Chapter 6

Jennie

The ceremony itself takes only about twenty minutes. Cognizant of the camera trained on us, I smile widely and do my best to look like a happy, glowing bride.

I still don't fully understand my own reluctance. After all, I'm marrying the person I love. When I thought she was dead, I wanted to die myself, and it took all of my strength to survive from one day to the next. I don't want to be with anyone but Lisa . . . and yet I can't shake the chill deep inside.

She handled my parents smoothly, I will give her that. I'm not sure what I had been expecting, but the calm, almost civil conversation that took place hadn't been it. She had been in control the entire time, her matter-of-fact attitude leaving no room for tearful accusations and recriminations. She had apologized for the rushed wedding, but not for abducting me in the first place—and I know it's because she feels no guilt about that. In her mind, she has a right to me. It's as simple as that.

After a lengthy speech in Spanish, Padre Diaz begins speaking to Lisa. I catch a few words—something about spouse, love, protection—and then I hear Lisa's voice responding "Sí, quiero."

It's my turn next. Looking up at Lisa, I meet her gaze. There is a warm smile on her lips, but her eyes tell a different story. Her eyes reflect hunger and need, and underneath it all, a dark, all-consuming possessiveness.

"Sí, quiero," I say quietly, repeating Lisa's words. Yes, I do. Yes, I want. My rudimentary Spanish is good enough to translate that at least.

Lisa's smile deepens. Reaching into her pocket, she takes out another ring—a slim, diamond-studded band that matches my engagement ring—and slides it onto my nerveless finger. Then she presses a platinum band into my palm and extends her left hand to me.

Her palm is almost twice the size of mine, her fingers long. She has a man's hands. Hands that can pleasure or hurt with equal ease.

Taking a deep breath, I slide the wedding band onto Lisa's left ring finger and look up at her again, only half-listening as Padre Diaz concludes the ceremony. Staring at Lisa's beautiful features, all I can think about is that it's done.

The person who kidnapped me is now my wife.

After the ceremony, I say goodbye to my parents, assuring them that I will speak to them again soon. My mom is crying, and my dad is wearing a stony expression that usually means he's extremely upset.

"Mom, Dad, I promise I'll be in contact," I tell them, trying to hold back my own tears. "I won't disappear on you again. Everything is going to be fine. You have nothing to worry about . . ."

"I promise she will call you very soon," Lisa adds, and after a few more tearful goodbyes, Bambam disconnects the video feed.

The next half hour is spent taking pictures all over the beautiful church. Then we change back into our regular clothes and head back to the airport.

At this point, it's evening and I'm completely exhausted. The stress of the past couple of hours, combined with all the travel, has made me nearly comatose, and I close my eyes, leaning back against the black leather seat as the car winds its way through the dark streets of Bogotá. I don't want to think about anything; I just want to empty my mind and relax. Shifting, I try to find a better position, one that doesn't place too much weight on my still-tender bottom.

"Tired, baby?" Lisa murmurs, placing her hand on my leg. Her fingers squeeze lightly, massaging my thigh, and I force my heavy eyelids to open.

"A bit," I admit, turning toward her. "I'm not used to this much flying—or marrying."

She grins at me, her teeth flashing white in the darkness. "Well, luckily you won't have to go through this experience again. The marrying, I mean. I can't promise anything about the flying."

Maybe I'm overly tired, but that strikes me as ridiculously funny for some reason. A giggle escapes my throat, first one, then another, until I'm laughing uncontrollably, all but rolling on the backseat of the car.

Lisa watches me calmly, and when my laughter finally begins to quiet down, she pulls me into her lap and kisses me, claiming my mouth with a long, fierce kiss that literally steals my breath away. By the time she lets me come up for air, I can barely remember my own name, much less what I was laughing about before.

We're both panting, our breath intermingling as we stare at each other. There's hunger in her gaze, but there's also something more—an almost violent longing that goes deeper than simple lust. A strange tightness squeezes my chest, and I feel like I'm falling further, losing even more of myself. "What do you want from me, Lisa?" I whisper, lifting my hand to cradle the contours of her jaw. "What do you need?"

She doesn't answer, but her hand covers mine, holding it pressed against her face for a few moments. She closes her eyes, as though absorbing the sensation, and when she opens them, the moment is gone.

Shifting me off her lap, she drapes a heavy arm over my shoulders and settles me comfortably against her side. "Get some rest, my pet," she murmurs into my hair. "We still have a ways to go before we get home."

I fall asleep on the plane again, so I have no idea how long the flight is. Lisa shakes me awake after we land, and I follow her sleepily off the plane.

Warm, humid air hits me as soon as we disembark, so thick it feels like a damp blanket. Bogotá had been much warmer than Chicago, with the temperature somewhere in the high sixties, but this . . . this feels like I stepped into a wet sauna. With my winter boots and a fleece sweater, I feel like I'm being cooked alive.

"Bogotá is at a much higher elevation," Lisa says, as though reading my mind. "Down here, it's tierra caliente—the low-elevation hot zone."

"Where are we?" I ask, waking up a bit more. I can hear the chirping of insects, and the smell in the air is that of lush green vegetation, of the tropics. "Which part of the country, I mean?"

"The southeast," Lisa replies, leading me toward an SUV waiting on the other side of the runway. "We're actually right on the edge of the Amazon rainforest."

I lift my hand to rub at the corner of my eye. I don't know much about Colombian geography, but that sounds very remote to me. "Are we near some villages or towns?"

"No," Lisa says. "That's the beauty of this location, my pet. We're completely isolated and safe. Nobody will bother us here."

We reach the car, and she helps me inside. Bambam joins us a couple of minutes later, and then we're off, driving down an unpaved road through a heavily wooded area.

It's pitch-black outside, the headlights of the car our only source of illumination, and I peer curiously through the darkness, trying to discern our destination. All I can see, however, are trees and more trees.

Abandoning that futile effort, I decide to get more comfortable instead. It's cooler in the car with the air conditioning working full-blast, but I'm still too hot, so I take off my sweater. Thankfully, I'm wearing a tank top underneath. As the chilly air blows across my heated skin, I sigh with relief, fanning myself to accelerate the cooling process.

"I have clothes for you here that are more weather-appropriate," Lisa says, observing my actions with a half-smile. "I probably should've thought to bring them with me, but I was far too eager to retrieve you."

"Oh?" I glance at her, absurdly pleased by her admission.

"I came after you as soon as I could," she murmurs, her eyes gleaming in the dark interior of the car. "You didn't think I'd leave you alone for long, did you?"

"No, I didn't," I say softly. And it's the truth. If there's one thing I've always been sure of, it's that Lisa wants me. I'm not sure if she loves me—if she's capable of loving anyone—but I've never doubted the strength of her desire for me. She risked her life for me back at that warehouse, and I know she would do so again. It's a certainty that goes bone-deep and fills me with a peculiar sense of comfort.

Closing my eyes, I lean back against the seat with another sigh. The dichotomy of my emotions makes my head hurt. How can I be upset with Lisa for forcing me to marry her and at the same time be glad that she couldn't wait to abduct me again? What sane person feels that way?

"We've arrived," Lisa says, interrupting my musings, and I open my eyes, realizing that the car had stopped.

In front of us is a sprawling two-story mansion surrounded by several smaller structures. Bright outdoor lights illuminate everything in the vicinity, and I can see wide green lawns and lush, meticulously maintained landscaping. Lisa wasn't exaggerating when she called this place an estate.

I can also see some of the security measures, and I gaze around curiously as Lisa helps me out of the car and leads me toward the main building. On the far edges of the property, there are towers spaced a few dozen yards apart, with armed men visible at the top of each one.

It's almost as if we're in prison, except that these guards are meant to keep the bad people out, not in.

"You grew up here?" I ask Lisa as we approach the house. It's a beautiful white building with stately columns at the front. It reminds me a bit of Scarlett O'Hara's plantation from Gone with the Wind.

"I did." She shoots me a sidelong glance. "I spent most of my time here until I was about seven or eight. After that, I was usually in the cities with my father, helping him with business."

After we walk up the porch steps, Lisa stops at the doorway and bends down to lift me into her arms. Before I can say anything, she carries me over the threshold, setting me back on my feet once we're inside. "No reason why we can't observe this little tradition," she murmurs with a mischievous grin, maintaining her hold on my sides as she looks down at me.

My lips twitch in an answering smile. I can never resist Lisa when she's being playful like this. "Ah, yes, I forgot that you're Ms. Traditional today," I tease, purposefully trying not to think about the forced nature of our marriage. It's important for my sanity to keep the good times separate from the bad, to live in the moment as much as possible. "And here I thought you just felt like picking me up."

"I did," she admits, her grin widening. "It's the first time my inclinations and tradition have coincided, though, so why don't we go with 'observing tradition'?"

"I'm game," I say softly, gazing up at her. In this moment, my mind is firmly in the 'good times' camp, and I would gladly go along with anything she wants, do anything she wants.

"Señora Manoban?" An uncertain female voice interrupts us, and I turn to see a middle-aged woman standing there. She's wearing a black short-sleeved dress, with a white apron wrapped around her rounded frame. "Everything is ready, just as you requested," she says in accented English, watching us with barely restrained curiosity. "Should I serve you dinner?"

"No, thank you, Ana," Lisa replies, her hand resting possessively on my hip. "Just bring a tray with some sandwiches to our room, please. Jennie is tired from our travels." Then she looks down at me. "Jennie, this is Ana, our housekeeper. Ana, this is Jennie, my wife."

Ana's brown eyes widen. Apparently the 'wife' bit is as much of a shock to her as it had been to me. She recovers quickly, though. "Very pleased to meet you, Señora," she says, giving me a wide smile. "Welcome."

"Thank you, Ana. It's nice to meet you too." I smile back, ignoring the sharp pain squeezing my chest. This housekeeper is nothing like Sorn, but I can't help thinking of the woman who had become my friend—and of her cruel, pointless death.

No, don't go there, Jennie. The last thing I need is to wake up screaming from another nightmare.

"Please make sure we're not disturbed tonight," Lisa instructs Ana, "unless it's something urgent."

"Yes, Señora," she murmurs, and disappears through the wide double doors leading out of the entryway area.

"Ana is one of the staff here," Lisa explains as she guides me toward a wide, curved staircase. "She's been with my family in one capacity or another for most of her life."

"She seems very nice," I say, studying my new home as we walk up the stairs. I've never been inside such a lavish residence, and I can hardly believe I'm going to be living here. The decor is a tasteful mix of old-fashioned charm and modern elegance, with gleaming wooden floors and abstract art on the walls. I suspect the gilded picture frames alone are more expensive than anything I had in my studio apartment back home. "How many people are on the staff?"

"There are two who always take care of the house," Lisa answers. "Ana, whom you've just met, and Rosé, who's the maid. You'll probably meet her tomorrow. There are also several gardeners, handymen, and others who oversee the property as a whole." Pausing in front of one of the doors upstairs, she opens it for me. "Here we are. Our bedroom."

Our bedroom. That has a very domestic ring to it. On the island, I had my own room, and even though Lisa slept with me most nights, it still felt like my private space—something I apparently wouldn't have here.

Stepping inside, I cautiously survey the bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, it has an opulent, old-fashioned feel to it, despite several modern touches. There is a thick blue rug on the floor, and a massive four-poster bed in the center. Everything is done in shades of blue and cream, with some gold and bronze mixed in. The drapes covering the windows are thick and heavy, like in a luxury hotel, and there are a few more abstract paintings on the walls.

It's beautiful and intimidating, like the woman who is now my wife.

"Why don't we take a bath?" Lisa says softly, stepping up behind me. Her arms fold around me, her fingers reaching for my belt buckle. "I think we could both use one."

"Sure, that sounds good," I murmur, letting her undress me. It makes me feel like a doll—or maybe a princess, given our surroundings. As Lisa tugs off my shirt and pushes down my jeans, her hands brush against my bare skin, causing tingles of heat to ripple down to my core.

Our wedding night. Tonight is our wedding night. My breathing quickens from a combination of arousal and nerves. I don't know what Lisa has in store for me, but the hard ridge pressing against my lower back leaves no doubt that she intends to fuck me again.

When I am completely naked, I turn to face her and watch as she takes off her own clothes, her well-defined body gleaming in the soft light coming from the recessed ceiling. Her body is slightly leaner than before, and there is a new scar near her ribcage. Still, she's the most striking woman I have ever seen. She's already fully erect, her thick, long cock jutting out at me, and I swallow, my sex clenching at the sight. At the same time, I am cognizant of a faint soreness deep inside and the continued tenderness of my bruised bottom.

I want her, but I don't know if I can handle any more pain today.

"Lisa . . ." I hesitate, unsure how to best phrase it. "Is there any way . . . Can we—?"

She steps toward me, framing my face with her hands. Her eyes glitter brightly as she looks down at me. "Yes," she whispers, understanding my unspoken question. "Yes, baby, we can. I will give you the wedding night of your dreams."