Текст книги "Lead Him Not Into Temptation"
Автор книги: M. L. Steinbrunn
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Jen
Casen has been gone for hours, but I can still feel the tingle on my lips from his kiss. I kiss guys all the time. Wait, that sounds slutty. I’ve kissed many guys in my adult life, and never have any of them made me feel the way Casen does. A single touch from him can make every ounce of my body vibrate with anticipation.
I had hoped he would let his resolve down for just another moment to allow us to explore the flirtation we had been dancing around for months. Instead of staying put and kissing me like I wish he would have, he walked away from me, panting and restraining himself.
Henri has been my companion in the camper. The lug is starting to grow on me. I’ve been tossing and turning, but when I hear the sound of a guitar outside I’m roused from the surprisingly soft bed. I don’t find it as comfortable as it should be without Casen in it with me. I never thought I would admit to wanting a man to stay the night with me in an emotional rather than sexual capacity. Yet, here I am, yearning for Casen in any way I can get him.
I wrap myself in the same fleece blanket from our campfire chat and follow the sound of Casen’s guitar. Quickly closing the door behind me as not to let Hendrix out, I sneak down the steps in a stealth-like manner, which would rival Mission Impossible. Now wearing a grey beanie to keep warm, Casen is sitting on the same log where we had shared our most guarded secrets hours earlier. His eyes are closed, lightly gripping onto his acoustic guitar. It’s the most beautiful sight; it’s like he is the music, the guitar is an extension of his body. This man was born to do this.
It takes a moment to decipher the song he’s playing. “Moonlight Sonata” is one of the most recognizable songs, but I’ve never heard it played on the guitar. I’ve always loved the song; its melancholy rhythm always spoke to me. It had seeped into my soul, like it was written just for me. This version, while different, is mesmerizing.
I don’t want him to notice me and stop playing, so I stand as still as possible at the bottom of the stairs and listen. Closing my eyes, I let the sound envelop me, losing myself in the melody. All time is lost until I hear Casen’s voice boom over the music and my eyes slide open.
“You should be sleeping,” he says, propping his guitar against the log.
“I couldn’t. I was lonely.” I move closer to him. “That was beautiful,” I add, pointing to his instrument.
“I needed to clear my head. Sorry I disturbed you.”
“No, not at all,” I cut him off. “I needed to hear that song tonight. I just wish you would have played it for me in there,” I say suggestively, nodding in the direction of the camper. My bravery momentarily shines through as I add the last line, realizing the words may be the biggest risk of my life. I’ve never been more afraid of rejection than I am right now standing in front of Casen.
He rubs his hands up and down his face and then takes his beanie off and runs his fingers through his soft, messy hair. “Please don’t tempt me, Jen,” he whispers, focusing his eyes on the beanie he’s now weaving through his fingers. “It’s taking every bit of willpower I have not to carry you into that camper and do all the things I hoped of doing since I had my first taste of you.”
I close the distance between us and take his chin in my hand, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “I know you think being with me right now would put you in the same category as every other guy who has hurt me, used me.” I take his hand in mine, lacing our finger together. “You need to understand, though, you’re not taking anything I don’t want to give you.”
Casen delicately kisses the back of my hand and then rests my hand against his cheek. “If we take this step, there’s no going back for me. I want something real, something that is just me and you. Is that something you can give me?”
“I admit I’ve never had that before. Honestly, I had never met a man I wanted for longer than a night. You’re different, Casen. With you, I wouldn’t want anything less than everything.”
I drop my hand from his and wrap the oversized blanket around both of us. All reservations he has fade from his face, and a smile, which clenches my heart, replaces the apprehension. As soon as I smile back, Casen stands and lifts me in the air to carry me back to the camper. There are no more words, just his lips on mine. I wrap my legs around his strong core and hold on to this gorgeous man.
He moves quickly as if he’s afraid if he takes too much time one of us might change our mind. As soon as we’re inside the camper and in the bedroom, we break apart only long enough to chase Henri out of the room. Casen sprawls me out on top of the fluffy duvet, taking a second to stare down at me. Only in a Broncos T-shirt and panties, I would think I would feel self-conscience about Casen perusing my body with his eyes like this, but I don’t. I feel beautiful. No more hiding, no more avoiding my past. I thought he would run when he found out, but he knows my secret and still wants me.
Casen slides out of his shoes and crawls up the bed, eventually caging me in with his solid arms. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” he murmurs as he hovers over me.
I reach up, placing my hands on both sides of his face. “Show me,” I whisper.
He offers no verbal response, only actions. His lips, his hands travel every inch, conquering and devouring my body…my heart…my soul.
I hastily strip off his clothes like a child with a present on Christmas morning, rushed and frenzied. He complies with my feverish demands, but once he’s undressed he grasps my wrists and places them above my head.
“Shh,” he says, burying his face into my neck. “I’m not going anywhere.” He licks and kisses down my neck while his hands move slowly under my shirt. After sliding it over my head, he begins making his way to my panties. Landing soft kisses along the waistband, his hands slowly slip the thin fabric down my legs, provoking a wave of chills across my body.
I’ve never made love. The slow, tender, passionate act is not something I’ve had and I look to Casen for direction. Rough, fast, and lacking all emotion other than lust is what I’m used to. I typically dominate and take what I want. To submit to Casen, to open my Pandora’s Box of emotions is frightening.
I try to calm my nerves as he kisses his way up my body, but when his mouth crashes down once again on mine any leftover fears dwindle. I wrap my legs around his strong body and allow him to melt into me. As the passion of the moment reaches a fevered pitch, my feelings for Casen overwhelm me. His arms feel like my safe haven; I’ve not only discovered my own heart, but I’ve found a home within his.
The sun has started to peek through the small camper windows, and the cool morning air is beginning to filter into the room. Now under the covers, our limbs completely tangled together, we’ve been shifting in and out of sleep for the last few hours. Snuggling and spooning are new to me, but in Casen’s arms, I could lay in this camper forever. I’m sure food can be delivered to us; of course the girls would understand my new life of hibernation.
“Hey you,” Casen says as he kisses my temple.
I simply reply with a smile and cord my fingers with his.
“You know I’m not going to be able to let you go, right? I’m in this for the long haul. Me and you, sparkplug, remember?” His voice is almost pleading, a fear of rejection similar to mine laced in his tone.
“Just me and you,” I reassure him. We lie in a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other’s arms until I rise up on my elbow and ask him the question I’ve wanted the answer to since he first called me the most annoying nickname ever given.
“I have to ask. Why in the hell do you call me sparkplug?” I inquire, lightly scratching my nails along his chest.
“Sometimes I shorten it to sparky,” he replies nonchalantly.
“Exactly. Instead of something sweet like baby or kitten, nope, I get Clark Griswold’s pet name. Other than that usage, every other Jack Russell Terrier in the United States is named Sparky, so I’m not exactly seeing it as a term of endearment.”
“I honestly never thought about that,” he chuckles, wobbling my elbow, which is resting on his chest.
“Well, those are things you have to consider,” I add sarcastically.
Casen rolls onto his side, forcing me to slide off him. A mischievous smile lights up his face. “All right, can I explain?”
I nod, signaling him to continue.
“Jen, you have to understand, you are the feistiest, most stubborn, headstrong woman I’ve ever met. You don’t take shit from anyone, especially me, and yet you are one of the most loyal people I’ve ever come across. I adore you for all those qualities.”
“What does that have to do with—” I begin to ask, but he covers my mouth with two of his fingers, cutting me off.
“Do you know what a sparkplug is?” he asks.
“I know it belongs in a car, but other than that, no.” He gives me a look of disappointment. “Don’t give me that look, Casen Thompson. I’m not the type of girl who rebuilds engines; I have a triple A card for a reason.”
“Never once did you strike me as the type to wield a wrench,” he mocks.
“Ha ha. This better be one hell of an explanation,” I warn teasingly.
“Wait a minute, what’s wrong with the Griswolds?” he teases. I playfully push his shoulder, causing him to laugh.
“You’re such an asshole,” I tell him as I try to hide my own smile.
“I certainly am, but it’s what you like about me. Now hush and let me finish.”
I settle back against the pillows and wait for whatever imaginative creation Casen has concocted for my terrible nickname. I always thought he was poking fun at me when he used it.
“I enjoy cars, not the new pieces of shit made of plastic, but the classics, cars with soul. You know I treat Nelly like my own child. That pickup was nothing more than a rusted out shell of a vehicle when I bought it, and it took years to restore. There is something really cool about finding something which has been abandoned, something which was thrown away and making it shine again.”
I nod in agreement. I may know jack shit about cars, but I feel the same way about my photography. I love capturing those small moments when people don’t think you’re watching. That’s where the real beauty lies, not in anything I could ever pose.
“When I met you, you reminded me so much of Nelly.”
“I reminded you of your truck? Casen, my suggestion would be to offer chocolate and back away slowly. I don’t see this going anywhere complimentary, when the introduction includes you remind me of my once rusty truck I found in a junkyard. Not exactly words which will convince a girl to let you under her hood.”
“You’re killing me, devil woman. Let me finish,” he whines before briefly burying his head in a pillow.
I quietly giggle and then nudge him up. “Sorry, I’m sure this has a fabulous ending.” Yeah, that probably didn’t help contradict the devil woman label. I swear I try to channel my best Mother Theresa, but all that ever comes through is something, which rivals Linda Blair. “Really, keep going. Please. I want to know where the name comes from.”
Casen rolls his eyes, clearly no longer amused with my interruptions and added commentary. “Like I was saying, I kept thinking of Nelly when I was around you. It wasn’t that you reminded me of the actual truck, it was something specific about the truck. I rebuilt everything, my truck was perfect, but I couldn’t get the damn thing to start. I checked and double checked.”
“What was wrong with it?” I ask.
His eyes slide to mine and he grins triumphantly. “The sparkplug,” he announces smoothly. “It’s the tiniest of parts, but if something is wrong with the sparkplug, a vehicle won’t work. When I met you I realized if I let you close enough, you would be my own personal sparkplug.” He grabs my hip and pulls me down to my back and hovers over me. “You’re a massive personality inside this tiny little package. If I didn’t have you or if something were to upset you, my own world wouldn’t work the way it should. I knew you would be that important to me. Am I making better sense?”
I nod and kiss him. Just like that, I don’t mind the nickname anymore. In fact, I now want to hear it more than ever. I’ve never been important to anyone, so for him to see something more than anyone else makes me feel both uncomfortable and special.
Before I can say anything, Casen rips the blanket off me and I yelp from the immediate chill I’m met with. “What the hell?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question. One last one before we have to pack up and return to the real world.” He rubs his hands down my freezing body until he reaches the tattoo on my lower hip. People say tattoos are addictive, but I only have the one and I don’t see that ever changing.
“Tell me the story of this tattoo. I’ve seen a million and a half of those dandelion tattoos with the fuzz floating off into the breeze. This, though, is the yellow dandelion flower. I could understand a rose, or a daisy, even one of those popular lilies, but a dandelion? Most people consider it a weed, not a flower. So, I want the story,” he explains while his fingers trace the outline of my small tattoo. His touch leaves a trail of warmth on my skin, and I silently beg him to continue.
“That’s exactly why I got it. I like to consider myself a person who survives whatever shit pile I step in or get thrown into. I’m not some fragile thing which wilts and dies. Like you said, I’m stubborn. When I decided to get a tattoo to remind myself it’s okay to be a headstrong girl who not everyone is going to like, those popular flowers wouldn’t work. They all need to be taken care of; if their environment isn’t ideal they can’t survive.” As I continue to explain I feel my throat tighten and tears begin to flood my eyes. I rarely cry. I take that back, I don’t cry, but I never talk about my past either, so I guess this attack of the emotions can be expected, but I hold it together. “No, I wanted the weed,” I choke out. “I wanted the plant which people try and kill year after year, yet it continues to return. Its beauty isn’t in the petal. The beauty lies in its will to survive. There was never any indecision, I’m a dandelion.”
I feel a tear get past my defenses and roll down my temple and into my hair. I try to pretend it didn’t happen so Casen won’t notice. No such luck, though. Instead of using his hands to wipe my sadness away, he turns my head toward him and kisses the path of my tear.
“You got part of your description wrong, sparky. You aren’t a weed. You absolutely are a flower. You are the strongest fucking flower I’ve ever met.” His words provoke a few more tears to fall.
Casen then shifts on top of me, and brushes my hair away from my face. “Beautiful inside and out,” he whispers before kissing me and grinding his hips against mine.
When he deepens the kiss, I pull away. “I thought we needed to get ready to leave?” I ask.
“The world can wait. There is nothing outside this camper more important than who is in my arms right now.”
I push him off me, straddling his waist and pinning him to the bed. I lean down as though I’m going to kiss him, but I stall just before reaching him. “Don’t you forget it,” I tell him with a sly smile. Casen chuckles and lifts his head to meet me in the middle. Our bodies meld together and once again passion overtakes us. He was right. The world and everything in it can wait.
Casen
“Thank you for dinner,” she says, placing the key in the lock to her apartment.
I wrap my arms around her tiny waist and smell the coconut scent of her hair. “You are very welcome.” I playfully tickle her sides. “Are you inviting me in for coffee or ‘coffee’?”
She laughs and opens the door. “Why don’t you come on in and we’ll play it by ear,” she says, walking through the doorway.
I follow her into the apartment and take my boots off on the rug in the entry. Collages of black and white photography adorn every wall in her apartment. I was expecting vibrant colors, but instead the cozy one-bedroom is subtle, comfortable, and decorated in shades of light green and lavender. The flowers in the vases are fake, which is not surprising after hearing about Jen’s inability to keep plants alive.
“So now that you have me here, what do you plan to do with me?” I joke as I move into the living room and take a seat on the lush cream-colored sofa. Photography books, fashion magazines, and a few pieces of mail are scattered across the dark brown coffee table, but that is the extent of the clutter in the apartment. Campbell told me about an incident in college when she and Vivian hid her favorite designer heels as a way to teach her a lesson in cleaning up after herself. I guess the girls got their message across, because her place is neat and tidy.
“I haven’t figured that much out yet, I figured a movie or maybe a game. I have a closet full of board games.” She throws her purse on the kitchen counter and disappears into the hallway.
“Playing cards for drinking games are kind of a given hanging out with guys, but other than poker, I haven’t ever played any board games. We really didn’t have those when I was a kid,” I explain.
She returns to the living room with a stack of games in her hand and drops them on the floor in front of me. “Well, you have no choice now, we’re playing a game. I can’t let you continue on without having participated in games like Uno or Yahtzee. That’s just wrong.”
“Hey now, you had never been fishing or camping. I think we are pretty even,” I defend myself, sorting through the game possibilities.
“Whatever. You pick something out while I get us some snacks and drinks.” She stands and takes off toward the kitchen. I hear the fridge open, followed by a great deal of crashing and banging from her direction. I’m interested to see what she comes up with because I know her culinary skills are limited. Unless one counts her ability to order takeout, then she’s a pro.
She returns with big bags of candy, a bowl of popcorn and cans of soda. “I have found us a feast,” she says, obviously fond of her kitchen bounty. “What are we playing?”
I hold up the Yahtzee box and shake the dice inside. “It’s on, woman.”
Taking the red box from me, she instantly starts setting up the game on the floor and explaining the objective. By the time she’s done, I’m convinced this is a game designed by elementary teachers to trick kids into learning addition. Nevertheless, the game seems pretty kickass.
“You want to go first?” I ask, shoving a handful of popcorn in my mouth. Immediately I’m thankful for her selection of extra butter as it helps to mask the burnt taste caused by her leaving the bag in the microwave a little too long. Choking down the final bite, I open my Dr. Pepper and wash down the leftover charcoal. I take a mental note to stick with the numerous bags of candy for the remainder of the evening.
“No, you go ahead,” she says opening her own can, which explodes all over her. “Dammit,” she shouts, attempting to shield herself from the spray of the soda. She stands up and rushes to the kitchen for a towel and I quickly move the game away from the sticky mess. Thankfully, nothing is ruined except maybe Jen’s outfit.
She returns sopping wet with a tea towel and an expression, which clearly says, proceed with caution. “Time out for now, I’m going to take a shower and change into some clean clothes.”
I bite back a laugh at the state of her disarray. “No problem, sparkplug, I’ll catch up on my Cosmo and review my Yahtzee strategies.”
She nods and storms down the hall to her bathroom. It’s not until the water pipes rattle to life that I remember the length of Jen’s typical showers. I may be asleep on the couch before I see her again as I’m looking at a forty-five minute to hour-long wait. To waste some time, and keep myself awake, I find tasks around the apartment to accomplish. I finish cleaning up the soda mess, throw away the ruined popcorn, making sure to make a new bowl so she won’t notice my little switch, and stack the board games up. Those tasks took a total of ten minutes, only ten minutes, and the water is still going strong.
Grabbing the large photography book off the coffee table and plopping onto the couch, I hope the pictures are enough to keep me occupied for the next who knows how long. I flip through the first few pages of buildings and pasture pictures, nothing that speaks to me. I think that’s the inspirational phrase used by artsy types. When I notice a bookmark holding the place of a particular picture in the middle of the book, I find myself hoping Jen has marked something spectacular which will help me justify her purchase of this ungodly expensive, and less than impressive, picture book.
Turning to the marked page, I’m immediately struck by the image on the page. The personal meaning of the photo pulls me in and I feel as though I shouldn’t even be looking at the picture. The picture is meant to be a field of healthy, beautiful roses. What stands out is not the sea of red, though, it’s the lone yellow dandelion which stands against the fray. A weed amongst the flowers…a dandelion amongst the roses. This picture symbolizes Jen and for a split second I contemplate ripping it from the book so I can have it all to myself.
A sense of paranoia overtakes me and I listen intently for the water, which is still running. I begin to put the bookmark back in its place, when I notice it’s not a bookmark at all, it’s a letter from her Aunt Maggie. I know it’s an extreme invasion of privacy, but I can’t help myself from wanting to look at it. The postmark is current, yet the folds of the stationary suggest this letter has been opened and closed several times…probably read many more. This letter has held the place of this picture in her book for a reason.
I slowly open the letter, careful not to rip the thinning pieces of paper. A few photos of a little girl drop out into my lap. They’re the same child at different ages; the newest looks to place the girl at maybe age nine or ten. The little girl in the pictures, if she isn’t Jen as a child, is definitely someone related to her. After examining each photo, I place them back in the envelope and turn my attention to the letter. I listen once more for the shower to make certain I’m safe to proceed and then dive in.
DEAR JEN,
I HOPE THIS LETTER FINDS YOU WELL, MY DEAR. IT HAS BEEN A WHILE SINCE WE LAST SPOKE, BUT I FEEL AS THOUGH THIS LETTER IS LONG OVERDUE. I WANT YOU TO KNOW I LOVE YOU LIKE YOU WERE MY OWN DAUGHTER AND EVERYTHING I’M ABOUT TO TELL YOU I DID OUT OF LOVE FOR YOU.
WHEN YOUR FATHER SENT YOU TO ME ALL THOSE YEARS AGO, I NEVER AGREED WITH WHAT HE WAS FORCING YOU TO DO. CHOICES WERE TAKEN FROM YOU, AND I JUST COULDN’T DO THAT TO YOU. YOUR FATHER GAVE ME LEGAL AUTHORITY TO HANDLE THE ADOPTION, TO DISTANCE HIMSELF FROM EVERYTHING, BUT I NEVER DID AS HE INSTRUCTED.
I FOUND YOUR DIARY AND READ ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS ABOUT THE BABY, HOW YOU WISHED YOU WERE ABLE TO KEEP HER, NO MATTER HOW SHE HAD BEEN CONCEIVED. I READ IF YOU WERE ABLE TO KEEP HER, YOU WOULD NAME HER ABBY. YOUR WORDS BROKE MY HEART. I KNEW YOU WEREN’T READY TO BE A MOTHER, AND YOUR FATHER WOULD NEVER BE ACCEPTING OF WHAT I HAD PLANNED, SO I’VE KEPT THIS SECRET ALL THIS TIME. I THINK IT’S NOW TIME YOU KNEW THE TRUTH.
I ARRANGED THE PAPERWORK AS I WAS INSTRUCTED BY YOUR FATHER, BUT INSTEAD OF ADOPTION PAPERS, YOU SIGNED PAPERS GIVING ME POWER OF ATTORNEY AND GUARDIANSHIP OF YOUR DAUGHTER. AFTER SHE WAS BORN, I SENT HER TO LIVE WITH FRIENDS UNTIL YOU LEFT FOR SCHOOL. THEN SHE CAME TO LIVE WITH ME, WAITING FOR A TIME WHEN YOU COULD BE HER MOTHER. I’M SO SORRY IF THIS ISN’T WHAT YOU WANTED AND FOR NOT TELLING YOU, BUT I DIDN’T SEE ANY OTHER WAY OF SOMEDAY REUNITING YOU WITH YOUR CHILD.
IF YOU’RE READY, ABBY IS READY.
WE LOVE YOU,
AUNT MAGGIE
The words of the letter punch me in the fucking gut. How do I not bring this up, but how can I approach her with it either? I don’t think she’ll act on the situation unless she’s pushed, as evident by the unanswered letter which is falling apart. I can’t let her family slip through her fingers.
“Hey, you ready to play?” I hear Jen’s voice from the end of the hallway.
I shove the envelope and its contents back into the book, lay it on the coffee table, and reach for the bowl of now cold popcorn. I try to remain as unaffected as possible, but I know if I stay I won’t be able to keep myself from asking her about it. I can’t pretend I didn’t read that letter. The only person I can think to ask is Campbell, and I have every intention of calling her tomorrow and gathering as much information as possible about Aunt Maggie.
“Jeeeez, sparky, you were in there forever,” I say with a fake yawn and a stretch. “I’m exhausted, can we just go to bed?” Standing up, I close the distance between us and pull her into my arms. I want to hug her hard enough to fix everything which is broken, give her back all that was taken from her.
“Mmm, you’re not too tired are you?” she sighs, leaning into me.
I kiss her softly, letting her taste and her scent seep into my pores. Her soul crawls under my skin. “I’m never too tired to love you, sparkplug, but tonight I need to just hold you.”
She smiles and entwines her hand with mine and leads me to a place my heart will never return from.
