Free Taken With The Enemy by Tia Fanning

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    Last night, though I had been drinking, I wasn't oblivious. I remembered everything. I knew full well what I was doing. All the alcohol had done was lower my inhibitions, and even then, if I was truly honest with myself, I couldn't claim that it had solely been the alcohol.
    I had been looking for an excuse to open up to him—guilt free.
    It didn't matter. What mattered was my next course of action. What was I going to do when I saw him again? Should I pretend like last night had never happened? Should I talk to him about us? Or should I just ignore him totally?
    Ignore him, my mind screamed.
    Talk to him, my heart interjected.
    My head's throbbing intensified.
    Shower, dress, eat, take a walk, and then decide.
    Rubbing my eyes, I crawled out of bed, trying to will him out of my thoughts. But it didn't work, not after seeing what was waiting for me on the vanity. I picked up the two aspirin and popped them in my mouth, then I uncapped the bottle of water and took deep drink.
    My ever-thoughtful enemy.
    * * * *
    After finishing a simple repast of toast and fruit, I picked up the phone and requested my usual post-meal walk. I knew I had a couple of minutes before my captor would come, so I went to my room and slipped an abaya over my jeans and tank-top, remembering the compliment he gave me the last time he saw me in one.
    I didn't want to examine why I cared.
    I made my decision early, choosing to talk to him about the kissing incident. We were adults and we could do this. It was what adults did. We would have a calm, civil discussion about last night.
    Now I just had to figure out what to say. Obviously, I had to tell him that the kiss could never be repeated. But should we talk about why it happened? Did I dare ask him why he kissed me? Did I dare share why I let him?
    Knock-knock-knock.
    The rapping told me that the armed escort had arrived. After all, my captor never bothered with such formalities. He always just walked in.
    I can't believe he didn't come himself...
    I knew I shouldn't feel disappointed by that, but I was.
    When I answered the door, I looked up, only to see a big grin spread across my escort's face. I almost smiled back, but his shining eyes glimmered with knowing humor, like someone who had some big, funny secret they desperately wanted to share, but couldn't. My cheeks instantly flamed as a flood of memories from the night prior assaulted me.
    Fucking cameras.
    Huffing, I pushed past him and made my way toward the courtyard. My escort followed silently. When we arrived outside, I went straight to the center of the garden, sat my ass on the stone bench, and stared off into the trickling fountain.
    I should have been embarrassed by the things my escort probably had seen, or at the very least, had heard about. And in a way I was. But that was not why I was so hurt. The more I thought about last night, the more I played with the thought that my captor might be avoiding me.
    How ironic.
    What a damn coward.
    I wanted to avoid it all, but I made-or was going to make if he'd been here-an effort to talk about it.
    He could be gone again ... and maybe he just didn't say goodbye?
    I glanced over at my escort, milling about. “Hey, is my captor around?"
    He looked up at me quizzically, as if he had no idea who in the hell I was referring to.
    "You know, my captor. The other guy who usually takes care of me."
    He continued to give me an empty expression.
    There was no way he didn't know who I was talking about. He had to know. I asked a yes or no question, so what was the problem here?
    "Okay, I've only met two of you,” I explained. “I don't know his name. He's my ... my captor. The one who brought me here."
    When my escort winked at me, I finally figured out what he was doing...
    Friggin great. I guess in his mind, I wasn't a prisoner either. I didn't know how he could think otherwise. After all, my escort was carrying a rifle just to walk me around an enclosed courtyard.
    "You know damn well who I'm