A/N: Hi! Long time no see! *waves* I'm sorry, I was working on my other fic. Now I'm back here but I gotta tell you, this one really fought back. I only got through it – at least somewhat – because of the help and encouragement of my wonderful friend Ny. 3 that gurl! I also want to thank you all again for being sooooo supportive of this story. I'm blown away by how nice everyone's being and I really appreciate it. It's why I can never stay away too long. Love you all!
The eighth chapter, in which someone learns more
She was lying in bed, watching the sun sweep a first rose tint across the sky, listening to the waves roll against the shore in an even, soothing rhythm, to the equally regular breaths coming from the woman lying next to her. She'd had a restless night, but now her head was clear. Things had to change.
Damon was standing on the porch, a coffee mug in his hand, watching the sun rise higher in the sky, counting on the still cool early-morning breeze to clear his head. What the hell did she think she was doing, traipsing around in that see-through thingy like that? Seeing her lying on the beach in her bikini had been bad enough, but her body veiled in the sheer white fabric was an even more erotic image, pretending to hide the naked skin underneath while at the same time demanding his attention relentlessly. Fine, so she obviously belonged to the scarce group of women who were unaware of their beauty. But could she be this oblivious? Did she really not understand what it did to a man when the flimsy fabric caressed her thighs and clung to her midriff the way it did? Didn't she know that wearing just enough was much more enticing than wearing nothing? And that a man could only control his urges up to a certain point? He couldn't understand how she could be so ignorant of her attractiveness and the effect she had on everyone around her. Even if men normally didn't dare approach her and she mistook it for disinterest, even if others were put-off by her seemingly distant demeanor, like he had been at first, even if that was the case, surely at least her husband had to tell her just how lovely, how exquisite she was. Surely he had to tell her every day. Damon couldn't imagine being married to a woman like her and not letting her know every minute of every day how breathtaking she was.
Thinking back to when he first met her, he couldn't recall why he hadn't seen it right away. He could only imagine that her eyes must have been duller, that for some reason she had begun to look at him with more intensity now; he thought he remembered her movements to be snappier, full of fidgety insecurity and reserve, not the languid, sensual movements she made now. She had looked aloof and disinterested always, while he now saw longing in her eyes – longing when she watched her kids or when she looked at the sunset. And – dare he believe that he hadn't imagined it? – longing when she had looked up at him with wide eyes while he had pressed her against the wall during their little instruction in self-defense, his knee between her legs, feeling the heat from her thighs envelop his and her chest heaving from the adrenalin rush, pushing her breasts ever so slightly against him.
Then, when they had cooked together, and he had watched her purse her lips to blow on the hot sauce, had observed her face as she was savoring the smell of herbs or the taste of fresh tomato, he had been this close to running his fingers over her plump lips, along her graceful neck and through her silky hair. That woman was going to be the death of him and she wasn't even trying. Maybe that was it. Maybe his instincts were baser than he had always esteemed and he liked her precisely because she wasn't trying. Maybe he was a hunter after all, like they said in those superficial and repetitive articles on how men are and what they think, craving the chase, intrigued only by what they can't have. Or maybe he was just a sucker for seemingly unhappy women, wanting to be the one who made everything right in the world again; that would certainly explain a lot, he mused while reluctantly reminiscing about the past. But he couldn't help but feel that this was different. He didn't really feel excited by the challenge, had never been one to go after women he couldn't have (not that there were many), didn't really feel better at the thought of being her savior. There was probably some truth to the fact that she was a beautiful woman and they were locked up in a cabin together for an indeterminate amount of time; he was a man after all. But even that wasn't the biggest part of what he felt attracted him in her. It was the feeling that there was more to her, so much more, than she let people see and he wanted to discover it all. The longing he saw creep into her eyes at times, the fire that shot into them when she got angry or excited, the warmth that they exuded during very rare moments, all those made him believe that the woman he knew and already liked was only a shell of the woman she hid underneath. And he was pretty sure that that woman was spectacular.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the noise of feet trampling down the porch steps and girlish laughter. He turned around, surprised, only to see Bonnie and Elena pass him, oblivious of his presence, and jog down the beach. He smiled lightly. So she was serious then, about working out and about defending herself. He liked that. He didn't, however, like that she was wearing skin-tight pants and nothing but a sports bra. How was that supposed to help his situation? He watched the women run to the far end of the beach before turning around and coming back. Bonnie was slightly ahead of Elena, the latter wisely following her own pace and not trying to keep up with her far more athletic instructor. About halfway down the beach, he saw Elena notice his presence, believed to have seen a somewhat startled expression and maybe a little blush, but she was too far away still to be certain and also any red color in her face would most likely stem from the exertion. She jogged past him giving him a quick smile but otherwise bowing her head. He quickly finished his coffee and headed back inside the house. Any hope of clearing his head out there shot to hell anyways.
Just as he stepped out of the shower and got ready to prepare breakfast for everyone, there was a knock on the door of his room. When he opened it, Bonnie was smiling up at him.
"Morning, you," he said with a smile, relaxing against the doorframe.
"Morning," she returned. "So I'm done with Elena's morning workout and stretching. You could take over for the self-defense part."
"Elena?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Our boss," Bonnie clarified teasingly while turning around and heading back to her room.
"Oh I know. Since when do we call her 'Elena'?" he asked, following her and pushing both hands against the doorframe, effectively trapping her inside her room.
"Since she offered," Bonnie replied nonchalantly while taking off her shirt.
"Mrs. Lockwood asked you to call her Elena?" he asked incredulous, following Bonnie with his eyes as she stepped out of her jogging pants and grabbed a towel.
"Yeah. What, didn't she ask you, lover-boy?" she said over her shoulder before closing the door to her en suite bathroom.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He was annoyed now and it was audible in his tone. He walked into the room and up to the closed door. "Hey!" He called, knocking on the wood with the pad of his fist. "When did that even happen?" To no avail; Bonnie decided to ignore him and turn the water on instead.
"Fine," he conceded begrudgingly. "Where is she?"
And suddenly Bonnie had found her voice again. "Behind the house. I figured a little more privacy would be nice. Don't want to scare the kids and all."
Great. Privacy. Just what he needed with the married woman he so badly wanted to get naked. He rolled his eyes. "You're making breakfast," he called and left the room.
As he came around the corner, he was stopped in his tracks. Bonnie might have been done with the stretching part and he had been glad to hear it, seeing his boss spread and stretch her limber legs was really the last thing he needed right now, but there she was, doing just that. She was facing away from him towards the cliff that rose on this side of the house, her right leg lifted up on the railing that encompassed the porch and clutching her foot with her right hand. Her left arm was above her head, leaning towards her right foot as well and thus simultaneously stretching her right leg and her left side. Damon shook his head. This job was turning into a disaster.
"Morning, Mrs. Lockwood," he said from behind her.
She spun around instantly, probably too quickly for the stretch she had been in. Her arms were covered in a slight sheen from the previous exercise; the pumping blood tinted her cheeks in an alluring pink shade and her lips in a kissable deep red. She looked altogether too good for having just finished a workout. "Hi," she answered, sounding almost insecure. "Morning." He watched her fidget with her hands uncertainly. "Listen," she finally started. "I was thinking, with us all living together – in such close proximity – here – it feels weird, no? To be so formal? So I was thinking maybe – if you don't mind, that is – I'd like for everyone to call me Elena."
A smile spread across his face. "I'd like that," he said, quietly, resulting in a relieved smile on her part. "I'm Damon, by the way," he mock-introduced himself and held out his hand. When she laid her delicate hand into his, he raised it and blew an airy kiss on her knuckles, making her blush faintly and look up at him coyly through thick lashes.
"You ready to kick my ass?" he shifted gears and was glad when he saw a smile adorn her face in response.
"Always," she acquiesced and with that the mood was lightened.
"Let's finish what we started yesterday, okay?" She nodded and he motioned for her to lean against the wall. He positioned himself in front of her, one hand over her throat, one hand holding hers together under her chin, his leg between hers, his torso so close to hers that he effectively incapacitated her. He made a point of not actually standing as close as he had yesterday. He had gotten a little carried away, had actually pushed her up against the wall, pressing his body against hers. He wasn't going to do that today, no matter how enticing the idea was. This was only for demonstrative purposes. "So," he started. "What's the bad news about this?"
"I can't move anything," she stated firmly and he smiled.
"Fine. What's the good news about this?" He looked at her expectantly. She looked like she was thinking hard but failing to come up with anything. Finally a little light turned on inside her head. Her face looked elated for one second and then a bashful blush was creeping up in her cheeks. What's coming now? He wondered.
"You can't rape me because you'd have to let go of my hands to undo my pants," she said assertively and he had to smile a little. Proud, because she had figured it out, not exactly what he was going for, but close enough to the essence of it, and also because she had obviously felt uncomfortable and powered through it like a trooper.
"Exactly," he confirmed. "More good news: I can't grab a weapon, I can't beat you, I can't take anything from you; I'd have to release either your hands or your head to do any of those things. Best news though: I can't choke you."
"You are choking me," she debated and he had to chuckle.
"Well, technically, yes. But I don't have enough power in one hand to kill you." Understanding flashed in her eyes and she nodded. It was an okay-what-next-nod and Damon liked that she was so eager to learn, instead of being squeamish about the possibility of being choked to death. "Okay so an attacker will very likely not release your hands, if he's not after choking you right then and there." He took his hand off her neck, instructing her in a little tactic called breaking your attacker's nose with your forehead. "That's if they're dumb enough to stand close to you," he explained and then took a step back, straightening the arm that was crushing her wrists against her chest a little. "Now what?"
Elena didn't even hesitate a second but jotted her knee up, gunning for his crotch. However, before she could reach it, Damon pressed his legs together, catching hers midway and successfully incapacitating it. She huffed in annoyance. "I didn't look this time," she pouted and he had to smile, because at least she had learned something and also because that pout was just too darn cute.
"True, but believe me, men are always and I mean always defensive of their junk. Going after it is always risky. You will never surprise us by attacking that area. Right now, you're stuck. It'd be very easy for me to push you down on the floor now. You don't want to give me that upper hand." She nods in defeat, a little annoyed, and he releases her leg, starting over. "If you do want to kick me, don't kick high. It takes longer and it makes you lose your balance." Elena nods again. "Your best bet is to kick my shin as hard as possible and to get back to standing on both feet as quickly as possible. Not now!" he quickly added as he saw her leg twitch and a smirk spread across her face. "It hurts. Badly. If you're lucky, he'll bend over or at least be thrown a little off balance." Elena nodded again.
"Have you ever been kicked in the shin?" she asked and the earnest look on her face made him laugh a little.
"Many times. And in many other places, too," he revealed, trying not to wince at the memory.
She seemed to consider this for a moment. "How long have you been doing this?" she then continued her questioning. He had to smirk at the absurdity of the situation, him pinning her against the wall and her wanting to chit-chat about his life.
"I've been a personal bodyguard ever since I turned twenty-one. You have to be of legal drinking age so they let you into all the establishments your bosses want to go into," he elaborated. She frowned lightly at the thought of what kind of establishments some people might want to go into. But her mood lightened again, quickly.
"Have you ever protected anyone really famous?"
"I have," he confirmed with a conspiratorial tone. "But I couldn't tell you. Someone might come and kill me."
"Oh, I'm sure you would defeat anyone they'd send after you," she teased and he had to laugh.
"Well, obviously," he agreed. And then, suddenly, a thrilled, mischievous look jumped into her eyes. "What?" he asked, wary, waiting for a new, probably more tricky question. He could see the wheels in her head turning and then, suddenly, she yanked her hands downwards and pulled them apart at the same time and Damon's hand whipped off them. He was startled for a second and then saw her equally surprised eyes, surprised and delighted that she actually pulled it off, and he had to laugh. "Nice!" he complimented. "Very nice." And he adored the gleeful smile that spread across her face.
Too bad it won't last long, he thought to himself, standing in a relaxed posture, his hands resting on his hips, looking up at her boyishly from under long lashes, smiling an impressed smile, before he suddenly sprang forward, catching her off guard, pushing her against the wall by her shoulders and then closing both hands around her neck. He was standing close to her now, so close he could feel her erratic breath on his face. Her eyes were locked with his and wide with shock, but not fear. And it impressed him. "Damn," she muttered and it made him chuckle.
"You have twenty seconds before you pass out," he announced. She only thought for a second before attacking his solar plexus, unsuccessfully and trying to kick him, equally unsuccessfully. "Five," he announced and he could see her mind reeling now, her movements getting frantic. She grabbed his fingers, hectically, foolishly, as a last resort and tried to pry them from her neck. She could tell it wasn't working. He wasn't even trying very hard and she didn't have a shot in hell. Slowly he leaned forward, until she became aware of his looming presence and stopped fidgeting, looking at him with expectant yet wary eyes. "You're dead," he said in a low voice, only inches from her face, before releasing her neck.
"You're enjoying this far too much," she complained while rubbing her neck. "Fine, Yoda, teach me. What do I do?"
"That was low," he grumbled, playing hurt. "I'm not that short, nor that bald." And with a grin he approached her again. She smiled as well and he was glad they had fallen into this pattern of easy banter. Her cold demeanor, her chiding tone and the usage of surnames were ways to keep everyone at a safe distance, he knew, and they worked marvelously as well. What he didn't understand was why she was so determined to keep everyone out. And therefore these small gestures of camaraderie excited him. It felt like he was one step closer to meeting the real Elena, the one that wasn't only Mrs. Lockwood. And he was very much looking forward to it.
Without hesitation, she leaned back against the wall and let him put his fingers back around her neck. "Now," Damon started over with a teasing smirk, "use your girly weapons."
"Excuse me?" He could see the affronted spark in her eyes. He had known this would be the reaction he'd get and he hadn't been able to help himself. Getting a rise out of her was just too damn tempting.
"If I'm close enough, you want to hit my solar plexus or my larynx. Break my nose, if you can. But if I'm too far away, there's one very effective way that people always think is stupid but let me tell you, it works. Pinch me."
"Pinch you?" she sounded underwhelmed.
"Yeah. On my inner upper arm. As hard as you can. I guarantee you, it's excruciating." He let go of her neck with one hand and pointed to the skin on the inside of his other arm. Tentatively, she stretched out her hand until she reached the silky pad of skin, letting a finger graze over it experimentally and he couldn't help but relish in the soft touch. "Please don't actually pinch me," he pleaded. "With your manicure you'll probably be able to draw blood."
She smiled and withdrew her hand quickly as he relinquished his hold on her neck. She threw a disapproving glance at her nails. "Well, this manicure is dead," she stated, more like a fact than a complaint.
"You'll get a better one when we get back," he assured her with a smile and she nodded, even though she didn't seem as enthusiastic as he had thought she'd be.
With a sigh she sat down, leaning against the wall and grabbed her water bottle. "So, twenty-one, huh? That seems young to be a bodyguard."
"It is," he replied, sitting down next to her and staring at the wall of rock that was towering above them.
"So… how did that come about?" she asked hesitantly.
He sighed. For a woman who didn't like to get personal, she sure liked to ask everyone else a lot of questions. It wasn't like he really minded. Just because he didn't tell anyone didn't mean that he kept it a secret. Plus, there was something about her expression, an openness to it as she asked him, that made him think that her knowing anything about him, even knowing everything about him, wasn't a bad thing. "Well I was always into martial arts," he began. "Started when I was eight. Then, after I graduated, I enlisted right away. My father had been a marine, it was sort of expected. I did well in the army. My experience in fighting and shooting helped. My father had taken us hunting, my brother and me, as soon as my mother would let him. As soon as I was twenty, I applied for Special Forces training and I got in. I completed the first few courses and then… I deserted."
He let that information sink in for a while. "Why?" he heard Elena ask and he believed it to be an interested why, not a judging one; hoped he was right.
"Depends on who you ask," he replied with a smirk meant to be aloof but only missing sad by a hair's breadth. "If you ask my father, it's because I'm a coward. Who knows, maybe I was. But I had a fiancé back home, we were expecting a child, and I had to take care of my brother, even though my father never believed he actually needed taking care of – he was always so blind to everything. I just figured they needed me more than my country did. Maybe I was wrong, probably even, but that's why I left." They were quiet for a while. He could see Elena try and fit all the new pieces of information into what she already knew of him and figured she was probably failing miserably. It was never easy for people who met him now to console their impression of him with what they learned when they found out about his past. "Anyways," he finally continued, "I got lucky, somewhat, didn't have to serve time, was only punished with a dishonorable discharge and got to go back home. My father of course never spoke to me again, but I guess that was actually an upside to the whole thing. I started going to college and a friend got me a job working as a bodyguard so I could pay my rent and my tuition. That's how it started and then I kind of stuck with it."
Elena was just about to get started on a tirade of follow-up questions, when they heard energetic footsteps round the corner. "Hey guys," came Bonnie's cheerful voice. "Breakfast time."
A/N: Dun…dun…dun… A what and a what? ;) Let me know what you think. Xoxo
P.S.: Come talk to me on twitter, if you're bored: ceruleanvixen