Pictures of You (3 page)

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Authors: Barbara Delinsky

BOOK: Pictures of You
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“I'm a stranger here. I don't know my way around.”
How stupid,
she chided herself.
They can see that without being able to understand me at all.
“I need a hotel. Ho-tel.” Again, she spoke the word slowly, as though they would be better able to understand the separate syllables than the whole. It was no more successful this time than it had been the last. So, she decided, she would try the name. It would be interesting to see if it evoked any reaction here.
“Roberto de Carvalho? I need to find Roberto de Carvalho. Do you know him?”
She need only have said it once, for she detected the same instant recognition of this name as she had at each previous mention of it. The man looked at his wife, who looked back at him, both expressions conveying a sense of gentle amusement as they turned their eyes back to Eva. Nodding as if in total understanding, the woman raised her arm and pointed back in the direction from which Eva had originally come. Slightly annoyed at the suggestive glances which had connected her in some intimate way with this Roberto de Carvalho, Eva was about to object when she suddenly felt too hot and weary to say another word. Smiling weakly, she retraced her steps to the house in which she had left her luggage. Instinctively, she believed that this woman would yet be able to help her.
And as misguided as her instincts had been on a few notable occasions, they were right on target now. She re-entered the house, with a brief knock on the wood of the open door, to find herself face to face with this sweet-countenanced woman, who seemed, to Eva's puzzlement, not at all surprised to see her. She did seem greatly alarmed, however, at the deterioration in Eva's physical appearance that these few minutes of streetwalking had brought about. Eva's hair was damp on her forehead and neck, her sun dress similarly clung
to her, and the flush of heat and exertion that had appled her cheeks was yielding to a mild pallor.
Immediate concern clouded the woman's soft features as she jumped forward to take Eva's hand and lead her across the room, through the door, and up a narrow flight of stairs. Eva willingly let herself be drawn, sensing and appreciating this woman's maternal concern for her, believing herself to be in good hands, and too fatigued at the moment to wonder any further.
As they climbed the stairs, the woman repeatedly looked back at Eva's face as though she expected the girl to pass out at any moment. The handgrip remained firm as they reached the top of the stairs. Eva saw several doors on either side of a small hallway, one of which the woman opened and guided Eva through. Only when she was safely inside the room was Eva's hand released.
As simple and functional as the downstairs room had been, this was even more so. Immaculate and well kept, the furniture consisted of a high chest of drawers, somewhat stark but decidedly masculine, a lower table with a basin and pitcherful of water atop it and a mirror mounted on the wall behind it, and a straight-backed chair, similar to those Eva had seen below, to one side. The room was dominated, however, by the huge bed set against its longest wall and covered by a woven earth-toned spread which was now being deftly drawn back by Eva's self-appointed guardian angel. With several enthusiastic hand motions indicating that Eva was to make herself comfortable, she was suddenly gone, closing the door quietly behind her.
Reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth after such a long day, Eva moved slowly toward the table, gingerly removing her pocketbook and her camera from her aching shoulder, and placing them down on the opposite side from the water pitcher. Looking around
her, she acknowledged that she could find no hotel room more inviting than this room, though it most definitely belonged to someone else.
Bidden by curiosity, and the lack of any other personal items in the room, to examine the contents of the dresser, Eva approached it, then hesitated, before the appeal to her better nature triumphed. Intruding into someone's home, taking advantage of bed and bath was bad enough, Eva reasoned, without unnecessarily snooping.
She had never been one to hide things, had never been one to resort to stealth, although she still smarted from the afternoon, soon after her husband's death, when her father-in-law had found her cleaning out Stu's desk and had accused her of snooping in his personal affairs.
“What do you think you're doing here?” he had shot at her, after letting himself in with the key Stu had given him and thus not alerting her to his presence in the town house.
“I live here!” she had responded in a controlled tone of voice, reluctant as always to assume the worst, as it had been suggested in his own tone.
“What do you think you're doing rummaging through my son's desk?” he had rephrased the question, though not the implication.
“I have to keep myself busy and this seems like as good a place as any to do it. These papers are a mess. Perhaps if I can organize—” Eva had honestly explained her actions when Mr. Jordenson rudely interrupted her, his voice grating.
“I've heard better stories, my dear. Let's not play games with each other, shall we? You and I both know that you married Stuart for one reason. There was no love between you. That was obvious. No, you wanted his money, didn't you? I know your type. What, no
rebuttal this time, innocent Eva?” he had drawled, as she stood before him with increasing disbelief, both in what he was saying and in the fact of his saying it to her now.
Eva had been too shocked at this outright accusation to respond. Instead, tears welling behind her green eyes, she had merely shaken her head, turned, and left the room. Much later, after hearing her father-in-law leave, she had crept back to neaten up those things left askew by her premature exit. The desk had been swept clean of papers, as had several of the drawers. Only one section, which had held Stu's personal correspondence, had not been touched. It was here that Eva had found the airline ticket to Rio and Roberto de Carvalho's letter.
The mention of his name in her thoughts served to pop the bubble of depression which had briefly enveloped her, and she turned to the basin on the table, filling it with the water her nameless guardian had so kindly provided. But had it in fact been provided for her? Had the woman really expected her to return? If so, how could she have known? If not, for whom had this room been prepared? Despite the absence of personal details, the room boasted a distinct sense of occupation. Who had so recently used it? Who had been about to use it again? These questions volleyed in her mind as she turned toward the inviting basin, now brimming with water.
Drawing the sun dress over her head and draping it on the chair, Eva stepped out of her high-heeled sandals and let her bare feet revel in the touch of the hard wooden floor, its even planks a welcome relief. Wearing now only bra and panties, she proceeded to sponge herself with the washcloth that she found neatly folded, along with a towel, beneath the basin. The comfort was immediate; Eva felt her muscles begin to
relax as she slowly, caressingly bathed the dust and perspiration from her face, neck, and shoulders before moving on to her arms and legs. Her sponging completed, she let the washcloth slide down into the dirty water.
The relaxation had brought to Eva a heightened awareness of numbing exhaustion, so without further fuss and in the same state of undress, she dropped onto the bed, savoring the feel of the cool sheets against her still warm skin. Sleep was already making its claim as her soft auburn curls came to rest on the broad feather pillow.
Despite its promising beginning, her slumber was far from peaceful. As often happens when one has been too tense and overtired for a period, she dozed fitfully, shifting position abruptly as the various trains of thought intersected each other in her subconscious. In one moment she was back in New York playing the not-so-perfect wife to Stu's not-so-perfect husband. In another she was the grieving widow at Stu's crowded graveside, her downcast eyes mercifully hiding her innermost thoughts. In the next she was the impulsive young woman who, in silent defiance of propriety, had cast off her widow's weeds and replaced them with the brighter, more carefree wear of a vacationer. In yet another she was the attractive photographer gazing through her camera lens at the dark and compelling face of a stranger whose return scrutiny of her had touched her in some inexplicable way.
The thread was broken; she tossed again. With this last turn, however, her movement had become restricted by some mysterious weight. As consciousness phased in and out, she became aware of a figure, large and ominous, seated on the bed at her side. Sirens of alarm sounded within her as she awoke with a start, her sudden upward movement checked by cuffs of
granite which encircled her upper arms, pinning her back to the bed. She had slept for several hours; the room was now lit only by the flaming streaks of the setting sun. Intermittent shadows fell long and menacing across the room. It was into one of these shadows that Eva now stared, her eyes wide with terror. From beneath the wide brim of a western-style hat, dark eyes gazed at her as they had done earlier in the day. For even in the dark shadow of his hat, Eva immediately recognized the firm jaw line, the straight nose, the high cheekbones. If she had had any doubt, the penetrating coal-black orbs which studied her now would have easily dispelled them. Indeed, the cause of Eva's present terror was none other than the man with whom she had exchanged such profound glances at the airport, the same man who had so recently been a major player in Eva's dream life.
Fear supplanting recognition once again, she began to struggle wildly to free herself from his concrete grip. Her fists pommeled his forearms with as much strength as she could muster from the elbow, her upper arms totally useless. Her bent knees managed several sound poundings of his back as she twisted madly, her body racked by spasms of panic.
“Let me go! Let me—” she began in a high-pitched scream which was abruptly cut off by a large hand firmly clamped over her mouth.
“Quiet down. You won't be hurt.” His voice came at her out of the maelstrom, its firm but gentle tone making a mockery of her total panic. She sobbed and gasped for air, frantically grabbing at his wrist with the arm he had freed to silence her. When this tactic failed, she began to pound at his arm and side with such venom that he released her mouth and returned to his previous restricting grasp of her arm. Thus contained, and with a strange quivering of her limbs, her
strength was suddenly spent and she could fight no longer. Looking up at her captor with eyes round in unabated terror, she lay panting, her chest heaving as she vainly attempted to control the spasmodic trembling that had overtaken her.
“It's all right. Take it easy.” He repeated his earlier thoughts, but this time his tone held a velvet quality which surprisingly soothed Eva enough for her to gather her wits about her.
“Let me go. Please … let me go,” she begged in a whisper, hoping that her tone of helplessness would appeal to his better nature, for she was sure he had one, as she recalled his gently protective attitude toward the stewardess at the airport earlier that day.
“I'll let you go when I know where you are going. Right now I rather enjoy what I see,” he drawled slowly, a satanic smile spreading across thin lips as his gaze dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts, still rising and falling under her labored breathing.
At that moment, for the first time, Eva realized that she was wearing only the lace-edged bra and panties she had stripped to for her sponge bath and which she had fallen asleep in soon after. As a rosy flush erupted onto her pale cheeks, she instinctively resumed her struggle, more so in an attempt to cover herself with her arms and hands than to escape from him completely.
His hands moved to her shoulders, lifting and shaking her violently back and forth before dropping her back onto the bed and resuming his grip on her. The shaking had quieted her instantly, her only sound a swallowed sob as she again tried to control her quaking body.
“Wh-what do you want?” she stuttered through trembling lips.
“What do you want?” he returned, obviously enjoying the word play, its ambiguity abundantly clear to the both of them.
Eva's fear slowly began to mix with anger as she remembered her assessment of his character earlier in the day. How right she had been, she thought; an egotistical sadist, he was thoroughly enjoying this position of strength, drawing out both her fear and her embarrassment.
Mustering what little strength remained, she determined to play at his game. In a tone as bold and confident as she could produce, she demanded, “Get out of my room. How dare you barge in here like this. You have no right. I insist you leave now or I'll scream again … and I doubt the lady of this house would permit you here in the first place.”
This she had added in a last-ditch effort to re-establish some touch with a reality she felt she was losing. For this man had begun to have a strange and unexpected effect on her. No longer fearing for her life, her main concern had become fear of something even more dangerous and infinitely more two-sided. She had become shockingly aware of this man's physical presence so near her. His face was no more that a few inches away, his torso at a shallow angle to her prone form, their bodies touching at the hips as he sat, and the hands as he continued to restrain her. She was acutely conscious of his musky male smell, the firm contours of his body above her, the steady penetration of his eyes to her, through her, into her very essence.

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