Chapter Thirteen - Victoria
I’m still reciting all the reasons why forcing Weston Conrad out of this house was a good idea when the lightning strikes and the whole place shakes so hard, I scream.
I’m still screaming when West comes back yelling, “Holy fuck! Are you OK?”
“What happened?” I have to hold onto the kitchen counter because my legs are shaking.
“The fucking house just got hit with lightning! I saw it. That antenna isn’t an antenna. It must be a lightning rod.”
“Oh, my God. It’s raining.” No, not raining. It’s pouring outside.
“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t try to swim to the other island,” West says.
“You were going to swim away?” That selfish fucker!
“Isn’t that what you—”
But another lightning strike booms through the house and I startle again. “How many times can it strike that rod before it sends us up in flames?”
“Tons,” West says, as he walks over to me and pulls me into his chest. “Like thousands of times, Victoria. Really. It’s fine. It’s just a good thing they have it, right? Otherwise the roof would be on fire right now.”
I pry West’s arms from around me and walk over to the window. That mass of purple clouds is still off in the distance, but that’s not stopping the rolling thunderheads directly above us from doing their thing. What are the chances that the pilot will come back for us now?
I can’t even go there.
“The power is out,” West says, flicking the light switch on and off.
“We’re stuck,” I say quietly. “For real. We’re stuck out here. What if that pilot guy thinks we got a ride home from someone else and just forgets about us?”
“Maybe the storm will blow over in a couple hours?” West says quickly. “Vlad will call the coastguard… or whoever the coastguard is in the Bahamas. Or our coastguard will call their coastguard and someone will come looking. Don’t worry. We’re not stuck.”
“I’m not going to flip out, West. So you can just stop lying to me.”
“Look, Victoria”—West laughs—“you flip out on a regular basis over the stupidest things. Do you really think I’ll believe that this won’t bring back your panic attacks?”
“Why are you so mean?” Really? Why does he have to bring that up every time something goes wrong?
West looks at the door and I realize he wants to walk out again. But he can’t. He’s stuck here with me. That’s what he’s thinking.
And can I blame him? I am a basket case when it comes to certain things. I have very good reasons for my panic attacks and I have very good reasons why I hate being alone. But I can be… a little… high-strung in certain situations.
I think I’m holding it together pretty well right now.
Until I realize my breathing is picking up and I’m sweating like crazy. The humidity in this house just went up like a thousand percent, so maybe that’s all it is?
But my pulse is racing and my palms are sweaty, and then my head is pounding to the beat of my heart and things go blurry…
“Victoria,” West says into my ear. “Listen to me,” he says in the other one. I wait for him to squeeze my shoulders the way he used to back when we were together. I want it. I want him to do all those familiar things that comfort me. I want him to slip his fingers into my bra and squeeze my breasts while his mouth goes to work on my neck, and my earlobe, and my lips.
I’m certain that he will not continue, but I’m wrong. He cups the round muscle of my shoulders and kisses the soft skin of my ear.
“What?” I say. It comes out as a whisper, filled with so many things like want, and need, and desperation.
“We’re fine. I’m here. You’re not alone. People know where we are. And even if we do get stuck on this island tonight, we’ll be back on the mainland by tomorrow. Do you understand?”
His hands lift off my shoulders, which just makes me want him more. “I want to believe you.”
“So just believe.”
I turn to face him, because if I don’t he’s going to back off and this moment will pass. I don’t want the moment to pass. And not because of my racing heart or my spinning world. I don’t want him to back off because… his touch. God, his fucking touch. It’s something I’ve missed so much and I didn’t even know it until this moment right now. “Why is it always one or the other with us, West?”
He looks down at me and smiles. His hands come up to my neck and he gently drags my long dark hair off my shoulders, arranging it the way he likes to do when he’s getting ready to kiss me. “Why are we so hot and cold? Why are we so on and off? So all or nothing? Friends or enemies?”
“Yeah,” I say, placing my hands on his biceps. He’s always been cut. His muscles have always been taut and his body lean. I stare at his eyes. Brown. They are brown, like his hair. So nondescript when I say the word in my head. But nothing about Weston Conrad is ordinary. His face is model-perfect, his jawline square and strong.
Even the stubble on his cheeks and chin is the perfect length to drive me crazy. I have felt that stubble between my legs more times than I can count. I have placed my hands on it to comfort him during those two years he was accused of things I know he’s never been capable of.
I know him.
He knows me.
“Because we’re equals, Victoria. You’ve never understood that. You’ve always thought I wanted to control you and I don’t.”
“Equals, huh?” I ask.
“On every level.”
I sigh and remove my hands from his arms. Back away. Because he’s pulling me into his spell. He’s charming me with his words and promises, and I know they are lies. If we’re equals then why does he have so many rules? If we’re equals, then why don’t I know everything about his past? He’s told me some, but not all. He gets this vacant look on his face, like talk-time is over, whenever I push too far.
So we’re not equals.
He wants the power and he only sticks around if he has it.