A Penny's Worth (The Cephas Bourdon Series) (16 page)

“Come on; let's sit under this tree.” He dropped his gym bag on the grass and slumped to the ground, leaning against the Big Oak's large trunk. He put his feet on the ground, knees bent. Lifting his hands up, he invited me to sit in front of him. I stood motionless, not sure if I trusted him. Last night he had said he cared about my safety, though. I took a step toward him. But he had lied to me, and he wouldn't tell me what was going on. I decided to chance my fragile emotions. Leaning down, I sat in between his legs and took a deep breath as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

“You can lean back,” he suggested, pulling me closer to him. I set my back against his chest and placed my hands on top of his. Heat rushed through my body. My waist line was alive with the rhythm of his fingers as his hands weaved a trail of ecstasy along my abdomen.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

“Why do you have to make me so nervous?” I argued back, stubbornly holding my head away from his chest. It wasn't supposed to sound that way
—
so irritated, that is
—
but I was so uptight about last night. I couldn't relax.

“You know, you're kind of sassy,” he commented. I smiled a little, but didn't respond.

“I kind of like it. It's kind of turning me on,” he said, mischief in his voice.

“Oh, please,” I replied, drawing my words out in annoyance. I didn't want to turn him on. I wanted him to explain what was going on. We sat quietly for a moment, staring up at the sky from under the Big Oak.

"Are you okay?" he asked carefully.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied curtly.

"W
h
o
a
, w
h
o
a
, w
h
o
a
," he started, pushing my body slightly away and turning me to face him. "I may not have a lot of experience with women, but I know the term 'I'm fine' means the complete opposite." I saw the left corner of his mouth twitch upward. I tried to smile
—
no success.

"Please tell me what's upsetting you," he implored. I had never seen his eyes look so sad before.

"Last night . . ." I looked at the ground, pulling at the blades of grass beside me.

"Which part of last night?" he asked when I didn't continue.

"Who was chasing us?" I asked, unwilling to look in his eyes.

"Nobody," he said firmly.

"But you said
—
"

"I know what I said; it's not a big deal,” he interrupted, as if he never cared.

“What do you mean it's not a big deal? It's a very big deal! Nothing went right because I was so emotional. And then someone chased after us, and you wouldn't tell me the truth! Then you took me home early because I was a wreck.”

“No, I didn't,” he argued, sounding indignant. “I took you home because
—
because . . . well, I can't really tell you why, but the explanation you've concocted has nothing to do with my behavior.”

“Why can't you tell me?”

“I just
—
” he was silent for a moment. What was going through his head? Was he trying to come up with an excuse so I didn't feel like an idiot? That was kind of sweet, but really annoying.

"I told you I couldn't risk telling you
—
you
—
you won't think of me the same," he stammered. In
my
limited experience with men, stuttering meant lying.

"I couldn't leave you alone to go talk to the person because I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."

"What could happen to me in a restaurant?" I asked, my annoyance rising to a whole new level.

"I don't know," he said calmly. He paused a moment as his eyes evidenced a resolute decision.

"Your dad told me to protect you
. H
e acted like you weren't safe for some reason." Yesterday flashed through my mind. My dad had said it would be safer for me if I wasn't alone. I felt my head nodding automatically as my mind began piecing together the story. So he was just following my dad’s orders?

"But why wouldn't you tell me all of this last night?" I asked, furrowing my brows in confusion.

"I couldn't risk it, Em. Then you might figure it out. You might realize
—
" he stopped talking and stared into my face. His eyes swirled blue and green, softening and intensifying all in one moment.

"I'm falling in love with you, Em," he whispered. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped.

"You what?" I asked, disbelief clouding my green eyes.

“There's something else, Em,” he continued anxiously, lacing his fingers through mine. I didn't say anything
,
the words repeated over and over in my head: 'I'm falling in love with you.' Was he serious? Nobody had ever confessed love for me before. Not really.

“When I told you that being a basketball player was my cover, I wasn't lying," he admitted suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. His voice sounded serious, but I laughed, caught off
-
guard by the change of subject.

“What are you talking about? You just took out the best team in the league! You can't pretend that well,” I scoffed, sitting up from our close position as I shoved the worrisome thoughts into the back of my head.

“You'd be surprised,” he muttered.

“Oh, please,” I complained. “We already discovered how bad you are at focusing.” I smirked and turned my body to face him. “Besides, if you were 'under cover,' wouldn't you be pretty stupid to tell a teenage girl about it? We're not exactly good at keeping secrets.” I tucked my hair behind my right ear, laughing to myself.

“You know, you're quite logical about everything,” Cephas said, jumping up behind me; his mood was light now. He pulled me up by the hands, the left corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“I seem to have a problem, and I think you might be able to help me out, since you're quite logical.” He still held my hands, lacing his fingers through each of mine. “I told you I was taught by a private tutor instead of attending a regular high school, right? Well, since I didn't attend a real school, I didn't have the opportunity to become a true . . . whatever schools call it. I believe it's called True Thunder here?” He was grinning now, and I raised one eyebrow, smirking.

“Oh is that what this is all about,” I replied. “I'm just a means to an end, eh? You're living vicariously through me?” I asked playfully.

“Something like that,” he said, pinning me up against the tree.

“I don't think I feel comfortable being used like that.” I looked up, feigning determination.

“I don't believe you have a choice in the matter,” he replied, smirking all the while.

“This situation looks familiar . . ." I ducked beneath his arms and took off running across the grass. I looked behind me. Cephas was in pursuit, chasing me, I was sure, at a much slower speed than he was capable of running. I couldn't help but giggle as I ran around the corner, bounding down some steps and ducking under a low roof. I jumped up over a ledge and around another corner. We were at the school, so the sidewalk was well lit. As I came around the corner, I paused to catch my breath against the red brick wall. A half second later, Cephas rounded the corner and stood in front of me, placing his arms against the wall on either side of me. I braced myself against the hard surface and tried to slow my breathing. I couldn't suppress my giggling, especially as a grin spread across
Cephas’
face.

“You're not a very fast runner,” he said
. H
is breathing seemed barely affected by the sprint.

“I'm not the basketball player
—
or the CIA agent,” I said. He raised one eyebrow.

“That's right. You're the damsel in distress.”

“I'm not in distress,” I argued.

“You're about to be,” he said, eyes sparkling. I saw the left corner of his mouth twitch upward as he took my face in his hands. My breath caught in my throat, and his head dipped slowly toward mine.

“It doesn't count unless it's under the Big Oak,” I mumbled, closing my eyes.

“I don't care,” he whispered. Our lips met in a hard, longing kiss. I could barely kiss him back, for his passionate thirst took control. The roughness of his hands held me still as he worked a euphoria across my lips. He never left my mouth during the exchange, pulling as it were all he could from that single kiss. That feeling of breathlessness washed over me, though somewhat differently than it had over the past few days.
Cephas’
touch, his kiss, his passion, left me thirsting for more with each passing moment. This was a feeling completely foreign to my senses, and I loved it! My growing thirst swelled into a ravaging hunger that could not be subdued. I allowed my arms to slip up around his shoulders and his kiss grew stronger. The tip of his tongue touched my upper lip and I gasped for breath. He tore his mouth from my lips, seeming to get hold of himself. He backed away from me, though only slightly. I saw his chest heave up and down: he was breathing harder now than when he had sprinted after me. After a while, the left corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"You'd better be careful with those," he warned, smirking at me. "You'll give somebody the wrong idea." I narrowed my eyes. Wrong idea? Perhaps he didn’t relish the same euphoria as I during the exchange. Was he just using me? What I knew of his character so far told me to shirk my silly suspicions, but I was too breathless from the moment to clarify his intentions. I wanted to ask him what idea I shouldn't be giving him, but I was too breathless to speak. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it softly. Even if Cephas didn’t mean all he had promised with his lips, those few minutes were more blissful than anything I had imagined, and, though I would be heartbroken in the morning, I sighed contentedly at my luck at owning, even for just a moment, the lips of Cephas Bourdon.

"Let's get you home. I have to get there early tomorrow if I'm gonna save you a seat.”

CHAPTER 9

The trunk slammed shut with a thud. I heaved an overstuffed duffel bag over my shoulder and shut the car door.

"Do you have everything, pumpkin?" my dad called from the other side of the car.

“Yes," I replied, rolling my eyes. Did he have to call me that in public?

"Hey, I need to go speak with your teacher, so I'll meet you on the bus, alright?"

"That's fine," I agreed, walking slowly under the weight of my bag. The line to put bags into the bus was ridiculous, so I walked around the bus. Nobody was on the other side, so I began trying to heave the bag into the storage compartment. I stood, my breath slightly short from a little exertion. A raised voice sounded behind me. Turning quickly, I saw someone standing behind a tree
. A
heated conversation on a cell phone claimed the person’s attention.

"No, he'll be there." Pause. "Of course I'm sure! Perhaps if you wouldn’t have sent James, I would have been more successful." He lowered his voice, so I stepped closer to see who spoke so angrily. He wore a black button
-
up shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

His head was shaven. Cephas? I stepped a little closer, but I didn't want him to notice my eavesdropping.

"No, s
ir; it’s not an excuse. He's coming
—
it's all taken care of." Another pause. "No, not

Tomorrow. G
ive me a little more time. I swear it will all be done by Friday . . . as long as he doesn't screw anything up." He flipped the phone shut and picked up a bag from the ground. I hurriedly leaned over and fumbled with my bag. Standing up straight, I greeted him happily.

"Cephas! Wow, you didn't pack anything, did you?" His backpack looked only half full, and he held a pillow under his arm. He chuckled.

"Boys don't need all . . . that," he gestured toward my duffel bag. "What do you have, twenty pairs of shoes?"

"Just ten," I replied sarcastically, holding out my hand for his bag.

"Oh no, I'll take it inside with me," he insisted, resituating the strap. I shrugged my shoulders.

"So what's going to be done by Friday?" I asked innocently. He must be thinking I heard part of the conversation.

"You heard that phone call?" he asked, pointing toward the tree, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, just that something will be done Friday," I lied. "Sorry, I'm terrible; I enjoy eavesdropping." I smiled sweetly at him.

"Oh," he shrugged his shoulders. "Just that everything with my parents will be taken care of on Friday." He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "Shall we?" he nodded his head at the bus.

"Sure," I replied, following his lead.  What was going on? Cephas had sounded pretty angry. Perhaps his layer/guardian was a pain to deal with. I shrugged off the incident and walked up the commercial bus steps behind Cephas
.
I breathed in the bewitching scent of his cologne. He walked to the back of the bus and picked up a jacket, sitting in its place. I sat next to him in a gray bucket seat, watching as he shoved the jacket under his chair.