Withstanding the Enemy

One

Emma…

As he leans closer his long finger traces my cheek to my chin. He tips my head and his eyes lock onto my mouth—

The blunt force of impact jars me to an immediate stop. I inhale as the freezing water from my glass drenches me.

“s**t, that’s cold,” I swear. Damn, I must have been daydreaming again. Did I just run into a wall?

Blinking to clear my mind, the solid frame of a man’s back covered by a black t-shirt comes into focus. My hands fly to cover my face causing me to drop the glass. I jump as the glass shatters at my bare feet. The remaining liquid splatters my toes sending a chill up my spine.

Two tree-truck arms fold around my waist and I am briskly swept up. A faceless man carries me four or five powerful strides before coming to an abrupt stop. With my hands still blocking my vision, my senses heighten causing the smell of clean linen to shafts around me. His solid chest vibrates as his unfamiliar voice tickles my ear.

“Are you all right?”

My chest rises and falls as I labor to control my breathing. It isn’t fear that has my body reacting—I know fear all too well. This is something I’m not familiar with. I can feel the energy between us—it’s powerful and dangerous like fear—but I am not afraid. This is something else entirely. As my body reacts to this new energy, it grows hotter—feverish even.

The energy intensifies as our bodies merge and he sets me down. My feet land on the icy marble floor, cooling the growing heat of my body. I hear a throaty sound as the faceless man clears his throat and releases me. The warmth of his body dissipates with his release.

“Miss, are you all right?”

Cowardly, I nod my head while still hiding my flushed face in my hands.

Two firm yet gentle hands encircle my wrists tugging to show my face. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, desperately wishing I could disappear.

A chuckle echoes in the hallway—of what I assume to be the foyer, judging from the direction he carried me. I open my eyes to the black T-shirt, this time my vision on the hard lines of his chest. He towers over me and a pulsing sensation sizzles through the air like lightning licking at my bare skin. I stumble backward as I try to look up at him.

“Ummm,” I manage to mumble and quickly look away.

My eyes dart to the staircase in the foyer which lead up to the second floor—my bedroom. The one place I can always run to. Taking another step back, I bump into an unforgivingly hard statue and lose my balance. I tumble toward the floor.

“Easy, I got you.” He catches me, effortlessly. “Your name’s not graceful, is it?” He laughs as he steadies me on my feet.

“Umm, sorry … I.” My chest tightens.

“Hey, easy…” his tone reminds me of someone who is trying to calm a wild animal.

His voice eases my nerves and builds confidence within me. My eyes search for his, needing to see the kindness and tranquility I hear in his voice, something I haven’t seen for some time.

His blue-green eyes suck me into their depths, as if dragging me into the ocean with no hope of escaping. I have an overwhelming sense that the man who possesses these magnificent eyes will turn my world inside out…

There it is—fear—kicking off my fight or flight reaction. As if in slow motion, I twist out of his arms and bolt for the staircase. Taking two steps at a time, which is impressive with my short stature; I clear it in record time. I scurry around the corner in the direction of my safe haven without so much as a glance over my shoulder.

Slamming the door to my room, I quickly duck under the covers. I close my eyes, again, welcoming the darkness. I try desperately to think of anything else but the man I just ran into. Maybe I can drift back to the daydream that was abruptly interrupted?

Okay, where was I, on a beach, with a sexy man, someone to take me away...

A man like him...

Ahhhhhh! My mind races with thoughts of the man with the captivating eyes. I need a distraction.

I pull myself unwillingly out of bed and walk over to the walk-in closet. The realization that I am still wearing my loungewear hits me as I look back at my reflection. Rick will be expecting me in a timely manner for lunch. Lunch with him is the last thing I want to do today, but it's one of his rules: I must always eat with him.

I grab a pair of jeans, a v-neck t-shirt, and a bra and panty set. I know Rick will probably not be thrilled with my choice of outfit but wearing his ridiculous dresses with the skyscraper heels isn’t what I am feeling at the moment.

In my bathroom, I prepare the shower. As I begin to undress, I close my eyes to avoid my reflection in the mirrors. But not even closing my eyes can hide the scars that remain. The scars Rick has given me are deeper than the surface; they are engraved in my soul.

I quickly jump into the shower, trying to take my mind off of Rick. My eyes widen as the freezing water wets my skin. I rub my arms to get rid of the goosebumps.

Grabbing the shampoo, I begin to lather up my hair. I’ve been blessed with my mother’s thick blonde waves.

Mom…

I close my eyes and try to enjoy the feeling of the water as it eases the aches and pains of my muscles.

The depth of his ocean-eyes comes to my mind again and sends a shiver down my spine. What was it about that man? Why is he affecting me in this way?

I shrug, trying to shake him from my mind. Maybe I imagined him? It wouldn’t be the first time I twisted reality with one of the latest novels I was reading. I wash the suds from my hair and watch them disappear down the drain. I am always getting in trouble for daydreaming. Rick hates when I escape to my own mind.

Yep, I’m sure I made him up.

Once dressed, I make my way to the vanity to figure out what to do with my hair. Grabbing the comb, I start combing my ends. A knock echoes through my bedroom startling me. I take a quick breath and say a silent prayer that it isn’t Rick.

“Who is it?”

“Ms. Andrews?” answers the British accent I know so well.

“Come in, Brutus.”

You’d think someone named Brutus would be a large man, but this Brutus is quite the opposite. He’s in his late 70s, not much taller than me, and couldn’t weigh more than 120 pounds. His white hair and sucked in cheeks made him look frail—not the type of man one pictures a Brutus to be. He walks in and stands in the middle of my bedroom.

Brutus’s accent always has me wondering if it was real or not. I mean, isn’t it super cliché having a British butler? Maybe they train all butler’s in butler academy (that’s a real thing, right?) to sound British? I laugh at my own joke—someone has to.

“Please, Brutus, call me by my first name. Just to remind you, its Emma.” I wiggle one of my eyebrows.

The older man’s soft blue eyes twinkle as he meets my gaze.

“Yes, Ms. Andrews, I know. I just don’t want to get into a habit and slip up in front of the Master. You know how he gets about things of that nature. Everything must be formal.”

“Okay” I answer with a playful pout. “You’re right, Rick gets a little butt-hurt when we try to have fun.”

“Ms. Andrews! Please watch your language. If Master were to hear you…” He shakes his head.

I lower my eyes. “I’m sorry, Brutus.”

“I just don’t want you to be swearing.” He walks over to me and pats my head like a child. “Well then, it’s a good thing the Master will not be home to accompany you for lunch today.”

A sudden lightness washes over me. Brutus eyes me, and continues, “Especially with the outfit you picked to wear. He would not have approved.” He spins on his heels and heads in the direction of my door.

I follow him. “Brutus?”

He stops, turns, and faces me. “Yes, can I get something for you?”

The sweet old man is always looking out for me. He reminds me of a grandpa; that is, what I imagine a grandfather would be like since I never had one.

“Oh, no. I was just wondering, who was here earlier this morning?”

“Who are you referring to?”

“You know, the man that was in the foyer?”

“No, I don’t believe anyone was here this morning—”

“The man in the foyer; he was wearing a black T-shirt…”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Andrews. No one was here.”

“Are you sure because I could swear—”

“No swearing, and yes I’m sure. I would have had to let him in.”

“Oh … yeah.”

“Is there anything else, Mrs. Andrews?”

I smile broadly. “Thank you, Brutus. No, I don’t believe so.”

“Very well, good-day.” With that, he turns sharply on his heels and exits.

I make my way back to the vanity. See. You made him up, Emma. The man with the ocean eyes is a figment of your overactive imagination. Rick has finally succeeded in making you lose your mind. Mr. Ocean Eyes never existed—did I just give him a nickname? I really am losing it.

I sit down and let out a heavy sigh as a chime on my phone notifies me of an incoming text message. What does he want now, I think, knowing that it was Rick before I even pick it up and slide open. I hold back an eye roll as I read Rick text.

I will see you at supper. Text me before leaving the penthouse.

I began typing back a response, already knowing what he wants me to say.

That’s okay. I will miss you. See you then.

I set my phone back down. I won’t be missing him at all.