She wraps it around her shoulders, and we step outside. There's an area with a tree log, and I lead her to it so we can sit.
Some nervous butterflies take off in my gut. "Ma'am—"
"Are you going to call me ma'am the entire night?"
"Ms. Castillo," I tease.
"Try again."
"Okay. Vanessa."
"That's better. And do you have a name?"
Heat rushes to my face.
Jeez. Get a grip. She just wants to know your name. You're a 43-year-old man.
"Hunter. Hunter Ward."
She smiles, and my stomach flips again. "Well, Hunter Ward, that's a very nice name. Thank you for rescuing me."
"I'm sorry no one did sooner."
"Naomi told me the date when she arrived yesterday. I've been gone eight months, right?"
"Yes. That's what the paperwork said."
She twists her fingers together.
"What happened to your wrists and ankles?" I ask.
"Just damage from the shackles."
"You've been in cuffs?"
"Yes. Until a week ago."
Horror grips me. "For eight months?"
"Yes."
"What else did they do to you?" I growl, and she jumps. "Sorry. What did they do?" I repeat, softer.
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
"You shouldn't have to handle it." I angrily blurt out.
She quickly looks away.
"Vanessa."
She takes a deep breath and turns back. "Hmmm?"
I firmly ask, "What did they do?"
"They aren't the ones who hurt me."
"Who did?"
Her eyes fill with tears. "Can we change the subject? Please?"
"All right." I want to pull her in my arms, but I don't want to startle her again.
Ask her, and I can stop torturing myself.
"The paperwork said you have a fiancé who's been searching for you. I'm sure you'll be happy to see him soon." As I say it, my heart twists.
Her eyes widen, and her lip quivers. She whispers, "Please. Whatever you do, don't make me go back to him."
3
Vanessa
Anxiety is something I haven't felt a lot of in the last few months. It makes no sense. I was a prisoner of the guerrillas. But after so many months, I learned how to lay low, and do what they wanted. Besides that one slap, they kept their hands off me.
The transfer to Santiago's camp was like ripping the Band-Aid off a fresh wound. My heart palpitations resumed the second day I was in the pit. They weren't out of control, but every day that passed they lasted longer.
And now, fear and panic flow so fast, I put my hand on my heart to try and calm my breathing.
Hunter scoots closer and puts his arm around me, and I jump.
"I'm not going to hurt you." His deep voice is calming. The last few times I jumped, he recoiled, but this time, he doesn't. He draws me closer to him, and I lean into his strong arms.
His woodsy, raw scent flares in my nostrils. In the middle of my panic attack, my lower body throbs.
What the heck is wrong with me?
He's the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. He'd look hot with messy hair. His thick, light-brown hair I want to run my hands through. The flecks in his golden-brown eyes change with his emotions and mesmerize me. Every inch of his body, including his face, is chiseled. It's as if he stepped right out of a men's fitness magazine. And the way he walks, there's no doubt he's got a V on his abdomen.
"He's the man who hurt you?" Hunter's question snaps me out of my thoughts.
I don't want to discuss this with Hunter. My best friend, Mary, warned me about Carlos. She said something wasn't right and he was too controlling.
I thought his possessiveness meant he loved me. The more Mary warned me about him, the bigger the rift grew between us. And Carlos saw it. He took advantage of it and manipulated me further.
He convinced me that everyone around me was out to destroy us. The career I worked my entire adult life to build blew up in flames after Carlos beat me so severely, he broke my ribs. I couldn't go to work for several weeks. When my ribs were almost healed is when he yanked my neck back and gave me whiplash. My neck never fully recovered, and I wasn't able to do my job as a physical therapist because of the demands it put on my body.
Once Mary and every other person I ever cared about were no longer in my life, I had no one to turn to when the verbal and physical abuse escalated.
The strong, confident woman I was when I met Carlos no longer exists. A feeble, cowering woman full of anxiety has taken her place. And the shame haunts me.
"Vanessa? Is he the man who hurt you?" Hunter repeats.
I wipe my wet face. "I don't want to discuss this. Please don't make me go there, and don't make me talk about it."
He strokes my head. "Okay. Tell me what's wrong with your neck."
"My neck?"
"Yes. You keep holding it, as if in pain."
"I... I didn't realize."
"It's okay. How did you injure it?"
"I had whiplash a little over a year ago."
"What from?"
I lie, like I was trained to do. "From a car accident."
He places his warm hand on my neck. Tingles race down my spine. He asks, "Here?"
My pulse rises. I want to keep his hands on me forever. I admit, "And left of there."
He drags his fingers over then down to my mid-spine. "Does it shoot down through here?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"My mom got into a bad wreck when we were kids. She had problems her entire life. You hold your neck how she used to."
"I do?"
"Yes."
Guilt that his mom was actually in an accident and I lied about mine eats at me.
Too late now. I already lied.
"Can I try something?"
I hesitate, unsure what he will do, but allow him. "Okay."
He kneads the curve of my neck.
That feels so good.
His lips move next to my ear. "If I hurt you, tell me, and I'll stop."
"O-okay."
"Stand up for a moment," he directs.
I obey.
He spreads his legs wide and sits farther back on the trunk. He pats the space between his thighs. "Sit."
I stare at him.
Amusement enters his eyes. "I won't bite. Promise."
Please, bite me all you want.
I'm being ridiculous and need to stop. He saved my life. He's safe.
Holy thigh muscles.
Stop ogling him. It isn't helping my current predicament.
I sit.
He takes the blanket, slides it off my shoulders and down my back so it's below my armpits. Then he wraps his arms around me and tugs it tight. His breath is close to my ear, and he murmurs, "Don't want the bugs to get you."
Flutters erupt inside me, and I inhale his delicious scent, taking deeper and deeper breaths, trying to get every bit of it in my lungs.
He's an intoxicating piece of perfection who oozes rugged sexuality. But I've been wrong about men before.
Carlos is good-looking, and that got me nothing but sorrow.