A Kiss Stolen

“I briefly considered taking him out with a bullet, but where is the retribution in that? Too quick. He deserves to suffer as I did.”

Her hands begin to lower from her neck.

I cock my head as the thrill of sweet victory flows through my veins. “Have you changed your mind?”

She flings the knife away, then roughly jerks the shirt off her body, and chucks it away. “Alright then,” she says coldly. “You want to have me, go ahead.”

No words come to my head. For as long as I can remember I dreamed of this moment. Her complete capitulation.

“I was once incredibly attracted to you.” She swallows hard. “I can’t lie. I still am. Go ahead and fuck me Brand Vaughan. I will enjoy every single moment of it, I promise you. Let us both be out of our minds together. This is between you and me. Leave my family out of it.”

My grin was from ear to ear.

Chapter Thirteen

Liliana

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uelHwf8o7_U

His smile is sick.

The complete absence of humor in it makes me feel as if a reptile is slithering over my body. Even so, and unexplainably, I cannot deny how intensely my body is responding to his. I spent the whole afternoon telling myself I hate him and it is no good. One look at him and all I want to do is throw myself at him.

It is clear fighting him is not doing me any good. Short of somehow killing him, or myself and causing the demise of my father, I see no other way than to succumb to him. At least until I overcome my own madness, or a window of opportunity to escape arrives. Once I am away from him and close to my family again I am certain I will regain my sanity. I do however have one last question.

“Brand, can you really not see how unreasonable your need for revenge is? No matter what the unfortunate consequences were of my actions they were unintended. I was just a child. As you were. You can’t possibly still be this angry and bitter because an eleven-year old child told her father a boy kissed her. What is the real reason why you are so bitter towards me?”

Just as I expected he doesn’t respond.

It confirms my suspicion. “You do not know yourself, do you? What you do know however is that you cannot get me out of your mind, can you? You’ve been trying countless of times over the years. So you’ve blamed me for everything … your grief, and perhaps even your guilt for what happened to your father because of your desire for me.”

He drops his head in barely restrained temper and I realize that I am getting to him. I go on.

“You want to kill me, but at the same time you want to have me. You cannot make up your mind and it’s tearing you up, but one thing is for sure. You want to see me suffer … just as you have.”

He lifts his head then and I watch as his gaze slides over my breasts, the hunger in them evident, and then his eyes travel back up to mine.

Something cold grips my entire body. I am sure that I have finally lost my mind. Maybe the fear and terror has gotten to me, but despite everything in me screaming to hold on to that last bit of my dignity, I reach behind and unhook, unzip, and let fall my skirt. When it pools around my feet, I step out of it and stand before Brand buck naked in the middle of his grand dining room. I feel as if I am going to throw up, but I don’t. I keep my composure and my gaze on his.

“Go ahead,” I say to him steadily. Maybe this is the only response to the madness between us.

He stares at my body saying nothing.

“Where will you have me?” I demand. I look towards the expensive wallpaper, I know it is expensive, because my mother has it on her dining room walls too. “Against the wall?” I glance at the polished hardwood floor. “On the floor?”

When he doesn’t respond I swing my head towards the expanse of the dining table. Purposefully, I head towards the middle, and with a long sweep of my hand, send the carefully arranged food and utensils to the ground. They crash to the floor, plates, cutlery, silver salt and pepper containers. The crystal decanter of red wine somehow manages not to break, but spills its precious contents on the floor and rolls in a circle. A magnificent porcelain vase smashes to pieces, scattering the flowers inside it haphazardly. The water runs quickly in all direction and mingles with the red wine. It is a fine mess I have made. My mother would be horrified.

I pop myself on top of the cleared table, and do the unimaginable. I spread my legs wide open.

Then I meet his gaze, my heart pounding so loudly in my chest, I can almost hear nothing else. He walks over to me, his stride unhurried, his eyes never leaving mine. When he is a foot away from me he stops. Very, very gently, he pushes two thick fingers into me. My mouth opens in a silent gasp. For a few seconds, his fingers remain still, then he withdraws them. He brings his fingers to my face and runs the wet pads of his fingers horizontally across one cheek then the other. As if he is painting the stripes that Red Indian and certain indigenous tribes do to their faces.

“You were better when you were a Warrior Princess, wild and fierce,” he says almost sadly.

Then he turns around and strides out of the room. The shame that comes down upon me in that moment makes me want to run away and never see him again. I am unguarded. I look out of the window. It is snowing lightly and I know I will not survive out there in my torn clothes. I do not know how I manage it, but somehow I get myself off the table, pick up my clothes, put them on and walk out of there as calmly as I can.

Chapter Fourteen

Liliana

The knock to my door almost makes me jump out of my skin.

It is either Brand or one of his other staff. I hear the key begin to turn and the decision is taken away from me. Shutting my eyes, I sink my head into the pillow and feign sleep.

Footsteps come in and stop for a moment before moving away from my bed, and towards the coffee table. There is some shuffling around and then eventually the clink of plates against each other. I lift my head and see that it is Mrs. Parks.

Her smile is welcoming as she calls me over for the meal that she has just laid out, but my reply is rude. “Go away and leave me alone.”

“I just spent an hour on my hands and knees cleaning the dining room,” she says, and I instantly feel bad. It is not her fault. I did not mean for her to suffer the brunt of my violent reaction to Brand. “You have to eat breakfast. Please join me.”

As if on cue my treacherous stomach begins to growl in protest. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

She sits down and starts pouring coffee into a cup. “If I were you, I would keep my strength up. Who knows when you might need it.” She takes a sip of coffee and looks at me over the rim of the cup.

I rise. “I’ll brush my teeth first if you don’t mind.” After brushing my teeth, I join her on the couch.

She holds up a plate of finger sandwiches and I take my pick. White bread with scrambled eggs. The sandwich is gone in two bites. I reach out and take another with ham and tomatoes. It is delicious and before long I am going for a cucumber sandwich. I am even hungrier than I expected so it is only about midway through the meal that I lift my head and meet Mrs. Parks watching me as she chews in a very ladylike fashion. It is a bit unsettling after the way I have been making a pig of myself.

S

he immediately catches on to my discomfort. “There’s already a lot to make you uncomfortable,” she says apologetically. “I don’t mean to add to it.”

I stop eating and study her. She has genuine kind eyes, but along her graying hair, there are smile lines all over her face, or are they lines from hardship? She is my best bet of formulating any kind of escape or trying to find out more about Brand.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you know Brand personally?” Or is he just your employer? It’s just that he called you Lindy.”

“Brand came into my life a long time ago, I think he was about fifteen at the time.”

My heart catches in my throat as I realize that Brand was the same age when he left my father’s employ. “How did you meet?” I ask, my tone more eager than I wanted to let on.

“I met him at a soup kitchen in South Ealing. He used to come in almost every morning and evening like clockwork. I was there for breakfast and dinner too so I didn’t have much pity to give, but what struck me was how young he was. He was always dirty and unkempt, but one day he came in bruised and bloodied. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.”

She stops and sighs heavily at the memory. “You see he was always so surly and aggressive no one dared go close enough to ask him what had happened. I was the only one who walked up to his table and sat opposite him. I took my slice of bread and put it next to his bowl of soup. To my surprise tears rolled down his black and blue eyes. The tears never stopped. He cried so much that his soup doubled in size. He even cried while he ate.” She worked up a smile at the joke but it was so sad that it instead made my heart ache.

She went on. “He hid it well, so no one else noticed but even if they had, every one of us in that place were at the lowest in our lives. Tears were the only currency we had … and we had them in abundance.”