The Espionage Effect(62)
My last thought as I drifted from consciousness was the fervent hope that we would be strong enough to protect everyone else.
Air disturbance brushed over my skin, but I couldn’t identify the source. Eyes cemented closed, I stretched, then winced, groaning as pain lanced through my muscles in a rippling wave.
With measured focus and slow breaths, I tested each sore limb with a gentle flex, confirming everything still worked the way it should.
Before I opened my eyes, recognition edged in: flashes of me collapsed on the beach, Alec carrying me up to his house, us showering together.
The shower.
That last memory lingered, rich in substance. The event marked the most intimate experience ever to happen to me, sex or not.
Had it all been a dream? Or worse...an act? A mask over his true self: the spy?
Plenty of time to sort it all out in the light of day. His words drifted back, a fragment of last night.
Sort what out? Adrenaline spiked through my veins, and I bolted upright, blinking my eyes open. I sat alone, stark naked in the center of a low platform bed with a sea of white sheets swirled around me.
Beyond the foot of the bed, bamboo flooring spanned forward, disappearing at a glass wall. Just outside, a silver strand of beach met an indigo ocean as the purplish hue of first-morning twilight faintly colored the sky. A slow-rolling wave crested, then collapsed down, its muted boom permeating the silence.
My pulse hammered, at odds with the peacefulness of the room, of nature…of everything.
Out of sorts in a way I couldn’t disseminate, I pushed up from the bed, needing to find Alec. And answers. To what? I hadn’t a clue. Something to settle the chaotic emotions inside of me, for a start.
The air held a slight chill, fanning goose bumps over my skin. The only piece of furniture in the room was an unassuming bamboo dresser. I pulled open the top drawer, found a soft, black V-neck tee, and pulled it on over my head.
After exiting the bedroom, I detoured into the bathroom to pee. The ruined clothes that had fallen to the floor last night had vanished; only black slate tiles existed, not a speck of sand on them. The towels had vanished too, bathmat and all. But the darkness remained. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, embracing its therapeutic nature. After peeing, then washing my hands in the dim light with another bar of Alec’s earthy soap, I stepped back into the hall.
On bare feet, I padded past a large glass atrium where lacy ferns arched over a shallow stream that meandered in and out through denser foliage. Nearest the hallway, dark-brown soil was speckled with a few golden bamboo leaves. A single palm stretched toward the fourteen-foot ceiling in a far corner.
Continuing on, I stepped through the backside of an immaculate kitchen. Grayish-green soapstone counters topped simple maple cabinetry. A white country-style apron sink hung low along the back counter. The brushed stainless steel appliances gleamed, from the stove, with its smooth electric cooktop, to the refrigerator that had a digital temperature reading within the door’s surface that glowed a bright turquoise 42.
Beyond the open soapstone counters, Alec moved soundlessly, his arms arcing gracefully, legs lunging in fluid movement. Eyes closed, his expression remained relaxed as he moved in nothing but a pair of black cotton lounge pants that hung low on his hips. He resembled a powerful Samurai dancing through the air, muscles tensing and relaxing, body ebbing and flowing to some unheard warrior’s cadence.
And even though I’d awoken with an urgent need to find calm for my inner turmoil, I settled back and said nothing. I wanted to blend into the background, stay the observer in Alec’s world for as long as possible—learn from him.
Getting the sense that I witnessed a rare event, something Alec didn’t readily expose to others, I crossed my arms over my chest, leaned against the curved hardness of the counter’s edge, and focused on my breathing, something he’d told me to do last night.
Last night.
As I watched his fluid movements, the masterful control of a body honed into a weapon, I contemplated the paradoxes of the man who quietly restrained all that power into an art form as he performed his kata. How did he reconcile who he actually was with who he pretended to be?
Perhaps the answer was simple—he didn’t.
Compartmentalizing took many forms.
For a man determined not to have any sort of relationship with me—with anyone—he’d broken his own rule with ease in the wine cellar last night. Yet minutes later, he’d been precision-focused on his mission, in spite of our heated encounter…or maybe because of it.
He’d even been able to handle the situation of the captives we’d encountered with cold factual calculation. Hell, even I’d known with the scant time we’d had that no rescue attempt would’ve been possible.
Yet my scar tissue had still flared painfully, blinding me. Disabling me. I’d been unable to handle the release of emotion I’d kept bottled deep inside that had been unleashed with the unexpected horrors of witnessing their dismal state, the resignation in their faces…the anguish on one.
On the verge of losing control again, I sucked in a deep breath. Then I blew it out to a measured count of ten.
Alec continued his meditative workout. The soft turquoise glow illuminated the defined lines of his muscles as I pondered a last puzzling facet he’d presented: how caring he’d been when I’d lost control. Patient and understanding, as if he’d expected the breakdown or had been there before, he’d played the gentleman last night. He’d fulfilled my only need when he’d pulled me to shore, carried me to his house, cleansed me…cared for me. And in doing so, he’d brought to life a part of me that I’d buried, an emotion I’d thought long dead—hope.