Where We Began (Where We Began Duet Book 1) Page 10

  “My gut says I don't know what I'm doing. But white sounds nice. Let's go with that.”

  Looking relieved, the woman tucks the board under her arm. “I'll get back to you with the next decoration choices soon as I can, Miss.”

  She leaves, and I cover my mouth to stifle my laughs. “She called me Miss. No one has done that before.”

  Dominic puts his hand on the table very close to me. I wish he would sit; having him tower over me is reminding me of how he hovered with the same crackling energy while we were in the library, before we kissed. “It's probably the first time you've ever told someone what to do around here,” he says. “They're going to start thinking that you're in charge.”

  I lower my eyes, furrowing my brow. “Except I'm not in charge. I don't have any actual power here.”

  “You have more than you think,” he whispers. The strain in his voice draws my attention back to him. I know he's talking about something other than the staff addressing me with respect.

  “Dominic, I told you. Stop trying to make something happen between us.”

  He pulls air in, then breezes it out, bending closer to me. “You wouldn't have to tell me nothing was going to happen, unless you were worried it was.”

  I'm locked in place, gazing into his eyes and losing myself in the rich molasses color. We're alone in the kitchen. The air should smell like cinnamon and strawberry pastries, but instead it's that wild animal smell he has. A promise that he'll let me know the sounds we'll make in the dark if I peel back my desperate need to protect myself for a single second laid bare. A simple blink, and I could be his.

  Careful to avoid letting any part of me touch him, I glide my chair backwards. “I'm going to go help Wyatt in the preserve. I might be too busy with party planning from here on to spend time there this coming week.”

  “If you need some air, I understand.” His cocky smile gets bigger. He slides into the chair I was in, filling the space with his every muscles flexing. The way I know he wants to fill me.

  His legs spread wide. The kind of slouch an emperor would hold as he sits on a throne and plots how to rule the world. I imagine his skin absorbing the warmth I left behind in the chair.

  He runs a fingertip over his chin. “Weren't you leaving?”

  I shake myself free of the urge I have to climb into his lap. “Yes. Right, I've got to go.”

  Dominic's lips curl into a knowing grin. “I'll see you soon.”

  His cryptic promise licks at my ankles as I jog my way to the fenced-in miniature forest. I wish it were farther away. Leaving this state, this city... the planet might not be enough to slip from his enticing grasp. If I found my way to a hole in the moon, I'd sit there in the dark, still burning with lust for Dominic Bradley.

  “Laiken,” Wyatt says, waving as I approach. He's got the gate open, he must have seen me coming. I dart through then bend over with my hands braced on my thighs, sucking in air. “You look like the devil's chasing you, girl.”

  I shoot him a wary glance. He is, I think. “I just wanted to see you.”

  “Please, I'm not that charming.” Closing the fence, he locks it. “What's happening? Out with it.”

  His bluntness is one of my favorite qualities. “I'm going to be busy for the next week. I'm in charge of planning a party.”

  Wyatt flexes his neck, leaning backwards, like I just turned into a giant snake about to strike. Then, to my shock, he shakes his head and laughs. “That's not what I expected you to say.”

  My smile starts slow then it keeps going. “I know. I'm not the type.”

  “You're not,” he agrees.

  Unsaid words roll between us. I sense he wants to ask me why I'm doing this, and simultaneously, he knows it's not a good reason. We don't talk about my situation, not here. Not in this place. That suits me fine; I don't want Wyatt pitying me for being a kidnapped girl growing up in a stranger's home.

  Overhead, the sky is free of clouds. The symphony of wildlife reaches my ears. Inhaling the earthy scents, I point at the garbage can on the path. “Don't let me slow you down. Put me to work.”

  He breaks his stare. “Someday, you'll realize this is hard work, and you'll regret offering to do it.”

  I smile slyly, because I know I won't.

  Wyatt and I drag the can deeper onto the trail. The only 'trash' is dead branches or sometimes a small animal carcass. There's nothing left by humans here because no one ever visits but us two. As I toss refuse into the can, I'm struck by a question. “I always wanted to ask, but isn't the point of this preserve to be used for hunting? Why have I never seen or heard anyone come out here and shoot a deer?”

  “Wondered that myself. When I moved in and started as the caretaker, the place was already flourishing. Whoever built it had nearly full-grown trees shipped in. It was expensive, for sure. Someone got their money's worth.”

  I muse over what he's said while we work. The sun is high, but the weather has cooled enough that I'm not sweating. October is fading into the next month, bringing orange and red leaves as it goes. Only the pine trees resist with their hardy green needles.

  Thinking about the coming chill brings the party to the forefront of my mind. Next comes Dominic. He's curling through my brain like cloying smoke. He's determined to help me plan the party. I'm glad for that, I can't do it without him. I just don't want to be in the same room as him. When we're yards apart, and he looks at me, I visualize his mouth on mine so powerfully that my tongue gets heavy.

  “Lot of work to be done still,” he says, shading his eyes so he can squint at the sun. “Going to be a cold season. That rain is coming, I promise you.”

  It's been a few days since he warned me about the storms. The trench we dug sits dry as a bone. We'd finished it on the day of my attempted escape. He hasn't asked me about any of it, though he has to know. I appreciate him avoiding the topic. It let's the preserve remain... innocent.

  Thinking of the seasons, of holidays, wedges a thought in me. It sticks in my ribs like a bad meal. I have to toss it out, get it in the open, before it's too late. “Wyatt,” I say, taking a second to gather myself. “Do you know why Dominic never came home during his school breaks?”

  “My guess is his mother didn't want him here.” He drags the garbage to the entrance, gets a new bucket and fills it with food pellets—honey-soaked ones the deer love. “That woman has never been good at hiding her dislike for her own son.”

  I've seen the wretched looks he's talking about. “I don't get how a mom can be that way. Even if she doesn't want him here, what about his dad? Silas must have some say.”

  Wyatt hesitates and dusts his gloves on his smock. “I don't know all the ins and outs, Laiken. Sometimes the answer is as simple as it seems.”

  A pang of anger makes my core clench. “It's awful, the way she treats him.”

  “Maybe,” he murmurs, hoisting the bucket. “Or maybe she sensed he wasn't worth loving.”

  That freezes me in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

  Wyatt's face contorts; he shoots a nervous look around the preserve, then at me. Whatever he sees in my eyes makes him turn away so he can avoid looking at me. “It's not my place to talk about. Forget I said anything.”

  “I can't forget, Wyatt! That's impossible.” I chase after him through the trees. “Dominic can be rough, and I'll admit he's turned into kind of a scary asshole, but to say he's not worth loving by his own mom is just... it's unfair.”

  The older man strides through the preserve. He grunts as we cross over fallen branches, ducking thorns that raise up to assault us. I let him keep his silence as we move towards the feeding area. It's a habit; I always hope to see the deer, and you can't if you're noisy.

  After we fill the grooves in the wooden troughs with pellets, we back away, lingering in the brush. The air vibrates around us—birds chirp, squirrels rustle high above. No deer come, and following Wyatt's cue, we back away towards the entrance.

  We're almost to the gate when he finally speaks ag
ain. His tone is strained, thick with unease. “I can't say why she treated him poorly before he left. That's on her. But if my son had done what he did last year?” He frowns then throws the bucket into the tool shed harder than he needs to. “I would never welcome him back into my home.”

  “What did he do?” I ask, terrified to learn—needing to know.

  “Because you're forced to stay here, you're better off not knowing. But my advice?” Wyatt curls his callused hands at his sides. There's a mixture of disdain in his glistening, shrunken pupils, but beyond that, I see the shadow of terror. “Stay as far away from that man as you possibly can.”

  - Chapter 18 -

  Laiken

  Gold. Silver. Crystal. The choices that Mellie, the party coordinator, keeps bringing me are staggering. After hours spent selecting cutlery and ribbons for the backs of chairs, I think about choking myself with the curly satin strings.

  “You look stressed,” a familiarly unpleasant voice says behind me. Turning, I jump off the wicker couch at the sight of Annie in the sunroom. It's the quietest place I know of, perfect for getting work done. But now that she's here I feel like I'm in a barred prison cell. The sunlight warming my face through the giant windows doesn't help at all.

  Annie's been avoiding me the way Dominic used to. I hadn't seen her at any meals. I'd started wondering if she wasn't in the house at all. Her eyes slip from me, to the pile of papers on the table. “What are you working on?”

  “Just ideas for the party,” I say. I don't stop to think she might not know about it. Dominic said he got approval for us to go forward, there's no way Annie's in the dark.

  She steps closer, resting her fingers on a slip of white silk—fabric for the seat cushions. “You're really putting thought into this, hmm?”

  “Of course.”

  Her dark eyes stab at me. “Of course,” she mocks. Straightening up, she folds her hands behind her back. Though we're the same height now, I always remember how she looked standing over me on the day she stole me away. The way she stared as I said farewell to the people I loved. “You're on your best behavior these days. Ready to do anything, so long as you get what you need out of it.”

  I keep my expression neutral. “Wouldn't you?”

  Annie's painted lips crinkle in the corners. Her frown shifts to something like self-doubt, but I've never known her to question herself—not ever. She looks me over with her head cocked to the left. The peek at her inner thoughts is gone. “You'll need something to wear.”

  “Yes,” I reply, my voice rising from confusion. “I have dresses in my closet.”

  “You don't own anything nice enough for this event.”

  I fight down a snort. Everything I own is stuff you gave me, I think to myself. If it isn't nice enough, that's not on me. But I also have trouble imagining anything nicer than the long dresses hanging in my closet. They're all beautiful, most never worn once. I always resisted unless forced.

  “I'll have some options sent to you,” she says, pulling out her phone, typing.

  “Why do you want to help me?” I ask, thrown off by her actions. I thought she was going to strike me down in this room when she appeared. Now she's making sure I have something nice to wear?

  Annie stops typing. She doesn't look at me, though—her attention is on the phone's screen. “I'm not doing this to help you. I'm doing it to help me.” Lifting her chin, she squints at me, and I feel like a cockroach she's debating crushing under her pointed heel. “This party idea is archaic. However, it is possible for it to work. If we can bring in enough powerful people, woo them with our generosity, getting them on board with our banks, then I want to do everything possible to make that happen.” She shoves her phone into the pocket of her purple, flared jacket. “Men love power. They also love sex.”

  I flush at her statement. “What does that have to do with giving me a dress?”

  Her hips swing as she comes towards me. She's moving with exaggerated motions, driving home a point that climbs its way up to my brain just as she speaks it out loud. “You're very attractive, Laiken. I'm sure you know this.” Her fingers lift, stroking my cheek, making me tremble. Her voice is an odd whisper. “I thought you looked like your dad. As you grow, you're becoming more like her.”

  I can't move. I'm stuck there, frozen by whatever is possessing Annie to behave in a way she never has in my presence. The backs of her polished nails are smooth on my skin, like stones along a riverbed. Her eyes focus on mine; clarity returns, she rips her hand away and backs up. Her shock shifts into fury, like she's humiliated herself, done something stupid, and it's my fault.

  Spinning, she heads for the door at record speed. “The men we want to impress like to see pretty woman in prettier things. I won't have you looking like roadside trash. You'll pick one of the gowns I send to you, that's final.”

  Unable to respond, I watch her leave the room. The sun heats up my shoulders through the window glass. I don't feel it. Not even a single degree.

  I'm too busy remembering how terrifying her nails felt on my cheek.

  AFTER MY LITTLE MEETING with Annie, I struggle to focus on my work. It's impossible, though. The sensation of her touch keeps wriggling into my mind. I can't concentrate; all I want to do is get out of the house. Fresh air and a nice run will shake off my uneasy mood. It always has before.

  I stop at my room to change into some workout clothes. Most of what I wear normally could be called athletic wear, but because I plan to run—and run hard—I slip on a sports bra under the new outfit.

  Bouncing down the hallway to warm-up, I make a beeline for the front door. Before I reach it, I spot movement through the giant windows. I pull up short, my sneakers squeaking.

  Dominic is doing push-ups on the flat cement driveway.

  I'm fascinated by the view. He's wearing a sleeveless tank, the scoop neck displaying the top of his pecs. It stretches over his broad back, his lateral muscles bulging through the wide arm openings.

  Sweat makes his tattoos glisten. It reminds me of an oil painting that's just been created. I wonder how hot his skin is right now. My fingers move to the windowpane; I glance at them, then scold myself and yank my hand down to my side.

  I'm pathetic.

  How can I long for him so badly after Wyatt warned me to stay away?

  At least he can't see me gawking at him. It's especially good he can't hear me, because when he stands up, drinking from a water bottle, spilling it down his shirt so the material clings to him, I groan.

  I'm hopeful that he's done. Then my stomach sinks as he sets the bottle down, grabs the top of the porch's overhang, and begins doing pull-ups. He's exerting himself to the point of grunting. Every tendon under his skin flexes with effort. Is this what he had to do in school? It must be, all those physical drills are the reason he's become so solid.

  I swallow then tap my own cheeks like I'm smacking sense into myself. I really want to go outside and workout, like he is. But if I open the front door he'll see me. Use the kitchen exit, I tell myself. With a final hungry glance at his bare arms, I jog to the kitchen and through the French doors.

  The air outside is a bit cool, in spite of the high sun. November is sweeping in. I love how everything smells so fresh. While I adore summer, there's something special about the gentle march of autumn as it takes over the land.

  The Bradley Estate is around seventy acres in size. It's shaped like a piece of toast, with the two big curves the furthest from the house—this is where the preserve is nestled. There are trees around the entire property that gives it privacy. Most are behind the huge green fence that keeps people out—and me in.

  I start out at a low impact run, enjoying the way the grass cushions the bottom of my shoes. The light windbreaker I put on quickly becomes too warm. My hot breath explodes in the air, leaving white wisps behind me like breadcrumbs.

  It takes me a few minutes before I reach the fence to the west of the house. From this angle, if I look back, I can see the driveway. But I w
ouldn't be able to see Dominic - he was too close to the doors. So there's no reason to look back.

  Inhaling until my lungs burn, I run harder. My muscles are warming up, my pace finding a rhythm. I'm all the way towards the preserve, my blood clapping in my ears, before I hear a twig crack.

  Peering towards the house, I spot Dominic running at me. He's half an acre away, close enough that I can see the determination in his serious face. His hands pump at his sides, slicing the air. His form is perfect.

  It's how he caught me when I tried to escape.

  Is he trying to catch me again? Spurred on by that memory—and my own competitiveness—I face forward and sprint. I don't know why he's coming for me, and I don't care. I planned to avoid him today and that hasn't changed.

  Let him chase me. Let him see what I can really do.

  Picturing the days I would run on all cylinders while racing Kara, I burst over the green yard towards the distant trees. The fence is straight ahead. Dominic's pounding feet are all I can hear, my body coiling hard. I'm about to slam into the green metal.

  At the last second I shift on my heel, darting to the right. I glance back just in time to see him try and copy me. His foot stumbles on some fallen leaves, his shoulder ramming the fence. His shock is delicious; I laugh, and he looks straight at me.

  I almost fall from the power of that stare. Dominic's fingers wrap around the fence, his muscles bulging, glinting in the sun. Using the fence to slingshot him forward, he chases me again. It's different this time. I can sense it in the air, taste it on my tongue.

  Dominic has no plans to let me get away from him. Our game has grown unspoken stakes. I don't know what he wants, but I'm sure if he catches me, he'll get it.

  My chest is struggling as I demand that my body run harder. Every breath is made from fire. Gasping, I shoot a nervous look over my shoulder. I knew he was close, I could hear him, but I didn't know he was just a few feet away.

  His hand swipes out—he's going for my hair. No, not this time! I grab my braid and hold it tight, keeping it near my body as I sprint. The fence is to my left, tree branches overhead drifting red leaves, casting our part of the estate in cool shadows. I'm losing energy. My desire to win our little race isn't enough.