Viggo and Nyssa are on the run, laying low. A dog has just wandered into their house.
To know more, read Chapter 10.1.
The harmony of their breakfast
was upset. The mutt’s panting and jumping was disrupting their usual silence.
Nyssa kept leaning to the side to watch the dog as it tried to moan its way
into Viggo’s plate. He was getting increasingly annoyed, both at the begging
and at her not eating.
He had cooked strawberry pancakes and a very light lemon
mousse. Both were designed to satisfy the secrete sweet tooth they both pretended
not to have. Nyssa, who still displayed an unfortunate tendency to push food
around in her plate, normally wolfed down his pancakes like there was no
tomorrow. He liked watching her eat with such unapologetic relish.
He also loved cooking, he took
an almost orgasmic pleasure in handling food – in juicing, slicing, buttering,
seasoning, frying, baking, every step, every action. But he needed someone to
taste the final product. Viggo needed someone to feed, and that was Nyssa. He
showed her his appreciation by making sure that she put on some much-needed
weight.
“Stop squirming and eat,” he
told her.
She did. For about thirty
seconds. Then, she tapped her fork to her lips and said, “It looks hungry.”
Damn it!
Viggo stomped to the sink and
dropped his plate in it. He wanted his peace. Was that too much to ask for? He didn’t
want that dog. He loaded a bowl with beacon and grits, set it down on the floor
and set a bowl of water next to it. Good enough for the mutt.
He headed for the basement.
“Viggo, wait,” Nyssa said.
He spun on his heels. She was
still at the table, the damn fork pressed to her lips.
“What?”
She hesitated before pushing
the plate on the table toward him. “Have some,” she replied. “Please. I’ve
eaten my fill.”
Bullshit.
He strode across the empty
kitchen and took her wrist. From the way her hands were balled in fists, she
expected him to be rough. He didn’t need to be. He lifted her arm, studied it.
She was skinnier even than the dog. He let her go.
“Your fill,” he snorted.
“Right…”
“Viggo. Stay. Please. And I’ll
eat.”
Damn her. Making him feel
needed. He sat next to her. She ate two mouthfuls, watching the dog out of one
eye, then she tried to give him her plate. He pretended not to understand and
piled two more pancakes on top of the unfinished one. She sighed, gave him a
dark look but nibbled some more. “Why do you care so much about what I eat?”
“Because you’re too thin. You
weren’t that thin back in the days.”
She pondered that for a couple
of heartbeats, her head tilted to the side, her eyes inquisitive. She had to
wonder if he really cared. He did. And why did he care?!
But then, she leaned over the
table and she touched his shoulder lightly, trailing her fingers along his
biceps. His reaction was as male as it was predictable.
“You didn’t use to be so
beefy,” she said.
He grabbed the plate, the fork
and started eating. Distraction.
It didn’t work. She leaned
even closer, resting her chin on his shoulder again, wrapping her hands around
his forearm. Did she know the effect she had on him? It wasn’t that much of a
leap from their past conversations.
“What’s happening to you?” She
kissed the line of his jaw. “I wish I knew what’s going on underneath your
thick skull.” No, she didn’t. She really didn’t. “What are you training for?”
“I need to be ready,” he said,
pushing her firmly away.
God, was he ready…Just not for
the right thing.
“What for? Why are you still
spoiling for a fight?” she asked.
Because it’s preparing or
going crazy. Because I’m going to leave you, eventually. I’ve got to.
“I hoped that…” she went on.
She adverted her face.
“Malik,” he started, then
stopped. What kind of game was he playing? She knew. “What the hell were you
hoping?! That I would forget?”
“That you would find peace!”
she burst out.
Liar. She was such a goddamn
liar, pretending that she cared, when all she cared about was this useless
guilt she still carried around. He was tired of tiptoeing around both their
needs.
Fine,
he thought, let’s have it out.
He grabbed her wrists and
pulled her hands away from her face. She struggled against him. Her eyes were
dry, but she was breathing hard. He didn’t allow her the relative dignity of
suffering in peace. He wanted to see it.
“No, you didn’t. What you want
is for everything to be back the way it was before.”
“That’s not true!” she cried
out.
“Of course, it is. Don’t you
think I see what you’re doing? I’m not a gullible sheriff deputy. I know when
you’re playing me! This house, the show of sweetness and patience, the small
habits – sharing desserts, watching over you – hell, the dog! If it wasn’t so
impractical, I would be certain you set me up to find it.”
“I didn’t!”
“No? But were you that scared
of it? Or did you just overreact a little to force me to acknowledge it?” She
blushed scarlet. “Ah,” he cried out, satisfied and angry at the same time. “I
knew it!”
“Screw you,” she cursed,
pushing him away.
He wouldn’t let her. Not now
that he was getting somewhere. He held her delicate wrists tighter together and
brought them against his chest, forcing her into close contact. She stiffened.
He had been avoiding touching her, even casual touches, and so, he had let her
dictate the pace in their relationship.
No more.
He wasn’t a good guy anymore.
He wasn’t going to play big brother to her vulnerable act anymore. They weren’t
friends anymore.
“I’m not the same person
anymore!” he roared. “He’s gone! Dead!”
“That’s not true!” she cried
out. Her eyes were wide with anguish. “You’re right here!”
“But I’m not him anymore! Stop
prying. Stop! I’m not going to magically find my way back. Stop pushing me!”
“I’m not pushing you.”
“Of course, you are. Don’t you
know what it does to me? Damn it! Damn you! Always…Your…Damn you,” he repeated,
his voice so low it was more of a whisper.
All the pushing, the touching,
the subtle hints as to what she expected, her scent everywhere, the…the dog! It
needed to stop.
But he had made a mistake, he
realized. Showing her his vulnerability had been a mistake. She was seeing
through his show of anger and now, her eyes held only compassion. Even her body
language was different. No longer stiff with fear and denial, she was relaxing
against him. Still physically close, but already taking charge again.
They were poised over the edge
again. He could let go of her, he could leave the room right now. She would let
him brood and occasionally curse but he would be back under her control and, if
she had her way, he would always find a good reason not to break away from
their plans. Part of him wanted that, the comfort and routine of leaving all
the decisions to her. He would probably resent the hell out of her, but it
would no doubt be as much his fault as hers.
Or he could force her to
understand that he wasn’t the same man anymore. But no…No, he couldn’t simply
prove it. He couldn’t simply demonstrate, simply reason with her. It wouldn’t
be enough. She would keep denying it right until the point where he would wring
her neck from sheer frustration.
No, he needed to wreck their
past relationship, to destroy it so completely that she wouldn’t even be able
to bear the idea of a friendship. Yes, he needed to make her recoil from him.
It needed to be deeper than simple understanding. It needed to be one of those
gut reactions, like the stiffening, hair-raising sensation of prey being
stalked by a predator. He needed to reach further than her conscious mind,
straight into her body. And because Viggo knew Nyssa, he knew exactly what
would have such an effect on her.
Only a bastard of the worst
kind would dare, he thought. Only a bastard like him.
Maybe she read the resolution
in his eyes. She tried to escape, fear written in every line of her body. He
let go of her hands, caging her in his arms. She was like a little bird, his
sparrow, batting her wings, trying to escape, but too well-caught.
He crowded her and realized
that she couldn’t distance herself emotionally anymore. This easily, he had
thrown her off her game. This easily. Her arms were trapped against his chest,
and her legs between his. She tried to say something, but her words came out as
barely more than a breath. They tickled his lips but never reached his ears.
Then he was kissing her. Hard.
Her lips were soft, they tasted of pancakes. She was suffering passively
through it. He tried to reign himself in, but her body was supple and womanly,
he was drowning in the smell of her. It was as perfect and elusive as bliss. He
tangled his fingers in her hair and drank a soft moan directly from her lips. A
protest? Pleasure?
He wanted closer, he wanted
more but he couldn’t be sure about her. He needed to be sure. His erection
pushing hard against his fly, he trailed his fingers down her nape, then traced
her spine. Her blouse was white cotton too, so sheer that he felt the warmth
and texture of her skin.
She was shivering.
His hands found a spot in the
small of her back. His fingers dipped in two small dimples he had never known
were there. He gave her just a little push and she swayed into him. He could
track every little tremor raking her back, every shuddering breath she took.
Warm pleasure unfurled in his belly. It was nothing sexual, this time, none of
this crazy heat he couldn’t get under control. It wasn’t lust he couldn’t help
for one decent piece of ass. It was Nyssa.
His kiss changed. It softened,
lightened. Fleeting brushes of his lips and hers. Dipping and tasting. Panting.
It was so good his mind froze. The same thing kept replaying, over and over, in
his head: please, don’t let it stop.
Then, the damn mutt yapped.
Nyssa jumped, briefly wrenching her mouth from his. Viggo realized how far off
he had slipped. He took a couple of steps back.
His knees were still wobbly.
He felt so strange, as if the floor he was standing on was insubstantial. His
heart was pounding. His breathing sounded harsh to his own ears. His hands were
trembling. He was still hard as a brick. He didn’t recognize himself. He stood
transfixed for a while and admitted that he was still in a daze.
Nyssa…She…She was trembling as
badly as he was. Her face was pale, and her eyes seemed huge, incredibly
vibrant. Her lips were…They were raw from his kisses. Everything stood out
sharply. He didn’t know why but it was as though a veil had been lifted. He had
sensed it before. It had kept him in a state of intermittent lust. But now he
saw everything.
He had messed her hair even
worse. Her top had ridden up, showing her navel. It took him a while to look
away from her belly. It was a very cute navel. She was breathing heavily, her
chest rose and fell, straining the thin cotton, emphasizing the swell of her
small breasts. They bounced with every sharp inhalation and exhalation.
Then, she blinked, and a harsh
breath rasped noisily in her throat. She collapsed onto herself, crossing her
arms over her chest and she slid down the kitchen counter, folding down on the
floor. Quiet tears rolled down her cheeks. Viggo didn’t know whether she was
crying out of despair or horror, but she obviously wasn’t happy.
“I…” he began.
Where was he supposed to go
from there? He left. He was halfway up the stairs when he realized that he hadn’t
won in the end. They were still tipped over the edge and would no doubt tumble
down madly until they found a new balance. He had cursed them both with the
memory of this kiss.
He tried to sit on his bed, in
his chair and found that he couldn’t stay still. He started pacing his bedroom.
He wasn’t brave enough to walk past Nyssa to go down into the basement.
He snorted. “Coward.” He
stopped in front of the mirror and glared at his own mean mug. “Why the hell
did you…did I let that happen?”
How could it have happened?
Nyssa had always been cute. That’s all she had been at first: the cute crime
scene technician. Then, Viggo had learned to appreciate how she could find cause
to laugh at 2 am on the scene of a triple murder. She had been kind and tactful
with the guys, teasing, but never egging them on.
She had always accepted that
Viggo was committed to his relationship with Angela. Unlike Russ, he would have
shied away from a rapport fraught with ambiguity. There had never been any. He
hadn’t once thought of her in a sexual manner. It would have been especially
distasteful once she had become a close friend of his and of Angela’s. When he’d
had relationship troubles, she had been the one he had turned to – her advice
was better than Russ’s, which always revolved around sex.
She had been his best friend,
almost a sister, closer than any of his step-siblings. He hadn’t ever touched
her, he had never fantasized about her, he wouldn’t have lusted after her. Russ
had often accused Viggo of being a goody-two-shoes because he hadn’t liked it
when the guys got bawdy and crude, especially when either Angie or Nyssa served
as the butt of their jokes.
He wasn’t supposed to kiss
Nyssa.
Where did they go from there?
The lust, he could understand, rationalize, but he couldn’t forget the fierce
joy he had felt. It was the happiest he could remember being in recent years.
He was startled by a knock. He
had no idea how long he had stood statue-still in the middle of his bedroom,
just staring at the wall. The knock came again.
“Yes?” he queried, at last.
“Hi, I…I’m going out.” She
waited a beat, he didn’t ask where she was going. Finally, probably thinking
that he was a jerk, she explained, “I’m taking the dog to the vet. Just in case
it’s got a chip or a tattoo.And it
could probably stand to have its vaccinations checked and updated.”
She was getting rid of the
mutt? Good riddance. “Okay.”
“You should think about a
name.”
“It’s not my dog!”
She chuckled. “Keep telling
yourself that.” The burst of laughter took him aback. She was apparently
brazening it out. Once again, he couldn’t help respecting her moxie. “Do you
need anything?”
Amnesia.
“No.”
“Okay. By the way, Viggo, I
meant to tell you…”
Her voice was now low and sexy
– intimate. His heart missed a beat. Drawn to the door despite himself, he
touched the tip of his fingers to the wood. “What?”
"You should watch the news."
"I don’t want to…” I don’t
want to see my face plastered all over. I don’t want to hear again all the lies
they’re gabbling about me. He shut up before he could admit to yet another
vulnerability.
“You should watch the news.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, “And if you still want that fight afterward,
just go away. I’m done, Peter Carlsen.” Her words came out strangled, “You’re
losing your time and energy on the past. I want a future for you, I want you to
be happy, but I won’t fight for you and fight you at the same time. Choose.
Stay or leave.”
“Nyssa…” His voice broke.
“Choose. Every day makes it a
little harder for me not to hope but everything you do…those grueling
workouts…You’re breaking my heart. And I need to protect myself. Either you
stay and try – just try, or you go after your revenge. You can’t have it both
ways.” She hesitated. “Whatever you choose, I’ll understand.”
Of course, she would.
“I’m sorry.”
She was already walking away
so he didn’t even know whether she had heard his voice. He sat down on the bed,
suddenly exhausted.
Stay or go. It
was straightforward. It was no conundrum. Leave Nyssa or forget about Russ.
Easy. It should have been easy. He had always planned to leave her. Revenge was
all he had lusted after. What had changed? Pipe dreams of happiness, that was what.
Like there was happiness in
his future.
“Happiness, you idiot.”
Easy. He got up and opened the
cupboard. He reached for a sports bag and carefully folded a few days’ worth of
clothes and toiletries. He opened the office’s safe and took two rolls of
twenties out of the plastic bag full of money. He stuffed some in his pocket,
packed the rest. He grinned at the dozens of passports and driving licenses he
found. One thing about Nyssa, she never did things by halves.
Most of their fake identities
came in sets. He only helped himself to the few that weren’t part of a pair: he
didn’t want to burn an alias of hers just by having one of his on him. He had
to parry for the eventuality of his arrest. He left most of their war chest in
the safe. He locked a prayer for her in there as well. He hadn’t prayed in
years but, now, he made an exception.
“May she be happy.”
Even if she wouldn’t ever
forgive him.
He went to the door, put his
hand on the handle and…He couldn’t do it. The house, the peace, the ocean,
Nyssa…the damn mutt. He couldn’t leave. Something felt so wrong about leaving.
He couldn’t leave things that way. He couldn’t. That’s when he heard her voice
again, so real that he could have sworn he wasn’t imagining it, You should
watch the news.
So, swearing, cursing, he
turned on the TV. He watched a news flash, and his plans crumbled.
Stay or leave.
What a joke…
To know what Viggo has just learned, read Chapter 11.1.
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