Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (27 page)

Feeling as close to presentable as she would ever become, she slipped out of the bathroom and froze.

Isaiah was gone. Derek was in his place. He leapt out of his chair when she emerged from the washroom and inclined his head.

“Miss.”

She returned his nod. “Morning.”

He seemed to hesitate for a brief heartbeat, then asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Thank you,” she lied, looking down. She counted to twenty before bracing herself to ask, “Derek? What happened with Tomas?”

“Mr. Garrison had him transferred to his lab for treatment,” he answered curtly, with a sharp bite to his tone. “He will not be returning.”

“So, he’s alive?”

“Yes, miss. As far as I’m aware.”

She nodded slowly, twisting her fingers together. “Do you know what’s going to happen next?”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Mr. Garrison has not yet informed me of your new schedule.”

There were so many things she wanted to ask, but the concept of words failed her when the knock sounded at the door. Every muscle in her body went limp with terror. Her eyes inadvertently shifted, first left then right, a wild animal seeking asylum from an impending threat. A sound escaped her before she could clamp her teeth around it and lock it in. It was the whimper of someone about to get shredded by a beast. She prayed Derek hadn’t heard, but he was watching her, his expression a dark mask of something she couldn’t read. He didn’t speak. He said nothing as he reached for the doorknob and swung the door open.

Isaiah stepped over the threshold, dressed in black cargo pants and a black t-shirt. His hair was wet, dripping water onto his broad shoulders. He spared Derek a single glance before searching the room for her. He offered her a sheepish, lopsided grin when he spotted her that made her lose all control in the knees. She slipped to the floor, trembling from head to toe as she fought to control the flood of tears threatening to humiliate her further.

Your father wouldn’t knock!
The ever present voice reminded her sternly, as annoyed by her weakness as she was.

“Amalie!” Isaiah hurried to her side. His warm fingers curled around her arm, careful to avoid the gauze bandage covering her injuries.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He pulled her to her feet and helped her to the bed. He eased her down on the mattress and took a step back, but didn’t stray very far.

“You can go,” Isaiah said to Derek. “I’ll stay with her.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow at the bite in the comment. “I go only when Mr. Garrison orders it,” Derek said evenly.

Isaiah bared his teeth, but said nothing as he turned his attention back to Amalie. “Did you eat?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

He went to retrieve the bowl of…“What is this?” Isaiah asked, bringing the bowl to his nose and giving a sniff. He grimaced, thrusting the bowl away to arm’s length.

Amalie gave a sniff of the air. “Oatmeal,” she answered, recognizing the stench of burnt oats with the added hint of medication.

Isaiah scooped a spoonful and let it plop rudely back into the dish. “Ugh! There’s no milk or sugar in here!” He dropped the bowl back down on the table, nearly upending it. He picked up the neatly cut triangles of toast. “There’s no butter,” he said, slightly appalled.

“Butter’s not good for you,” she said.

Frowning, he set the sliver back on the napkin. “This is your breakfast?”

She shrugged, giving a nod.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Isaiah turned towards the door and the hulking figure standing there. He scowled. “I’m coming right back,” he said with just a hint of warning.

Derek said nothing as Isaiah shoved around him and slipped out the door. As soon as the door closed, Derek met her gaze from across the room.

Amalie offered him a sheepish smile. “He means well,” she whispered.

The right corner of his mouth twitched, looking as if it were about to curve into a smile. Instead, he schooled his features quickly and turned away. Amalie said nothing as he went to his chair by the door and sat. He stared expectantly across the room, as if waiting for something to materialize there.

Amalie rose off the bed and crossed to the desk. She wasn’t sure where Isaiah had gone, but it was mandatory that she eat her breakfast. She was sure Isabella reported back to her father when she didn’t. Her father had not taken much notice of her the past few days since the incident with Tomas and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself now when it was imperative that she remain under the radar.

She drew out the desk chair and lowered herself onto it. She stared at the dish in front of her, her own nose crinkling at the foul stench. She sighed.

“Would you like the toast?” she asked, twisting her head over her shoulder to glance at Derek. She would have offered him the oatmeal, but it had crushed pieces of her medication and he would know that, not that she wanted to drug him. He was the only person nice to her in that dark recess of hell.

“No. Thank you,” he added solemnly. “I eat before I come.”

She started to turn back around, but stopped. She frowned. “Who watches me while you’re sleeping?” She tried to keep her voice carefully curious, like it was just mild curiosity that propelled her and not a devious plot to escape.

Derek watched her, scrutinizing her face in such a manner that she almost buckled and confessed everything. “There are other guards that take my place at the end of shift. They are not granted access into your room.”

Her heart sank. “So, they stand outside my door at night?”

“That is what I’m told,” he answered simply, and Amalie made a mental note to ask Isaiah how he’d managed to sneak in and out of her room last night and then again that morning.

“Is my father worried that someone will hurt me or that I will escape?”

He never so much as flickered an eyelash. “Someone already hurt you,” he said quietly, but with a steely undertone that suggested his anger ran much deeper than the reserve he was showed. He had also answered her question without directly answering her question.

She didn’t ask anything else, not wanting to rouse suspicion. Derek may have been nice to her, kind even, but that didn’t mean she had his loyalty. If he was like any of the other guards, his loyalties could only be bought by the highest bidder, something she couldn’t afford.

She was in the process of finishing off her toast when the door opened and Isaiah moved awkwardly into the room, juggling something on the length of the forearm of his one arm and closing the door with the other. Amalie watched with a frown as he shuffled towards her, carting a tray. Her confusion increased when he set it down on her desk and she saw the platter of cakes, pancakes, eggs, sausages and an assortment of fruits.

“What—”

Without much care, he plowed into her existing breakfast, nearly sending everything off the desk as he forced the tray in front of her. If the bowl of oatmeal had been glass, it would have shattered. Instead, it wobbled back and forth before keeping upright in its Styrofoam confines.

Shocked, her gaze shot up to Isaiah’s. He met it with a grin.

“What’s this?”

A dark eyebrow rose, a teasing gesture she’d missed. “It’s food, but I can see how that would confuse you considering the crap you’re eating now.”

Her scowl earned a wide smirk from him. “I can’t have this. My diet—”

“Is crap!” he retorted seamlessly. “If you lose any more weight, you’ll disappear.”

Her frown deepened. Her fingers reached for her bowl of oatmeal, but with movement that was no more than a blur, he was around her, snatching it out of reach. Then, in a single fluid flick of his wrist, he dumped the lot into the trash basket, bowl, spoon and all.

“Isaiah!” Her shriek was joined by the squeal of her chair legs scraping across the hardwood floor as she lunged to her feet. But it was too late. The damage had been done. Her breakfast lay in a lumpy, soggy mess at the bottom of the empty trash bin. “What are you doing?” she cried, turning on Isaiah.

His smile was smug now. “There she is.” He nimbly dodged the kick she aimed at his shins and twisted around her. “Don’t tell me you had your heart set on eating that garbage when I brought you all your favorites.” To prove it, he scooped up a spoonful of eggs and stuffed them into his mouth. He chewed lavishly, rolling his eyes upwards and making a very guttural moaning sound.

Amalie’s stomach whimpered. Her mouth salivated, but her eyes were fixed on his lips and not the food getting devoured. She’d never really forgotten how firm and lush they were or how they always bowed a little more on the right then the left when he smirked. But she sure had tried. She had tried with all her might to forget the sight of them, the feel and warmth of them against hers, against her skin. She had thrown up walls of stone, and bars of steel up to block memories away, memories that were now flooding her, drowning her in urges she shouldn’t have. Her heart hurt. Her fingers itched, almost reaching before she curled them around her skirt, bunching the fabric with all her might.

Stop looking! Stop looking!
The voice in her head all but whined, echoing the torment coursing through her with the vengeance of a shark cutting through an ocean of blood. But every deliberate movement of his jaw had her stomach muscles seizing and her lungs hitching. Her own bottom lip was caught viciously between her teeth, half to contain the moan threatening to spill and half to keep from taking his mouth hostage with hers. A warm shiver rocked through her, obscuring all rational thought beneath a heavy veil of dizzying fog. It was because of this that it took her a moment too long to realize he’d stopped chewing, stopped moving, stopped breathing and was staring at her as if the eggs no longer held any appeal.

Mortified, Amalie dropped her gaze. Rivers of heat rolled up her neck to flood her face. The back of her eyes burned with it. She turned away.

“Amalie…”

She flinched away when his fingers lightly grazed the skin of her elbow. “Don’t.”

“You can’t do that!” he said after her when she moved to the terrace, putting as much distance between them as humanly possible without leaving the room. “You can’t…” he trailed off. She glanced back to find him also looking over his shoulder at the only other person there with them.

Derek missed Isaiah’s death glare completely while he stared absently at his knees, giving them all the privacy he could.

Isaiah turned back to Amalie, caught her eyes. His features softened. He went to her.

“You can’t look at me like that and then shut me out!” he said in a low whisper that she was sure Derek could hear perfectly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to her feet. “I didn’t mean—”

He reached over and gently took skimmed the lengths of her arms with his fingers, going down until he had her hands in his. She stiffened, torn between jerking away and accepting the contact. It had been so long since she’d been touched by someone she actually wanted touching her and even now, feeling his warmth, his skin ghosting hers, it felt so natural, so right. She didn’t want him to stop and still she stepped away.

“I’m not angry,” he murmured, eating the single foot she’d placed between them until he was nearly on her feet, until he had devoured all her air and consumed every ounce of sanity keeping her together. “I just…” he sighed, washing her cheeks with his warm breath. “I miss you, Ams.”

It was his confession that had her will to resist crumbling and her hands trembling when he took them in his. His fingers tightened when she tensed again.

“Please don’t.” Her voice caught. She bit her lip, turning her face away.

He caught her chin, trapping her, forcing her to falling into eyes that had haunted her for over a year. “Don’t what? Miss you? Want you? Need you? Touch you?”

Every drop of moisture in her mouth evaporated and she was left cotton mouthed and desperate. “Yes!” She pushed him away, needing space…air, to think. “Yes!” she said again. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

He shook his head slowly, dazzling blue eyes never leaving hers. “Forget it.” He regained his place much too close to her. His fingers were warm on her shoulders. They slipped up the slope to bracket her throat, burning her skin, making her gasp. His thumbs smoothed the curve of her chin, tipping her face so he could trace the folds of her parted lips. “I was stupid enough to make the mistake of leaving once.” He dropped his face so their lips were in danger of touching. “But you better believe it will never happen again.”