Page 54 of The Devil Wears Orange
Frantically leaning over the side of the boat, Rashid calls Charlotte’s name and almost falls out as he wildly scans the water. Lining up about thirty feet away from Rashid’s speedboat, the water-taxi cuts its engine, idling.
“Charlotte!” Jack shouts, racing from one side of the boat to the other to inspect the water. Looking up to Rashid, he yells, “Do you see her?!” The Prince shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the surrounding water. Finally, Jack points out a hat bobbing in the sea. Rashid leans over the side of his boat to pluck the hat. He rips off his shoes and shirt and jumps in.
“Charlotte!” calls Rashid, resurfacing.
Jack weighs the benefits of diving and trying to find her while in the water versus the wider viewpoint he has from the boat. But while he’s contemplating scenarios, Charlotte is sinking to the depths below. He flings off his shoes, his jacket, tears his shirt from his body, and jumps into the ocean. He takes long, determined strokes until he’s in the middle of the two boats, dives down, and continues to search. Popping his head back up, he sucks in a deep breath and dives underwater.
“Jack.”
A woman’s voice, distorted, calls him by name like a Siren’s song to a watery grave.
“Jack.”
The voice guides him upward, and he breaks the surface, spins until his eyes focus on his water-taxi. Charlotte clutches the taxi driver’s hand as he pulls her in. She tumbles into the boat and disappears from view. Water streams down Jack’s face, and laps up to his chin. He swims towards the water taxi where the driver hauls him into the boat as well, and plops down beside Charlotte, his breath coming in hard. Jack clasps his arms around her, her wetness now pressed against his, two dampened bodies.
He draws her head closer, covering her with small kisses, and listens to her quiet sobs. Trembling, she places her head against his chest, her body convulses as her cries grow louder, and she brings her knees up to curl into him. He holds her tight, tootight, a mistake that’s giving him away – Jack Carey cares for Charlotte Milton more than he realized.
Chapter 32
“Please, remove your clothing,”says the young servant named Hamed.
“Aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?” Jack winces at his own joke. He’s glad Charlotte isn’t around to hear him, though, if she were, she may be too exhausted to roll her eyes at him.
“The hotel has wonderful room service. I can get you a menu if you like.”
Jack had obviously been joking, but now that he thinks about it, he’s barely eaten all day and drank too many iced hibiscus teas. Thankfully, the police didn’t keep them very long after they plucked Rashid from the water and led them all, the water taxi driver included, back to the marina for questioning. Jack felt obligated to pay the driver exponentially more than he had promised.
“Thank you. I am feeling rather peckish.” Jack slips into casual slacks and a white shirt that Hamed brings him while his suit is laundered.
“When you are ready, sir, His Highness would like to see you in his office.”
Jack can’t say he’d like to see Rashid. The way he fawned over Charlotte like she was helpless irritated him. “Are you cold, Charlotte?” he mimics Rashid when he’s left alone. Chivalry and grand heroic gestures were overkill on Rashid’s part, noted Jack, who quietly seethed watching Rashid play hero. Besides, it was the taxi driver who pulled Charlotte from the water, and it was Charlotte who managed to get herself to the safety of the water taxi in the first place, so what’s Rashid going on about?
When Jack is taken to the office, he finds Rashid and Charlotte sitting close on a settee, looking a little too intimate.
Charlotte pulls away from Rashid immediately and pops up. “Let me get you something to drink.” She’s changed her clothing and wears her hair, still wet, sleekly pulled back in a ponytail, but the fear she felt on the boat remains with her. He can see it in her eyes. Rashid, Jack notices, glistens and looks even better with the blue of his eyes pronounced, and a black shine to his hair like he’s using some expensive product. Jack probably looks like a fuddy-duddy in comparison.
Jack welcomes the glass from Charlotte and spies the bottle in her other hand. He savors the delightful sip of Bunnahabhain. He was 16 the first time he got drunk. His parents returned home to find Jack nursing their bottle of Bunnahabhain and grounded him. So, Jack has a bit of a bad boy streak in him after all, he’d like to convey to Charlotte, if she’s into that.
Charlotte pours a glass for herself and downs it. She grimaces. “Oh, that’s strong,” she says, then pours another.
Charlotte returns to the two-seater with Rashid; Jack sits opposite them, a pillow haphazardly folded over and pressedawkwardly into his back. There’s something odd in the way Rashid stares at him, hard and stony-eyed. Jack averts his eyes and scours the room from the desk to the mirrored credenza, and he nearly chokes on his drink when his eyes fall on a Picasso.
“How’s your arm?” asks Jack.
“The doctor said amputation isn’t necessary,” jokes Rashid. “It was a small nick.”
“It’s nothing to joke about,” says Charlotte, gently pressing the palm of her hand on Rashid’s arm. She seems genuinely concerned.
Lucky you, Jack wants to say, a little jealous Rashid took a bullet meant for Charlotte. But what does this all mean? Who were those men trying to kill Charlotte?
“We can’t thank you enough for your assistance. Most people would have headed in the opposite direction, Professor... Carey, is it?” says Charlotte.
“Please, call me Jack.”
“Where do you teach, Professor?” says Rashid.
“Oxford.”
