Everlong (11 page)

Before either of us compounded the awkwardness of the situation, Emma barreled into the room, catching a glimpse of me, mostly naked, over Clayton’s shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing up here?” Lavender runes crept across her face, swirling angrily as her glamour shorted out in her rage.

The same question had plagued me as well. More to the point, I wondered how he would blame Figment, the seemingly innocent dog, for being caught trespassing.

Clayton’s voice was curt. “I saw my dog run up the stairs and I followed. Finding Madelyn this way was incidental.”

Emma’s pointer fingernail lengthened to a razor-sharp claw. She tapped once against his chest, slicing through the tailored dress shirt like a hot knife through butter. “Incidental? How very convenient. Haven’t you heard of knocking before entering?” she snarled. “You don’t just come barging into other people’s homes. You wait for an invitation.” She tapped again, this time drawing a fine line of blood.

I cleared my throat, hoping to lighten the tension crackling thick and fast between them. “Um, hello? I’m trying to dry off here.” Neither responded, and both ignored the squeak of my bare feet leaving tub for tile.

I cast around for a secondary towel or scrap of clothing. There was nothing besides the empty hamper and the scent of pine cleaner from Emma’s daily cleansing regimen. Abandoning hope of making a concealed getaway, I pulled the towel tighter across my shoulders, turned sideways and slipped through the narrow gap left between Clayton’s body and the doorway.

An almost imperceptible shiver coursed through him. My nipples puckered into tight buds. The slide of skin on skin seared me where I’d brushed past his arm and felt the rake of his coarse hairs over my soft flesh.

His stare branded me like a tangible caress, marking me as his. My legs wobbled unsteadily as I stepped away. Turning, I faced him before dropping my towel, carefully keeping my back to the wall. I slowly pulled panties up my thighs and hooked my bra in front before twisting it around back. Instinct made me seek revenge on his intrusion by teasing his senses with each slow tug of satin over my curves.

Emma snarled threateningly. “Don’t look at her like that.”

He did not avert his face. “Like what?” he asked, his eyes never leaving me.

“Like you just ate dinner and she’s the dessert.” Emma shoved him backwards. “She is untouched—”

This was becoming humiliating. I tuned out their argument as I zipped up jeans and shrugged into a cap-sleeve shirt. Clayton knew Harper and I never physically crossed the finish line. Just like he had to know, because of my stigma, no one else would have wanted me beyond furthering their social aspirations. But still—I’d rather not be present while my virtue was brought up for debate.

The aroma of bacon wafted up from downstairs. My tummy rumbled in response. “I’m heading down for breakfast.” I waited for a response. They ignored me.

Emma crawled into Clayton’s face, twisting her sharpened finger into his chest. “You can’t be a part of her life.” I half expected to see her hand emerge through his back. She was pushing that hard.

He leaned down, bringing them nose to nose. “I won’t hide myself from her any longer.”

I didn’t see what difference it could possibly make. I knew about him now. That cat was out of the bag. “Breakfast anyone?” I grabbed my hairbrush and combed out the long, wet locks. “Any takers?”

I shrugged and left them to it, taking the stairs down to the first floor and walking into the kitchen. Here, the scent of fried bacon, sausage, eggs seasoned with peppers and onions mingled with the fragrance of buttery biscuits cooling on a rack. Even a tiny boiler filled with sugared grits sat cooling off to one side of the stove.

I spooned some of the scrambled mixture onto a plate, then grabbed a clean spoon and added grits, careful not to let the two touch. I snagged a couple of biscuits and poured a glass of milk from the carafe left out on the counter. I pulled my usual chair out with my foot and dropped into it.

I munched casually through my breakfast. The eggs were a little dry, probably from sitting in the pan while Emma charged into my room dead set on apprehending our guest. Today’s crossword puzzle sat in the center of the table with a blue line squiggled off one corner like she’d stopped in the middle of penning her answer, probably when she’d heard me talking to Clayton.

I paused to listen.
I wonder where that pesky Figment got to
. Around me the sounds of a tired old house creaked and groaned. As I swallowed the last mouthful of milk, footsteps, some quick and some slow, descended the stairs. Emma entered the kitchen, gaze darting fervently until she zeroed in on my place at the table. Clayton followed close on her heels with a crimson smear across his rapidly swelling bottom lip.

I gave Emma a quizzical look. She shrugged. “He had it coming.”

“Yip! Yip! Yip!” High-pitched barks heralded Figment’s return. She bounded in like a bunny through a field of clover, stopping to lick Emma’s ankle.

I ignored the dog, which thankfully made no attempt to speak to me. My attention focused on Clayton instead. “Would you like some breakfast?” I pointedly looked at his split lip. “Or some ice to take the swelling down?”

He touched the sore spot, drawing away red-tinged fingers. “No thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“In that case…” Emma smiled at Figment. By the time she looked back at Clayton, her bared teeth were gleaming. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Stop being rude.”

She grumbled under her breath and stabbed a sausage fresh off the hotplate with her fork.

“It’s all right. Emma has never made her feelings for me a secret.”

Emma lifted the impaled link to her lips and snapped it cleanly in half. He didn’t have to shudder. I did it for him. She chewed and skewered another piece. “And you’ve never made a secret of your feelings, either.”

I clapped my hands loudly, bringing their attention back to me. I pointed at Emma, who ignored me in favor of the stove. “Stop the maneater routine and behave.” She began heaping her plate with food. “This is my last day off this week and I would really like to get outside today. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“I can’t.” She poured a glass of milk. “Someone has to go to work today. I’m dropping you off at the inn to spend your off day with Dana sans boyfriend. She has a spare room set up for you and everything.”

I shook my head determinedly. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Dana. Her saccharine sweetness turned my stomach at twenty paces. “I’m not going to the inn.”

Emma carried her plate to the table and slammed it down over her placemat. “You can’t stay out here alone. Think about it. We can’t risk a repeat of what happened Tuesday.”

Clayton crossed his arms over his chest as if preparing for battle. “I’ll stay with her.”

Hope stirred in me, but Emma crushed it flat.

“No, you will not. She will go to Dana’s and like it. You’re the last male she can trust herself to alone. I think you proved that last night.”

I couldn’t handle being the white elephant in the room any longer. I took the front doorknob in hand and turned towards my sister. “I love you, but you are not my mother. I respect that you want to keep me safe, but I am not spending the day with Dana unless it’s shackled to the headboard.”

I ignored the way Clayton’s eyes darkened at my casual reference to bondage. I plucked at my shirt, sweltering under his stare. “I’m going to get some air.”

“Stay on the porch,” Emma yelled at my retreating back.

“Arrgghh!” I punched the screen door open and walked until the tips of my toes curled over the top porch step. Clayton stopped just behind me. Heat rolled off him in waves and broke against my back. I almost leaned into his warmth. I could tell he would have let me.

Clayton stepped aside and gave me room. “So I take it you don’t like Dana.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t have to say anything.” I could hear the smile in his voice. When I didn’t respond, his amusement waned. “You really don’t like her, do you?”

“No, I really don’t. I should like her. Everyone likes her. She’s never done or said anything out of line to me. She’s just too perfect, too perky. It’s not natural.” The words tumbled out, having never been spoken. “You did ask.”

“So I did.” His broad-tipped fingers skimmed my arm. “What about me? Do you like me well enough to pass the day in my company?”

While I debated how wise it was to tell him exactly how much I liked him, I settled on a simple, “Yes.” Then I spied my backpack slumped against the caned back of my rocking chair.

Clayton followed my line of sight. “I found it in the guard shack. I thought I’d return it while I was here.”

“Thank you.” I felt detached from the drama of two days past. Like it had happened to someone else or in one of those Lifetime movies Emma’s always raving about.

“You mentioned wanting to go outside today. Did you mean Emasen or did you have something else in mind?”

I pointed down the snaking driveway where forest encroached on civilization and a wooded peak rose just far enough away you might have thought it was a mirage. “The mountain gives me the kind of peace I can’t find anywhere else.”

My means of obtaining that peace, I chose not to share. He had wings and would understand the rush of standing at the cliff’s edge, feeling a breeze rise up to beckon you forward. He could answer the wind’s call while I could only pretend.

“Is your leg up to it?”

I met his stormy eyes and challenged him. “It gets stronger every minute.” I imitated Dana’s southern-belle accent. “A big, strong male such as your sweet self shouldn’t have any problem keeping up with a little ol’ crippled demoness such as me.” I hadn’t meant to throw that last part in, but it was too late to take the words back now.

“You aren’t crippled.” He reached out, but let his hand fall back to his side. “You were brutalized. It doesn’t change who you are.”

“I know, I know, and I didn’t mean to snap at you.” I straightened my hair so the entire honey-blonde length fell down my back. “I’m just sensitive about it. If you’re serious about taking me, then I’ll go find a button-up to pull on.”

“Are you cold?” His rough hands smoothed up and down my arms, wiping away the slight chill in the early morning air.

“Not really, but…” I stepped away from his warmth. “This top…it’s tight and you can see…them.”

“And you don’t want me to?” His husky words thrilled me when they shouldn’t have.

“Don’t you not want to?”

His soft exhalation ended on a chuckle that seeped into my skin like pure sunshine, warming me to the tips of my bare toes. “Madelyn, you twist my head around until I don’t know what I’m saying or doing around you.”

“Sorry.” My toes flicked away a paint chip from one of the weathered boards.

“Don’t be. You’re a complicated woman. I can appreciate that.”

The
click, click, click
of nails on linoleum brought my attention back to the open front door. I smiled when I realized Clayton had left it open so Emma had a clear view of where we stood. Figment sat in the doorway, whining and flashing somber eyes at me.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad,” I said. “Feel free to go all Chatty Cathy on me.”

The dog’s tail wagged as she hopped up and trotted off to settle across Emma’s feet like a pair of house slippers. She left without uttering a single word. I watched her go, baffled by her silence.

“Figment?” Clayton’s cheeks dimpled. “Why do I think there’s a story behind that?”

I lowered my voice to a bare whisper. “You try being chased through the woods by a khaki-clad nightmare only to be rescued by a talking fox.” I looked back at Figment. “I thought I had gone crazy.” She kept her face on her dainty paws, but her ears perked and leaned in our direction. “The jury is still out on that one, by the way.”

“I didn’t mean for you two to meet like that.” He rubbed a hand across the nape of his neck. “I hadn’t expected you two to meet at all.”

“She was spying on me?” It would explain why our paths had crossed in the woods that night. “You asked her to follow me to the cemetery, didn’t you?”

“No.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, but still I saw them tighten into fists. “She did that on her own. She didn’t tell me anything until she had you safely underground.”

I chewed my bottom lip while digesting the fact that it seemed I owed her my life. “You always refer to her as she. What’s her real name?”

“I’ve never called her anything. It’s not my place.”

“She’s yours, how could you not name her?” I frowned. “What is she anyway?”

“She’s an Aisling, a sentient being of light given into the keeping of one female in every Evanti generation.”

I stated the obvious. “You aren’t female.”

“No,” he said grimly. “When my mother died, the Aisling’s name died with her. There were no females left to take Figment, so she came to me. She is the last of her kind.”

A rush of pity filled me for the annoyingly endearing creature. It was hard being alone, an outcast and different from everyone else. “How did she know where to find me?”

He took the first step down. “Think about it. You’re a half-Evanti female, the only surviving one I can name. By all rights, she should belong to you.” He smiled. “You were the first person she’s shown herself to in longer than I can remember.” He paused on the second step. “Can you wait for a bit? I have to speak with Mason before I can leave.”

“Sure,” I said. “Take your time.”

“Thanks.” He waved to me and gave a high-pitched whistle, calling Figment outside. “Pack whatever supplies you’ll need. I’ll be back in an hour, two hours tops, and we’ll take that hike.”

I watched him settle behind the wheel of his Jeep. The engine roared into life and he drove away. I closed one eye and framed his fire-engine-red Wrangler between my thumb and finger. Pinching them closed, I opened them quickly. He was gone.

Chapter Eleven

The toes of my worn sneakers touched off the porch with every forward rock, kicking me back until momentum swept me downward. I pushed off again, rocked back, repeated.

“You’re going to wear tracks in the porch if you don’t stop soon.” I glanced up as Emma pushed through the front door, pulling it closed behind her. Her lips puckered like she’d been sucking on a lemon. “Clayton said he would come, so he’ll come.” Bitterness laced her words. “He’s nothing if not a male of his word.” An angry tick worked in her cheek.

“What has he ever done to you?” I tugged the hem of her shirt to draw her attention from the road and down to me. “You’re not usually one to hold a grudge.”

She rested a hand on my shoulder. “He watched the person I love most suffer needlessly.” Her grip tightened. “And he did nothing to stop it.”

I stopped rocking. “Me? If anything could have been done to save either of us, any of us, Harper would have done it. He did do it. Clayton doesn’t figure into the equation.” Did he? What did I really know about the resentment simmering between Emma and Clayton? Less than nothing, that’s what. “How could he have helped me? And when?”

Instead of answering, she tugged down her ponytail and offered me the hair band. “It looks like you’ll need this more than I will today.”

I was tired of being ignored, but her sullen expression stalled my brewing rant in its tracks. “What do you mean?” I finger combed my hair and wrapped the rubber band around it. The temptation to pull down the loose knot and allow my hair to cover my back was a nervous twitch in my hand.

Emma pointed down the road where a plume of red dust roared to life, chasing after a partially concealed vehicle. Clayton’s topless Jeep came into sight just ahead of the cloud rolling up the driveway behind him. The tan hardtop was missing, leaving the cab exposed to delicious air currents.

“It’s a pretty day to drive with the top down.” I imagined driving fast enough would feel like flying. And why else would an Evanti drive a convertible? “This should be fun.”

Emma didn’t answer. She did take a half step closer to my chair.

The Jeep rolled to a stop in our yard’s unofficial parking lot, a patch so worn grass gave up on growing there. Clayton unfolded long legs that carried him to where we waited on the porch. He tucked one hand in the front pocket of his pants while the other raked through the windblown tangle of black hair curling with sweat and sticking to his temples.

Serious eyes settled on me. “Are you ready to go?”

Emma pressed my shoulder down with her hand, refusing to let me rise. “Maybe I could stay home today. I could ask Marci or one of the others to cover my shift. They can’t do the closing paperwork, but I could put in a few hours tonight after closing…”

“Emma.” I patted the hand anchoring me in place. “I’ll be fine. Clayton won’t let anything happen to me.” My gaze slid over to the towering male resting a lean, denim-clad hip against the porch’s wooden rail. “Right?”

He waited the span of two heartbeats to reply. One longer than a simple “yes” should have taken. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“See?” I gave Emma’s hand a final squeeze. “I’m in good hands.”

She grumbled as I pried away her fingers. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“We’ll be back in a couple of hours. Should I wait here for you or head to the diner?”

She passed over my backpack, which was stuffed with enough trail mix, water bottles and sunscreen to last a week in the Sahara rather than a few hours on a rock barely qualifying as a mountain. “Come to the diner. I have to start the closeout papers for the month and I don’t want you left alone—period.” Emma sighed, clearly unhappy. “We can eat there before heading home and save ourselves a few dishes.”

“Okay.” I stood and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “See you after awhile.” I barely needed to guide my feet forward. Where Clayton was, I found myself wanting to be.

I forced myself to take slow, measured strides until I reached the porch’s edge. He offered me a warm, firm hand to guide me down the steps, probably thinking pain caused the small tremors and shuffling gate.

The second our skin touched, my mind flashed back to his brother, and the night he’d escorted me to the edge of a grand ballroom, brimming with my mother’s court and seething with eager anticipation. The chill dancing up my spine vibrated through our joined hands. I shook my head, divesting myself of the vision.

“Are you all right?” Clayton cupped his palm against the side of my throat, pausing with his thumb pressed against my pulse, measuring its frantic beats. “We can always do this another day.”

Hope threaded his voice, but I needed fresh air and open spaces and had no qualms about using him to get them. “I’m fine, just getting my sea legs under me.” I turned to Emma, wiggling fingers in a goodbye wave she didn’t notice. Her eyes were locked on Clayton like a sniper with an easy target within range.

Angling my body between Emma’s and Clayton’s, I took the last two steps quickly, bumping into him in my hurry to separate the two. Even with both feet planted firmly on the ground, he kept possession of my hand, interlacing our fingers. Emma kept her eyes glued to that meeting of skin. I tried pulling away, but his grip only tightened.

“You can let go now.”

His lips curved upward in a slow smile. “But I don’t want to.”

Using our joined hands, he tugged me along in his wake, evidently just as eager as I to escape Emma’s gimlet glare. At the Jeep, he released his hold only long enough to open the passenger-side door before settling his hands at my waist.

“Hold on to me.”

My arms circled his neck, linking at his nape and twisting in his hair. “You don’t have to help me, you know. The seat isn’t that far up.”

Clayton ignored me. Digging his fingers into the soft flesh of my hips, he lifted me gently into my seat. His upper body following mine inside the Jeep’s interior.

We stayed that way—Clayton bent over me, linked to me where my hands smoothed over the tense muscles bunching his shoulders. His hands were pinned between my body and the seat, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think for a second I held the advantage.

The cab felt cramped and airless, too small and confining for the desires this male roused in me.

I didn’t want to hold my breath and hope his gaze would seek mine. And when it happened, I didn’t want my lips to telegraph their happiness with a smile, but they did.

Emma called from her station by the front door. “This is not what we agreed on.” Her threat almost succeeded in dousing the fragile happiness igniting inside me. “You’re taking her on a hike, not a date.”

I don’t know if he heard her and didn’t care, or if he didn’t hear and I didn’t care, because he chose that moment to brush his soft lips over mine in a chaste kiss.

I wanted to blame pheromones or nature or circumstance for the wet rush of desire flooding my core, but I knew I would have wanted him the same no matter the time or place he’d found me. I pulled back, breaking the kiss and trembling anew because that knowledge frightened me. I had pined away five years of my life for another male, the brother of the demon whose essence lingered on my lips.

“You taste like citrus,” I said stupidly.

His forehead braced against mine as he chuckled. “And you taste…addictive.”

Our breaths mingled in a pleasant way.

“You did kiss me a lot last night.” I couldn’t help it sounding like an accusation.

His nose bumped mine. “Good-night kisses.”

“And now? What sort of kiss was that?”

“I forgot to kiss you good morning.” His lips covered mine again. “I was…distracted.”

Blood flushed my cheeks, making his Jeep’s paint job pale by comparison. So much for pretending he hadn’t seen me naked. I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“I’ll remember enough for the both of us,” he teased, dimples deeper than I’d ever seen them. “You’re beautiful. All of you.”

I rested a hand on the soft fabric over his chest. His heart hammered against his rib cage. “I don’t know how to do this, how to be with you this way.”

Whatever he might have said was overshadowed by Emma grabbing his leather belt. “Back off,” she said, using the belt to haul Clayton backwards out of the Jeep.

Emma slammed the door shut hard enough to make me jump. Her gaze pinned Clayton to the spot. “Don’t make me regret entrusting her to your care.”

The muscles in his jaw worked, but he bit back whatever words he might have spoken with obvious effort. His eyes met mine, and I had no doubt his attempt at civility was for my sake.

Her hard eyes turned on me. “Be safe. Remember what I taught you.” Her gaze wandered back to Clayton. “If you have to put him down, make sure he doesn’t get back up.”

Clayton turned his back on her and stalked towards the Jeep. I scooted until the door cut into my side, as far away from his anger as I could get, which only incensed him further. “You don’t have to be scared of me. I won’t let myself hurt you.”

I nodded at his far-from-soothing words. They implied he could hurt me. That he had definitely thought about it, or the possibility of it. I swallowed the anxious lump rising in my throat.

Clayton’s head dropped against his seatback, eyes closed, and he inhaled sharply before pushing out a slow exhale, as if cooling his temper. He repeated the process a few times, tilting his face carefully away from me.

Then I understood. The topless ride, his short temper and his failing attempts to curb it. They conveyed his struggle against my pheromonal calling card.

The day was clear and cool, probably cooler than warranted the top being removed. Clayton didn’t want to be trapped with my scent. I sniffed discreetly, but smelled only the spice of his cologne and the Jeep’s new-car smell.

“Are you sure you’re okay to do this?” My hesitancy brought his head up.

“I’m fine.” He twisted the key and the Jeep rumbled to life. He threw it in gear and sped away from where my sister sat on the lowest porch step, holding her head in her hands. I touched the side-view mirror with my finger, stroking her cascade of golden ringlets through the reflection and leaving a smudge behind.

“You’re being quiet.” Wind whistled past my ears, making him raise his voice to be heard over the road noise.

“I don’t really have anything to say.” I picked at the zipper on my backpack, half tempted to pop in ear buds, switch on my iPod and avoid the uncomfortable conversation he’d started. “What about you? You’re not saying much.”

His fingers tightened on the wheel. “I’m thinking. That’s all.”

“Can I ask you something?”

A moment passed. “Yes.”

“If you want to be with me, then I have to ask about Dana.”

When his eyes met mine, they flickered darkly. “Do you really want to know?”

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have pushed, but this mattered to me. It should have mattered to him. “I have to know if you have some sort of relationship with her. The children—”

“Look exactly like their father.” His teeth snapped together hard. “Do you want to know who their sire is?” When I didn’t answer, he snorted derisively. “I didn’t think so. No one really wants to know. They’re too happy whispering behind my back to ask for the truth.”

“Dana has done everything but screen-print paternity T-shirts with your face on them. If it’s not true, then you should set the record straight.” A loose strand of hair whipped around my face, forcing me to catch it and tuck it back in place. “Jacob told me the children were Harper’s.”

Clayton’s eyes darkened still, filling with anguish. “This isn’t about me at all, is it?” He slammed his palms against the wheel. “This is about whether or not Saint Harper jumped the fence during his visits to the colony.”

I shifted in my seat, turning my back to him. “That was cruel, and I didn’t deserve it. Neither did your brother.” Drawing my knees up to my chest, I rested them against my door and fished my iPod from the backpack’s front pouch, uncoiling the tiny earphones and tucking them into my ears.

Heavy metal bouncing inside my head drowned out any possibility for talk. He might have called my name, but I acted like I hadn’t heard. We drove through the suburbs occupied by colonists, then through the more human-rich areas until we were caught by the single red light strung across the town’s only major intersection.

On the street corner, a small assembly of the colony wives stood, waiting to cross as they cuddled newborns or bounced toddlers on their hips. Some clutched bags from the day’s shopping excursion, while others held chubby hands.

While stopped, I took the chance to swap out ear buds, having forgotten about the frayed end of cord attached to my favorite pair. I rooted through the deeper pockets of my bag, searching for the unopened set I’d bought earlier in the week.

Lynn, one of the cooks employed by my sister, paused and tugged on her friend’s sleeve. “Do you see that? Madelyn is in the Jeep with Clayton.” Her friend’s neck craned for a better look. “I wonder if Dana knows.”

The friend clicked her tongue slowly. “He probably feels sorry for her.” The woman bent down to retrieve her bags from the sidewalk. “I heard she’s deformed or something. It’s why she never leaves her house. None of the males want anything to do with her.” Bags in hand, she lobbed her parting shot. “She’s just some hoity-toity princess, too good to socialize with the rest of us. You’d think that apron she wears every day would clue her in on the fact she’s not royalty any longer.”

Lynn shared in the laugh that followed as they crossed the street. She would have to be blind not to realize the top was down and that I’d heard their every word. Tears pricked my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them see me cry. Maybe once Clayton drove off, I could blame them on windburn.

I jumped when his hand landed on my shoulder, startled by the unexpected contact. When I glanced at him, his eyes were soft and troubled. Great, he’d heard the women too.

I didn’t want to hear his two cents, so I tapped my earphones and held up the iPod, hoping he would take the hint. He nodded and looked both ways to make certain the last of the women and children had crossed before reaching over to swipe away a tear I hadn’t noticed falling down my cheek. Illusion ruined, I unplugged and curled up tighter in my seat until my chin stabbed the top of the knee it rested on.