Inescapable

Chapter 8

He was careful not to touch her. That was the first thing Iris noticed when he came for her exactly fifteen minutes later. He walked close beside her and she could practically feel his big hand hovering above the small of her back, but no contact was made. He walked slower than his usual breakneck pace as he shepherded her, with just his body, through a spacious living room toward the very same door he’d tricked her through her first night here.

“Why aren’t you trying to shuffle me through here at your usual record-breaking pace? I mean I’m seeing things. Like those travel pics on the mantel.” She nodded toward the framed images above a gorgeous stone hearth that looked like it would be heavenly when in use. “And that fireplace. Do you enjoy that fireplace every night while I’m huddled in front of a measly radiator heater?”

“There’s no point in trying to hide our surroundings from you anymore, since you know whose house it is.”

Iris honestly didn’t know why it had been such a big secret in the first place. But she wasn’t going to ask because she knew he wouldn’t answer. Worse, he’d get pissed off with her for asking in the first place. And she couldn’t risk him rescinding the offer of a walk. It would destroy her morale.

“And I haven’t used the fireplace at all since I’ve been here.”

“God, what a crime,” she said with a disgusted click of her tongue. “What’s wrong with you? It’s there to be enjoyed.”

“Seems like a lot of work for just one person.”

“And a dog. Think about Luna, she’d love it.”

Luna’s tail swept indolently back and forth at the sound of her name.

Trystan’s lips curled as he unlocked the front door and stepped aside to allow her through.

Iris cast the open door a jaundiced look before turning her narrowed eyes on him.

“You’re not going to slam the door behind me as soon as I step through it, are you?”

The curl of his lips turned into a fully fledged grin before he ruthlessly curbed it and flattened his mouth. But the gleam of amusement was still evident in his eyes when he raised his brows at her in challenge.

“What do you think?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning a shoulder against the doorframe while he waited for her next move.

Iris’s eyes went from his smug face to the lush, wet, green landscape just beyond the front door and back again. The weather was gray and blustery, and the unwelcoming iciness was quickly seeping in through the front door, but the thought of getting some fresh air and, for once, not being drenched in the process, was too tempting to resist.

She threw back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and stepped over the threshold. She sucked in a breath at the shock of frigid air that hit the exposed skin of her face, and laughed in sheer exhilaration and joy when she exhaled an impressive cloud of steam seconds later.

“Oh my God,” she squealed. “It’s so cold. I didn’t think it could get that cold here.”

She was sure she heard him mutter, “That would explain the itsy-bitsy bikini.”

But when she asked him what he’d said he gave her a wide-eyed innocent look and said, “I didn’t say a damned thing.”

Iris didn’t call him out on the blatant lie—or the terrible acting—instead she eagerly took in her surroundings.

“It’s so pretty out here,” she exclaimed. They were standing in a courtyard surrounded by a neatly trimmed six-foot-high camellia hedge. She only recognized them because camellias were her mother’s favorite flower, and the pale pink blooms prolifically dotted the entire length of the hedge. She hadn’t known that the flowers could bloom in weather this cold, but how beautiful they looked in that verdant hedge, which surrounded a lovely natural pond. The space was alive with color from the myriad of winter-blooming plants and shrubs dotted all around the garden.

“This is so different than I’d imagined it to be,” she said with an incredulous laugh. “The other night it was so dark out here I couldn’t see a thing. It was so creepy. All I could see was the outline of the hedges… and I stepped into the pond.”

She shuddered at the unpleasant memory and her happy smile slipped.

Trystan was watching her closely, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, while his breath clouded the air in front of him.

“You used Luna’s tag to get inside, right?” he asked, and the question startled her. They hadn’t talked about that night at all before now.

“Yes. She scared the bejesus out of me,” Iris admitted with another laugh. This one was edged with remembered fear. “She approached from over there”—she pointed toward the far end of the garden—“And I took a step back, but my wet shoe skidded on some moss, I think, and I went down. Landed on my back. It’s a miracle I didn’t hit my head. And she came to stand right above me.”

This time the sound that emerged from her throat—while still attempting to be a laugh—was choked.

“I was so certain I was going to die… Foolish, I know,” she tried to lighten her tone and failed dismally. “Who could be scared of such a sweetheart, right? But it was pitch black and she was huge and I was terrified. But then she licked me.”

This time her laugh was genuine and filled with warmth.

“I was screaming, and—grossly—got some dog tongue in my mouth. That shut me up really quickly. Luna and I became pals after that. And when it started raining, she led me inside.”

He hadn’t moved throughout her retelling, standing about a meter and a half away from her, hands still in his pockets, legs braced apart, eyes intent on her face. It was unnerving being pinned beneath that silvery gaze, especially when his expression remained stark and enigmatic.

“All that for a story.” His voice lacked inflection but Iris couldn’t help but bristle defensively at the comment.

“At that point the story was the last thing on my mind. I was cold and exhausted, confused by your lack of welcome, and terrified I’d be forced to try and find my way back to the car in the dark. I didn’t even know which direction I’d have to go to get there.

“I didn’t care about the story,” she repeated, her voice small and getting that annoying telltale squeak it did when she was on the verge of tears. Worse, she felt her nose and the back of her throat start to burn as her eyes went blurry. “I was just really scared. And desperately wished I were back home.”

Iris turned away from him, focusing her attention on Luna who was sniffing around the courtyard. She quickly pressed her burning eyes with the heels of her hands, willing the tears away while she tried to regain her composure.

Showing a great deal more tact and consideration than she’d come to expect from him, Trystan remained silent, but Iris was hyperaware of his presence just behind her.

“Do you—” His dark velvet voice sounded rough with gravel, and he paused to clear his throat before continuing. “Do you want to see the car?”

Once she was certain she had herself back under control, Iris turned to face him.

“Yes. I’d like to see it, and to see if the walk there is less harrowing by daylight. I kept expecting to plummet off a cliff, or something.”

“No cliffs around here,” he promised her gravely. “You were in more danger from the trees.”

“I know that now.”

“It’s this way,” he said, and turned to lead her out of the courtyard. Luna happily darted ahead, stopping to sniff at practically every shrub and tree en route.

There were smaller broken branches and even more enormous limbs littering the long, muddy drive leading up to the house, and Iris stared in horror at every progressively larger one they passed.

The road back to the car was a lot shorter than she remembered. Only about ten minutes. But in the dark, with the wind and low light, and so many ways for her to have wandered off the path and become lost, Iris was genuinely amazed that she’d made it to the house at all that night.

She grew quieter and quieter as their walk continued and when she reached the car, she stared—feeling lightheaded, and faintly nauseous—at the flattened piece of scrap metal with the gigantic dead oak tree sprawled across it.

“Whoa,” Trystan exclaimed when she swayed slightly and—forgetting himself—he took her elbow to steady her. “You okay?”

“No. Part of me thought you were lying or exaggerating, but this is… I so very nearly chose to stay in the car that night.”

“But you didn’t,” he told her in a fierce undertone. “You didn’t, Iris. You bravely chose to head out in terrible weather, armed only with your phone’s flashlight, and you made it to what should have been a safe haven. You’re alive and well because you had the courage to do that. I don’t know what I would have done. Stayed in the car probably. But you didn’t. You got out and you walked, while lugging that ridiculous pink case behind you. You confronted a beast, and despite how frightening and confusing that must have been, you still cleverly managed to find your way into a sheltered space.”

“Luna’s not a beast,” she defended the dog fondly.

She was shocked when he responded with a quiet, “I wasn’t referring to Luna.”

“Oh.”

For the first time since they’d arrived at the car she looked at him, and it was to find him staring down at her with fierce eyes. His face was grim, but those eyes, they were ablaze with a naked emotion that Iris was unable to decipher.

Instead, in her confusion, she latched onto the most minor detail among the many bewildering things he’d just said.

“You called me Iris.”

“And you called me Trystan,” he reminded her with a half-smile. “Guess than makes us even.”

“I didn’t think you knew my first name.” She knew it was a silly thing to say.

“You literally told me when we first met. I even googled you, remember?”

Of course she did, but somehow hearing him use her first name was still a shock.

“You were so angry, I wasn’t sure you even heard me.”

“I heard you.” He didn’t elaborate, but inspected her face carefully. “Feeling better?”

She nodded, then immediately regretted it when he removed his warm hand from her elbow.

“Let’s check out the lake,” he suggested. “The water is choppy, angry, and cloudy with silt but it’s better than standing here staring at your pancaked rental.”

She moaned.

“Ugh, it’s a rental,” she repeated, cringing at the reminder. She’d have to call the rental agency in the morning and attempt to explain this crazy situation.

“They’ll have insurance against shit like this. Don’t worry about it.”

He started walking again. Luna led the way, a giant tree branch in her mouth. The dog didn’t seem to expect either of them to throw it—good thing too because it was longer than Iris’s arm and looked pretty heavy—she was just content to carry it around in her mouth.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Iris whispered in awe as they continued to walk. She could see the lake gleaming in the distance. She didn’t have a very good view of it from her room, so this would be the first time she would get a proper look at it.

“Why are you whispering?” Trystan whispered back, a mocking edge in his hissed question.

She threw him an appreciative grin and shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said in a normal, if still somewhat low, voice. “It feels like we’re the only people in the world out here. Just us three. There’s something reverential about it, like being in nature’s cathedral. Part of me feels like we should show it an appropriate amount of wonderment and respect. It just lends itself to hushed tones, don’t you think?”

“I get it.”

The reply was quiet, simple, and none of the mocking tone of before lingered in the three words.

When they reached the lake, they simply stood there, side by side, close enough to almost brush arms, but not touching at all. The strong wind tore at Iris’s clothes, sprayed a fine mist from the crests of the waves over her, stole her breath, and ruthlessly dallied with her riotous curls.

It was splendid.

“I love this,” she yelled into the wind, but it tore her words away.

“What?” She heard his faint question and looked at him with a wide grin, before cupping her hands around her mouth and repeating the words.

His wild grin likely matched hers and he nodded. She saw his mouth form the words me too, but the wind whipped his voice away.

They stood there for a long time until the spray from the white caps started to mix with a moderate drizzle and they both began to shiver.

At that point Trystan reached for her again, only this time he didn’t grab her upper arm or elbow, this time his hand closed around hers. The move was unconscious, as was Iris’s easy acceptance of it, and they slowly walked back to the house hand in hand.

It was only when they reached the kitchen door that they simultaneously became aware of the intimacy of the gesture. Trystan quickly released her hand and Iris shoved the offending appendage into her jacket pocket, trying not to dwell on the warm, pleasant tingling on her flesh where his palm had kissed hers. She watched him fumble with the door handle for a few seconds before he allowed her to precede him through the door. Then he blocked Luna’s way.

“No. Drop it,” he commanded the dog, referring to the tree branch she’d lugged all the way back to the house with her. She’d put it down only to do her business and occasionally sniff around shrubs, but had picked it up every time they’d continued on their walk.

Now she was staring up at Trystan with pleading eyes as he refused her entry into the house with her new best friend.

“Luna, drop it. It’s not coming into the house.” Iris watched from around Trystan’s arm as Luna whined plaintively. The dog finally heaved a long-suffering sigh and gently placed the branch on the welcome mat outside the door.

She affected an air of injured dignity as she trotted past Iris and Trystan with her head held high.

Trystan shut the door as soon as the dog was inside.

“You could have let her keep it for a while,” Iris said, and Trystan snorted.

“Don’t be fooled by those puppy-dog eyes. She couldn’t give a fuck about the stick. If I allowed her to do that every time we came back from a walk, we’d have a fair to middling pile of discarded wet wood littered about the house. She loses interest in the damned things less than a minute after she gets her way. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way.”

Iris giggled and cast a fond glance at the dog who had settled into her basket and was contentedly licking herself.

Her smile faded and she idly traced her fingers along the edge of the faintly blue-veined waterfall white marble countertop.

“Thank you for allowing me to join you on your walk. I enjoyed it.”

He nodded but said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed on her face. It was unnerving how often he just stared at her like she was some weird, exotic species of bug he’d picked up in the forest and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of.

“I suppose I should be getting back to my room now,” she offered, reluctance weighing down each word. After the lovely, carefree afternoon surrounded by so much beauty and open space the thought of returning to a confined area choked her up. But maybe he’d change his mind about locking her in this time. Maybe he’d recognize how cruel it was to keep her trapped.

“Yes.” He didn’t move.

“Okay,” she said, also not moving.

Even though the island served as a barrier between them he still felt uncomfortably close, likely because of that probing stare, and Iris shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“You should change into some dry clothes,” he said.

“That’s nothing new,” Iris said, as she plucked at her damp jacket. “Does it ever stop raining here?”

“Apparently it’s been wetter than usual this year,” he said, and Iris wondered at the inane conversation. “I’ve been to the Western Cape a few times before, but always in summer and usually for work. Never during winter. I was forewarned by Miles and Sam to prepare for some pretty extreme cold and rain, but this is even worse than I’d expected.”

“Sam?” Iris shouldn’t have asked—she knew she shouldn’t have. Since Trystan wasn’t likely to intentionally reveal any new information to her if he could help it. It had obviously been an unconscious slip of the tongue.

And that was confirmed when he once again went stone-faced and tensed.

“I’m sorry. None of my business,” she backtracked hastily.

“I’m…” He paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Ever since the accident—Trish’s death—every interaction with the press has been negative and intrusive. I don’t want to talk to journalists. Not about her, or the accident, or anything really. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And every time I talk to you I can’t lose sight of the fact that you’re one of them.”

“But—” Her brain was racing as she mulled over his unexpectedly candid confession. His eyes had darkened, his expression was moody, body language closed off. “You’ll have to deal with them eventually. Press junkets for movies, promotional interviews and the like. You can’t avoid the press forever. Not in your line of work.”

“Then maybe it’s time I find a new line of work.” The words were spoken so quietly that Iris wasn’t certain she’d heard him correctly. But one look into those roiling eyes told her she hadn’t been mistaken and she gasped in shock.

“You can’t be serious?” Why would he say something like this to her? Was it some kind of trick? Or test? He had to know that this was the kind of scoop that any journalist worth their salt would kill to have.

“As a heart attack.”

Forgetting for a moment what this information could do for her career, Iris stared at him for a long, long moment and shook her head.

“That would be a shame, Trystan,” she said. “You’re extremely talented.”

“You going to write about this?”

“As you have reminded me time and time again, you haven’t consented to an interview with me,” she reminded him. “Mr. Quinn’s promises mean nothing in light of that fact.”

“There are many who wouldn’t let that stop them.”

“I like to consider myself a woman of integrity. We were having a conversation, private and off the record.”

He nodded again, a curt jerk of his jaw. Something sparked in his eyes—satisfaction? triumph?—Iris wasn’t sure what. And once again she had the distinct feeling that she was being tested.

And she didn’t like it. Was he toying with her? Of course he was. The naive, inexperienced wannabe journalist who was ridiculously eager to please the big movie star whom she had once borderline hero-worshipped.

He’d just admitted that he could never lose sight of the fact that she was one of them. The enemy. Why would he divulge such a secret to someone he clearly didn’t trust and had no respect for?

“You’re playing games with me. I don’t like it.” The statement was blunt, to the point, and his eyes reflected his surprise at the straightforward comment.

Trystan clearly was used to people who obfuscated, and played the same manipulative games he did, but Iris didn’t pussyfoot around. She spoke her mind, regardless of the consequences. And while she was inexperienced in her field, she wasn’t going to allow him to manipulate and walk all over her.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because until now you’ve been religiously cautious about what you say around me. You’ve done everything short of blindfolding me to prevent me seeing anything to do with the house before today?—”

“Shit, blindfolding you would have been an ideal solution. Why didn’t I think of that?” he interrupted her on a lazy drawl and she shot him an irritated glare.

“So, I don’t buy this sudden about-face,” she continued, ignoring his flippant question. “Why would you divulge such extremely personal information to me of all people? What game are you playing?”

“Let’s get you back to your room,” he said with a wicked grin. “It’s time for your afternoon nap. You’re getting cranky.”

“I’m not a child,” she snapped.

“You resemble one. With that mop of wild curls. And those ridiculously wide and innocent eyes. You look like a girl playing at being an adult. And it’s hard to reconcile the innocence in those eyes with that mouth, and with those generous curves in that tiny, incendiary bikini. You’re a fucking study in contradictions, and I’m starting to wonder if Quinny…” He clammed up abruptly, while Iris blinked up at him shock.

What did he mean about her mouth? And her curves? Were those compliments? He’d sounded extremely pissed off when he’d said them and it left Iris more confused than ever.

He made a sweeping you first gesture with his arm, and Iris—though keen to escape his frustrating presence—led the way back to her room with leaden, reluctant feet.

She tried not to dwell on the fact that she was now thinking of the cage as her room. This twisted situation was fast becoming normal and it made her uneasy. When she reached her door, she stopped and instead of opening it—unwilling to freely step into her own prison—she turned to face him. But she was taken aback by how closely he’d followed her. He was mere inches away, his big body sending off waves of heat, and even steam thanks to his wet clothes. She could smell his woodsy aftershave, feel his soft even breath ruffle the hair at the top of her head, hear the soft ticking coming from the old-fashioned platinum-and-leather-strapped wristwatch he wore.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, appearing confused by her abrupt stop.

“H-have you heard anything about when we can expect the roads to be passable again?” she asked, a little mortified by the unsteadiness of her voice.

“I called a friend in town this morning. Seems like the original estimate of two weeks is right. The road isn’t a priority right now because this is the only house down here. If someone had been injured or if we were in dire need of supplies they would arrange a helicopter, but since neither of those scenarios is the case here, it would be a waste of much-needed emergency resources to dispatch any kind of airborne rescue vehicle to us.”

“You can’t arrange a private helicopter?”

“Why would I? I have food, clean drinking water, solar- and generator-powered electricity. I’m perfectly fine cut off from the world. In fact, I’m happy to be out of physical reach of the rest of humanity for now.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“You don’t want me here.”

“I don’t. But I can deal for two weeks. Especially since I’ve found a way to keep you out of my way.”

“So, you’re just going to keep me locked up for the entire two weeks?” The notion was too unbearable for her brain to wrap around.

“I think I’ve been more than generous. You’ve had spa time, sauna time, free meals, and a hike. You have access to the Wi-Fi, and a television… think of it as a vacation.”

“I told you before, I have cleithrophobia. It’s kind of like claustrophobia but it’s a fear of being trapped.”

“Come on,” he scoffed and the dismissive tone in his voice set her teeth on edge. “You expect me to believe that? It’s entirely too conveniently specific to your situation. Anyway, you’re hardly in a tiny prison cell. You have a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bathroom. Beautiful views, windows that open and close. You’re hardly trapped in a small enclosed space.”

“But I can’t leave,” she said, trying to keep the panic she could hear edging its way into her voice at bay.

“You can’t leave the room, no. But if you want to leave the house, I told you before, you’re more than welcome to try and hoof it back to town. The weather has cleared up a bit, so maybe the river would have calmed down somewhat. Although if the lake this afternoon was any indication, I doubt the river would be much better. And there’s more heavy rain forecast for Wednesday. So, if you want to leave, it’s best to do so within the next three days.”

His eyes were glued to her face, head tilted, as he waited for her response. He was still way too close for comfort.

“That’s not really a choice, is it? Stay locked in this room, or take my chances out there.”

“It’s only two weeks, Hughes. You’ll be fine.” He reached past her, his arm brushing against hers. The contact made her jump, but she immediately felt foolish when she grasped that he was only reaching for the door handle behind her. She heard the faint creak of the door as it swung open, and she dropped her gaze to the floor as she concentrated very hard on keeping her tears at bay.

When she felt like she had her emotions under control, she took a step back, then turned on her heel, and walked into the suite of rooms with stiff shoulders and her head held high. She fought to keep her nausea at bay, and bit back a scream.

“Iris?” She tensed at the sound of her name on his lips, but refused to turn and face him, not with tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll bring in your dinner shortly.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and waited for the door to shut.

Nothing.

What was he waiting for? The anticipation was torturous.

“Is there…” He paused, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. “Do you have any requests? For dinner? I didn’t think to ask before. Do you have any food allergies? Or maybe you’re vegan or pescatarian, or something.”

Iris swallowed thickly and shook her head again. Still, he didn’t leave. Maybe he needed to hear it.

“I have no food allergies,” she said, her voice subdued. “No preferences. Whatever you make is fine. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

She could feel him watching her, but refused to turn around and meet his eyes. Instead, she waited—every muscle tense and on edge—for the door to close and the key to turn.

Her phobia had always been mild before now. Controllable. But every day in this room made it worse, and knowing that she would have to endure this for two weeks was unbearable. Her skin felt too tight, her heart was racing, she fought back the shudders, but she was determined to keep her shit together until after he left.

She refused to let him see her break.

“I’ll see you soon.” God, why was he still here? And still talking?

In the end, she couldn’t stand it anymore and she spoke, her voice hoarse with fear and panic.

“Please, Trystan. Please don’t lock the door.”

Her low, desperate plea was met with silence.

He didn’t acknowledge her words in any way. Finally, interminable seconds later the door shut. Softly. Gently.

And—after another long moment—the lock clicked.

Iris exhaled the breath she’d unconsciously been holding. It emerged on a despairing sob. The trembling began seconds later.

Full-body shudders that she tried to control by wrapping her arms around her. It didn’t work and she sank to the floor right where she stood, curling in on herself as she tried to keep the panic and fear at bay.

Her breath came in harsh gasps.

“You can do this, you can do this, you can do this.” She repeated the soft, panicked mantra over and over and over again.

But no matter how often she repeated it, she could not bring herself to believe it.