Page 38 of Her Dark Lies
“If something happens to you?” The sentence ends on a shrill squeak. “What do you think might happen?”
He hesitates, and I have the strangest sense he is about to say something huge and important, but the moment passes.
“Darling. Monday should have been the first clue. Tonight, another. We are often targets. This is the world we live in. We have no idea what might happen from one day to the next. I have no intention of being parted from you willingly. But should the unexpected happen, I want you taken care of, no matter what. Yes, the terms of the settlement are generous, but the NDA is quite stringent and serious. You can’t break it, Claire, or there will be nothing, and the family can prosecute you for breach of contract. I don’t have any control over this. And I want you to have everything. You deserve everything. Okay?”
“Of course. I have no intention of mentioning anything private about the family. Like I told your parents, it’s no one’s business.”
“Good. Are we friends again?”
“Yes. Good friends.”
He kisses me, startling me again with his intensity. It’s like we are never going to kiss again, and he needs to memorize every inch of me. I quickly realize he’s doing more than kissing me. One hand is wound up in my hair, and the other has travelled to the button of my jeans.
“Jack, stop. Not here. Let’s go to our room.”
“Yes, here,” he replies, silencing me with another soulful kiss. “No one can see. This is a very private terrace.”
“No no no no. I’m not so much of an exhibitionist that I’m going to drop trou right here in front of God and your parents and the library door. But if there’s someplace close by that affords a bit of privacy...”
I trail my fingers along the buttons of his jeans, and he groans.
“Come with me.”
He marches purposefully down the stone stairs to a long, fragrant path. In the gloaming, it is so vividly green I can practically hear the breath of the trees, feel their heartbeats thudding, growing, soaking up the dripping wet from their leaves. Or maybe it’s my own, thundering in my ears, a physical expression of the desire coursing through me.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
We are moving fast—the path is well trod; one Jack clearly knows intimately. I see a corner ahead, and the grimacing face of a stone Medusa on a pedestal.
“Is this another entrance to the labyrinth? Your mom took me through it earlier, but I didn’t realize there was more than one way in or out.”
“It’s a safety thing. Four corners, four entrances. One day, we’ll sit down with the layout and I will show you exactly how to navigate it from every angle. In the meantime, if you find yourself lost in here, turn left. Always turn left. For the moment, just follow close.”
We speed through the turns, left, right, left again, then we’re back out into the clean sea air and we’re approaching the cottages. They sprout like mushrooms from the forest floor. They need work.
“Why haven’t your parents done a restoration on the artists’ colony?”
“We thought maybe you’d be interested in working on it.”
“Me?”
“Who better to restore and recreate an artists’ colony than the world’s greatest artist herself?”
I think perhaps this is something I can do for the family. Clear the area, get the cottages restored—revive the artistic tradition of the island. I can hold retreats, bring in other artists—painters, writers, filmmakers—work with them, create with them. I’ve been here only a day and I’m already inspired—a week in the colony and I might come out with a new mission statement entirely.
“I would love to.”
“Good. Mom will be thrilled.” He stops walking at the first cottage. “Private enough for you? It better be.”
He pulls me to him, kissing me intently. I’m weak with desire already, his kisses always turn me on, and our flight through the labyrinth has left me short of breath. Being here, with him, on the island, outside in the salty air and frangipani breeze, turns me on even more. He brushes a warm hand against the skin of my stomach, and this time I murmur my assent. He unbuttons my jeans and slides down the zipper roughly, his long fingers finding their way inside my panties. I collapse against him, reveling in the sensations rippling through my body. It isn’t long before one leg is free, hooked around his hips, and he has my back up against the cottage wall. I take advantage of the position to reach between us to free him of his jeans, and he groans as they slide down. He takes me there, against the stone. It doesn’t last long, for either of us.
“Love you, Claire. Love you so much.”
He is talking into my hair, stroking me. My back is scraping against the rock. He must have felt me flinch because he pulls away and gently, so gently, lays me down in the grass.
“Open your eyes, Claire.”
