Chapter Eight
Ciro
SHE IS RIDICULOUS, and I can’t afford to let myself be concerned with her. I don’t know what she hopes to prove or accomplish by getting me to reveal my attraction to her.
What I said to her is true. I can get laid whenever I want to. I definitely don’t need to go pawing after the vulnerable woman pregnant with my child currently locked in my home.
But if I wanted her to want me, she would.
I could seduce her with an expert flick of my wrist, my fingers between her thighs. She would be mine before she had any idea that I was intent on claiming her.
Yet, I’m engaging in something like real seduction and for all I am adamant she won’t manipulate me…
I do not want to be my father.
I have never wanted to be my father.
My father used this woman. Used my sister to get to her. Forced her into this situation. It is a very violating thing, I have realized, that her body has been used for a lie.
She is pregnant with our child. She didn’t choose this.
I want to win, I want my way, but I also don’t want her to be a prisoner. Not truly. I want her to…
Perhaps I could give her something like happiness.
I don’t know why I care about this. I don’t know why I feel more than attraction, more than pity.
She is a fascination. I didn’t expect that. But it’s like something in her might show me something I need to understand. I’ve never felt this before, nor can I explain it.
I decide then I don’t need to. Seduction is much simpler than understanding.
I assign two men to post up out on the water, because that’s the most likely place for there to be an attack if we are on the beach.
The entire perimeter is under observation, but if somebody came onto land on the other side of the beach, our motion detectors would catch them.
But if they tried to fire on us from the water it would be more difficult for us to get away, especially if we are on the shore unawares.
And so two of my men go out in boats, where they will anchor and station themselves to make sure that Lindsay is not fired upon.
Then I have my chef put together a selection of gourmet treats for a snack.
She’s a complicated creature, is Lindsay. And I find that my feelings for her are increasingly complicated. I don’t like the way that she was attempting to manipulate me with her body.
But what I did enjoy was the expression on her face when she saw the clothes. I enjoyed watching her light up when she saw my grandmother’s closet.
But then, it is very like her. She is a study in contradictions.
Hard and scrappy, yet melting at the sight of luxury fabrics.
If I were to have met her without knowing anything about her, I would’ve assumed she was the sort that would say clothing was silly.
That fashion meant nothing. I would’ve guessed, perhaps, that she was the sort of woman to affect that posture of being not like other girls, and claim that such feminine things were unserious, or lacked depth.
Instead, she seems to find the depth in the topic of fashion.
The way that she guessed correctly that this house wasn’t designed or built by me fascinates me.
I also suspect her choice of clothing was a manipulation from moment one. She is so aware of clothes that she cannot be unaware of what the choice to go naked beneath the cashmere was doing to her body. And she cannot be unaware of the kind of response that would engender.
As she pointed out to me, it is indicative of something. Fashion choices.
I’m still pondering this when she appears at the top of the stairs. She’s dressed in a vintage bikini, tiny and fitted low on her hips, giving space to her rounded belly. Her breasts are spilling over the cups, her face glowing with the light.
“This is exquisite,” she says.
She slides a see-through cover-up over the top, one that adds a bright pink color, a veil barely concealing her curves, doing more to tantalize than it does to add modesty.
“I’m glad you enjoy it,” I say, and I do mean that.
I’m not actually trying to be a tyrant.
It comes naturally.
“Thank you,” she says, moving down the stairs, her hips swaying back and forth just so, my stomach going tight, making a liar out of all my proclamations about how I can have whatever I want, and therefore don’t need to worry about her.
The truth is, when she took a step toward me, that glorious body wrapped in that soft material, all I could think about was lowering my head and fastening my mouth to her nipple.
It was visible through the fabric. I wanted to bite it.
There is something about her being pregnant with my child that is having an effect on me.
Making me feel aroused and unhinged at the mere thought of her.
But one thing I’ve learned for certain is that feelings don’t need to be acted on. My father is the kind of man who acts on every impulse that occurs to him.
Was.
He’s dead. I know this. It’s what spurred all this into motion. But for some reason, the realization hits me with ferocity then.
I push it aside. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” she says.
We slip out the side door of the compound, and into the trees. I like this as an exit because it’s covered. You cannot see it at all from the water.
“Oh,” she breathes.
Her eyes are wide as she looks around, her blond lashes so long they’re almost touching her eyebrows. The sun enhances the blue of her eyes, the wonder on her face like a gift that I want to hold close. Damn this woman and her witchcraft.
Damn her.
Damn her for being so exasperating and beguiling all at once.
I can’t recall ever spending this many days in a woman’s company before. Not one that I’m not related to. It hasn’t been that many days; I know that well.
But I have one use for women. As for men, I have extremely limited use for them. They are either my right hand, or they are nothing. It is not a commentary on women, so much as on me. On my lack of bonding with anyone.
“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” she says as we walk through the thick jungle of trees. Borneo is beautiful. I cannot dispute that. Though, I’ve been coming here for so many years, and for so many reasons that are unsavory, I often don’t pause to marvel at the beauty.
I do not pause.
There is always another job, always another task. Just like now.
Right now I have to finish this. Finish my father, and finish even the work of my grandfather.
It’s the only way that I can make a world safe for my child.
But I’m now noticing the beauty of the day.
We continue walking down a path that leads to a white sand beach surrounded by green.
“I’ve never seen water like this,” she says. “The Pacific is like iron. Yes, parts of it are very blue, depending on the day, but sometimes it’s so cold. Imposing. And not like this. Not clear and vivid.”
“Have you not been to any of the beaches in Italy?”
She shakes her head. “I told you. I’ve been busy. Survival is a lot of work. But I suppose I don’t have to tell you that.”
It’s true. I cannot remember the last time I went to the beach.
Yes, I have walked on the beach, but have I ever been to the beach?
In the way that people mean it. I don’t think so.
I try to imagine myself lying out on the sand on a towel, and it nearly makes me laugh.
I find very few things funny. But that is funny.
“What?”
She’s looking at me. Not with fear. Not with lust, which is another thing that I’m somewhat accustomed to. She’s looking at me with a sort of naked curiosity. Something I’ve never seen before.
“I’ve never been to the beach,” I say.
“What?”
“I’ve been to the beach. In that I have stood on the beach. Only I have not done so recreationally.”
“You never made sandcastles?”
“You really think my father, the leader of a crime syndicate, was taking us to the beach to make sandcastles?”
“I don’t. But my parents weren’t exactly taking me to the beach either, and I’ve still—” She blinked. “I’ve never done it either.”
She looks up at me. “We’re terrible candidates for parenthood, you realize that, don’t you?”
“I didn’t choose this.”
“You’ve chosen some of it.”
“I chose what feels to be the lesser of evils. It’s all I can do.”
“To me, it feels like an evil thing to have a child when you aren’t prepared to give that child what they need. Your father, I assume, had his children on purpose. Looking to carry on a legacy.”
“Yes,” I say.
“My parents were like this. They didn’t have a child on purpose. I don’t think they ever wanted me.”
“Why did your mother give birth, then?”
“I wish I could believe that it’s because there was a time when she wanted me. When she thought that she could do what was best for me. But what I believe is that she actually wasn’t organized enough to make an appointment to end her pregnancy. That’s what I believe.”
“At least enjoy the beach. Then you can say you’ve been.” I don’t know what else to say other than that. To any of it.
“Well, I don’t know that the beach will fix anything. But it can’t hurt.”
With that, she turns away from me and begins to move quickly toward the water. She sticks her toes in the waves, and the noise of delight that she makes does something strange to me.
I am standing on the beach in a suit. There are some absurdities to that.
“There are crocodiles, right? I mean, I heard that,” she says as she stops with her toes in the water.
“I’ve never seen one here,” I say. “Which doesn’t mean you don’t have to take precautions. But I wouldn’t jump into murky water or into the mangroves.”
“What’s a mangrove?”
I gesture down the coastline. “Where you see trees and plants growing heavily in the water. Anywhere a crocodile can hide. They strike incredibly quickly.”
“Sort of like you,” she says.
“Is that meant to be a compliment?”
“An observation. Neutral. Take it however you like.”
Emboldened by the reassurance that she won’t be eaten by crocodiles, she moves forward into the water and dips down below the surface. She shrieks as the water covers her, and then begins to swim, laughing. “It’s so warm.”
“Is it?”
“You should come in.”