Honeytrap

by Crystal Green

  But he didn’t stop with my hair. He brushed my neck, and my lips parted with a soft gasp.

  I had a choice—smack his hand away or do nothing. And, God help me, my head was swimming, my body lethargic with delight, and I couldn’t bring myself to smack him. Not yet.

  “If you did cut your hair,” he whispered, “you’d look like that girl on screen. Just as blond and pretty.”

  “Yeah, right.” Jean Seberg was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.

  He was still running his thumb over my neck. Could he feel the beat of my pulse? And why was I still letting him do this? It had to be the darkness, which was surreal enough to allow me to deny that he was actually touching me and that we were all part of a movie-world fiction that wouldn’t exist outside the theater. Or maybe I was looking for an excuse to let him continue.

  Lana would let him, I thought, my eyes fluttering closed as his fingertips traveled just below the collar of my sweater, to the dip below my throat, between my collarbones. That sensitive hollow where he’d be able to feel me swallow like the unsure girl I was.

  “So pretty,” he whispered with a low edge. He coasted up my throat again, to my chin, skimming over it, then coming to my mouth with his thumb. He traced my bottom lip, and my eyes flew open.

  This was happening.

  He must’ve sensed my oncoming smack, because he shifted in his chair, sitting up, leaning over until his mouth was next to my ear.

  “Haven’t you ever made out in a movie theater, Shelby?”

  His words were like a caress, warm and soft. I pressed my legs together again, trying to chase away the twisted thrill there. But I wouldn’t let him get the better of me, and I wasn’t going to let him chase me out of here.

  “Of course I have.” Big talk—the kind of talk Lana Peyton would throw around.

  “Then why’re you so prim right now?” he asked, tickling my ear again. His breath smelled like mint gum, as if he’d been preparing for a seduction.

  “I’m not prim. I’m just not interested.”

  “You’re not?”

  He removed his hand from me, but as he did so, his knuckles brushed the side of my breast. I flinched, and under that sweater, I shivered some more, goose bumped and pulse-pounded.

  Had that touch been an accident? I wasn’t sure anything was with him.

  He was still watching me, making me restless, and when he gently slipped his hand under the other side of my face, under my jaw, deftly guiding me toward him, I forget all about resisting him.

  He pressed his mouth against mine and . . . Oh, God—soft, full lips, and he knew how to use them. He sipped at me as I lifted one hand in helpless mercy, my mind swirling with whorls of color, like a black-and-white movie that was blooming with the red of an off-limits desire.

  Slowly—so slowly—he kissed me, leaving me dizzy. He lazily dabbed more tiny kisses to the corner of my lips, then trailed down to my jaw, back up, pressing his mouth against mine harder this time, but not too hard.

  Then again, it was all easy. So damned easy.

  All the while, he stroked my neck with his knuckles, and I instinctively wiggled in my seat, a hunger building in me, pushing me to get closer to him, even as a nudge of common sense shouted from somewhere in my mind to stop. Don’t give in. Don’t go there.

  Then . . .

  Then he pulled away.

  Surprised, I touched my lips, which felt swollen, sensually bruised. He casually settled back into his seat, once again locking his gaze on the movie, where the hero and heroine were lounging around her bedroom, flirting innocently yet dangerously.

  The hood and the schoolgirl, I thought. From screen to reality.

  Suddenly, my surroundings jumped out at me, reminding me where I was: the flickering projector above our heads, the golden angels smiling down at us, the emptiness of the balcony and smell of popcorn, the elderly couple on the lower floor.

  Had Mr. Carmichael, the projectionist, seen us kissing? Had the old couple heard anything?

  Micah whispered again. “Now you can say you’ve made out in a theater—or at least been properly kissed in one.”

  Below us, the old man’s voice sounded. “What’s happening, Dottie?”

  I kept my voice to a nonchalant, soft scratch. “You caught me off guard.”

  “Sure I did.”

  “But nothing’s going to happen beyond this.”

  “Well, Shelby, you’ll be glad to know I’ve got all your concerns covered if something just as unscrupulous does occur.”

  What?

  He kept his gaze forward as he leaned slightly toward me. “I’m talking about how you laid down the law to me last night. I’ve got all those worries of yours solved.”

  I vaguely remembered giving him reasons why we wouldn’t be hooking up. 1) I was not attracted to him. 2) He was bad for my reputation.

  It seemed he’d just blown number one out of the water. I was sure that’s why he’d laid a kiss on me without warning, just to prove I was wrong. Damn him.

  He looked up at me from his slouch, crooking his finger for me to get closer. I refused to, but when he grinned again in that irresistible way that I was having a hell of a time fighting, I sighed in exasperation and slumped in my seat, compromising.

  “Did it ever occur to you,” he said, “that if no one ever sees us together, your whole ‘Micah will make me look bad’ issue goes out the window?”

  Going to private places . . . with him. Kissing in the shadows, feeling his hands on me in the darkness where secrets could stay silent. That damp twist between my legs pierced me, reminding me that the need for him to touch me was even worse than before.

  “Don’t get cocky just because you caught me off guard,” I said, dismissing him.

  “Any way you like it, Angel.” He smiled. “But no one would ever have to know.”

  His words were like foreplay, and my body tightened and pounded harder as he stayed silent, leaving me speechless. I felt plumped down below, like I needed to alleviate the ache, like I’d never relax until that knot there was untied.

  I really should’ve left. I mean, what good would come of my staying?

  No good.

  Because as I kept sitting there, pretending to be engrossed in the onscreen flirting, Micah decided he’d test me some more.

  I didn’t even realize he had changed position until I felt his arm on the back of my chair . . . and his other hand beneath my sweater. He rested his palm on my belly so lightly that it was as if I was only imagining he could be this bold.

  In spite of myself, I squirmed in my seat, getting wetter and wetter as my . . . well, my clit pressed painfully against my shorts, causing friction.

  Clit. That was what Lana would’ve called it with no shame whatsoever. I hadn’t been able to think that way when I was with Rex in person, though. I’d been too aware of everything he would do to turn me on, hoping that when he’d push himself into me, it would feel good.

  But Micah was making me forget about all that as he walked his fingertips across my belly. A sexual jolt made me jump and bury my face against his neck, my lips pressing against his skin as I held back an aroused whimper.

  Micah murmured, “No one would ever know, Shelby. Not even my cousins.”

  “Bullshit,” I whispered against him, turning my head away, wrestling with this awful need that was overwhelming me.

  “Trust me,” he whispered.

  And with the ballsiest move of all, he smoothed his hand down, nestling it between my legs so unexpectedly that I gasped as he pushed up, against the seam of my shorts, rubbing once, twice, making me nearly surge out of my seat. A bolt of pressure steamed through me, and I throbbed harder than ever, the sensation nearly splitting me in half.

  Micah’s mouth was against my ear as he kept his hand against me. My sweater wasn’t hiding an
y of what he was doing anymore.

  “It’s not a bad thing to have secrets.” He nipped at my earlobe, and I bucked again. “Everyone has them. Don’t you want one?”

  I’d already had a big one, and it hadn’t been a good thing. Even so, he was stroking up my belly, over my ribs. He palmed one of my breasts, using his thumb to rub over my blouse. I bit my lip hard, almost out of control.

  “Dammit, Shelby,” he said roughly. “Just say yes.”

  My brain said “no,” but somehow, it wasn’t coming out. Instead, I let him slide into the cup of my summer top. He took my bare nipple between two fingers, stroking it.

  I’d never had a Big O before, so I wasn’t sure what it should feel like when it happened. But I had to be close, everything inside me pressing against itself, contorting with such force that there couldn’t be any other outcome but an explosion.

  A wet, wonderful release.

  But just as I was building, building toward it, I heard something in the background of the balcony. Footsteps?

  Was someone coming up the stairs?

  I pushed Micah’s hands off me and lunged toward a seat a couple of places away from him, my breath coming heavy and hard. It was pure agony between my legs, and as I sat down, I crossed them, squeezing my thighs together harder than ever, my heart thudding so loudly it overcame the jazz music in the movie.

  A woman carrying a cardboard snack tray took a seat to the right, ignoring us. As my gaze cleared, I realized she was the mother of one of my school friends who hadn’t come home for the summer.

  I wasn’t sitting next to Micah anymore, but it was like there was a rubber band between us, an unresolved sexual tension ready to snap and fling us together again.

  All the while, I could feel his eyes on me, burning, telling me that he knew damned well there was hope for him if I’d let him go that far without stopping him.

  Shit—had that really been me in that other chair?

  Unable to stand the weight of his gaze, I left him with my soda and candy. But, as I escaped the balcony, I could’ve sworn I heard him laughing.

  A trap that’d almost caught me.

  9

  By the time I went home, got ready for work, and decided that I needed to put gas in my pickup before I arrived at the café, clouds had rolled in with a chance of rain. I could smell the sulfur in the air and hear the soft rumble of a shower that would cool off the town, at least temporarily.

  But I wasn’t sure how much cooler I’d get from some rain, because I couldn’t forget what I’d done in that theater.

  Micah’s lips on mine . . . his hand beneath my sweater, exploring me and heating me up until I’d given myself away in more than one respect. I’d surrendered more than I should’ve, shown him that I was attracted to him when I’d told him I wasn’t. It was like I’d revealed a poker hand that I’d thought was a winning full house when, all along, he’d been working with four aces.

  How could I have been such an idiot? Why had I let myself go like that when I knew better?

  The worst part about all this was that my body was still reliving every caress, every flush and blush. It didn’t regret a damned thing.

  Just outside my neighborhood, I pulled into the Texaco, which was a mile from Main Street and halfway to the café, squatting on a stretch of lonely road tucked behind Kroger. The sky grumbled while the station’s lights shone a dull yellow against the graying sky. While I filled the tank, I leaned back against my tailgate and fender, wishing the gas would pump faster so I could get to the haven of the café, where I could lose myself in work.

  Mom was going to scold me for taking only a half-assed day off, but if I didn’t busy my brain, I was going to do something stupid like go back to the house and hop on the computer, immersing myself in Rex and my Lana Peyton account. Or maybe I’d daydream some more about Micah’s hands on me.

  God—this fascination would stop soon, right? He was new to me, forbidden. And, damn, that boy could kiss. It was kind of nice to know that about him, even though I’d already guessed he’d be good at it.

  When an old blue Aspen pulled into the station and parked near the convenience store, my thoughts broke apart. The car looked familiar, but then again, what was there in Aidan Falls that didn’t?

  No one got out right away, but the longer I looked at it, the more I was sure I recognized the driver through the rear window.

  Curly black hair. Jadyn Dandritch? Had her shift ended at the grocery store?

  The door opened, and one long, gray-jeaned leg appeared, although she didn’t make a move after that. Had she just now seen me and wanted to avoid me?

  My gas tank wasn’t full yet, so I couldn’t exactly oblige her by leaving, but then she got out of the car all the way, standing still for a moment, fiddling with her keys. I thought she might’ve even glanced over at me, her hair shielding her face, before she got back inside again, leaving her door open.

  Huh.

  Finally, she burst out of her car, shutting the door, striding toward me as the wind picked up a few strands of curls and played with them. She was coming right for me.

  I straightened my spine, because she looked like she had a firm purpose. She stopped about five feet away, lingering near the window wiper station and a trashcan, her hands shoved in her pockets. I wasn’t sure what to make of her.

  “Hey, Jadyn,” I said, standing away from my tailgate.

  Her words rushed out. “I saw you gassing up as I was driving by and . . .”

  Did she even know why she’d turned her car into the Texaco?

  What struck me hard, though, was the fact that Jadyn wasn’t the first person to have spotted my pickup today and wheeled around for me. There was no hiding in this town if someone really wanted to track you down.

  She pushed her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been mulling over our talk this morning, and I’m afraid I came off as rude. I was going to visit you at the café some time to apologize, but since you’re here, I decided to get this off my chest.”

  “Okay.” The gas pump clicked off, but I didn’t go to set the nozzle back in its holder. “You were fine this morning, though. Really. I wasn’t offended.”

  Jadyn seemed to be pre-programmed for saying sorry, come hell or high water. “I got to thinking that I shouldn’t alienate anyone who doesn’t treat me like a used rag, so . . .” She took one hand out of her pocket and gestured helplessly with it. “This is me officially apologizing.”

  I felt sorry for her, this girl who’d been on Cloud 9 with Rex for a short time until Micah Wyatt had intervened. I knew just how persuasive he could be. “And I’m sorry we’re both being put under a microscope by the nosiest people in the world,” I said. “Everyone here has something to say about everything, starting with their beef and ending with their sports heroes.”

  She smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her do that since she’d made a graduation speech as the outgoing president of our senior class.

  “I’m sure you have friends who support you,” I said. “You never lacked for those.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “Friends move on—or sometimes you realize you actually didn’t have many of them in the first place.”

  “All of them . . . They just dropped you?”

  “My best friends already have internships this summer, and they only came by town to say hi before they got down to professional business elsewhere.” She had always run with the ambitious crowd—student council, FFA, Beta Club members. But instead of going to a university like them, she’d stayed behind, taking care of her elderly uncle. “The rest of my friends . . . ? It appears they think I changed for the worse, so they’ve kept their distance so far.”

  I was lucky I had Evie, who’d always been on the fringes with me. We’d liked it that way until college had come along.

  “In any case,” Jadyn said, “thank you for making an effo
rt with me this morning. It couldn’t have been easy, seeing as you probably have your own strong opinions about how I swooped in to date Rex after you broke up.”

  “It did bother me that he had someone so soon afterward, especially since he was supposed to be so into me.” I shrugged, offering that as an olive branch. “But that’s not on you, Jadyn. We didn’t know each other well in school, so you didn’t owe me any allegiance.”

  “I’m sorry, anyway.”

  She was so on the level with me that I couldn’t help making things easy on her. “Just don’t let this bug you anymore. Okay?”

  I went to the gas nozzle, pulling it out and setting it back in its place. Talking about Rex wasn’t exactly my subject of choice, especially when questions about Micah were bubbling inside of me, ready to pop at her.

  Grabbing the gas receipt from the machine, I tucked it into the back pocket of my short black skirt, which I’d paired with my Angel’s Seat T-shirt and Keds. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

  “Ask and you shall see.”

  Good—she was letting me in bit by bit. “This morning, you warned me about Micah Wyatt. Just how bad is he?”

  Jadyn pushed back her hair, looking at the clouded sky, then at me. “You remember that old song about the devil going down to Georgia and getting that young fiddle player into a contest? Micah reminds me of that devil.”

  I widened my eyes. Damn. I’d asked, and she’d sure told.

  “Dramatic, I know.” She seemed puzzled, like she wasn’t sure she should word things so strongly. “There’s a part of that song where the devil challenges this Johnny kid to take a dare, to compete for a golden fiddle. I think that’s what Micah does—he challenges women to resist him while flashing that golden smile. And he likes it when they take him up on it—the higher the stakes, the better. From what I’ve seen of him so far, he chooses the females who are most likely to turn him down, some of them married, and when they ultimately can’t, their humiliation is his prize. I’d hate to see more shame piled on you because of his tricks, Shelby. I’d hate that to happen to anyone else.”

  What would she think of me if she knew about my escapade with Micah in the theater today? I’d sure done some fiddling there with him.