers while a nightmare manifests in his pitch-black pupils. “They set me up,” he says with a thick rasp. “My fingerprints were all over the murder weapon. So I held my hands into flames and burned them off.”
My lashes hit my eyelids.
He mutilated his own hands.
