Magnificent Ruin (Everlasting Series Book 2) (14 page)

Chapter 17

T
wo days in limbo. Waiting for something to happen, good or bad, it makes no difference. Anything to take my mind off my misery and self-pity. I’ve tried calling Tomas several times but I’m always sent straight to voicemail.

I’ve tried calling in the morning, noon, afternoon, evening, even in the middle of the night. He might not care about what I have to say. He might be imprisoned. He could be dead for all I know, which means I won’t have the chance to yell at him until he wishes he was dead.

Adrian and Sophia have been smart enough to stay away. Nobody should risk being around me right now. I’ve turned myself into a hermit, avoiding the slightest human contact, trying to put my head in order. Do I have a fascination with death? Any reasonable person would have flown back home long before now.

The thing is, no matter what he might or might not have done, I can’t stop thinking about him, caring about him, loving him. There’s that word again. Am I forever cursed by this thing called
love?

There’s no milk in the fridge and only one egg left. That means I’ll probably have to walk to the village for a few groceries as we left the car in Petra. A shower wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

As I get off the couch to go get a towel, a key turns in the front door. My senses panic and tell me to run to the kitchen to grab a frying pan, a knife, something heavy or dangerous.

Instead, I stay put to watch him waltz through the door, only to stop cold in his tracks the moment he sees me.

“Why are you still here?” he says, dropping his backpack to the floor.

“You’re alive,” is all I manage to blurt out.

“Of course I’m alive. Why would you think otherwise?”

“Because of a certain gangster.”

“What are you doing here, Taylor? You’re supposed to be in Athens.”

“No tickets,” I lie. “The first ship with tickets available sails tomorrow. High season.”

He sees right through me. “High season? I’d have to be high to believe that bullshit.” He studies my face with eyes so intense I have to look away. “What’s happened? You’re mad.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me? Not even a hug?” I say to throw him off.

“Is this a joke to you?” He gets dangerously close, placing my left wrist in a lethal grip.

“You’re hurting me,” I protest, writhing my wrist violently until it really starts to hurt.

“You behave like a child,” he says. “Maybe I should treat you like one. Go upstairs and pack your things. I’m driving you to the port myself.”

He releases my wrist, nudging me forward.

“Screw you, asshole,” I shout in his face before I plop down on the couch, letting my weight fall like a rock.

“That temper,” he says, keeping his stern expression on. “What’s got into you now?”

“You condescending bastard.
What’s got into you now?
As in,
Taylor, you act as if there’s always something wrong
? Who do you think you are? You think you know me just because you fucked me twice? You know nothing about me.”

Tomas’s expression goes from frustrated to disbelief to concern. “Are you all right?” he says. “Did someone threaten you?”

“You mean De Luca’s gang? No, they didn’t. Someone else did though.” Okay, yes, I can talk in a calm civilized manner.

He tries to sit next to me on the couch but has second thoughts seeing the expression on my face. He takes the seat opposite me. “Who?” he says. “Please, just say what you have to say.”

I take a deep breath in. “Sophia had some very interesting things to tell me about you. And show me.”

His eyes narrow down, questioning me. “Sophia? You mean Kelly’s sister?”

Lord, he is testing my patience. “Yeah, that one.”

“What could Sophia possibly have to say about me that would have you that upset?”

If it’s an act, it’s incredibly convincing. Nothing about the way he looks at me betrays the slightest amount of worry or guilt. “She was very excited about having sex with you in a hotel room the day before I met you on the yacht. You know, before the day
we
had sex. The day you told me you hadn’t slept with anyone since you met me.”

He stares at me for a second, completely stunned. “Is this a joke?”

“It didn’t sound like she was joking.”

“Okay, then let me reassure you that I never slept with her. I have no interest in her always pleading eyes and her whole cute act. Even if I wanted to sleep with someone else, it wouldn’t have been her.”

“Sophia’s not only hot, but smart.”

“Smart? Sounds like a nutcase coming here and throwing lies at you.”

I consider his words. It’s tempting to believe him and put the whole mess behind me. It’s tempting to use this as leverage to get him to get on that boat to Athens with me. Except that one tiny little detail. “She showed me the pictures, Tomas. You’re a superb liar. No wonder you’re a con man.”

“What pictures?”

Once again, what crosses his face is nothing but total sincerity. He seems honestly perplexed.

“Sophia has pictures on her phone of you and her.”

“Doing what?”

“Stop acting like a fool. You were together. You, her and no clothes. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you the whole time?”

He stays silent, passing his tongue over his lower lip. “Do you honestly think I’d do that and then lie to you about it? Get real. I have many flaws but being a petty, idiotic liar isn’t one of them.”

“How do you explain the photos then?” I insist despite the fact his words sound true.

“They were cooked, I don’t know. I definitely did not meet with Sophia the day before I met you.”

“What about the photos on the yacht?”

“The yacht?” he stops to think for a second. “Yes, Sophia’s been on the yacht, that’s true.”

“So which is it? Did you meet with her or not?”

“She was on the yacht.”

“And then you fucked her.”

“Don’t be silly.”

I’m not silly
, I want to yell at him, but I don’t because that’s exactly what I am. So I just stare at him, my lower lip trembling.

He lets a sigh out. “Please, listen without interrupting me. Sophia and Adrian were on the yacht weeks ago. I don’t remember when exactly but I invited Adrian and he brought Sophia along. They brought a lot of ouzo and retsina wine and we all got drunk. I think I almost passed out.”

I don’t know what to believe anymore. His story might explain the photos on the yacht but what about the ones at the hotel? Were they
cooked
as he claims? But why? Just to make me doubt Tomas? “It’s not that easy to get you drunk to the point of passing out,” I say. “You’d definitely not end up drunker than Sophia.”

“She probably had way less booze than me,” he says, shrugging. “I can get out of control, you know that. Everybody who’s been with me for two minutes knows that.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You always control your drinking. You know your limits and I’ve never seen you consume alcohol in the daytime.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is they came with several bottles of local booze and snacks. They said it was the purest stuff and insisted we had a feast. Next thing I know I’m in the cabin with a massive headache, Sophia and Adrian tending to me.” He stops to rub his temples. “I don’t know,” he says. “Could I have been so drunk that I can’t remember?”

Something’s fishy and someone’s been lying to me. Is it Adrian and Sophia or is it Tomas? “Didn’t you think that whole thing was odd?”

“Yeah, except it wouldn’t be the first time I did something stupid.”

“I can’t argue with you on that.”

I see a smile on his face at last but it’s short lived. “But you believed them and you stayed to confront me. You are kind of badass.”

“I didn’t at first, but then they showed me a ton of photos. Why would they go to the trouble of fabricating so many of them? It didn’t make sense. And now you tell me you’re not even sure yourself.”

“And so do you believe them now?”

He won’t let me off the hook. I shut my eyes for a second, trying to regroup my thoughts. Nothing feels right and everything I say will end up sounding wrong. “I want to believe you.”

He nods, absentmindedly, barely registering my presence. “You must doubt everything I’ve told you.”

“Put yourself in my shoes,” I say, barely.

He turns his eyes on me. “But I have, I have, Taylor. This whole time I’ve been trying to approach this from your perspective. What if it was me that was shown pictures of you having sex with Adrian? And you know what the answer was every time? I would not believe it. Even if ten, twenty, a hundred people told me it was true, I’d tell them to go fuck themselves.”

“Please, don’t be mad,” I say, shaken to the core by the gravity in his voice.

“I’m not mad. I guess I’m disappointed that you would believe them over me. Who are they to you? What do you know about them?”

I hate being cornered almost as much as I hate being accused. “What do I know about you?” I say. “Random bits and pieces that I’ve had to put together myself.”

There’s a twitch above his eye. There’s no doubt in my mind I’ve managed to annoy him even more.

“I told you things I never tell anyone,” he says. “Maybe I should have kept it that way. Trouble follows me.”

He gets up, lifting his backpack from the floor. “I’ll go shower. You’d better start packing. We’re leaving in an hour.”

I don’t protest. I don’t even think of protesting. My body and mind are on the brink of total exhaustion, annihilation. I’m falling apart fast and I’ve lost the will to make any more decisions. No matter what I choose, it always ends up going wrong.

***

Once again, I find myself stuffing things like shirts and jeans and shorts in a suitcase on the bed. Once again, I feel like I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

Worst of all, I’m not sure who has lied to me or who I should trust. I want to trust Tomas more than I have wanted anything in my life, but it also scares me that he has such control over me, that there is so much about him I can’t fathom.

I open the last drawer in my dresser where I keep my night things and underwear. I grab a handful of them to stuff them in the corners of the already crammed suitcase.

One piece of garment catches my attention: my black garter belt and stockings. I packed them in the hopes of finding a Greek lover or two. Or that roaming Sudanese Grace has been teasing about. I could call that time the age of innocence, or, more aptly, the age of utter and total ignorance.

I curl up the stockings in my hand into a ball. When I get ready to toss them in the waste basket, I get a sudden moment of clarity. I was not raised to be a victim and I sure as hell don’t intend to be a whiny bitch anymore.

Unfolding the stockings, I stretch them out to marvel at the glory of their suggestive nature. I don’t have to think about it twice. My mind is made up within a split second and I quickly strip down to nothing.
I put on my black lace panties and bra before I slide the stockings up my legs and thighs to secure them with the garter belt.

I pull my hair up in a loose bun, letting a few blonde strands frame my face. A little perfume on the neck and cleavage before I put on my high heel black pumps. I’m tempted to look in the mirror but decide against it. I won’t do anything that might knock any sense into me. Nothing that could make me change my mind.

As soon as I hear him step out of the shower and into his room, I take a few deep breaths. I count to three and walk out of my room to his door.

My knock is soft and patient so as not to betray the turmoil in my body and soul. If this all goes to hell, if I am never to see him again, I am at least going to fuck him one more time. I’m going to throw all caution to the wind for a few hours and just rejoice at being alive.

“Come in,” he says after a short while.

I push the door open and walk inside to stand in front of him in my sexy black attire.

“Holy fuck,” he says, unable to take his eyes off me. He’s got a towel wrapped around his hips and that’s about it.
Perfect timing, Taylor.
Water drips from his hair down onto his shoulders, making his skin glow. His breathing accelerates, his rock-hard abdomen rises and falls rhythmically with every inhalation and exhalation.

“Done showering, I see.” Yep, stating the obvious just in case he forgot he just stepped out of the shower. Am I brilliant or what?

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says, raising his brows.

“What? This old thing?” It seems I’ve decided to support my attempt at seduction with all kinds of clichés and absurdities.

His face goes all serious on me. “What are you trying to prove?”

I shrug. “Do you want me here or not?”

“Is this the ten question game? Okay, I’ll play. What if I say no?”

“You’re a self-important asshole,” I say, perfectly aware that no matter what he says, his eyes have been scanning me from head to toe ever since I stepped in the room in my lacy black underwear and stockings, my boobs almost spilling out of the elastic fabric and the garter belt hugging my tanned lower belly and thighs ever so lovingly.