Honest Betrayal by Dara Girard

the gentle night air and the blanket of sky that darkened into a navy blush, Brenna felt trapped. She felt as though the shadows had imprisoned her, the puppeteer becoming the puppet, performing for the joy and pleasure of others. She knew she wasn’t far from wrong.  Wasn’t that what this whole evening was about?
    Hunter sat quietly next to her, his sleeve brushing her bare arm in a soft caress, non-threatening in its innocence. She glanced at him wondering how much longer he could keep up the act. Dodging personal questions and poignant nudges of a more permanent future together. But as usual his expression gave nothing away. Instead she watched how the deepening sunlight touched his face, softening the planes and angles that should have been harsh and hardening a mouth too gentle for such a face.
    She wondered if his face carried the secret to his true nature. A man of deep passions—a fact he denied—with a gentle heart. She brushed the thought aside annoyed with herself. In a few days it wouldn’t matter. They would take their bow, close the curtain to thunderous applause then leave the stage of this illusion forever.
     The wind carried the distant sound of laughter and the scent of lime. Though they were only a few feet from the house she felt miles away. Like most performers on stage they had their own world of secrets and deception.
    “Should we wait until they come for us?” she asked.
    “Probably not.” Hunter’s voice sounded uncommonly deep in the still air. Goosebumps formed on her arms in a delicious tingling sensation. “But I don’t want to move in case that girl pops up again.”
    “Lauren is harmless. She thinks you’re a romantic hero.” Brenna grinned. “A prince charming.”
    “I’ll have no trouble disillusioning her.”
    “I think you will.”
    He turned to her startled. “What?”
    “Thanks for what you did in there.” She put a hand over his mouth before he could speak. “That’s the closest I’ll come to ‘You were right.’” She gestured vaguely to the house. “You really made them believe you’re interested in me.”
    He stared at her a moment then said, “It wasn’t hard to do.”
    Suddenly, he felt closer, larger, with the energy of a stirring storm ready to sweep her away. She sat still and waited. A part of her wanted to be caught up in the hurricane of power that always swirled around him, wondering if she could handle it once it was released. But she knew it was not wise to tangle with forces one did not understand and Brenna certainly didn’t understand him. She stood. “Let’s go inside.”
    He grabbed her wrist. “No. Let’s enjoy the evening some more.”
    A sliver of panic seized her. “But I’m afraid.” She said the words then regretted them.
    Hunter looked puzzled, letting her wrist go. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
    Brenna sat down annoyed with herself. “I’m not afraid of you.” I’m afraid of what I feel for you. What you feel for me . She briefly shut her eyes. What was going on between them? It felt like a mutual need that had no voice. That could never have a voice. She didn’t love him; he didn’t love her. Then why did being with him feel so right, yet so threatening? Why did her instincts seem to be failing her? She thought of another subject. “My mother said she was proud of me.” She laughed without humor, bitterness sharpening her words. “That’s the first time she’s ever said that. All the accomplishments in my life have been boiled down to one achievement—I got a man.”
    Hunter folded his arms and said in a smug tone, “Well, you have to admit I’m a big achievement.”
    Brenna rolled her eyes. “If I wanted hot air, you could fill a balloon.”
    He winced and covered his heart. “I surrender.”
    Brenna laughed at his expression, the tension she felt earlier beginning to ebb. They both fell into a companionable silence. For Brenna the sensation of being trapped soon transformed into something