Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie

by Donna Kauffman

  He was back to sounding like the guy talking gently to the crazy chick so she wouldn’t freak out again, but it was more than she deserved. She owed him, even if he’d been the one to trigger the episode in the first place. That was hardly his fault.

  She should be thanking him for that, too. At least, now she knew what she was up against. And that there was no way in hell that any kind of life, or friendships, much less an intimate relationship was possible. “Thanks. But . . . just leave it in there. I-I’m not staying. I won’t bother you again, so you don’t have to worry about . . . you know. The crazy chick stuff. Just let me or Mrs. Hughes know when the car is ready.”

  She made herself look at him again, made herself smile, though she didn’t think he bought it.

  “All right” was all he said. He took a step back and motioned for her to go on to the truck. “Do you want anything else from the car?”

  “No. Just what’s on top is good. Thank you.” She might have made it to the truck and gotten safely inside, buckled herself in, and coolly finished detaching herself from . . . everything, but then she saw Lolly.

  Poor, sweet, Lolly was lying on her belly, chin on her paws, studying Honey with a very worried look on her canine face.

  Honey’s heart broke a little. Her ability to see and know things didn’t extend to animals or any living beings other than humans, but she did have a heightened awareness of general feelings and mood when it came to any species. Her little . . . event back there, had scared Lolly. Badly.

  Without thinking, Honey knelt down in front of the dog and put her face right in front of Lolly’s, who kept her chin on her paws, but her unblinking gaze unwaveringly on Honey’s. “You were a very brave girl, you know that?” she said softly. “Being surrounded by fire like that, but you didn’t panic. You couldn’t get out, so you barked, so he could find you. And you tried to get straight to him when he did. You did so good.”

  Lolly didn’t so much as blink, and Honey could still feel her concern.

  “You’re a very lucky girl, you know that? Because you have someone looking out for you. Someone who’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

  Lolly’s chin lifted just slightly then and her gaze grew more alert, less somber.

  “I know you’ll stay true to him, too,” Honey assured. “You keep watching over him, okay? He needs you, too. Whether he says so or not.”

  Lolly let out a soft little whine and thumped her tail. Her dark, liquid eyes finally shifted back to hopeful.

  Honey smiled, and felt her own heart settle a bit. She might freak out the humans, but at least she could calm the fears of one dog. “Good girl.” She scratched Lolly behind her ears, and when she climbed to her feet, Lolly lifted her head, let her tongue hang out in an anticipatory pant.

  “Okay, come on. Time to get in the truck. I think we’re both ready to go.”

  Lolly pushed to her feet, then butted her head against Honey’s leg, making her laugh and ruffle the dog’s fur before Lolly trotted around to the back of the truck, tail wagging.

  Honey took a breath, relieved to find that she felt much steadier. Lolly had returned the favor, it seemed. No more shakiness, no more trembling. The episode was well and truly over. She just had to make sure that was the last one she ever had.

  It was only when Honey turned around that she realized Dylan had been standing right behind her the entire time, arms full of boxes . . . listening to every word.

  “Ever owned a dog?” He asked the question off-handedly, but Honey had already figured out that Dylan didn’t do anything off-handedly. She imagined he was usually a man of very few words, and none at all when he could get away with it. His gaze was sharply on hers. To the point that it felt almost like a physical touch. She wasn’t so sure if it was comforting or disconcerting.

  “I grew up on a farm,” she said. “We had a wide variety of critters, but never had a dog, no. No house pets.”

  “Your . . . thing. It doesn’t happen with animals.” He didn’t make it a question so much as a summation.

  “No.” She really didn’t want to get into it. But before she could scoot past him to the passenger door, he continued the conversation.

  “Women?”

  “What about women?” she asked, truly confused.

  “Do they trigger . . . it?”

  “Anybody can. Well, not people I’m really close to . . . emotionally, I mean. That seems to block it out. And there’s no rhyme or reason to when or with whom. Other than they have something going on that reaches out and grabs me. I just never know who that’s going to be, or when.”

  “So, it’s been easier to avoid people all together.”

  “That’s been the operating assumption, yes.”

  “For eight years, ten months, two weeks and some number of days.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and she had to resist the urge to fold her arms protectively around her waist. No one had ever just . . . talked to her about the curse. Like this. So calmly, so . . . conversationally. No one who wasn’t family, anyway.

  She also doubted Dylan Ross ever made idle conversation. Of course, her little event back there in the garage had been specifically about things that had happened to him. It was natural for him to want to understand how she knew things. Quite possibly things that no one else knew.

  “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?” she asked as she realized at least a part of it. “About your back. About being burned.”

  “What happened eight years, ten months and two weeks ago?” he asked in lieu of a response.

  She had no plan to tell him anything, but something about his stance, about the way he was looking at her, like he was going to be the one to figure this out . . . provoked her. Maybe if she revealed something personal, he’d consider them even, given she knew things about him no one else did. And then he’d stop digging. “I went to art school. I thought maybe mass exposure to the human element would shock it out of me. Either kill me or cure me. At that point, either might have been a blessing.”

  “But?”

  “I was wrong. Apparently my capacity to withstand a constant bombardment of . . . knowledge, is boundless.”

  “Did you drop out?”

  “Eventually.”

  “But not until whatever happened eight years—”

  “Yes,” she said, hating that she’d snapped the word out. She didn’t want to let him get to her. God knows, hadn’t he already gotten to her enough? First with his hormone stirring looks, and then with his surly attitude, topped off with an aura onslaught she hadn’t been remotely ready to handle. And yet, it just came spilling out, rapid fire, more like an accusation than a confession. “I was a virgin, okay? And I knew when I left school and went back to Juniper Hollow, I’d stay that way. So . . . I made sure I wasn’t.”

  To her utter shock, his lips curved. “Bad idea, I take it?”

  She should be pissed off that he found any part of her confession amusing, so no one was more surprised than Honey when she had to fight to keep her own lips from twitching. Damn him for making it seem like some private joke that only the two of them understood. He understood exactly nothing about her. “You might say that,” she said, trying for a grudging, flippant tone, but his knowing smile told her she’d failed miserably.

  “So, what then? Back home, hiding out all this time?”

  “I started my own business,” she said, trying not to sound defiant. “I’ve stayed focused on that.” Before he could ask the obvious, she added, “Mail order. I’m surprised with Bea’s stories about me, that everyone didn’t already know all of this.”

  “I’m not much for island gossip.”

  “And yet . . .”

  He frowned, and she had to stifle the urge to smirk.

  “All right, I might have heard that your aunt talked about your talent as an artist, and how much she admired you. That she loved you was clear; she was proud, too. She was . . . sketchier . . . about the rest.”

  “If you knew my Aunt Bea, then you knew t
hat she—it seems like it was common knowledge that she also could . . .” Honey trailed off, not wanting to put words to it. There were no words to explain the curse.

  “Either your aunt had a great deal more control over this . . . thing . . . you two have, or yours is out-of-this-world more intense.”

  “Bea thought of it as a gift. I . . . don’t.”

  “There’s more to it than that.” He didn’t make it a question.

  Honey wanted to tell him he didn’t have the first clue what he thought he knew, but then he was talking again about Bea. The way he did caught at her heart and made her throat tight all over again.

  “She was like the kindly old grandma who had a way of knowing things. Everyone went to her, asked her about things, trusted her if she told them they needed to take care on this matter or that . . . but it was never—”

  “Threatening? Scary? Intense?”

  He didn’t answer that, just . . . studied her in that way she was coming to know. All focused and intent like she didn’t scare him, and he knew if he looked long enough, like looking at a broken engine, he’d figure her out, too.

  “Why did you expect me to get angry?” he asked.

  “People aren’t generally open to what they don’t understand. Less so when you tell them things they don’t want to hear.”

  That damnable hint of a smile returned. “Why, sugar? You revealin’ their dirty laundry? Tellin’ secrets they wanted to keep hidden?”

  Honey shook her head. “I only tell people if it’s something bad, something they can prevent. Otherwise . . .”

  “Otherwise, you have to live with knowin’ a whole lot about folks, things you’d rather not know. Things you know they’d really rather you not know. I’m guessing you don’t pick up on stuff that’s minor or unimportant. Must be uncomfortable.”

  “You could say that.”

  “So . . . why the fire?” His expression remained open, but there was nothing casual about the way he looked at her.

  Honey merely lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Because it was a recent traumatic thing? I don’t know.” As the adrenaline started to seep away, she felt the fatigue settle in. She’d forgotten how much the events took out of her. Well, not so much forgotten as blocked out. This one had been far more powerful than usual, so the weariness seemed to come on more swiftly. Either that or it was still the lingering fatigue from her trip. Perhaps both. “I don’t ever know why.”

  “So, it’s not always a warning.”

  “Not always. Usually, it’s something powerfully affecting the person. I’m not surprised, in this case. The fire didn’t happen that long ago, and . . . you almost died. Even if you think you’ve dealt with that . . .” She let her words trail off.

  “I’m guessin’ it’s not generally happy stuff that triggers your reaction, either.”

  “Not generally, no.”

  He did it again. He smiled. It was slow, almost lazy.

  But she knew that his mind and manner were anything but slow and lazy, despite his laconic drawl. For the first time, she saw a glimmer of what she thought looked like . . . appreciation in his eyes—which couldn’t be right. Maybe she was more wiped out than she’d thought.

  “Well, sugar, you must have been real fun at parties.”

  “A laugh riot,” she shot back, annoyed with his amusement because there was absolutely nothing funny about the curse. And yet . . . he was taking it all so calmly in stride as if it were nothing more than a cheesy parlor trick—which was annoying . . . and annoyingly reassuring. She kind of liked that he felt comfortable to not only talk calmly about it . . . but tease her about it. She might even like that a lot. Because it was Dylan, and he got it . . . so it was weirdly okay. Dammit.

  He walked toward her then, and it was like her brain stuttered. She was still trying to process the strength and scope of what had happened, while also dealing with the immensely conflicting feelings she was having about him. The last thing she needed was him back in her personal space.

  She went utterly still, debating if flight stood a better chance than fight, but he walked past her and set the two boxes he’d had in his arms the whole time into the back of his truck.

  Feeling ridiculous and even more tired, she watched him scoop Lolly up and put her in the back, too. Honey really needed some quiet time alone to regroup, shake off the jumpiness, and settle her nerves. She breathed a sigh of relief, and, assuming he’d gone around to the driver’s side door now that he’d satisfied his curiosity about her “gift,” she took one final moment to gather herself before she had to ride in the close confines of the cab with him.

  So she wasn’t at all prepared, when he turned toward her and neatly boxed her in between him and his truck. He didn’t touch her, and, for some reason, she trusted that he wouldn’t, but she shrank back nonetheless. Out of habit more than any real alarm. He’d demonstrated he understood how easily triggered she was.

  “I don’t need crazy in my life,” he said, looking into her eyes with such focused intensity she could only stare back. He wasn’t frowning, he wasn’t smiling. He was . . . invading. “I’ve had more than my share.”

  He wasn’t touching her, but it was as if he was reaching inside of her, down deep, by the sheer intensity of his gaze, and willing her to understand him.

  “I’m not trying to be in your—”

  “Shh,” he said, a mere whisper. “You might not want to be, but ever since you’ve gotten here, you’ve done nothing but. That thing you got inside you is pure crazy. And I don’t need it.”

  After his earlier understanding, his insouciance even, regarding her abilities, the sudden callousness stung badly, surprising her with how much power he had to hurt her and proving she’d already let him get too far into her head. She’d even begun to foolishly think of him as an ally. “Lucky for you then, you don’t have it,” she snapped.

  It only made him grin, annoying her further. Why is he so damn confounding?

  “See, that right there? That’s what you do, sugar. You don’t give a damn.”

  “About what you think of me? No,” she lied, hating that it was one. “I don’t.”

  “Which is why I find myself wishing you didn’t have the crazy. Because the rest of you . . .”

  She shook her head, the hurt rapidly fading, quickly replaced by a spurt of panic. She might not have seen that particular look in his eyes before, but she understood what it meant. Desire.

  “No, you’re wrong. The rest of me is just boring. Beyond boring. Nobody wants that.” Even with her limited experience, that much she knew for fact. “Guys say they don’t want the crazy, but they secretly find it all kinds of compelling. Maybe it’s the element of danger, the mystery. It didn’t take me long to figure out I’m infinitely more fascinating because of the curse. I just don’t care too much to suffer through it to give someone his kicks. Especially since once you’ve tasted the crazy, you realize that it’s not as exciting and cool as it’s cracked up to be. It’s just cracked. And what’s left after cracked doesn’t add up to much. Certainly not up to the look I see in your eyes right now. Trust me.”

  There. That had shocked him. Good.

  When he could lower his eyebrows again, he laughed. Laughed! “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Aw, sugar. Dammit.”

  She raised her own brows in question, and his smile faded slowly, though a residual twinkle remained in his eyes, even as he went back into intent study mode. His gaze left her eyes and drifted down toward her mouth.

  Her body reacted so swiftly, she had to shut her eyes—as if that would block out the memory. What it did, instead, was forever imprint it in her mind’s eye.

  “You can close those intriguing, spooky eyes of yours, but you can’t hide. Your pupils just went big as dark moons. Makes it even more of a damn shame. About the crazy, I mean. I sure as hell don’t have a thing for danger or mystery. I’d much rather do without than take any woman who comes with a side of
drama. But you make it really damn hard to walk away, Honey Pie. Damn hard. The crazy I could do without, but the rest . . . just reaches out and grabs me by the throat. And maybe a few other places. It’s a hell of a thing.”

  Honey trembled again, only it had absolutely nothing to do with her gift or his aura, and had everything to do with her hormones and how he’d just triggered every last damn one of them and a whole bunch more she hadn’t even known she’d had. Holy . . . shit.

  “As much as I’d really like for that fascination to let go, it doesn’t. Won’t.” He moved closer.

  She could feel the heat emanating from his body, his skin, and her eyes flew open. “Dylan, whatever you’re thinking, stop. Don’t. You—I can’t go through—I . . . I can’t.”

  He didn’t even pause. “When you decided you didn’t want to be a virgin anymore, you didn’t have feelings for the guy, did you?”

  “No, but, I—”

  “Did you want him? Did he make your pupils shoot wide like that?” Dylan’s gaze drifted to her mouth. “Did he make your lips part, make you sigh like that?”

  He tilted his head, let his gaze drift along the slim column of her neck. “Did he make your pulse leap?”

  Then, before she could even swallow, his eyes leaped back to hers. “Did you want him, sugar? So badly your teeth ached?”

  Her throat had gone so dry she couldn’t form a single word. She also couldn’t look away from those eyes of his . . . so all-seeing, so all-knowing.

  “Did you try more than one? Just to make sure?”

  Her throat might be dry but her cheeks bloomed with heat.

  His grin was a slow, sexy slide, and it shivered straight down her spine, then pooled, all hot and heavy right where he made her ache.

  “You said when the emotions matter, it clouds your ability to . . . go there. Is wanting the same as mattering?” He moved in so close that a single deep breath would have caused his chest to brush against hers. He put his hands on either side of the truck. “Wanting so badly . . .” he murmured, slowly lowering his head. “Just to taste. To know. To find out.”