Читать книгу Immortal Billionaire - Jane Godman - Страница 14

Chapter 6

The dream is so vivid it feels like reality. More than reality. Even the sounds and scents of the beach come to life. Connie can hear the shouts of the Calusa braves as they drag the Spanish prisoners ashore. She can smell the sweat, fear and blood mingling with the everyday aromas of sea, salt and pine. If she reaches out her hand, surely she will be able to trail her fingers in the azure waters and rub the golden sands between them? Instead she watches, along with the whole village. Everyone has come out to see the light-skinned devils who have, it is said, traveled across oceans, to murder the Calusa and rob them of their islands.

But we fought. And we won.

In the midst of the mayhem around him, one man catches her attention. She doesn’t know what she expects a devil to look like, but this is not it. The Calusa braves around him are tall but, even slumped in pain, this man is taller than his captors. The red-gold tint to his hair shines through the dirt and blood. They kick his legs from beneath him and he stumbles to his knees on the shell-encrusted sand. Does he know he is about to die? If he does, his gaze remains proud and defiant.

“We must help him,” Connie says to the old woman at her side, in a language she doesn’t know.

Her grandmother stares back at her in horror and tugs on her arm to draw her away, but Connie resists her.

His eyes are blue. As endlessly, perfectly blue as the sky above their heads. Connie has never seen such eyes. They fascinate her. She takes a step closer and he looks up at her.

“I will help you.”

He doesn’t know her language, but those beautiful blue eyes tell her that he understands.

* * *

Connie woke abruptly at that point, feeling restless and unfulfilled. That was the problem with falling asleep in the afternoon. Not that she would usually know. It was a luxury she generally couldn’t afford.

On returning from her walk with Matt, the house had seemed oddly quiet. She had expected to find a group around the pool and dreaded the prospect of an invitation to join them; instead she’d caught a glimpse of Jonathan and no one else. Glad of a chance to escape any company and to reflect on her humiliating encounter with Sylvester, she had made her way up to her room. Within minutes of lying on her bed, she had fallen into a deep sleep.

It was one of those rare dreams in which, upon waking, she could remember every detail. One that made perfect sense and to which she wanted to return so she could find out the ending. Did the handsome Spanish prisoner—who, let’s face it, Connie, looks a hell of a lot like your host. I wonder what his starring role as the hero of your dream tells you about your feelings toward him?—die? Did Connie, as the heroine of the dream, save him the same way legend suggests a Calusa maiden did with Máximo? Or did the story degenerate as dreams tended to? Something bizarre happening to derail the whole story?

Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she decided it was time to dress for dinner. Just the phrase made her feel like she was in some strange parallel universe. Never in a million years would she have imagined herself at any point in her life “dressing for dinner.” As she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, she gave her reflection a grim smile. Never in a million years did I imagine that, this afternoon, I would be snubbed by one of the richest men in the world. She stepped into the shower, allowing the powerful jets of water to wash away the last remnants of sleep.

Sylvester had hurt her with his abrupt words down at the beach, and she couldn’t shake the feeling he’d done it deliberately. Shyly, she’d extended a tentative offer of...what, exactly? Friendship? She almost snorted with laughter. As if Sylvester was in need of new friends. A way of getting to know each other? Of exploring these wild emotions between them? It didn’t matter. He’d curtly let her know he wasn’t interested.

Yet she sensed he had known how hard it was for her to open up to him. She even got the feeling he hadn’t wanted to reject her.

She shook her head. If that was the case, why did he do it? He was as aware as she was of the atmosphere between them. He wanted her as fiercely as she did him. What they felt for each other transcended anything either of them had ever felt before. She knew that was the case for him as strongly as she did for herself. She didn’t have to question it. It just was. It wasn’t physical; although the attraction was fairly spectacular, it went deeper than that. It was love, and much more than love. You love me, Sylvester, but you don’t want to love me. I get it. I don’t understand it, but I get it. I’m scared, too, but I was prepared to give it a chance. I wanted to explore it. She’d gotten the message today. Sylvester didn’t want to go there. It had cost Connie a lot to make that first move. She would never do it again.

Emerging from the shower wrapped in a huge, fluffy towel, she surveyed her dresses and selected a plain black gown with a high neckline and a low-cut back. Once her hair was dry, she piled it on top of her head in a loose updo.

When she reached the salon, Guthrie was entertaining everyone with the story of how he had come by an injury to his head. He was wasted in retail, Connie decided. Guthrie really should consider a career in stand-up comedy. It was strange the way his extroverted tendencies and skill at storytelling seemed to have developed in the short time he had been on the island.

Connie was shocked to learn she had slept through so much drama, particularly since everyone else seemed to have been roused from the four corners of the house by the noise. The fact that it must have happened very soon after she’d returned from her walk made it even more surprising she had heard nothing. Yet Connie had fallen into that instant and uncharacteristically deep slumber, as soon as she’d reached her room.

The conversation at dinner continued to be mostly about Guthrie’s injury. Guthrie remained adamant he had been hit over the head by an unknown assailant. Although there were some skeptical remarks, notably from Jonathan, Sylvester surprised everyone by supporting Guthrie.