Lead Him Not Into Temptation (Redemption Book 2) (11 page)

“I can do this. I can do this,” I quietly mumble to myself as the slippery little things slither around my fingers. As quickly as I can, I pull out the plump winner and brush off the stragglers, which have stuck to my hand. “Here, stick him on the hook,” I tell Casen, shoving my wormy hand in his face.

“You’re doing a fine job, go ahead and stick him on,” he says, earning him the crustiest expression I can muster.

“You’re an ass,” I announce as I swipe the pole from his hands. I thought my worm selection would be enough for him, but apparently, I have to completely backwoods it to earn my Boy Scout badge. Squeezing the fishing pole between my knees to hold it still, I carefully grab the line and hold the hook as steady as possible. Casen obviously thinks I’m some rich priss who can’t hold her own. I see this as the best opportunity to show him he’s dead wrong about me.

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.