Falling Under (3 page)

I swallowed and waited for the backlash.

But he wasn’t pissed.  His face was curious, though I could see the wheels turning in the back of his eyes.

He cocked his head, “Yeah, did that a few years ago.”

I chewed my bottom lip, watched him from under my lashes, “you’re not pissed?”

He shrugged and the muscles of his broad shoulders rippled beneath the thin cotton of his white tee, “why should I be?” he ask softly.

I winced, “cause I just insulted you and I meant too?” I squeaked.

His green eyes lit up with challenge, a grin lifted the corners of his mobile mouth, “why don’t you come and check out what I do for a living?”

“Oh?” Was this a ploy to get back at me?

“Yep,” he affirmed, his shoulders relaxed, his body confident.

“Ok,” I agreed hesitantly.

He grinned, “How about tomorrow? I’ve got a job over in the next town, Fort Hood, I can pick you up at 6.”

“P.M.?” I queried sensing a trap opening beneath my feet.

His grin widened into a toothy snarl, “A.M.,” his eyes glittered with payback.

“You bastard,” I gritted out.

He laughed, a husky rumble that heated my cheeks and made me feel warm all over.

Thoroughly outmaneuvered, I tried to ignore him and began to chew my thumbnail at the more alarming thought of how I was going to see him without my dad knowing.

I looked hopefully at him, “can you meet me at Dez Hammond’s house?”

The satisfied laughter vanished from his lean face, “what is Dez to you?” his voice dropped to a menacing growl.

There was no denying the uncivilized spark in his green eyes. Jealousy.

I smirked, it was my turn to bask in his discomfort.  I took several seconds before answering, “Dez is my best friend.”

He grunted and studied my smug smile, “you like screwing with me don’t you?”

I flashed a swift grin, “yep,” I purred. I didn’t care of what he could think of my answer.

He eyes became hooded, they gleamed with secret pleasure, “I will warn you just this once, we’re gonna be much more than friends.”

A minute later he was gone. 

I rushed towards the kitchen counter and snatched up the phone.

Chapter five

“I’m gonna spend tonight at Dez’s.”

My dad grunted around a mouthful of the bison burgers I’d made for dinner.

I slid into my seat apposite him and rambled quickly on, “I need to help him with the fence early tomorrow morning.”

He studied me carefully through narrowed eyes and continued to chew, he swallowed, “You and Dez fooling around?”

No!  I almost denied it before it hit me.  My dad’s eyes were calm, uncaring. It hit me. This was what he wanted for me.  Dez.  He was more on my social scale.

I fumed but quickly dropped my eyes to my plate so he wouldn’t see. I ignored the mandarin and arugula salad which covered half my plate, “It’s not like that between us.”

He grunted and scraped back his chair.  He picked up the telephone on the kitchen counter, “Let’s find out from Dez?” The conversation lasted ten seconds.

He came back to the table and reached for his half eaten burger.  He didn’t speak to me again that night but whenever I looked up I could feel his eyes on me.  I walked over to Dez’s after dinner.

I entered Dez’s yard soundlessly.

He met me at the door, a blast of light from inside his living room blinded me for a second.  Lorde’s “Royals,” streamed loudly from his laptop on the brown coffee table.

I drop my overnight bag on the floor and slumped down onto the couch.  Contented I bobbed my head to the awesome tune.

Dez scowled ferociously at me, “I ain’t lying for you again.”

I smiled dreamily up at him, “isn’t that what BFF’s are for?”

He made a disgusted sound in his throat, his eyes snapped, “No Lola, friends have each other’s back and when they’re fucking up they tell them!” He stared pointedly at me.

I dissolved into laughter.  Dez lecturing me about screwing up was indeed a turnabout.

Dez had been a true thug on the streets of Denver before three gunshot wounds convinced him it was enough.

He’d turned up in our sleepy town months later. That had been three years ago.  We’d been friends pretty much the entire time.

I swallowed the last of my chuckles, waved a reassuring hand at him, “Chill out, jeez.  I will actually be sleeping here tonight.”

Dez wasn’t satisfied, “Until he comes for you?” he spat.

“Yes!” I glared at him, “he’s coming tomorrow morning to pick me up.” 

I broke away from Dez’s glowering face and looked on the coffee table. I frowned. Dez usually had a bag of chips and salsa on hand, “where’s the food?”

He didn’t answer. I ignored him and got up. Went to the kitchen and opened the white Fridge.  I pulled out the required items.

He was behind me, hands crossed stubbornly over his heavily muscled chest, “Lola you’re playing with fire.”

I jiggled the jar of hot salsa at him, “you’re right this is too hot, get medium next time.”

“I’m not kidding,” he pushed on, stalking me as I went back to the couch.  I shoved a loaded chip into my mouth.

He sat opposite me. Reached across and snatched a handful of chips, drowned them in salsa and crammed them home.

“He just wants to test something new, that’s all.”

I forced down my last bite, pushed the plate away and turned to him.

He saw my face and winced, “Ah Lola, I ain’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

“Yes you are!”

He raked a hand over his face and groaned, “I’m protecting you!” his dark eyes stormed with frustration, “your dad’s right. He’s bad news.”

A scream tore from my throat. I surged to my feet and dove for my overnight bag.  I charged towards the exit.

“Lola!” Dez was right behind me.

“Screw you!” I raged as I stormed out into the night.

He caught up with me at his half down wooden front gate, “Stop,” he cried out of breath.

I whirled around, stabbed a finger into his thick chest, “I’m eighteen years old,” I screeched into his worried face, “what I do is nobody’s business.”

Dez’s hands flew up in surrender, “Okay, shit, I get it!”

Stubbornly I remained rooted to the spot, my breath coming in spurts.

He let go a deep breath and grabbed the overnight bag out of my clenched fists, “Now you’ve gotten that out please get your ass back inside, it’s freakin cold out here!”  He stomped towards the house.

Early the next morning I found myself seated awkwardly beside Jake in his muddy wrangler. He’d arrived at 6 a.m. on the dot.

The jeep bumped and grinded its way down the county road over depressions the size of black holes.

I fidgeted and was glad that he’d think the jarring ride was the reason.  In front of me the sky was still purple from its nighttime slumber. The air was fresh and brisk on my cheeks.

“Cold?” his amused tone cut right into my thoughts.

“No,” I said too firmly.

A disbelieving brow arched up, “those are delicious apples on your cheeks.”

Busted. I scrubbed at my cheeks, refuse to acknowledge the glimmer in his eyes, “If I need something I’ll ask, okay?”

He chuckled, a warm, deep rumble that drowned out the muted roar of the wrangler’s engine.  He flicked me a look, “I’m pretty sure I’ve got something you want.”

Thoroughly ticked off, I gave him the side-eye, “yeah? What?”

With a sharp motion, he pulled off to the side of the grassy shoulder.

He got out and went around to the back of the jeep. Moments later he reappeared at my side, a brown, woolen blanket in hand.

He didn’t even bother to ask permission, he started to tuck the thick blanket around my legs.

I trembled at the first touch of the rough softness of the blanket.  The hairs on it were fine in spots, scratchy in others. It scraped over my bare legs. I held still and held my breath determined to ignore the sleek mat of his head bent down in front of my legs.  His hands moved swiftly, yet he touched every exposed inch of flesh.

Finally he finished and his head came up.  His face was only two inches away. This close I saw the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes and mouth. What had caused them? Pain? Sorrow? It tugged at me.

Tentatively I reached up, his eyes flared wide, bursting with questions. I touched the tip of my finger to the left corner of his lips, “you should smile more.”

He shifted his head so that his lips grazed deeply against my fingertips, the pressure sent succulent warmth sliding along the nerve endings in my palm, “there’s not much to smile about sometimes,” he admitted quietly.

“Why?” I was prying but I needed answers.

Abruptly he pulled back from me, “don’t pull away,” I cried.

His eyes narrowed, “you know what will happen if I stay this close to you?” he came back closer than we’d been before, centimeters separated us. His eyes blazed into mine daring me to deny the heat that pulsed instantly between us.

I gulped, “Yes,” I confessed embracing what I felt whenever I was around him. It started to become harder to breathe, “I’m pretty sure I know what you want and,” I added beneath my breath, “what I want too.”

But he’d pulled back and I wasn’t sure he heard me. He groaned,  a tortured sound, “you don’t have a clue as to what I want.”

And then he sent me a curve ball. He dove for me.  His face came so fast. I barely caught snatches of the starvation and bitterness that twisted in his eyes. His mouth seized mine, hot, hard and punishing.

He ripped at my seat belt, virtually tearing the buckle open. He plucked me out, snatched me into his arms. I threw my arms about his rigid shoulders.  The blanket on my legs tumbled to the grass.

I ripped my mouth away from the furnace of his, “Jake-”

He sawed off my words.  His lips were hot, silky and utterly addicting.  Just one taste and I was caught.

My throat tightened and I went limp as shudders of ecstasy raged through me.

He groaned and crowded closer, his tongue stabbed into my mouth, tipping my neck back. Locked in his kiss, my lips began to ache, then sting.

I whimpered, shoved against his chest and pushed him away.

His hold on my lips softened, offering me just enough release, I tore my lips away from his.

I gasped, “Jake?” my lips burned and my eyes were wide with confusion.

He tensed and reared back, his eyes were cut crystals, hard and without mercy.

“Oh God, no,” there was shock on his face, “Lola, I’m so sorry,” his voice throbbed.

I gulped, “tell me what’s wrong Jake?”

He didn’t answer. He stepped back. And cold air rushed up my arm, reminding me of the early morning and the empty county road around us.

He turned away from me, his shoulders were stiff, “Do you want me to take you back?” He sounded resigned as if he thought I couldn’t possibly want to stay with him after that kiss.

I ached to go to him but the stiffness of his body told me that he needed his space.  Whatever he was feeling, he wasn’t ready to share.

I picked up the discarded blanket and went back into the jeep, “I don’t want to go back Jake. I know I’m safe with you.”

His head whipped around. Surprise and something that looked a lot like gratitude shone in his sad eyes, then he ducked his head in embarrassment. He slipped back into the wrangler, turned to me, “hold on, we’re already late.”

Chapter six

Thirty minutes later the building site loomed. It sat square and fat at the top of a short, green hill.  A cluster of wild trees sprang up around it. A silver river sluiced through the trees that hugged its feet.

It was the perfect place to build a home. My eyes caught the green and blue signs proclaiming it a Habitat for Humanity home.

I grinned with delight.

“It’s awesome isn’t it?” Jake pulled to a stop in the dirt parking lot around the half-built house with an unfinished two-car garage. Three men were on the roof carefully laying out black shingles.

I nodded eagerly, “who will get this house?”

He went to the back of the wrangler and lifted out a black tool bag, “Melendez family. Dad’s got cancer. Mom works three jobs.”

He grinned at me, “Come on, I’m gonna put you to work.”

A short man with a head of white hair, a tool belt hitched precariously around his ample waist and a tattered clipboard came up to us, “Mornin’ Heathcliff,” he gave me an encouraging smile, “brought extra help today?”

“Hi Andy, this is Lola, she’ll be helping out wherever she’s wanted.”

Andy came over to me, pulled a paint brush from the tool belt at his waist, “can you paint?”

“Yeah,” I took the offered brush.

He passed me the clipboard, “read it and sign.” Then he led me to the back of the house. He stopped beside a ladder that went to the roof.

He gave me a serious once-over, “I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

I wrinkled my nose, “I don’t think so.”

He nodded, “that’s good enough for me.”

He went into the house and came out with a can of primer, his eyes twinkled mischievously, “let’s see what you can do,” he gave it to me and left.

My eyes traveled slowly up the grey expanse of vinyl siding that covered the back of the house. I shrugged, popped the can of primer open with the handle of the brush and began to paint.

Three hours later my arms were trembling.  I fought to raise my hand one last time to finish the strip of siding that stood right above my head.  But my arm wouldn’t go any higher than my shoulder. I winced. Then gave up and dropped it. I leaned forward and sucked in some hot, moist air.

I craned my neck to get a look at the amount of siding left. The unfinished half towered several feet above my head. I groaned in dismay.

“I’ve told you not to make those sounds.”

I was not in the mood. I threw him a nasty scowl, “screw you Jake, you’re not the one whose arm is dead!”

His emerald eyes glittered with actual sympathy, “ouch, that does hurt,” he held out an icy cold water bottle, “want a drink?”