Kidnapped and a Daring Escape (18 page)

    
She lathers her hands and rubs her whole body vigorously, feeling the
skin tingle all over.

    
"Shall I do your back?" he asks, taking back the soap.

    
She turns and rounds her shoulders. It must be way back when I was
a child that somebody washed my back, she muses. The firm movement
of his hands feels more like a massage. It is invigorating.

    
"Will you do mine?" he begs, turning his back to her.

    
She rubs his shoulders. She has never touched hard muscles like these.

    
"Thank you," he says when she is finished, "I think I’ll wash my hair
also." He dunks his head into the water and lathers soap into his mane.

    
"And now the ultimate cruelty," he exclaims. He steps into deeper
water and submerges his whole body and head quickly twice.

    
He wades out of the water.

    
She feels a sudden panic to be left alone in the dark water. "André,
please wait. I want to wash my hair too."

    
He climbs on a flat rock at the shore. The moon is just creeping over
the eastern horizon, its light and shadow sculpting his body. After rinsing
out her hair, she lifts her arms to squeeze out the water, while walking
slowly toward him. She senses, rather than sees his eyes seek her raised
breasts, suddenly, aware that they are both naked, and looks down her
torso. The moonlight has turned her nipples almost white. They feel
painfully hard.

    
"Oh woman," she hears his murmur. Looking up, her own eyes are
drawn to his erect manhood. The desire expressed in these two words, his
physical reaction to her nakedness, go straight to her well. Instantly, she
feels aroused.

    
On impulse, she steps into his outstretched arms, her own enfolding
his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest, her face lifted to offer the
kiss she promised. His lips playfully touch hers. Then the pressure
increases, crushing, searching, their tongues meeting, the five-day old
bristles of his unshaven face feeling unfamiliar.

    
"Take me, André, take me," she whispers. The words are out before
she becomes fully aware of what she said.

    
He studies her face for a second, lifts her up and carries her to the
plastic sheet she spread out earlier. He lies down next to her, his lips
searching hers again, his right hand caressing her breasts, exploring her
body. Her craving to have him inside becomes almost unbearable. She
reaches for his erect penis. "Come," she whispers, not daring to say ‘I
need you’.

    
She feels him slide into her wet well and takes his full measure. She
answers each thrust, eager for the next one, each one hastening her
response, arousing sensations she has not known existed, rushing her
toward the climax. When it overwhelms her far too quickly, she cries out,
fights the bliss verging on pain, puts her teeth into his shoulder in a
desperate bid to endure, to make it bearable. André’s thrusts get more
powerful. Suddenly he stiffens, arching his torso, and she experiences his
manhood pulsate inside her, quickening again her own rapture that has
never fully subsided.

    
He kisses her again, kisses even more searching, as if he cannot get
enough of her. She senses his penis slowly go soft, marvels at her feeling
of utter contentment, loves that he remains inside her. She knows that she
has never experienced such wanton frenzy, such complete surrender.

    
"Woman, you don’t know how much I love you," he murmurs softly.
"I want you to be mine forever."

    
"Yes, I want that too" is her silent reaction, and then Franco’s serious
face rises in her mind. I’ve been unfaithful, she chides herself, but
somehow she doesn’t feel guilty. It was a spontaneous fusion. It felt
right. It may never happen again. That thought triggers a vague sense of
regret.

    
"Bianca, I’m afraid you have to brave that cold water once more and
rinse yourself."

    
"I’m on the pill," she protests.

    
"You were on the pill. You already missed five days. Come." He pulls
her up.

    
He thinks of everything, even things I should have thought of myself,
flashes through her mind. She doesn’t know whether she should be
annoyed or pleased.

    
He carries her down to the lake, kissing her every few steps and she
responds. Holding hands, they wade into the water until it reaches their
waist. She lets the cold water enter her, pushing it out repeatedly.

    
He picks up the small towel they left unused on a rock at the shore and
pats her dry. Then they walk hand in hand back to the embers of the fire.
He embraces her again, kissing her, nuzzling her neck. She can feel the
hardening of his penis against her groin.

    
"I want to make love to you, Bianca, slowly this time."

    
Her renewed arousal ambushes her. The protest forming in her mind
dies before it reaches her lips. "Yes," she whispers, pressing herself
harder at him.

7

Bianca wakes up with a sense of physical well-being. It feels like floating
on a cushion of contentment. A warm body perfectly matches her back,
an arm wrapped around her waist, a hand flat at the bottom of her rib
cage. She stirs and hears André murmur: "I love you."

    
Suddenly, reality asserts itself. She had sex with André, passionate
sex, as she had never experienced before. She doesn’t even recall how
many times she climaxed last night. She feels the heat rise in her cheeks
just thinking of it. And then guilt raises its ugly head, guilt to have been
unfaithful to Franco, to have strayed a bare five months before the
wedding. How could she have been so remiss, so thoughtless?

    
André raises himself on an elbow and lightly caresses her cheek. She
meets his gaze. His eyes are a vivid blue, darker than she remembers.
Concern replaces his smile.

    
"You feel guilty about last night, don’t you?"

    
She nods. He always seems to know my mind, she muses.

    
"Do you have regrets?"

    
Do I have regrets, she questions herself? Strange as it seems, no, not
really. She knows that last night it seemed the most natural thing to do.
And it was more than simply lust. Last night she sensed a strong bond
with André. It felt right. It still does, but that does not allay her guilt. She
lets his question hanging.

    
"Bianca, on special occasions something drives two people together
that is stronger than them, like an explosion. That is what we shared last
night. Accept it as something beautiful. But I promise it won’t happen
again, unless you want it."

    
What a strange man he is, she reflects, her eyes briefly lighting up. He
places an almost chaste kiss on her forehead and gets up.

    
"I’ll cook us a hot breakfast. Would corn mash be your preferred
choice?"

    
She chuckles. "Yes, corn mash would be my preferred choice." And
the only one.

    
She watches him collect dead branches, break them into small sticks
and light a fire. He lightly blows into the first tentative flicker to get it to
flare up. Then he disappears from view and soon returns with a pot full
of water. His movements are fluid, economical and purposeful. When the
mash is ready, she again feeds both of them with their single spoon.

    
"Would you like to talk about feeling guilty?" he asks, when the pot
is almost empty. "Did you and the professor promise each other to be
faithful?"

    
His use of ‘the professor’ irks her, but she swallows the sharp remark
that is on the tip of her tongue. "No, we didn’t, but I never thought that
we wouldn’t be. In fact, I feel quite strongly about it, and I’ve been true
to Franco … until last night."

    
"And he?"

    
"Lots of his students fall for him. So, I couldn’t really blame him for
taking advantage of that, but I think he hasn’t been with another girl for
the last year, and once we’re married, I expect him to be faithful."

    
"Bianca, I doubt that you will marry him."

    
"Why not?" This time her face does not hide her annoyance. How dare
he! "What is it with you, that every time I mention my fiancé you say
something negative about him? Or is this another one of your premonitions?" The moment that word passes her lips, she remembers that the
last time she mocked him about a premonition, he had been right.
"Sorry," she murmurs, lowering her gaze.

    
"It’s all right, Bianca." He pauses. "Have you ever given some thought
as to who might be behind this kidnapping?"

    
"Why? You said it was FARC most likely."

    
"They might have done the actual kidnapping, but who set them up to
it?"

    
The expression in his face has become somber and hard, like when he
begged her not to go across the river. Tightness grips her chest. "Do you
know something you have not told me about? Something in that
conversation you overheard?"

    
He hesitates before answering. "No. I think I told you most of what I
overheard and saw."

    
"But …?"

    
"I’ve not told you what conjectures I’ve drawn."

    
She suddenly guesses what he is hinting at and it makes her livid. "Oh,
now I see what you are trying to do. You want to claim that my own
fiancé is behind it? Is that it? … This time you really have surpassed
yourself. It is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard."

    
"Is it?"

    
"It is. He loves me. Why would he do a thing like this? It’s too stupid
to even talk about it."

    
"Did he ever say the three words ‘I love you’?"

    
Who does he think he is? "That’s none of your business," she spits
out.

    
"Yes, I agree, it’s none of my business, but tell me, Bianca, who
knows that you are the daughter of a wealthy man, and who knew the
details of your trip to San Agustin?"

    
His calm reasoned response fuels her outrage. "Ha, most of my class
know that my father is a wealthy industrialist, and so do many other
people."

    
"And did they also know your exact schedule? Did you discuss it with
any of them?"

    
She sees where this is leading to and hesitates for a second. "Yes, I did
discuss it with Paolo and Giuglio."

    
"Anybody else?"

    
"They might have talked about it to others."

    
"You avoid giving me a straight answer. When did you talk to Paolo
and Giuglio about it?"

    
"Why are you interrogating me like this? Who gives you the right?"
She feels self-righteous.

    
"Nobody gives me the right, but do you want to know how I came to
my conclusions or not?"

    
She does not answer, all at once unsure. She doesn’t even know if she
wants to hear it.

    
"So when did you disclose your schedule to them."

    
"At dinner two days before the trip."

    
"Including the fact that you would take a Jeep to drive to San José de
Isnos while they hired horses?"

    
"Yes."

    
"And who suggested that you take a Jeep, rather than join the others
on horseback?"

    
It was Franco, but she was not going to admit that and give André
more ammunition. She averts her gaze. "I don’t know how to ride."