Yet how could she eat when he didn’t? “We’ll share it.”
His reply was immediate and forceful. “No. We won’t. You need it a hell of a lot more than I do.”
He clearly didn’t intend to budge. Since arguing would no doubt be fruitless, Lilah dutifully stood and retrieved the plate. She picked up the crude wooden spoon, unhurriedly ate exactly half of what was there, then walked over and slid the plate under the narrow gap between the floor and the bars.
Without a word, she went back to her bed. When she turned, he was giving her a hard look. She gazed unflinchingly back.
With a curse that made her wince, he reached for the plate, jerked it close, and ate.
“Do you really think you can hack through solid concrete with that flimsy bar?” she asked a moment later as he mopped up the last morsel of beans with the last scrap of bread. “And what about the guards? Won’t somebody outside notice what’s going on?”
“The wall’s aren’t made out of concrete. They’re made out of concrete block,” he corrected, climbing to his feet. “Cemented together with a local mortar, which is made out of straw and mud, and which is what I intend to go after. My flimsy little bar, in contrast, is made of a space-age titanium alloy ten times stronger than tempered steel. And nobody’s going to see what’s happening because the back wall’s built right on the edge of a drop. So yeah. I think my plan will work.”
He walked over and chucked the empty plate at the outer door with a fierceness that startled her. Yet when he turned, he appeared calm and in control, and when he spoke it was with an easy confidence she wanted desperately to believe in. “Give me a little credit, okay? I didn’t just get myself tossed in here hoping an idea would come to me. I know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, of course,” she said faintly. He might look like the boy she’d known, but clearly he was all grown-up. What’s more, he was right. He was her best, her only, hope of escape and questioning him at every turn wasn’t doing either of them any good.
“And now, since our hosts really don’t seem inclined to check up on us despite my bad manners—” he slid his blade free of its hiding place and once more headed for the back of his cell “—I might as well start. Why don’t you try to get some rest? You’re going to need it for later.”
She was being dismissed. Again. Yet this time she didn’t take offense, simply did as he suggested and laid down. Partly because there was nothing to be gained by arguing, but mostly because between the heat, the lack of nutrition and the internal uproar his presence caused her, she was worn out.
She curled on her side, tucked a hand beneath her cheek and lowered her lashes, pretending not to watch as he started his assault on the wall, using his handy-dandy blade thingy to hack away at the mortar.
God help her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. And it wasn’t only because of the mesmerizing way his back and shoulder muscles bunched and shifted with his every move.
No, it was also because of her realization that she’d been fooling herself for years, believing the picture she carried of him in her mind was accurate.
It hadn’t been. She knew that now; the proof was right in front of her. At some point in the passage of time, she’d clearly forgotten just how vividly alive he was. Just as she’d forgotten that when she was in his presence, the whole world seemed sharper, brighter and infinitely more interesting.
It had been that way from the very first time she’d laid eyes on him, she thought, remembering….
Once again, it was a hot, lazy June day. She lay languidly on a chaise longue by the swimming pool at Cedar Hill, the palatial Denver estate owned by her grandmother’s newest husband.
Off in the distance, she heard the distinctive whine of an approaching lawn mower and ridiculously, her pulse skittered. Grateful for the camouflage of her sunglasses, she casually shifted her head to the left toward the emerald swath of the five-acre back lawn. She was rewarded for her effort by the sight of a tall, bronzed young man cutting the grass.
She’d first noticed him the previous week; he wasn’t the regular lawn man, and a casual inquiry of Mr. Tomkins, who looked after the pool, had provided her with the information that he was a vacation fill-in.
Whatever the reason for his presence, with his broad shoulders and confident swagger, he was hard to miss. She knew he’d noticed her, too. Unlike the well-mannered boys she was accustomed to, he’d stared boldly at her, his gaze lingering in a way she’d told herself was totally annoying.
Which hardly explained why she’d been lying here for the past hour, hoping to get another glimpse of him. Or why just looking at him now made her throat feel tight. Nor did she understand the panic that bloomed inside her when, as if he’d sensed her regard, he abruptly brought the lawn mower to a halt, shut off the engine and began to walk toward her, his long legs rapidly eating up the distance between them.
Before she could act on a sudden impulse to flee, he was standing at the wrought iron fence that encircled the pool. “Hey.”
For a moment she couldn’t move. Then, driven by pride and an abruptly awakened sense of self-preservation that warned he was a threat—although to what she couldn’t clearly pinpoint—she slowly sat up. “May I help you?” She used her best drawing room voice in a desperate bid to hide the way her heart was pounding.
“Yeah.” He flashed her a smile that made her stomach flip. “Would you mind getting me a glass of water?”
A bead of sweat tracked down the column of his neck, adding to the damp that made his black T-shirt cling to his muscled chest, and an unfamiliar heat twisted through her. Embarrassed, she reached up and slid her sunglasses off, using the action as an excuse to look away. “Pardon me?”
“I’m thirsty. You don’t seem to be doing anything, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate you getting me a drink.”
Her gaze snapped back to him as she tried to decide which was more unsettling: his nerve or her realization that an unfamiliar part of her wanted to do his bidding. “I don’t think so.” She picked up her book and sat back, waiting for him to take offense and stalk away.
He didn’t. Instead, he cocked a hip and leaned closer, muscles flexing as he rested his tanned dusty arms against the top of the fence. “Aw, come on. You’re not too good to mix with the hired help, are you?”
Stung that he’d think such a thing, she ratcheted her chin up a notch. “Of course not.”
He raised one straight, inky eyebrow. “So what’s the problem?”
Their gazes locked. To her fascination, his eyes, which she’d expected to be dark due to his near-black hair and olive complexion were a clear compelling green. And his mouth looked hard and soft all at the same time, the lips full and….
She scrambled to her feet, appalled by the direction of her thoughts. Tossing her long braid over her shoulder, she marched over to the wet bar and filled a tall glass with icy water from the tap, staunchly ignoring the fact that her hands were shaking. Head high, she stalked back to the fence and thrust the tumbler at him. “Here.”
He took her offering with lazy grace, purposefully brushing his rough, calloused fingers against hers in the exchange. Raising the glass, he tipped back his head and drank, his strong, smooth-skinned throat rippling. She waited, unable to look away, as he licked the last bead of moisture from his lips once he’d drained the glass. “Thanks.” He handed her back the glass.
Her own throat felt dust dry. “You’re welcome. Now please go away.”
He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “My name’s Dominic. Dominic Steele. What’s yours?”
“I see no reason