Fall by Autumn Archer

6

Rope ends trail over wooden planks as the aircraft lowers to another decked platform.

“You’re safe here.” El Fantasma’s voice booms under the thunderous racket.

A chill whips down my spine. Not from the blustery wind, but from the close proximity of tickly whiskers and a luring waft of lime and musk. Fresh and familiar. Terror and attraction.

Letting go, I jump onto a terrace and slide my hand into the cavernous pocket housing his gun. Robust steel helps my rigid muscles to relax. I’ve never used a firearm before. Shooting a flare gun is my only experience of pulling a trigger for survival. And look where that got me.

As he unhooks himself from the ladder and signals up to the pilot, I glance back over my shoulder to find a jaw-dropping view of the jungle glowing under iridescent moonlight. Trillions of stars glitter around us in an amethyst velvet sky. Nocturnal creatures rumble and gripe.

Following a bowed balcony, I’m instantly awestruck. The place he calls home is a stunning treehouse nestled among a multitude of evergreens. A thickset thatched roof is partially camouflaged by the dense foliage draping from all angles.

It’s an enchanting off grid, architectural masterpiece fit for the king who rules the untamed ecosystem.

Pretty solar lights guide my exploration beneath an extended roof, seamlessly sheltering the boundaries of internal and external living.

“Are you hungry?” His baritone sound snaps me from the hallucination of a delightful vacation rental. “I’ll open the Cachaça. I know I could use a few shots.” He scrubs his eyes and drags a palm down his face.

I’m still a prisoner in the jungle.

Dante strolls ahead. He slides open see-through doors and weaves around exquisite bamboo furniture. I stare inside, in awe of the cylindrical hideaway.

To his right, there’s a uniquely designed kitchen with a stone sculpted sink. Overhead, a pale blue chandelier made from reclaimed bottles tinkles in the breeze. And to the rear of the property, there’s an enormous white bed with an aspect to rival the heavens. Bellowing dreamy net pours like a waterfall from a central hoop on the ceiling, hanging at either side of the frame.

I choose to keep my shock contained. We aren’t friends or lovers. Not anymore. And I’m certainly not the willing guest in his hideout, even if he brought me here without a fight. I weighed out my options and concluded exposure in the wilderness was the most potent danger of the two. At least I have a weapon to cling to. An element of power. A method of protection.

He moves behind the countertop, studying my stillness. “Food? Water?” he repeats. I stay on the balcony, preserving the yards of distance. Rather than taunt my captor, I shake my head with a curt movement. His brows pinch together. “Okay. When you’re hungry, take whatever you want. You don’t need to ask.” Dipping behind the island unit, he fiddles out of view then rises. “I need a shower.” He nips the forefinger of his glove between his teeth and tugs his hand free, then the next.

Thankful for the prospect of space, I sigh inwardly. At least he’ll be hidden behind a screen so I can catch a breath. When I don’t speak, he saunters through the bohemian living area, at ease in his naturally furnished territory. One hand slots into his trouser pocket and the other teases his lips. My silly heart flutters.

I’m the one with a gun, and he seems annoyingly confident I won’t use it. I shake my head again and pivot to the landscape. It’s a ploy to stop me from eyeing his broad shoulders when he yanks his T-shirt up and over his head.

After the day's events, it’s insane how the movement of his linear muscles are a lullaby to my waspish mood. I’m infuriated by the whisper of enticement unfurling in my core. It’s happening all over again. A voodoo spell of attraction. But nothing he says now will alter this situation. An apology won't cut it.

Water splashes. I peer over my shoulder to find him beneath an open-air shower. A monsoon of water sluices over a mighty fine golden physique. Drips undulate down his glorious skin. The man is the epitome of sex and strength.

I hear my gulp, blushing at the secret observation. I’m eying the man I’ll never touch again. Intrigued by the obsidian panther sprawling his back, I step behind the nearest wooden column to hide my shameless inspection. It’s a conscious decision. An urge to see if he’s wearing underwear. Frenzied droplets drench firm ass cheeks, sculpted and indented at either side.

He’s kingly. Magnificent. A breathtaking sight of masculinity. Godly in stature on the outside, yet a paradox of contradictions on the inside.

The downpour of fresh water edges the far corner of his stilted home, minus glass screens or privacy. Dropping his chin, he welcomes water to wash away his savagery. Mid lengths of relaxed curls glisten when they catch pale moonlight.

I suck in a sharp breath, freeing it slowly when I pull the gun from my pocket. The steely firearm looks out of place in my small palm. Nonetheless, it acts as an insurance policy. Self-defense. A way to safeguard the aggressive desire syphoning through my veins. Having it between us prevents the idiotic animal magnetism taking a hold of my wits.

“It suits you.” With a towel snug to his hips, he appears from around the whittled pillar. “You look like a bad girl who’s been to war.” A smile dances on his lips.

“I have been to war.” I bite back behind an invisible heart flutter. “And ironically, even though I have this...” My fingers curl around the handgrip, gently teasing the trigger. “I’m still your prisoner.”

Viridian eyes trail from the loaded weapon to my lips. “Tonight, you're my guest. This is a safe place.” His arms stretch outward. “Minha casa é sua casa, beija-flor.”

That accent does terribly bad things to my core. “Am I safe?”

“None of us are truly safe,” he mutters. “If you want reassurance that I won’t kill you, then you have my word.”

“And what is your word worth to me?”

“Everything. It’s all I have left.” Bare feet breach my invisible boundary. “You need a shower. This coat is covered in dirt.” Mottled fingertips clasp the zip, inching it lower.

I wave the gun so he’s aware of its presence. “I’ll shower on my terms.”

His hand retreats, and he nods once. “Take your time.” With a step sideways, he covers my hand with his large palm, gently forcing the gun downward. “Don’t get too cocky with that thing, beija flor. Would you really shoot an unarmed man?”

“You’re not a man, el Fantasma.” I grit my teeth. “And that asshole in cabin thirteen wasn’t armed.”

An eruption of anger flashes behind his eyes. “His cock was out and ready to fuck you.” A cracking voice needles with exasperation. “And his filthy fucking hands were clawing at your pale skin. Why can't you see I did it for you?” He scrapes his jaw and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, forget it. I shot the fucker, and I don’t regret it. He’s rotting in the jungle now. It’s all over. I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll take the couch. My bed is all yours.” There’s an odd hesitation like he’s about to say something else, then he twists away.

“So now you’re my hero? The master who ended unwanted vermin?”

He folds his arms, patience wearing thin. “He was vermin.”

I shrug helplessly. Buried within my soul are filaments of misplaced virtue that agree with what he did. I won’t openly admit it. Dante saved me from a rapist, and el Fantasma eliminated him. In a freaky switch of morality—I’m grateful. “If I’m a guest, does that mean I’m allowed to leave?”

He fiddles with the towel wrapped around him. His expression slips to stern. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

I freeze. “What?” My heartbeat skids to a halt. “Where am I going?”

His eyes jump to mine. “I’ll organize a seaplane to take you to Brasilia for a connecting flight. You’ll be back in the UK in a few days.”

“Just like that?” My breathing changes rhythm, going from regular to uncertain gasps––and I don’t know why.

He walks away. “Yeah. I have important matters to deal with. I don't need the distraction.”

Distraction? The nonchalance in his tone infuriates me. “What’s changed? How come you’re happy to let me go now.”

His head snaps around. “Not right now. I have until sunrise.”

“To do what?” He doesn’t answer, instead he prowls to the kitchen and gathers two short bamboo cups from a shelf. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell the world about el Fantasma?” I question.

Unscrewing the cap from a bottle of clear liquor, he tips it to his lips and takes a mouthful. Then he pours a healthy measure in each cup and flicks his lashes up, pinning me with a fatal stare. “You won’t,” he says with an heir of cocky confidence.

“How can you be so sure?” I pull my lips back into a cautionary smile.

“Because I’ve pressed the reset button between us. You’ve repaid your debt, and I’m fulfilling my promise to let you go. Don’t forget, I know everything about you and your family.” He trails his fingers through damp waves so the unruly strands settle away from his brow. “I’ve read the inside of your body like it's braille. I’ve explored the lush landscape of your skin. And, I understand why you hate me. Aside from that, I’m painfully attuned to your inner battle against this.” His hand waves from him to me to indicate our unspoken attraction. “You believe it’s wrong to want a ghost like me. Am I right?” Collecting the drinks, he carries the cups from across the room. Smug bastard.

“I don’t want you anymore. It’s totally wrong. Especially after what you did to me out there,” I murmur, casting my mind back to the look of concern in his face as I fell from the sky.

His eyes cloud. “I have your parents' home address stored away in here.” He raises a cup in the direction of his brain. “I have my fingertips on the pulse of the world, beija flor. It’s not meant as a threat, more like a friendly warning. If I can trust you to leave here with my secrets, then you can trust me to watch over your family––I’ll keep them safe.”

“Blackmail?” I hiss out. “You’re actually blackmailing me?”

He stares at me without wavering. “I’m telling you how it is. I have no reason to cause them harm. I’d rather not involve innocent people. It’s your choice.” A rogue droplet trails the length of his temple and slips into the bristles decorating his cheek. “If you talk to the police or even breathe my name, I’ll know. Your parents aren’t my enemy.”

“And I am?” I slam my hands on my hips. “Why did you come back for me?” He holds his tongue as if the answer would rip him apart.

The short distance separating us vanishes. He stops within range of a possible hard swat. The instinct to lash out forces me backwards. I gasp when my ass hits the beam.

His face is expressionless. Quietly observing my unease as he offers me the drink. “I was too hasty earlier.” My eyes roam over every inch of his face, and his dally on my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

My rage simmers, swirling with the regret behind his eyes. “Hasty!” I cross my arms and pout. “How sorry are you exactly?”

“Enough to value your life and gift you with a first-class ticket out of Brazil.” My pulse jumps when he brushes the scar on my cheek. “What did you find in the jungle that was so special?”

I bite my lip, recalling the hasty scrawl to Emmie. “Lots of things,” I reply with a tart grimace. “It’s not important now.”

Snatching the booze, I swill the spirit inside and take a much-needed numbing sip. Vanilla and spice burn my gullet. I cough and clear my throat. “I’ll take that shower now.”

Something occurs to me in the peaceful moment between us. While he stands before me with a shot of white rum and dripping jet-black shaggy hair, utterly exposed—I’m in his private quarters in possession of a firearm and booze while he’s semi-naked offering me freedom.

He’s sending me home.

He’s not really my enemy.

He doesn’t want me.

“Be my guest,” he replies, pinning me to the spot with a wry smile.

My stomach burns. Not from the astringent alcohol, but from his impromptu decision. The man before me has the demons to physically end my life. He could blow a hole in my heart on a whim, drop me from the sky without a parachute or wrestle with me on the jungle floor and crush my windpipe if he deemed it to be a fitting punishment.

Yet, I’m alive and left wondering why his announcement bangs louder than a gunshot.

A corrosive wrench of bitterness seeps through me. In a quick gulp, I knock back the rum and suck in through my teeth when it fails to appease his abrupt dismissal.

I wander away, leaving the physique I crave, but won’t admit it. His dominant aura glows with the natural habitat suited to his character. Unpredictable and complex.

Something has changed.

For the first time in weeks, I’m questioning my future. Not apprehensive about death or a life of servitude. But for the barbed wire spikes needling my heart, telling me I’m not ready to part ways with Brazil.

I hunker down and place the gun by my feet then kick out of my clunky boots. The unflattering slacks are next to come off, except for my panties. I refuse to offer a private peep show, even if that idea stupidly thrills me.

Shrugging off the man-sized jacket, I opt to keep on the boxy shirt. I leave the gun at my toes and flick the copper lever. Powerful jets drench my clammy skin and pummel the crown of my head. Thundering water pressure doesn’t calm my speeding pulse. It feeds the adrenaline. I pause under a wave of hot water and turbulent emotions. I’m a mess caught between what I should do and what I want to do.

When I peek over my shoulder, he’s propped against a vertical beam. One arm folds across his ribcage; his opposite hand tenses around the liquor held to his lips. Dark eyes root me to the wet boards. His form is primed and preparing to detonate.

I don’t know why his silent assessment spears my skin with millions of goosebumps or why I fully rotate to face him. A realization that he can look but can’t touch zaps me with electricity.

My gaze leaves his idle observation and tilts to the rafters. Water gushes. My pulse erupts. Grateful for the unseen white flag waving between us, I drift into a fragile daze of lust. A sensation that lives and breathes in every cell when this man is around me. Destructive excitement that I have no right to enjoy.

Sensing his approach, my chin drops, and I find his blank expression. Eyes narrowed. Nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply and lips squeezing together in a tight line. A bare hand snares my throat, elongating the contour of my neck. It’s not rough or brutal. Oddly, it’s gently controlled with calmness.

“Why are you teasing me, beija flor?” My lashes flutter wildly, sprinkling beads of water. He sweeps his thumb along my jawline. “Tell me what you found in the jungle that’s so special?” His pulse thrums in tandem with his breathing. “Remember how I feel about honesty.”

I laugh with an unstable huff. Like he doesn't know what we shared. The disease that hypnotized us both. My blood catches fire, exploding in sparks beneath his touch. “I found Dante.” I try to pull away. “And ended up with you instead.” Instantly, his grip weakens, but his hand remains in place.

He leans in so we breathe the same hot steam, and our lips threaten a kiss. “And what do you think Dante Valez feels for you?”

“Ownership.”

He visibly stiffens. “If I owned you, beija flor, I wouldn’t give you permission to leave.”

“Then why don’t you enlighten me. Tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

He stares at me like a bomb just exploded in his head. “I convinced myself you were a traitor. It was better for us both when I saw you as a threat. And now…” Water dances on his lashes, splashing from me to him. Even inanimate droplets feel the same schizophrenic attraction. “Now I’ve discovered that was the biggest lie of all. I was lying to myself.”

His lips descend.

He groans into the violent kiss smattered with awakening water.

I kiss him back.

I sense the wildlife catching a collective breath as I surrender.

Hungry. Foolish. Unable to resist.

Our tongues collide. His hand secures my lower back. My spine arches as he deepens the intensity. A spray of water rinses away my boundaries. Our fevered kiss burns down all the reasons why touching him is forbidden. Decency and sin unite, pouring over the decking in a waterfall of black lust.

The last kiss he stole from me ended with broken trust. I gave in to him, and he let me go. Nothing has changed. If I concede this time, he’ll still send me away in the morning.

A thick grunt escapes him when I nip his bottom lip. The tips of my toes nudge the pistol ever so slightly. Enough to remind us both of its presence. The awareness of cold metal and soft lips catapult a shiver over my scalp.

I want to pretend this isn’t a fleeting spell or that he won’t snuff out the scorching need we have for each other. This sexy scenario doesn’t conjure a happy ending. It only breeds heartbreak and pushes limitations. Our nights together are numbered by the powerful man securing my body to his like we’ll never be separated again. These inflamed moments are temporary. Two hearts exist in mismatched worlds where survival is questionable.

Dante Valez is an exquisite moonflower.

He’s the rare flora I unearthed in a tropical land.

A beguiling diversion that only blossoms in the darkest night.

Sweet and sour.

Unable to self-pollinate.

A challenge to endure.

The growth of my soul.

Utterly poisonous to humans.

Including me.

My eyes snap open when the fingers around my throat flex. Liquored vapor from his breath heats my cheek and sizzles on contact. Before I can form a lucid thought, he kicks the gun out of the way. Metal clatters across wooden decking so the loaded weapon plunges off the balcony edge. “You don’t need it, beija flor.” His forehead butts into mine. “Unless you really want me to back off,” he growls. “Because killing me is the only way I'll stop wanting you now.”

Firm fingertips glide to my collarbone. Buttons ping as he rips the shirt open and roughly drags it free from my shoulders. Everything turns hazy with the pent-up desire we’ve starved for too long. He thrusts me against the timber cladding and pushes my face up to his where he towers over me, salty and dripping. Thunder and sunshine. Hail and flames.

I tremble with adrenaline and swallow against his palm. Any argument to prevent the inevitable vetoes the facts. Dante never truly hurt me. He simply demolished my barriers with lust and longing. “Who are you?” I whisper, padding his chest.

“Dante,” he replies without a second thought.

The sultry atmosphere changes from lustful to impulsive. An aura of opalescent light fringing his form switches to black when feathery clouds cover the moon. Tomorrow, I’m free from paradise. Tonight, I’m a hostage to my incurable sickness. To the seductive fragrance of this intoxicating man.

Holed up in his romantic treehouse, it’s just the two of us. Iris and Dante. Destined to conclude our time together with a bittersweet farewell.

My uncovered nipples pebble under his avid gaze. He traces his bottom lip with his tongue, and my mind goes blank. That purposeful swipe fucks with my core. I ignore the alarm bells of unavoidable heartache and welcome courageous, wicked danger.

Clawing at the towel around his hips, I feel it slump to our feet in surrender. Dante nudges his pelvis closer, prodding his heavy arousal into my belly. I’m thankful for a solid surface to lean into when my knees tremble and my spine presses to the wall. Rough hands hunt out my panties. Fingertips skim the damp fabric sending bolts of pleasure everywhere. He hooks a finger under the material and tugs hard. The sound of it tearing like paper turns me on more than it should. We both want this savage intimacy in the shadow of our rocky past.

The thin barrier separating my dignity from his demands disappears. When he finds me wet and swollen, his filthy grunt chases my heartbeat. He hurriedly guides my leg around his hip bone as I wrap my hands around his neck and prepare for complete fulfilment.

Just as I think he’s about to enter me, fingers weave into my hair and he yanks my face upward. “Is this what you like, beija flor?” His husky midnight tone raises the hairs on my nape.

I nod briskly.

“Not good enough,” he snaps, taunting me with his mouth.

“Yes… I like it,” the admission gusts free.

His forehead butts into mine, molding our damp skin together. “Say it slower,” he grits out. I struggle to focus when his lips tentatively brush over mine. “Say it slow enough to really mean it.”

In a rush of lust, I heave myself up against him. I conveniently forget how he shoved me from a helicopter—because he came back for me. He rescued me from the jungle, and he protected me from himself. This moonstruck rapture started the very evening he found me.

Dante has always saved me.

“I… want... this… Dante... Valez,” I reply with a ragged, controlled breath. My fingers delve into his damp roots. I tighten my leg around him. This time I’m the one holding him prisoner.

“Fuck!” he hisses before kissing me like I’m the twilight welcoming his ice white petals to bloom.

He captures my mouth and kisses me again and again. Ruthless and consuming. Uncontrolled and passionate. The force jars our teeth and bruises my lips as if it's punishment. Yet, it’s far from unpleasant.

We stay entwined, savoring the exotic rush and become each other’s oxygen. His heavy breathing spells out how much he truly craves this too. A fine line between pleasure and mania. I feel every inch of his slippery body burning into me, dying to deepen the connection. Ready to fuck.

This is either the stupidest thing I’ve ever done or the bravest. It’s too late for me now. All I see is him.

I slide my hand between us and choke his silky shaft with a firm warning grip. He sucks in sharply. “Promise me I’ll never meet el Fantasma again. Promise me that, Dante.” His wet hair sticks to me when our foreheads join.

“I can’t make that promise,” he replies on a growl. Snatching my other hand, he positions it over his heart. “But I can damn well try. This is Dante Valez. In here.” Then he lifts it to his mouth and sucks in my middle finger. Fireworks explode over every inch of me.

He curses under his breath when I shudder then hurriedly joins our bodies together. My inner muscles welcome him instantly. A bite of girth stretches me wide. The gratifying sting burns. I ignore the dark side of his soul and banish all thoughts of the hard-hearted killer. I cling onto him, matching thrust for thrust.

Even if I tried to fight against this psychosis, I couldn’t. There’s no way a girl like me could escape the king of the jungle. Under the hallowed moon, one man’s soul bleeds for his secretive past. El Fantasma's relentless force rules, and Dante’s exotic seduction conquers. I worship and forgive him, accepting life’s plan for me.

This was meant to happen.

It’s serendipity.

Both of his hands secure my ass, elevating me to his eye level. Our rhythm starts out slow at first, then picks up the pace to frantic. “Why do I need to fuck you so much?” His voice strains on the cusp of a savage roar.

The tempo is so intense that my spine wallops into the timbre behind me. The arousal knotted inside me unwinds. A groan slashes the hot air. This time it's my strangled moan that sings louder than the cicadas. My legs curl around his hips. If it wasn’t for the perfect angle hitting my insides, I’d swear I was going to topple over.

He grunts like he can’t, or won’t, ever stop pounding into me. “Say my name,” he bites out, crashing our foreheads together.

I don’t have to think twice about it. The secret name rips free. “Dante.”

His mouth plunders mine like he’s trying to extract the name from my tongue with force. He ruts into me with an aggressive snarl. “Fuck, I love how you say it.” The rasp of his Latino accent shocks me into a spine-tingling, eye rolling climax. “Never forget it, beija flor.”

This orgasm is so different from the last time. It goes on and on. Every cell in my body quivers. The nuclei adapt to the vibrations and welcome Dante as the catalyst to their awakening. I scream out his name, unable to contain myself. I’ve never experienced such a soul snatching orgasm before. Never.

With another hard, furious thrust, he jerks inside me and drops his teeth to my shoulder. After a few seconds of panting, he steadies me in his arms and carries me to the bed.

Nuzzling his nose into my wet hair, he owns me with a gravelly whisper, “I’m sorry for everything, Iris Kitson.”