Fat Tuesday(102)

She slapped at Burke with her left hand and continued to yank her right hand against the unyielding metal cuff. He threw his right leg over hers to protect himself from her vicious kicks. Again she tried to scream, but the cloth was in her mouth and the only sound she made was a harsh gasp.

"Be still, for God's sake," he said."I'm trying to help you."

Finally, he managed to get hold of the netting and pulled at it so hard that it ripped, relieving the tension across her face. But the torn sections drifted weblike over her. She brushed at them with her left hand until they were no longer touching her. Her breathing was labored and loud and rapid.

"You're all right," he said, speaking in a low, soothing voice.

"It's gone now. You're fine." He reached up to smooth away strands of hair, but her left hand struck his hard."Don't touch me!"

"Calm down," he said, patting the air between them."The mosquito netting fell over you. That's all it was." She stared at him dazedly while her breathing gradually slowed down."Could you use a drink of water?"

She nodded. Earlier she had set a glass of water on the rickety three-legged table that acted as a nightstand. Burke reached across her for it."Can you sit up?" Propping herself on her elbows, she drank from the glass he held for her.

Rain was still pattering monotonously on the shack's corrugated tin roof. Even so, a muddy gray moonlight shone through the windows.

Tense and watchful, he had stood at the door for at least half an hour after the men in the fishing boat departed. He hadn't sensed any menace from them, merely curiosity over the priest whom they had rescued from certain disaster, only to have him vanish during a wedding celebration.

But preferring to err on the side of caution, Burke had refrained from relighting the lantern and had stood vigil until he was satisfied that they posed no threat.

Finally, he had suggested that he and his hostage turn in. He had handcuffed her to him again, which had sparked another argument, which he had won by citing that she had a possible means of escape now that the boat had been repaired. In light of her nightmare, he felt pretty rotten about keeping her shackled, especially since it wasn't entirely for safety's sake that he wanted to lie beside her.

She drank from the glass so greedily that water dribbled from the corners of her mouth. When she had drunk it all, he returned the empty glass to the table."Better now?"

Again, she didn't speak, but only nodded.

His eyes touched on her brow, cheekbone, nose, and mouth. After only a moment's hesitation, he whisked the pad of his thumb across her chin and lower lip, and it came back wet.

"I'm not going to kick you, Basile."

Something, desire maybe, had made him muddle-headed."What?"

She shifted uncomfortably, and he realized that his leg was still lying across hers, trapping them against the mattress. His foot, his calf, even the inside of his thigh touching her as a lover might. His crotch was pressed snugly against her hip. His eyes lowered to her lips again.

He had touched them with his thumb. They were wet. And incredibly soft.

"Don't, Basile. Please."

Five words were whispered, but they couldn't have been clearer.

Her plea for him to desist covered about six transgressions that sprang immediately to mind. With more self-restraint than a man should have to exercise in a lifetime, he withdrew his leg and lay back down.

For a time, he was absorbed with his own misery. But he became aware of her massaging her right wrist with her left hand.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"A little."

"You were yanking on it hard. That's what woke me up. Do you need something for it?"

Now, wasn't he being a good Boy Scout? Not only was he keeping his hands off her at her request, he was also offering to render aid.

Either he deserved a medal of commendation or the * of the Year award.

"If you're so concerned about my wrist, you could remove the handcuffs."

"Not a chance."

"Please."

"No. Don't ask me anymore." Screw Boy Scouting.

They were close enough for him to feel every breath she took, and desire wasn't something that retreated upon command. But there were barriers between them more impenetrable than a steel bolster. Not the least of which was that she had said "Don't, Basile," and, although he was a kidnapper, he wasn't a rapist. Second, she was another man's wife. True, adultery was a popular, "aCceptable sin. If public stoning were still the punishment for extra marital fun and games, the planet would have been depleted of rocks a long time ago. As sins go, adultery was a huge yawn.

Religious aspects aside, there was the moral implication. He would like to think himself a notch above Barbara and her football coach And, anyway, the lady candidate had said no, so it wasn't going to happen no matter what, so he ordered himself to stop thinking about it and go to sleep.

He lay there for a long time, wide awake and about as relaxed as a two-by-four. He sensed she was finding it equally difficult to fall asleep again. He wasn't particularly in the mood for a chat, but he feared if he didn't break the strained silence, his jawbone was going to crack."Was it a nightmare?"

"Not exactly," she replied."More like a ... Yes, I guess you could call it a nightmare."