Burn (The Sinclair Falls Novels Book 1)

by Shae Mallak

  I gasped aloud at the drastic shift of my own thoughts then clamped a hand over my mouth in shock. Jonah arched an eyebrow curiously, reaching up to caress my cheek with the tip of a finger. I stared at him dumbly, my hands still clamped over my mouth. Jonah traced the edges of my hands then tugged them down into my lap. His eyes were pinned on my mouth but he didn't move any closer to me and kept his hand on top of mine in my lap. It felt like I stuck my hands into a hot oven and I half expected to find my skin red and blistering when he finally let go and moved back to his end of the sofa.

  "I know you don't understand," he said softly. "But I really am trying to protect you."

  "By taking me away from my family?" I challenged. "By hauling me up a mountain and boring me to death for the rest of my life?"

  He frowned. "I can protect you better here," he replied. "And I don't mean to bore you, Evelyn, and certainly not for the rest of your life. Whatever you want, you need only ask."

  "I want to be with my family," I retorted.

  He scowled at me. I hadn't meant to start a fight—again—but I couldn't help it. I already missed Ava and Addis. They would be out of school soon and I wouldn't be there to make them do their homework or fix them dinner. Would Dad be there to do those things? Or was he already knee-deep at the gambling tables again?

  "That's not possible," he growled. "Not yet."

  "What do you mean yet?" I snapped. I rolled my eyes and groaned loudly in frustration. "Will you just be straight with me?!"

  "I won't lie to you," he glared back at me, "But I never promised to share everything with you, either. Not if it means keeping you a little bit safer."

  "How is telling me the truth dangerous?" I cried. "That's ridiculous!"

  "Knowledge can be more lethal than a blade," he replied seriously. "But if you're bored," he changed the subject quickly, "I am more than happy to have something delivered for you. What do you usually do in your spare time?" he asked.

  "I don't have spare time," I answered. "I work, take care of the house and the twins, and, on occasion, take care of my dad. "I spend my spare time sleeping. What do you do with your free time? Think up ways to legally kidnap people?"

  "Only the one," he smirked. I glared back at him and he shrugged as if my anger toward him hardly mattered. "I don't get a lot of free time," he replied honestly. "I am, what they call, a workaholic." He chuckled. "I suppose, in that, we are a bit similar. We'll just have to think of things together to pass time."

  "I'll have to think of things," I corrected. "You'll probably be working twenty-four-seven like you have been all day," I snarled.

  "I thought you would want your space while you settle in," he said. "But if you wanted my company, Ev, you only had to ask—"

  "That's not what I meant," I scolded. He laughed and once again my palms itched to slap the stupid grin from his face. "I meant," I moaned, "There's nothing stopping you from continuing on with your life same as usual," I pointed out.

  "There's you, for starters," he said, pointing emphatically at me. "A lot changes for me too, Evelyn, whether you believe me or not. Not only am I responsible for other people besides myself now, but I genuinely—" he stopped himself suddenly, frowning at the upholstery in thought.

  "You genuinely what, Jonah?" I prompted.

  "Nothing," he shook the thought from his head. "Now—" he clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together in anticipation. "Entertainment. It'll be a day or so before I can have anything brought up—which, if you want to make a list, I can deliver up whatever else you like." He stood from the sofa and strode purposely over to the storage closet. "We'll have to start with what we have," he said over his shoulder, disappearing into the closet, then popping his head back out a few moments later and waving the deck of cards in the air at me. "Do you know how to play poker, by chance?" he asked.

  "No," I denied. "I don't know many card games. I've played War and Slap Jack a few times with Addis and Ava, but they're more into video games."

  "But not you," he smirked.

  "Not me," I confirmed. He flashed a wide smile in my direction. "What?" I asked dubiously.

  He was already headed back in my direction and pulling the deck of cards from their cardboard sleeve. There was an oriental dragon design on the back of them and the face cards were painted to look like geishas and Chinese emperors. He shuffled them easily in his hand as he walked past me to the table, glancing back over his shoulder at me and gesturing with his head toward the little table and chairs.

  "I'm going to teach you to play poker," he grinned. I stood up and followed him, hating that it actually sounded like fun.

  NINE

  I stared at the cards in my hand and tried to remember all the rules Jonah had been trying to teach me for the last hour. It didn't seem to matter how many times he repeated the rules or the order of what beats what, I always managed to confuse everything and mess it all up.

  "What'll it be, darlin'?" Jonah drawled. I frowned at my cards, trying to concentrate on the game instead of his frustratingly handsome smirk. He took a swig of beer and watched me struggle for a few more minutes until he finally took pity on me, reaching across the table and hooking a finger over the top edge of my cards and gently tugging them down for him to see.

  "If it were me," he said after studying them for a few short seconds. "I'd trade out these two," he said, tugging on two of them and tossing them on the discard pile. "Do you know why?" he asked. I shook my head. Of course I didn't know why. I was too busy picturing him half naked. "Because low cards are almost always disposable."

  "Almost?" I asked, frowning at the discard pile by his elbow—the one with the tattoo, a bat-like wing fanning up from the joint and disappearing around the other side of his arm.

  "Unless they're part of a straight, or a flush or something like that—part of a bigger picture. But alone," he held up the two of hearts and three of spades he pulled from my hand. "They don't do much." He dealt me two more cards, laying my hand out on the table in front of me. "So? What would you say is your best play?" he asked.

  I quickly refocused my attention on the five cards laying in front of me. I felt like a child in school, trying to take a test I didn't study for. Why was I so bad at this? It was supposed to be a simple card game! I scowled at the cards and tried to think. "Um..." I hesitated. "My two aces?" I guessed.

  "Well, it's not a terrible hand to have if you don't got anything else and have a damn good poker face," he shrugged. "I've won games with less," he chuckled. "But you have neither of those things—" he smirked. He rearranged my cards, separating them out for me to see the pattern. “Full house,” Jonah smiled. How did I not see that? I had a terrible head for poker! Jonah then laid down his own cards. “Two pair," he said, separating his own cards for me as well. "You got me beat, Ev. You know, it’s a good thing this isn’t strip poker or I’d be minus a shirt," he chuckled.

  I couldn't help but imagine Jonah without a shirt. If his biceps were any indication, he probably looked amazing. Defined ab muscles, maybe a little dusting of dark hair across his chest, and his tattoo revealed in its full glory, curled down his arm from shoulder to wrist. I could only see the back legs and the tail where it curled down his arm from beneath his sleeve but was incredibly curious to the see the rest of it. The rest of him.

  “Well, you’re helping me so it doesn’t really count,” I muttered as heat crept across my face and down to my core. How was it possible that I could hate him so much and he could still affect me the way he did?

  “Do you want it to count?” he asked with a smirk. He leaned forward on his elbows, laying his hands a few inches from mine like he was daring me to reach over and touch him. I was mute for too long and he took my silence as confirmation. “Alright,” he grinned, leaning back into his chair and shuffling the deck. “I tell you what, darlin’," he said. "Next hand we play for shirts. You’re on your own—no trial runs, no phone-a-friend,” he warned, and started dealing the cards.

  I stared at the
back of my cards, laying in a haphazard little pile in front of me. “That’s hardly fair,” I said, not looking up at him. “I’m just a beginner—you’ve been doing this a lot longer than me.”

  “Doing what, darlin’?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Taking off shirts? I suppose I have a few years on you,” he shrugged. My head snapped up and I glared at him. “You’ll do fine,” he assured me with a little more seriousness.

  Before my rational brain could stop me, I was picking up my cards and rearranging them in my hand like Jonah had on the table, the game begun. I wasn’t sure why I was agreeing to it—the last thing I wanted was to have to take my shirt off for Jonah. I shouldn’t encourage him by letting him think I wanted his shirt off either! But my hands moved of their own accord and before I could stop myself, we were both showing our cards and Jonah was whipping off his black t-shirt and tossing it at me like I was some fan-girl in a crowd. Not that Jonah wasn't worth fanning over....

  Good grief, my imaginings didn’t do his bare chest justice. I couldn’t stop staring and he didn’t mind the attention one bit, grinning from ear to ear as I gaped at him, my eyes going from collarbone to navel and back again, lingering on the tattoo that covered his left arm. It wasn’t an oriental dragon like the ones on the cards, but looked more like something from a fantasy novel. It was incredibly detailed and extremely well done and, I frowned, looked oddly familiar. Why would his dragon tattoo look familiar?

  “Something wrong, Ev?” he asked.

  “Your tattoo,” I said. He glanced down at his arm curiously then turned questioning eyes back at me. “It’s just—it looks familiar,” I said. “Ridiculous,” I shrugged. Jonah sat down and finished off his beer in a long swig.

  “Round two, then?” he asked once the bottle was drained. He shuffled again and handed me the deck. “Your deal.” I blinked dumbly at the hand holding the fifty-two cards. I shouldn’t have played the first time, let alone agree to a second. I wasn’t likely to be as lucky the next go-round.

  “For what?” I asked warily.

  “I intend to win my shirt back,” he replied, eyeing the pile of black cotton next to me. I carefully pushed it aside after he threw it at me, trying not to think about the warmth it still held from his body. “And yours,” he added.

  My mouth fell open in surprise, even though I really should’ve seen his answer coming. Of course he wanted to get my shirt off. If I had any intelligence whatsoever I would end the game and go back to reading law books or Shakespeare. Anything other than agreeing to a deal with Jonah involving losing my clothes.

  “And if you lose?” I heard myself ask. What the hell was I doing?!

  “Winner’s choice,” he smiled. He held out his arms like he was offering me the world. He flexed his pecs, making them dance and I couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled out of me.

  Once again my impulsive side won over my rational side and we started a second hand. I tried to keep my eyes fixed solely on the cards, but every few seconds they wandered back up to stare at his naked chest. I wanted to trace the curves of his tattoo and trail my fingers across those rigid muscles—

  “Straight,” he declared, splaying his cards on the table victoriously. I glanced down at my terrible hand. Surely he rigged it somehow—cheated me out of my own shirt. The grin on his face told me he knew exactly how awful my cards were, too. I dropped them onto the table, revealing my measly pair of nines.

  He stood and rounded the table in two swift steps, tugging me sideways to kneel between my legs. I just stared at him, not even trying to keep him from what he was about to do. Removing it himself wasn’t part of the deal, after all, but I didn’t stop him.

  Instead, my hand reached up to his shoulder, lightly tracing the edge of the head of the dragon. His own hands were already at my waist, pulling up the hem of my shirt and sliding around and up my back, but stilled when my fingers touched his skin. I traced the backbone of the dragon from his shoulder down to where his wrists brushed against my hip.

  “God, Ev, don’t stop now,” he moaned.

  My eyes shot up to his face as the world crashed back down on me and suddenly I was all too aware of what was happening—what was about to happen. My hand wrapped around his wrist and shoved his hands away from me as I stood and stumbled backward, knocking over my chair in my haste. I stared at him with wide eyes, pulling the hem of my shirt down as far as the fabric would allow.

  “I can’t,” I whispered. “I—I just—I can’t,” I shook my head vigorously.

  Jonah took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “I know,” he nodded, standing and picking up his own shirt from the table. “I’m sorry, Evelyn,” he apologized. He pulled the shirt over his head and quietly left the house.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to him, even though he was too far to hear me. I closed my eyes and several tears streaked my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  TEN

  Jonah didn't go far. I watched him round the house and stalk off into the forest but only for a few minutes before he reemerged. He didn't return to the house, just stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching me through the large glass window that made up the northern wall of his house. I was curled up in a ball on the sofa, staring back.

  I couldn't remember ever meeting anyone who made me feel the way Jonah did. I wasn't usually a moody, emotional person; I tended to fall on the more practical and logical side of the emotional spectrum. Not to mention the ever-present burning attraction for him. I never dated in high school—not by choice—and only went on a few lame dates in college and that one embarrassing one-night-stand I had after a little too much drinking at a party. And, to be honest, I didn't remember much of it. I wasn't the kind of girl who played strip poker with hot, rich men, let alone cry about it. Crying twice in one day had to be a new record for me. Well, since Mom died, anyway. I cried a lot then.

  What would Mom have said about Jonah? About the entire situation? She was always so free-spirited; the complete opposite of my serious-minded, studious father. Well, back then at least. But with Mom, he smiled more. And laughed. I couldn't recall ever seeing my dad laugh except when he was with Mom. When she died, she took his joy with her.

  If Mom were alive, she'd be shooting me saucy winks and telling me to make the most of it. When opportunity knocks, she would say, waving a finger at us with an ornery grin.

  "Always answer the door," I finished her favorite saying with a whisper. I hugged my knees closer to my chest, resting my chin between them and watched Jonah out by the trees. He stood half covered by two large pine trees that stretched higher than the roof of the house, making him look dwarfish in comparison. But there was no mistaking his strength. It radiated off of him like a scent—unmistakable. "I miss you so much, Mommy," I whispered. "What do I do?"

  My reverent silence was broken suddenly by Jonah's phone buzzing on the desk. He had it set to vibrate, but it didn't make it any more quiet than if there was a blaring ringtone. I jumped at the sudden noise and glared across the room at it. When it didn't stop, I groaned and sulked over to turn it to silent or something. I was surprised to find my father's name on the caller ID. I picked up the cell phone, turning to stare at Jonah as if he could read the question in my eyes from such a distance. Like in the poker game, my fingers moved faster than my mind, pressing the green answer button and mumbling a hesitant "Hello?" into the speaker.

  "Evie?" Dad gasped on the other end.

  "Dad?" I volleyed back. "Where are you? Did the twins get home from school okay? Because they have end-of-year projects coming due soon and they can't—"

  "Evie, are you okay?" Dad asked desperately. I blinked a few times, caught completely off guard.

  "I'm fine," I answered honestly. "Where are Addis and Ava?" I asked. "Can I talk to them?"

  "I'm not at home right now, Evie," he admitted.

  "Then who's with the twins?" I cried. "It's nearly dinnertime, Dad! They can barely pour cereal without making a mess! Where are you?"

  "Evie,"
he grumbled. "They're fine. Put Jonah on the phone."

  "But, Dad—"

  "Evie, I need to talk to—"

  The phone was plucked out of my hand from behind and I whirled around and stared up at Jonah. "I'm here, Otto," Jonah announced, already walking away, the conversation continued in low, hushed tones.

  It was the first time all day Jonah had tried to keep me from hearing one of his conversations. It bothered me that it was a conversation with Dad, of all people, that he didn't want me to hear. The phone call was a short one, Jonah hanging up with an angry growl, looking like he was about to throw his phone against the kitchen tiles. He stormed out the door again, pacing along the glass side of the house as he made several more phone calls, far enough away that I couldn't hear a word that was said, bothering me even more.

  When Jonah finally came inside again he was fuming, hot anger rising off him in waves, making me perspire like I was standing outside at midday in July. He stomped upstairs for several minutes, slamming drawers and, from what it sounded like, punching pillows. He stormed back downstairs eventually with a briefcase, pulled open a drawer in his desk and slapped a fat stack of papers inside on top of several other items I couldn't see well enough to identify then he snapped it shut with a groan of frustration.