Текст книги "Lead Him Not Into Temptation"

Автор книги: M. L. Steinbrunn

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

I’ve never needed anyone’s approval, never, but for some reason I can’t explain, I desperately want Casen to see me as something special. I want him to want me, not because I may be an attractive challenge or because he thinks I have mad naked-time skills, but because he sees me as a beautiful seashell in a beach full of rocks. Something he wants to put in his pocket and hold dear. I’m not sure where these touchy-feely inclinations are coming from, but they’re starting to piss me off.

“I can do it, Jen,” Casen says reaching for the pole. “If you hold that worm any longer, I’m afraid you’re going to name it and take it home as a pet,” he jests, noticing my delay and reaching further for the hook.

I immediately pull away from him. “Back off, Captain America. I was just deciding how to jab him so he’ll stay on the hook,” I lie. Casen holds his hands in surrender and backs away to provide the space I need for this disgustingly monumental task.

It’s like threading a needle, I tell myself. This little guy will net me a big honkin’ fish which will be way better than anything Casen can even attempt to catch. Once my mind turns this obstacle into a competitive challenge, my rolling stomach settles and I’m able to focus. Squeezing the meatiest part I can find on him, I follow through with guiding the hook through his wiggly body. I almost dry heave, almost…my pride holds it at bay, but just barely.

Casen slaps me on the back laughing at my gusto. “Well done, sparky. I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.” He takes the rod from me, casts it into the water along with his, and lays a blanket on the shoreline for us to sit on as we wait for dinner to come to us.

“Yeah, well, when my Maximus the Mighty brings in the bigger fish today, you’ll be sorry you ever doubted me,” I explain as I take a seat on the quilted blanket. Henri lies down next to me, resting his head so close I can feel his hot breath on my leg.

“I knew you would name that worm,” Casen chuckles as he sits down.

“I thought if he was going to be executed by racking and eaten by the largest fish in this lake, I should at least give him a name. Maximus seemed like the perfect name for a fishing champion.” I straighten my back as I explain my path to victory, which rests solely on my selection of a creepy crawly from a plastic container.

“If we are going to make this a competition, I think a friendly wager is in order,” he suggests, a smug smile gracing his beautiful face.

I’m used to “friendly wagers” with men; they usually end with someone naked and thoroughly satisfied. In fact, I’m usually the one who extends the challenge. This bet feels different though. By accepting, I may lose more than my panties, and I’m not sure I’m willing to risk more than my current Hanes Her Way specials. As safe as I feel with Casen, there is danger there. He has the power to be everything I never thought I would want, as well as the power to crush what’s left of me. To let him in would be risking myself. The opportunity to drown in him is enticing, though. As carefree as he comes off, I know there is more there. He’s hiding just as much as I am.

“What are you suggesting?” I ask, offering a hint of a smile.

“I want a story,” he leans into me and whispers.

“A story? Like Goldilocks and shit? You don’t have to catch a fish to get my best fairy tale rendition,” I laugh.

“I’m thinking more of a Grimm’s fairytale, but yes, a story. I’ll offer up the same. I’m sure you’re curious about me.”

I look at the tattoos, which cascade down his arms, and I realize I, too, am curious about his past. I know more than anyone does how ink tells a story. I have a feeling his conceals his past, and revealing mine would be worth the trade.

“You’ve got a deal,” I tell him somewhat skeptically, holding out my hand to seal the deal.

He takes my hand in his, and I feel the calluses from his profession. “Prepare to give me everything,” he murmurs, pulling me close to him.

I’ve been fighting to stay under control around this man for the past few months. In this moment as his fluttering of words send shockwaves to my system, I know I’m prepared to give him exactly what he asks for…everything.

Casen

“I don’t know how, but I think you cheated,” Jen pouts as she plops onto the log in front of the campfire. “There’s no way my worm should have lost to those gross smelling salmon eggs.”

“Jen, I’ve been fishing since I was a kid. Your worms didn’t stand a chance. Why do you think I gave them to you to use?” I laugh, but she sees no humor in the situation. She pats Henri on the head to seek comfort for her loss, and dammit if he doesn’t curl up next to her and nudge into her side, the traitor.

I take the foil-wrapped fish from the fire and lay them out on the picnic table to cool. I’ll give Jen credit; she did catch a fish…a single fish. I, however, caught more than enough for both of us and extras to freeze and bring home. I would think she would be pleased with herself that she caught the large rainbow trout and even handled getting the hook out and gutting it herself. She, of course, had some instruction and I thought she was going to throw up on me during the process, but she managed. I was impressed. Her competitive nature has now taken over and she is pissed she lost the bet. Little does she know I had planned on sharing things about myself anyways, to make her comfortable with the information I want from her. She’s hiding from something, and I want to know what it is. I want everything from this saucy woman. Very few know about my childhood; it’s not something I share willingly. Yet, if I expect her to bare herself to me, I feel the need to offer the same to her.

“You jerk, it was supposed to be a fair bet,” she says, giving Hendrix even more attention. Apparently, their time together today has warmed her heart toward the giant dog she hated hours ago. This morning she was willing to eat him, and now they are best buddies.

“I think it was pretty fair, but if you think you were at such a disadvantage, how about I offer something in return? To even things up, I’ll answer a few questions as well. Consider it my olive branch of peace.” I know the minute I proposition her, that I have her. She can’t resist having the upper hand, and I know her well enough to know she thinks by having the power to ask me questions, she is in control of the conversation. I need to offer her a major gesture. Jen is not the type of girl to win over with words; she’s a woman you capture with actions.

“Peace, huh?” she asks, finally giving me her attention as I bring her a plate of fish and roasted potatoes.

“Yup, I’ll give you two questions in exchange for a story,” I answer, as I push Henri away and Jen accepts the dinner I’ve made us. Sitting next to her on the log, I take it as a good sign when she doesn’t slide away from me. Instead, she does the exact opposite. She bumps my knee with her own, causing my eyes to slide to hers and a smile to spread across my face.

“Three questions,” she shoots at me in an attempt to negotiate.

“One,” I fire back, matching her confidence.

“Ugh, fine. Two questions for one story,” she concedes, rolling her eyes and finally taking a bite of her fish.

“How about I let you ask your questions first?” I offer. She nods and focuses her eyes on the crackling fire. While she works through the mental list of things to ask, I relax and dig into my dinner. I’m expecting questions about my music, or her favorite topic of conversation, groupies, or in my case, lack thereof. She doesn’t know much about me, and I doubt she’s cared enough to do any of her own research on my family, so I’m not too concerned about the impending inquisition headed my way.

Jen’s honey eyes, which almost glow in the firelight, move to my direction and pin me in place. Her curly hair is shiny and wild, begging for the touch of my fingers. She’s lacking makeup, but she looks more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen. The sight of her has convinced me a smile is the best makeup a girl could ever have. I struggle to restrain myself from pulling her to me and showering her in the kisses I’ve been holding back since she signed on with the tour at the brewery. Seeing me squirm in the sight of her gorgeous, mangled mess brings a smile to her face and allows her to relax enough to sit back and enjoy her meal. We both know she’s bewitched me, and right now, I would gladly accept any spell on my heart she could throw at me.

Finally, she clears her throat, interrupting my intoxicating daydream. “Didn’t I tell you that you shouldn’t feed that dog human food?” she says, pointing her fork in the direction of my plate. Henri is licking the remaining fish and potatoes I abandoned in order to partake in my apparent daily staring quota.

“No, Hendrix. Bad dog,” I say through gritted teeth. The plate is pretty well licked clean, so I lay it on the ground next to me and turn my attention back to Jen, who finds the whole situation humorous. “My dog had manners before I introduced him to you,” I tell her. “You’ve somehow ruined my best friend.”

Her hand flies to her chest and she pretends to be offended, only to immediately laugh at me. “That dog was spoiled rotten way before I got here. If anything, I’ve reined in his only child syndrome.”

Henri whimpers and lies down near her feet. A bit of jealousy stirs within me. This girl has managed to not only steal my dog, but has me envious of him, which make me feel pathetic.

“All right, ask your damn questions so we can get this over with,” I snap.

“Oh my, are you sure you don’t have the only child syndrome? It looks like you’re struggling with some of those sharing skills.” She laughs, not taking my cue and continuing to jest at my discomfort before settling in to interrogate me. I squint my eyes at her and she finally surrenders.

“Fine. Question one,” she says, squaring her shoulders at me and composing herself into a serious expression. “Why music?”

“Really? That’s all you’ve got? Why do I want to be a musician? I figured you would come up with something better than that. You’re letting me off easy.” Every little boy has a relatively short list of future dream professions. That list usually includes the typical Halloween costumes: a firefighter, police officer, pro athlete; even my little brother wanted to grow up and be a dinosaur. Rock star almost always makes the top ten list, so this seems like a waste of a question.

I have two choices with this question. I could go with the in-depth answer as to why I really chose music as my outlet or I could take the easy road. I see no reason to divulge more than she’s asking for. So, the easy road it is.

“Doesn’t everyone like music? Rock stars are cool, and they usually do pretty well with the ladies.” I inject as much arrogance as possible into my answer hoping she buys it. This is certainly a believable and typical answer, just not exactly the reason why I find safety in music.

“You’re so full of shit,” she chuckles. “You and I both know you don’t play into the groupie game like Royce. To be honest, I think you couldn’t care less if you ever made the big time. You’re not a rock star,” she says, using air quotes. “You’re a man in love with music. I want to know the real reason why.”

Of course, she calls me on my shit of an answer. I hang my head, letting the warmth of the fire absorb into my skin for a minute while gathering the words for my response. I have never shared stories from my childhood. They aren’t pretty, for one. Two, hearing things like that makes people uncomfortable. The most important reason for me is the pity. I hate seeing the look on people’s faces when they find out the life I had. It makes me feel like that scared thirteen-year-old boy again and brings all of the shame rushing back. The last thing I want is to see that look on Jen’s face. I’ve worked my entire adult life at erasing that feeling of embarrassment, and one look from her could make it all wash back over me.

Taking a deep breath, I let the oxygen invade my lungs and hope the air will transform into courage and infiltrate my soul. Jen’s hand slides to mine which are clasped tightly in front of me and she gently begins to stroke my fingers.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable sharing with me,” she whispers. I can hear the hurt in her tone, and when I finally muster the guts to look her in the eyes, the disappointment is there, too. The sadness there makes my stomach twist into knots. Those eyes make me realize I would gladly bathe in an ocean of shame than ever make this woman feel unworthy of knowing me.

“No,” I quickly say, grabbing her hand when she begins to pull it away. “It’s just, to understand why I love music, you have to understand my past and that’s not something I’m used to sharing with people.”

She looks away from me, and I feel the loss of her intense stare. “I get it, Casen. It’s okay; it was a stupid bet anyways.”

Letting go of her hand, I reach for her smooth, rosy cheek and gently force her attention back to me. “Jen, I’m not afraid to tell you about myself,” I tell her with as much conviction as possible. “I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me after you know.” My voice tapers off with each word, but my hand remains on her cheek, my thumb rubbing delicately along her cheekbone.

“We all have a past, Casen,” she murmurs with a light smile. “I figure it’s what keeps us all on an even playing field in the present. If things haven’t worked themselves out or don’t seem fair, karma always has a way of collecting her debts in the future.”

I let her words hang in the air for a moment, allowing her simple life philosophy to sink in before I let my story spill out. “Okay,” I say with a nod. “You know I was raised by my grandmother in a trailer park in northern Colorado. You know we were poor. You don’t know how I ended up there, nor how music was what kept me from going down the same path as my parents.”

Jen sets her plate on the ground, her dinner forgotten. Henri gladly helps her clean the plate, but neither of us bothers to instruct him otherwise. We are both too immersed in the questions I’m willing to answer.

“My parents were not great people. My mom was an exotic dancer with a craving for heroin. The drugs ultimately claimed what little life she had. My dad, on the other hand, managed to keep himself clean in terms of drugs, but he was a brutally mean drunk. He used my mom as a meal ticket, even pimping her on the streets if need be to pay the bills and their addictions. My dad knew how to play guitar and he taught me when I was young. Not as a father son activity. No, he put me on the streets with my guitar to strum up any extra change I could.”

Jen’s eyes haven’t moved from mine, yet thankfully they haven’t filled with regret for me, either. She’s listening, letting my painful past therapeutically flow from me, each word healing a little piece of my brokenness.

“Whenever things got bad,” I continue, “It was the music which gave me an escape from what was going on around me. Whenever my brothers and sisters were crying, it was my music, which calmed them down. Whenever my mom didn’t bring home enough cash, it was my music on the streets, which quieted my father, the beast, saving us all from hours of misery. When you asked why music, there is no simple answer. Music isn’t a hobby or even a profession for me. It’s much more than that. It’s been my escape from the pain, safety from a damaged past, it’s who I am…it’s what I am.”

Jen breathes out heavily, mulling over her response before reacting to my answer. My throat constricts as worry overtakes me. My fear of rejection begins to take hold. But then, she scoots closer to me, so close I’m not sure where I end and she begins. “Our pasts are not who we are, they are events which have happened to us. You’re a good person and I’m proud to be sitting next to you right now. The bumpy road it took you to get here doesn’t change that.”

Relief floods my system as her petite hand moves up and down my arm, comforting me. Suddenly her hand settles on my arm and I instantly know question number two is coming and I know what it will be.

“Go ahead and ask question two,” I tell her, beating her to it. She looks to me surprised, like I wouldn’t guess what the question will be. “Go on, I know what you want to ask.”

She runs her hand up and then down my arm one last time and I close my eyes to fully enjoy the feeling of her skin on mine, even though I know what it is she’s exploring.

“Tell me about the tattoos,” she says. “I don’t need to know about the images; I want to know why you got all of them.” Her resolve is beginning to fade, as she knows the answer. She wants to hear me tell the story; make it real for her.

“I told you my dad was a mean son of a bitch. He never hit my mom; he knew if he banged her up, she couldn’t make him money. Instead, he came after us kids. I was the oldest, I could take more than my brothers and sisters, and so many times I would provoke him to come after me instead of them. He was always coming up with new ways to hurt us, but his favorite was putting his cigarettes out on me. I have scars all over my arms where he would burn me. They became constant reminders of what I came from. When I was old enough, I started getting tattoos to cover the scars. I wanted to be released from the horrors of my childhood.”

I can see she’s trying desperately to hold her emotions at bay, but even Jen isn’t cold enough to be unaffected. A single tear slides down her cheek, and I quickly wipe it away with my fingertips.

“How did you get out of there?” she asks, noticing her tears and swiftly brushing the remainder away.

“In junior high I had to start changing into athletic clothes for PE, which meant no more long-sleeve shirts every day. One of my teachers saw the fresh burns and called social services. Relatives all stepped up and we all were shipped to different people. My grandmother couldn’t handle taking care of the little ones so I went with her. I was thirteen and could pretty much take care of myself.”

“So your dad went to jail then,” she states matter-of-fact, and you would think it would be the safe assumption.

“No.”

Her eyebrows pinch together, irritation and anger spread across her face.

“My mother didn’t want to press charges and none of the kids were willing to testify. As long as the kids were no longer in the home with my father, they didn’t pursue it further.”

“That is not okay,” she insists and I agree. There were no consequences; it was like I endured it all for nothing. I just had to hope life would eventually catch up to him. It eventually did.

“He got what was coming to him, it just took a while. Mom died of an overdose about a year after we all were separated. My dad fell off the deep end after that. He got himself into some bad gambling debts, and well, he double-crossed the wrong person. He disappeared and we never heard from him again, but we all knew what probably happened.”

My eyes have drifted back to the flames. I’m not ready yet to see the look on Jen’s face after hearing my story. Then I feel her hands once again on my arm and move across one of my scars. She brings my arm to her mouth and kisses the damaged skin. The simple act makes all the fear I had been holding onto diminish. She doesn’t need to say anything. I know she accepts me, and I’ve never been more grateful.

We both smile and enjoy a brief moment of peace. I notice her shiver, and I stand to retrieve a blanket from the camper. A now sleeping Henri doesn’t even flinch with my movements. Jen, though, looks at me questioningly.

“Stay put, I’ll be right back.” I grab the warmest, softest blanket I can find and wrap it around her when I return to our campfire. The embers are starting to burn down, so I add another log to the fire and stir it around to get it going again.

“I believe you owe me a story now, my dear,” I tell her, as I settle down next to her once again.

She snuggles down into the red, fleece blanket and turns her body into mine. “Just any story, or do you have something in mind?” she asks.

“I have something I want to know about, but I’m not sure how you’ll feel about telling me.”

Jen looks both nervous and confused. She’s not sure where this is going, I don’t either, but my curiosity to ask is too tempting. As horrible as last night’s attack was, I don’t think it was the cause for Jen’s restless sleep. I can’t help but dig into whatever it is which plagued her dreams. There is something else below the surface, and I feel like I need to know what it is in order to protect her, to have access to her guarded heart.

“While you were asleep last night, I kept checking on you,” I begin to explain. Her left brow raises in concern and I shift gears momentarily. “Not in a creepy stalker way. You had me worried, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I had a horrible night, Casen. Did you expect me to have a glorious sleep and fairytale dreams?” she asks sarcastically, now on the defensive.

“No, but what I saw was something entirely different. The events of last night triggered something for you, something you’ve buried. I want to know that story.”

“There’s no story there,” she states confidently, although her actions suggest otherwise. She will no longer look me in the eyes and her body has moved away from me, allowing an undesired space between us.

“Please don’t lie to me, Jen. I offered complete honesty, even though the truth is terrifying as hell for me. Please don’t play that game with me.”

She still refuses to look at me, but instead of retreating and letting her disengage, I push harder. “Who is Preston? You kept shouting his name in your sleep.”

Her head whips around quickly in my direction to look at me, her eyes wide. Even with the overwhelming warmth of the blanket and the fire to rosy her flesh, all color drains from her face. “What did you say?” she mutters, so low I can barely hear her.

“Preston? Is he a boyfriend, someone who hurt you, someone you lost? He means something to you, I just want to know in what way.” I try to ease my tone, as I don’t know if this person is a good something or bad something. Either way, I feel like I need to know this if I’m ever going to really know her.

“He’s someone I wish I could forget, someone I wish I had never met,” she says through gritted teeth.

“So he’s a past tense?” I ask, searching for a little clarification.

“I haven’t seen him in years, but what he did fucked up so much of my life, every day I battle to forget.” Her lips begin to tremble, but instead of the sadness one would expect, hers is a tremble of anger.

“What happened, Jen?” I say smoothly, moving closer to her and grabbing her hand like she had previously done for me.

“He stole everything from me.” Her anger flares once again. “I lost my family, my friends, and for a long time, my sanity. He’s not someone I care to remember. His name is a reminder of the innocence I lost.”

“Please let me in,” I plead. This is her story and I won’t force her to share it, but I want to be the one who gets past this barrier, this gate which has locked the real Jen away.

She takes a deep breath, and looks away from me as she begins her story. I understand the feeling; this memory is as harmful to her soul as my memories are to mine.

“It was the summer before my senior year of high school. I was so excited to be finishing up and heading off to college. I was a good kid. I never stayed out past curfew, never would have been caught in the back of some guy’s car, I didn’t drink. My father demanded perfection, and I made sure to live up to those expectations. When the most popular guy in school asked me to go to a party, it was a given that I would accept his invitation. I was so excited, my best friend Amber, or at least I thought she was my best friend, was excited for me even though I knew she really liked him. All the girls did.”

I feel my body overheat as I recognize the direction of this story, but I try to hide my anger and disdain for this asshole who broke her.

“What did he do?” I ask as controlled as possible.

“I have no real memory of it. The doctor my aunt took me to said more than likely I’d been drugged. The only people who filled my cup that night was Preston and Amber, so you do the math. I woke up the next morning in my car with torn clothing and a horrible headache. It wasn’t until a few weeks later when I truly understood what happened to me.”

I squeeze her hand, willing her to continue. “What really happened?”

“My father was sent photographs. Horrible pictures,” she mumbles, looking away and brushing a tear from her cheek. It takes her several moments to collect herself enough to continue on. I don’t push, I don’t encourage. I just wait. She needs to tell her story in her own time, without me forcing any more of it out of her.

“I was a good kid, Casen,” she finally says. The sadness dripping from her words weaves into my soul. I can’t help but want to rip out my own heart to give it to her, just to erase this pain of hers. “Those pictures changed everything. The guys’ faces weren’t in the shots, it was only me who could be seen. They had me laid out naked on a kitchen table, doing unimaginable things.”

“Did your parents call the police and press charges?” It seems like a no-brainer type of question, but judging from her reaction to the attack at the concert, there is no simple answer with her.

“It was an election year, and the pictures were meant to scare my father away from campaigning. Instead, my father called in some favors and swept it under the rug. That also meant I needed to disappear.”

All emotion has drained from her as she recounts the rest of the story as if she’s detached herself from it. I can relate. Retell without reliving, it’s how I survived for a long time, but it doesn’t heal anything. She’s avoided dealing with her parents. Just like the other night, she ran.

“Disappear?” I ask.

“I went to live with my aunt to be homeschooled my senior year and then went to college at CSU. My parents pretended like it didn’t happen. Even when I tried to explain, they didn’t believe anything illegal had happened to me. The only one who believed me was my Aunt Maggie. She’s the only one who really cared about me. But you know what? I learned a lot about who I can depend on, and what loyalty means. Now you know why I’m such a bitch. I’d rather be safe than sorry.” She shrugs like the story she just shared is not some big deal. She’s distancing herself again, and it blows my freakin’ mind.

“Hold on here. First of all, you’re not a bitch. Difficult yes, but not a bitch. Second, Preston was one of the guys, but nothing ever happened to him? How is that okay by any stretch of the imagination? Just like the fucker from Friday night, he should be in jail.” I stand from the log and pace in front of her. Henry takes notice and follows me in my continued stride. My pissed level is skyrocketing. I hate that she was hurt, but her acceptance of the lack of consequences takes my anger to a new level of rage. The system doesn’t always work, but I think you have to give it a chance.

“It’s not fucking okay, Casen!” she shouts, jumping up from the log, stopping me mid-pace. “I was a teenager, what was I supposed to do? I don’t have any memory of what happened. I’ve always blamed Preston because he brought me drinks and I was in his care, so I figured he and Amber were the ones who arranged it. This is something I’ve tried to forget about, to move past, and you’re asking me to jump right back into the pile of shit which was my adolescence. No thanks.”

The heat of her anger radiates off her. More than ever, I want to tuck her into my arms and never let her go. I want to make her feel safe, make her feel loved; I want to fill the void, which I now know is there.

“I just want you to feel safe,” I shout back, moving within inches of her. “I want you to know you aren’t alone.”

Silence hangs in the air, the sound of our breathing is all that is noticeable. Before she can reject me, I twist my fingers into her sweatshirt and pull her even closer. “I want you to know you’re wanted. You’re worth it.”

I’m hesitant for a moment, but when I see her eyes bounce to my lips and then to my eyes again, I take it as an invitation to proceed. With as much conviction as I can, I smash my mouth onto her lips. They are as soft as I remember, but now there are remnants of salt from her tears. She opens her mouth, allowing me to explore her more fully. I grasp onto her tightly and let myself get lost in the damaged beauty of this woman.

I lift her tiny body off the ground and her hands immediately wrap around my neck as her fingers crawl into my hair. The sensation of her hands on my body electrifies me, but my mind soon takes over and I know I can’t let it go any farther. This is the most inappropriate thing in the world to be doing after everything she told me. Letting it go past this kiss will make me no better than those other guys.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” I say, dropping her back down to the ground and stepping away. Tears begin to build in her eyes. She looks confused and rejected, and I want nothing more than to get away from that look.

I step closer once more, placing my hands on either side of her face and letting my forehead rest upon hers. “I want you, Jen. More than anything, I want you to be mine. But not like this.” I kiss her forehead and walk away toward the trail, which surrounds the campsite.

Walking away takes every bit of willpower I have, but I refuse to be some guy she would add to the list of douchebags who took advantage of her. I don’t want to be a guy she was with one random weekend. I want to be the guy she’s with forever.