Chapter FIFTEEN
Skye changed her mind. Back by the road, completely visible to anyone driving by, was where she wanted to be.
She jumped off the fence and Jamison was instantly in front of her, pinning her against the chewed up lower rung.
“Careful,” he said, holding her waist like he was trying to support her.
But was he?
She tried to read his expression, but found him focused solely on her. She poked once again at his memories, going back just a little while, back to the bonfire an hour ago. She got nothing. The blank wall that dropped in front of her made her think of all kinds of freaky, alien scenarios, but they were silly.
It didn't make sense.
Were they defenses? Why would she find defenses in his mind? Why would Jamison be on guard? Unless Lucas had slipped up and Jamison remembered his earlier suspicions, that she and her people were murderers, Jamison had no reason to be...
Did he remember?
She searched his face for a split second, but it was hard to look at a guy when his eyes were closed and his lips were pressed against your own.
He sucked on her lips, her face, buried his nose in the hair behind her ear and breathed her in, as if he were suffocating and she was the air he needed. She imagined tingles spreading beneath her hair.
He pressed his body against her, like he couldn't get near enough, like he was unaware of anything in the world but her.
Holy cow. Was that it? Was she finding it so hard to locate a path into his memories because his mind was completely occupied with her?
If she had an ego, it would inflate and explode.
She smiled over his shoulder as he kissed her neck, pulling her close. It was a lucky thing she had no sensation of what he was doing. She had a good guess of the chemical reaction a mortal girl would be suffering in the same situation, a chemical road Skye could never go down.
Suffering? Of course it would be best to think of it that way. It made it easier not to wish for it. Like some girls pretended chocolate was poison—Skye was on a sensation diet.
Except for the prickling along her skin.
Apparently the blushing camouflage was a package deal, probably to help her know when to react like a mortal should; when her skin felt covered in tiny stars it was time for good girls to blush and step away.
Jamison growled in her ear and she laughed.
“It's not funny, Skye. I want to be alone with you. Just to hold you without thinking someone might pull up at any minute and interrupt.”
Skye stopped smiling. She'd heard such lines before, but they'd never been said to her; she'd been eavesdropping. There went that imaginary ego again, insisting the guy be rewarded for making her feel special. But that, too, was a road she could never go down.
She knew he wanted some physical satisfaction, but she would never be the one to give it to him. However, if kisses could make him happy, she could give him that.
Giddy with relief, sure that Jamison had only been trying to hide his attraction to her, she grinned up at him. He grinned back and took her hand, pulling her back to the road. She had no time to make promises, or exact any. No time to tell him where the lines would be drawn, but she'd make sure he knew that a simple smile carried no promises.
The road churned beneath their feet as they made their way home. He wasn't sharing any plans with her, but she could tell by his speed he had something in mind. He'd probably take her somewhere in his car or into the cornfield where they wouldn't be easily found.
Poor Jamison. She earnestly hoped he wouldn't be too disappointed when she turned out to be different from most girls. But what could he honestly expect from a Somerled chick who probably wasn't even supposed to date anyone but a distant cousin?
Oh, brother, how she hated that assumption. “A bunch of in-breds” couldn't be further from the truth.
At last they passed the Latimer place—dark, deserted, waiting for a new generation of farmer to bring it out of the fifties. Maybe when Kenneth was gone, Lucas would expand, gobble up everything but Jamison and Lori's house, and probably that, too, if the pair moved away again. It should matter little to Skye what would happen then. Her time was near; she'd never know what would become of any of these farms, or the people who owned them.
They passed the fire hydrant. Next would be the canal and Kenneth's driveway entrance.
Jamison slowed and turned down the drive, but he led her between it and the canal, where the grasses silenced their footsteps. They passed the small granary, the spot where the pig shed used to stand, devoid now of the boards that had been piled there for over a year. His shoes crunched a bit on the gravel as they worked their way across the back of the yard, nearing the corral with the loading chute.
The top of the chute came to Jamison’s chest, and as they passed it, something screamed out of the darkness at him. His fast reflexes kept him from getting side-swiped by Geraldo, Kenneth's mean-spirited cat, but still he held on to Skye's hand, as if his life depended on it.
He raised her hand and kissed it, then pulled her around the corner, down past the spent garden planted smack dab between the two large corrals. There were no cars parked this far back, but they could get to the cornfields, out past the windbreak trees.
Skye was a little surprised. As bundled up as Jamison always seemed to be, she would have thought him too cold to want to remain outside, but then she remembered how hot people seemed to get when they were...holding each other. Maybe he hoped to get warm that way.
Maybe he'd be taking her back to her car a lot sooner than he expected.
A breeze nudged the wind chimes on Kenneth's back porch and Skye paused, looking back at the unusually dark yard. She caught sight of Kenneth's pick-up parked under the awning of the west shed. Jamison’s car was parked just beyond that, west of the house. His mom's car was gone.
“Jamison?” She didn't know why she whispered. No one seemed to be around.
“What?”
“How did you get to the school tonight?”
“I got a ride.”
“Why?” What was she missing?
“Long story. I'll tell you later.”
He started pulling her along. When she resisted a little, hoping he would slow down enough to let her think, he turned back to her, his eyes dark and intense. He stepped close and bent his head, to kiss her again, but she covered his lips with her gloved fingers.
“Who gave you a ride?” She moved her hand so he could answer.
“Miss Rachel Phillips.” He grinned. “Jealous?”
She frowned. “Of course not. I was just curious. She doesn't live out here, does she?”
“I don't know. I wasn't interested enough to ask. Then I thought if I hitched a ride in, I could beg a ride back from you.”
That sounded good. She'd buy that.
“Then I decided a nice walk might cool me off. But it didn't.”
He bent and kissed her then, and she imagined the temperature of his lips would be much higher than 98.6. Before she opened her eyes, she was being dragged away again.
They stopped under the tree house where Jamison finally released her hand. He collected the ends of ropes dangling from branches high above their heads.
“Clever boy.”
“You think so?”
“We won't need a ladder to clear the fence, we can just use the ropes.”
“Clear the fence?” He looked at the wall of boards behind him. “What are you talking about?”
“We aren't going into the cornfield?”
He looked genuinely shocked at the idea.
“What for?”
Oh, she was getting very good at blushing, even in the dark.
“To be...um.”
“Alone?” He was grinning. “No. I had a better idea, actually.” He looked up into the darkness. “Ever been inside a real bona fide tree house before?”
He was expecting her to be afraid. Of course a mortal girl might be, so she’d play the part.
“Are you kidding? Do you know how high up that thing is?” Actually, she'd been dying to see the clubhouse since Lucas and Jonathan had spent an afternoon talking about it. They seemed to think it was pretty safe in spite of its age. The climb up sounded like a disaster waiting to happen, for mortals anyway.
“Is Miss Somerled afraid?” Jamison taunted, swinging the end of a rope in a circle.
“Yes, she is. Unless you have an elevator, I'm not going up there, let alone in the dark.”
“Your wish is my command, Miss.” He walked behind the tree and carried out a wood pallet. Ropes were tied to each corner then jumbled together where the end of one rope led up into the sky. “If you sit right in the center and keep yourself balanced, this is your very high-tech elevator.”
She laughed.
“Oh, come on. Try it. I've used it, just this morning, to take up wood for the windows. Lucas helped me.”
“He did?” What was Lucas up to? Why had he not mentioned it to her?
“Yeah. We made a very efficient team.”
“Lucas is nothing if not efficient.”
“So, will you try it?”
“Can't we wait until daylight, Jamison? What if I fall?”
“I'll tell you what. If you haven't got the hang of it by the time I get you four feet off the ground, I'll lower you back down and take you to your car.”
Skye didn't like the sound of that. Either she’d master his contraption, or he'd take her back to her car and be done with her.
She didn't want him to be done with her. Not yet. Not until he asked for more than she wanted, or was capable of giving. She wanted to be wanted, even if she couldn’t be had.
“Fine. But if I fall and die, I'll kill you.”
“It's a deal.”
A few moments and a few artful squeals later, she was seated calmly in the center of the pallet, gripping ropes above her head and being hauled up into the darkness.
“Okay, hold tight. Don't try to climb off, all right?”
“Okay.” She added a whimper for good measure.
“I'm locking the gears, then I'm going to climb up and help you off.”
The pallet jolted, then held firm. Sounds of Jamison climbing to her rescue gave her a little thrill, and she wondered if he could tell she was smiling in the inky shadows beneath the canopy of leaves. He slipped and cursed, then the shuffle of shoe on bark resumed.
“Just about there. Are you okay?”
“Yes. Be careful. I've decided to let you live until you get me on the ground again.”
“Oh, now. You've gotten all the way up here, it would be a shame to not take a look around before going back downstairs, don't you think?”
“Stairs. What a perfectly lovely idea. Maybe I'll stay up here while you build some.”
“Fine by me.”
He was there, steadying her flying carpet.
“Skye?”
“Yeah?”
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”
She’d clamped them shut and gripped the ropes while she’d concentrated on NOT letting Lucas or Jonathan into her head. The last thing she wanted was for this night to be scrutinized and analyzed with her sitting between two Somerleds like a motor being disassembled and the malfunction being identified.
“How do I get off?”
Jamison showed her the branch she could grasp and use to pull herself onto the tree. While she hadn't noticed many footholds along the trunk, there were plenty of thick boards to stand on just below the structure, probably used by the people building the house. A couple of rungs led up to the bottom, but the opening looked to be boarded up.
“How do we get in?”
“Through the door. Watch.” Jamison removed a metal bar from a line of rings and he carefully lowered the door, then tossed the heavy bar up inside, where it landed with a muffled clank. The boards across the door had only been for show. “I'll go up and pull you in after me.”
“Whatever you say.”
His legs disappeared.
Skye had nothing to fear. If she fell off the branches, she'd land gently on the ground; gravity had minimal effect on her. But she’d given a superb performance. In fact, the entire night she'd been just a bit too into the character.
She had to knock it off. After tonight.
“Skye!” Jamison sounded worried.
“I'm here.”
“Good. Come on. Climb up as far as you can, then I'll lift you the rest of the way.” He still sounded worried.
She moved under the hole and grabbed onto the sides of the opening, then climbed up the last two rungs, finding herself seated on the floor of the clubhouse without needing any help from Jamison.
Although the only light came from the gap around her knees, Jamison moved around the pitch black room without bumping into much. Then he was next to her, nudging her to move away from the hole, pulling the door up and sliding the metal rod through something on the top of the door.
“What happened to the windows?”
“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”
He moved behind her and she waited for a flashlight to come on. Her eyes were straining to find some pinpoint of light, some shape a bit darker than the rest, but there was nothing.
His head lowered to her shoulder.
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
He laughed. “Why not?”
“Because you’ve been acting funny all night, and now you won’t turn on a light.”
“I will if you’ll promise to trust me.”
“I can’t make that promise.”
“Are you always so honest?”
“Always.” After all, acting the simpering damsel wasn’t lying, technically. If it had been a sin, she surely wouldn’t have been able to do it.
“Excellent.” He pecked her shoulder. “Well, can you at least pretend to trust me for a minute?”
“Okay. I can pretend.”
“Wonderful. Now, keep pretending.”
He kissed her behind her ear and his mouth moved down the slope of her neck. She was waiting for his hands to head somewhere they shouldn’t, but they didn’t touch her.
“Skye?”
“Um hm.”
“I have your scarf here. Do you want it now?”
“Yes.”
“Reach back and take it.”
“I’m not going to fall for something so lame, Jamison. Hand it to me.”
“Take it. You can’t have it unless you take it.”
She reached behind her with both hands, felt her scarf dangling from around his neck and started to pull. Her right hand was pulled back and a bracelet was snapped onto her wrist. Before she could register anything else but the scarf in her other hand, he’d snapped a bracelet on that wrist as well.
She turned to face him, both hands trapped behind her. There was only blackness. His mouth brushed hers, and when she began to protest, a wad of cloth was stuffed between her teeth. Not rough, but insistent. While her mind reeled at what perversions Jamison might have planned for her, the scarf was taken from her hand and its length draped around her gag then tied behind her head. Her hair got caught in the knot.
He stepped away from her then. Every noise was amplified. A hand sliding over wood. The squeak of a hinge. Small things sprinkled across the floor.
There was a loud scratch; a match flared, a cloud of sulfur rose to the ceiling. Kneeling in front of a long wood box, Jamison lit a single candle, then carefully slid a glass cylinder over it. He turned toward her as he stood.
She dreaded seeing him smile over his little success, but he wasn’t smiling, and he was looking at her as serious as death.
The flame shook, but not from some disturbance in the air—his hands were shaking violently. He watched his shadow quiver on the wall while he moved to a low stool and sat the candle holder back down. Little white sticks seemed to dance on the floor, in unison with the candlelight. He’d spilled the matches.
Skye was very afraid; she was afraid for Jamison.
When he straightened and rubbed his face with both hands, it reminded her she couldn’t do the same.
“Thanks for pretending to trust me.” He looked at her then. And his mind yawned wide open...
Precious Heaven!
He remembered everything.