Chapter 7
IRIS
The water pressure in this jungle luxury villa’s is absurd.
Not polite-hotel-shower absurd. More like rainstorm-on-the-verge-of-becoming-hail absurd. I stand under it longer than necessary. The hot water pounds my muscles, releasing tension I didn’t realize I carried. I exhale loudly and allow the steam to blur the edges of the last twelve hours.
Fucking Julian in the elevator, even though I knew I shouldn’t, but had to because I couldn’t spend one more minute in his company without his dick inside me.
The gunshots scared me so badly I froze, but then Julian’s hand, strong and certain on my back, mobilized me as he guided me into action.
Julian.
Who had a to-go bag stashed at the hotel. Who absolutely is not just a British diplomat.
I close my eyes and swallow hard, refusing the tears gathering in my eyes to fall. I’ve only just met the guy and his lies shouldn’t hurt me, but they do, deeply. He’s just another asshole incapable of telling the truth, I tell myself. You’ve met plenty of those in your life.
I sigh and turn off the water. My fingers are pruned and my pulse feels calmer. My body has resigned itself to another disaster in my dating life. I bark out a sharp laugh.
This didn’t even go as far as a date, unless I count the breakfast on the rooftop. At least I found out about Julian’s lies early in our acquaintance, unlike my previous relationship. But I refuse to spend even one cubic inch of brain space on my ex.
I step out of the shower, grab a big fluffy towel and wrap it around.
Lucien, or more likely someone who works for him, left clothes folded on a low stone bench.
There’s a soft linen dress the color of sunshine, simple leather sandals, and a set of plain cotton underwear with a matching bra.
For a moment, I wonder if Julian still has my ruined panties in his pocket, but then I force myself to focus on the here and now.
There are more important things to worry about.
Everything fits perfectly, including the bra. This should bother me more than it does. Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that Lucien figured out my size with just a few glances. Or that he has women’s clothing in different sizes on hand.
I towel my hair dry and use the clean brush I found in the vanity drawer to untangle the strands.
There are also some hairbands and pins. I take one of the stretchy loops and use it to secure my hair in a loose bun at my nape.
The reflection in the mirror shows my face as too pale and my eyes as too big and bright.
I look like a woman who followed a stranger into the jungle, to another stranger’s house, and now she doesn’t know what to do. Or if she’s in danger.
I push that thought aside, cross the bedroom that Lucien said was mine for the stay, and step out into the corridor.
I need to find a way to contact April, well, more like her husband Jay or his brother Nick.
They run a security company together that, among other things, extract hostages. Not that I’m a hostage, yet.
At least I don’t think I am.
My stomach growls as the sounds of clinking cutlery and plates carry down the hallway.
I follow them to discover that dinner is set on a wide terrace that opens to a view of an expansive lawn surrounded by jungle.
The evening air is humid and warm, but the large fans above keep the temperature bearable.
Lucien is already sitting at the table. He stands when he sees me and pulls out the chair beside him. “You look much better,” he says approvingly. “And after we get some food in you, you’ll probably feel better too.”
“I hope so,” I say. “I’m still a little shook up.” I sink down into the chair and he helps me scoot it closer to the table. My hands shake, so I place them in my lap to hide my nervousness.
Lucien’s unusual pale-gray eyes warm as the study me. “That’s understandable.” He squeezes my shoulder briefly before taking his own seat. “Your safe here. Relax, eat, and recuperate. We’ll figure out how to get you home in the next few days.”
I look around the beautiful dining area. Candles flicker on the table and on the railings surrounding the terrace. Out in the jungle, insects buzz insistently, sometimes interrupted by larger animals’ hoots and shrieks.
“Julian isn’t here yet?” I ask casually.
Lucien pours wine. “Julian is… recalibrating.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Only if you know him well.”
I accept the glass. “You do?” The relationship between these men fascinates me. Obviously they have a history, and they’re friendly, but not friends.
Lucien considers me over the rim of his own. “I know versions of him.”
I take a sip. It’s excellent. Of course, it is. “I only know one version of him,” I say lightly, not looking at Lucien. “How do you know him?” What I really want to say is, tell me all the versions you know.
Lucien smiles. It’s charming and flirtatious. “Through work.”
“What kind?”
“The kind where asking too many questions gets people hurt.” His smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a warning in his eyes.
I blink. Despite his earlier assurance that I am safe, I feel very unsafe at the moment, but try to hide it. “That’s not evasive at all.”
He chuckles. “You asked. I answered. Just not in a way that satisfies you.” Great, another man who’s mastered the art of deflection.
I lean back in my chair. “You don’t strike me as the type who avoids satisfaction.” I smile coyly, hoping a little flirting might give me the answers I want.
Lucien’s gaze sharpens, just a fraction. “Careful.”
“With what?”
“With learning too quickly,” he says pleasantly. “It ruins the experience.”
I decide to try another angle. “You’re French.”
“Yes.”
“But you run a land trust in San Isidro.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not hiding in Europe while this country catches fire.”
“No.”
“Could you maybe give me an answer that has more than one word.” Some of my frustration leaks into my voice.
Lucien studies me for a moment. “My mother was born here,” he says finally. “This land belonged to her family long before anyone learned how to monetize it. In San Isidro, heritage is past through the mother’s line.”
“That’s very progressive. So you stayed.”
“I returned,” he corrects. “There is a difference.” Something flashes in his eyes. It looks like sorrow, but it’s gone before I can figure it out precisely.
“And where did you live before that?”
Lucien swirls his wine. “I worked in several countries. Including your USA.”
“With?”
“This and that. Various international contract work.”
I laugh softly. “You’re very good at not answering questions. Just like Julian.”
“And you,” he counters, placing his hand on my arm as he leans toward me, “are very good at pretending you don’t already know, or at least suspect, the answers to the questions you’re asking.”
Before I can respond, footsteps sound behind me. I don’t have to turn to know it’s Julian.
The air shifts. It tightens like the jungle presses from the sidelines. The insect churring seems louder in my ears.
“I see dinner has started without me,” he says coolly, glaring at Lucien’s hand on my arm.
Our host doesn’t move an inch. “You’re late.”
Julian’s gaze flicks to me, and his jaw tightens. “You look… comfortable,” he says. “Cozy.”
“I showered,” I reply, grabbing my wineglass with the hand attached to the arm Lucien’s holding so that he has to let go. “And put on clean clothes.”
Lucien reaches for his own glass and smiles as he leans back in the chair.
Julian sits, tension coiled under his skin like a wire pulled too tight.
He looks different too. His hair is still damp, and his shirt is open at the throat.
This version of him is less diplomat and more wealthy-playboy-on-vacation.
I wonder if he’s wearing clothes from his to-go bag, or if his are also from our host’s supplies.
Lucien pours him wine.
Julian doesn’t touch it. “You were flirting,” he says flatly, and it’s not clear whether it is directed at me or our host.
Lucien raises a brow. “I was conversing.”
“With intent.”
“With interest,” Lucien corrects. “She’s smart and beautiful. You know that’s my type.”
Julian’s eyes cut to me and then back to Lucien. “You don’t have a type. Unless you count every woman between the ages of twenty and sixty.”
Lucien laughs and shrugs. “The heart wants what it wants.”
Julien glares at him and turns toward me. “Be careful, Iris. This man has no heart.”
I lift my chin. “I can take care of myself.”
Lucien watches over the rim of his glass, amusement glittering in his eyes.
Julien mutters something under his breath and then takes a sip of his wine. “What were you two discussing before I interrupted?”
“We discussed how the two of you know each other through work,” I say.
Julian stiffens. “Lucien—”
“I told her nothing,” Lucien interrupts mildly. “Relax.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Lucien shrugs. “Iris asked questions. I deflected, but I couldn’t not answer. It’s rude to not answer, especially when the questions come from such a beautiful woman.”
Julian shoots him another hostile glare.
I look between them. “You’re both exhausting.”
Julian exhales sharply. “You shouldn’t be alone with him.”
Lucien laughs outright. “She’s far safer with me than with you.”
Julian’s hand tightens around the knife on the table.
“Enough,” I say. “I can’t sit here and pretend that this is a normal dinner with normal conversation. I’m scared and worried and way out of my depth. Unless you want me to have a major meltdown, you’ll stop this stupid word game and tell me something about yourselves.”
Lucien studies me. Julian looks away, a faint blush on his cheeks as if he’s ashamed.
Finally, Lucien says, “Julian and I have intersected professionally.”
“That’s still vague.”
“Yes.”
Julian finally meets my eyes. “Iris,” he says quietly, “some things—”
“I’m not asking for classified secrets,” I cut in. “I’m asking why my life just imploded and why both of you keep looking at me like you’re trying to figure out how to best use me. Like I’m a variable you want to fit into your equation.”
Lucien’s expression softens. Just a little.
“You are,” he says gently. “That’s the trouble. You’re an unknown variable neither of us accounted for.”
Julian pushes back his chair. “This was a mistake.”
“What was?” I ask.
“Taking you to his house,” he says, gesturing toward Lucien and then makes a sweeping motion that encompasses the house, the lawn, the jungle. “All of this.”
“And yet, here she is.” Lucien tilts his head. “She got close to you. Close enough to where you wanted to save her.” There’s an undercurrent in his words that I can’t interpret, and the two men glare at each other as the jungle sounds continue to hum around us.
Suddenly, I’m exhausted. “I need some food and some sleep,” I say and set my glass down. The wine has made me lightheaded. “It would be great to also get some answers.”
“Food I can arrange for,” Lucien says, gesturing to someone behind me. “But answers will have to come from Julian. I’m not at liberty to disclose any information.”
Two young men step out of the shadows and place plates filled with steamed fish, rice, and vegetables on the table. The food smells of coconut and spices. My stomach growls loudly, making me blush. “You would have to kill me if you tell me?” I joke and smile.
“Yes,” Lucien says, his smile solemn.
I involuntarily shudder.
“Iris,” Julian says, and I look at him across the table.
His blue eyes are warm. “I promise you are safe here. As much as I dislike this bastard,” he gestures toward Lucien who looks offended, but then grins, “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought there was any chance of him endangering you. ”
“But are you safe with him?” I ask.
Both Julian and Lucien freeze for a moment and exchange a long look. “That remains to be seen,” Julian finally says. “Eat,” he tells me. “I’ll tell the answers I can later.”
Lucien smiles. “When I’m not around?”
“Exactly,” Julian answers.
We continue the dinner in silence. When I can’t stand it any longer, I ask Lucien about San Isidro and how he came to be the steward of this villa and the surrounding land.
He tells me a charming story about his mother traveling to France to go to medical school, where she met a charming boy who became Lucien’s father.
But their relationship crumbles when Lucien’s mother wanted to return to San Isidro once she’d become a doctor and his father insisted she stay in France to be a traditional wife.
“Like you, she was a strong and independent woman, full of passion for her profession. She left my father and returned to San Isidro with me so that she could start a medical clinic and server her country,” Lucien ends his story.
Julian rolls his eyes. “Stop flirting.” Lucien just smiles in return.
“Did you see your father again?” I ask.
“Yes, he and my mother remained friendly after he’d calmed down.
They never married, so he was free to find a more traditional partner with whom he had another family.
” He looks down and smooths a tablecloth wrinkle with a finger.
“I see my half brothers and sisters every now and then. It all worked out okay.”
Something in his voice makes me think it isn’t as okay as he’d like me to think, but I don’t want to press him. I recognize the irony of insisting on answers about his clandestine career but being okay with him not sharing family secrets. Maybe it’s because I can see that some of them are hurtful.
“I’m glad,” I say instead and push my chair out. Both of the men immediately stand, startling me briefly. “Thank you for a splendid meal.” I smile at my host. “And a wonderful story. I’m going to get that sleep you recommended now.”
I nod at Julian and leave the dining area. On the way back to the bedroom, I check the other doors in the hallway to see if I can find a phone or a computer to contact April. But they are all locked.
One of the young men who served us dinner appears suddenly. “May I help you find your room?” he asks in accented English. He’s smiling, but his eyes are hard.
I giggle and pretend-stumble a little, as if I’ve had too much wine. “Yes,” I say. “The wine’s gone to my head and I’m all turned around.”
He escorts me to the correct door, and I flick him a smile as I enter. I close the door behind me and lean against it, my heart beating wildly.
Contacting April will have to wait until tomorrow, or maybe later tonight, after everyone has gone to sleep.