by Russo, Jessa
Though I knew the notion was irrational, I was offended that he’d said he didn’t want me. And even though he was right—I didn’t want him either, and he was definitely not my style—I was put off by the fact that he’d tell me that I wasn’t his type. The nerve!
Then, I realized that was the old Holland Briggs thinking; the prom queen, the cheerleader. The new Holland Briggs had no friends, was a social outcast, and was now gray from head to toe. She’d tried to kill her best friends in what, a jealous rage? And she would soon be forever stuck inside the body of a stone gargoyle.
I didn’t have a lot of options, and Donovan, with his perfect physique and oozing confidence, probably had many.
Of course he wouldn’t want me.
I sighed, not realizing I’d done so loud enough to be heard until Donovan spoke.
“Still with me?”
I met his stare, contemplating telling him the truth—that I didn’t want him either, but finding out he didn’t want me had just shattered another little piece of the old Holland Briggs.
But then he closed the distance between us, bringing his face mere inches from mine. His dark eyes held my gaze, then dropped to my lips. “Don’t tell me you do have a thing for me, love? I mean, the shagging offer still stands, but anything more than that—”
With that, I squashed the idea of ever opening up to such a jackass.
I stood, quickly heading for the stairs. “I guess I’m just more tired than I thought. Goodnight, Donovan.”
“Goodnight, love.”
“You know, you English people have weird things, too.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows and waved a hand as if signaling me to continue.
“That whole ‘love’ thing you’ve got going on? It’s annoying.”
“Is it now? Huh,” he said, with an arrogant smirk and an over-exaggerated American accent.
Touché. I didn’t say a word; just walked away and let that Americanism hang in the air with his British accent dripping from it. His smug smile disappeared in the darkness behind me.
Whatever.
He hadn’t truly admitted to knowing more than he’d let on, but he didn’t have to. I knew he knew, and he knew I knew what he knew. Or something like that. It was obvious enough for me. I’d grill him some more tomorrow, or tell Mick what I thought about Donovan, and let him do the investigating.
Mick hadn’t moved since I’d left. His bare shoulder lay exposed above the comforter, the moonlight from the large window illuminating his skin, his arm still clung to the pillow I’d left in my absence. I climbed back into bed, careful not to disturb him, and realized how easy and comfortable it felt to be near him. I’d been this comfortable with Rod, sure, but we’d grown up together, and shared the same bed many times before we shared the same bed.
Of course, my parents never knew I slept at Rod’s house, or that we used to—
Oh my God! My parents!
I’d forgotten about my parents. With Cam here, I’d felt so complete and hadn’t even thought about the fact that I had two more members of my family who were most likely in a frenzied panic right now.
“Shoot!”
Mick reached out for me and pulled me close to him. “What’s wrong?” He asked sleepily, as he nuzzled his face in my hair.
“My parents. I forgot all about them. What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” he murmured against my shoulder. “You’ve had a lot going on.” He pulled me even tighter to him, and I snuggled down, content in his arms even with the anxiety building in my chest over my parent fail.
“I have to call them.” I glanced at the clock—it was way too early in the morning to call them, even if they had been worried.
No, I had to call them. It didn’t matter what time it was. My mom would be a mess.
“Relax,” he said as he kissed my shoulder, then pressed another kiss into the crook of my neck. “We already took care of it. They think you’re up here with Ro.”
“What? How?”
“Cameron told them you just wanted to get away and be left alone for a while because of everything with Leslie. Since it’s President’s Day Weekend and your birthday, I guess they didn’t seem to think it was too crazy that you went away.”
“But I didn’t even say goodbye to them. How could they not think that was strange?”
“Your mom did think it was strange, but she was also at work Friday afternoon, so Cameron and Ro made it look like you rushed home and packed, then left with Ro to come up here. So, you would have said goodbye to your mom…had she been home.”
“And all that time, Cam had no idea what was really going on.”
“No.”
“I can’t imagine the grilling Rosemarie must have gotten. No wonder she couldn’t keep him from coming here.”
“I think your mom and dad probably feel pretty bad for you right now, with the whole Leslie thing, so they didn’t argue with Cam, you know?”
I sighed. Hearing Leslie’s name made my anxiety flare up again. It reached deeper into my chest, rooting itself to my heart and lungs. My parents were okay, and hopefully not too worried about me, but Leslie was a different story. As much as I hated her, I couldn’t ignore the fact she’d been poisoned, and I couldn’t ignore the fact that all signs pointed to me.
Could it even be possible that I’d done such a horrific thing?
Mick
Once inside the unfamiliar home, I tip-toed through the living room and down the hall. One by one, I passed by doors that were closed to me, hiding what was inside, and yet I knew exactly what lay behind each door.
Office.
Guest Bathroom.
Leslie’s room.
Leslie’s room?
Something nagged at the back of my mind, something I needed to remember, but it sat just out of reach, in the corners of my consciousness.
I continued forward, as if propelled by something greater than myself, and entered the kitchen. Without hesitation, I walked straight to the pantry. It was strange to be able to walk to it without having to open multiple cabinets in order to locate what I was searching for. But there it was, just like I knew exactly where I was in a home I’d never stepped foot in before.
Something unknown still tugged at my mind as I walked forward, pulling a small vial out of my pocket. I then reached for the small tin of flavored coffee, and popped the lid.
Looking down at my hands, I suddenly saw them and realized what I’d been trying to remember.
This was not my dream. It was Holland’s.
These were Holland’s hands I watched as they stirred the contents of the vial into the small container of instant coffee and replaced the lid.
This was Holland remembering one more thing that would break her heart.
“Holland?”
I looked up to see myself reaching out to me.
Wait. What? It was happening again.
“Wake up, Holland,” I said from my lips, my voice, standing a few feet in front of me. “Come back to me.”
I left the dream world slowly this time, as if the realization pulled me out instead of flinging me out in a rushed panic like it had the last time we’d shared a dream. Memory. I woke up gradually, registering her breath on my chest and the little sniffles she tried so hard to conceal.
I opened my eyes to her lying beside me. She stared at me with glossy eyes, her tears already pooling on the pillow. Damn.
I wiped her cheeks with my fingertips, and she closed her eyes, releasing more tears.
“Come ‘ere.”
I pulled her closer to me and tucked her head to my bare shoulder. I held her close and listened to her soft crying for what felt like eternity. With every sob I became more and more determined to break the curse. Regardless of who Donovan was, or claimed to be, I knew I was meant for this girl in my arms. I’d never felt anything like it before. I wanted to be hers.
And we shared dreams! That had to count for something. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe
Donovan had found the wrong dad. Things like that did happen.
I purposely ignored the fact that everyone else thought we looked so much alike.
He wasn’t my brother. He wasn’t the first born son. I was.
“I did it. I poisoned her. I’m a murderer.”
“No. You are no such thing. Leslie didn’t die, Holland. She’s probably not even still in the hospital, and that wasn’t you.”
“Don’t say that!” She peered up at me, her eyebrows bunched up and tears still streaming from her eyes. “You saw it! I know you saw it. I woke up only seconds before you, but I know you were there. I saw you watching me like the last time.”
“I know. I did see it. But it wasn’t you. It wasn’t Holland Shayne Briggs.”
She flinched when I used her middle name, most likely uncomfortable that I knew it, but she’d need to actually accept the fact that I’d been waiting for her for a long time. Her name was safe on my lips.
I knew half of her—possibly even more than half—knew she was safe with me. She wouldn’t have been in my bed if that wasn’t the case.
I wiped my thumb across her wet, gray cheek and kissed her gently on the lips.
“It wasn’t you, okay?” I held her gaze with mine. “That’s part of what lives inside you. That is not who you are. That’s the curse.”
“How can you be so sure? You don’t even know me.”
“I do know you. Everything in my body tells me I do.”
She closed her eyes and smiled the faintest of smiles. “I know what you mean.”
Tucking her head back down into my chest, she snuggled up against me and wrapped her arm around my waist. With her fingers, she traced lazy designs on my bare back, and I closed my eyes, content to hold her as long as I could.
“I have to turn myself in, Mick.”
“No.” I won’t let that happen.
“What do you mean ‘no’? I have to, Mick. Look at what I’ve done. I have to go to the cops.” Holland lifted her head. Big gray eyes found mine again, pleading with me to understand.
“I can’t let you turn yourself in for crimes you didn’t commit, Holland. I won’t.”
“But I did those things.”
“No. It wasn’t you.” How many times would I have to repeat myself? “If I can’t even convince you of that, how will we convince them? I can’t…you just have to trust me, okay?”
“Okay, we’ll talk about this later.”
So stubborn. I looked down as her fingertips brushed across my lips. Nerves shot off like fireworks throughout my body as if every inch of me was suddenly alert and awake. I pulled her up to me so our faces were even. Leaning forward, I brushed my lips across her fingertips once more, kissing them lightly before moving my mouth down her arm. I leaned up on one elbow and kissed her shoulder before kissing my way to her ear.
I dragged my teeth across her jaw, smiling when she inhaled a ragged breath. Finding her mouth with mine, I kissed her softly, slowly at first, waiting for her to respond and give me permission to go further.
Waiting was torture.
It was a game she was apparently quite good at.
She moved her mouth against mine, teasing me ever-so-slightly with her tongue. It caressed my mouth, my tongue, my lips, but never sped up or dove deeper.
As she turned onto her back, I settled on top of her. Leaning up on both elbows, I gazed down at the remarkable girl beneath me. Her gray eyes sparkled with mischief, as if fully aware of the torturous game she played with me.
It took all I had in me to keep from holding her down and kissing her the way I wanted to.
But if she could play hard to get, I could too.
I pulled her hands up over her head, eliciting a small squeak from her perfect lips. Holding her arms above her with one hand at her wrists, I kissed her cheek. As I made my way across her jaw again and found her other earlobe, she moved beneath me, her hips faintly pressing into mine. I nibbled on her ear and she whimpered—a sound I wanted to hear again and again.
My thumb ran across a raised area on her wrist. I froze. As she stilled below me, I brought my eyes up to hers. She pulled her gaze away from mine, unable to maintain eye contact. I looked up at both of her wrists still crossed inside my hand, then brought them down to eye level.
Seeing what I was hoping I’d been wrong about—proof that Holland had been in a very dark place just a few short months ago—my heart tightened in my chest. What if she’d been lost to that darkness forever? What if I’d never been given the chance to know her?
The scars were a long-time healed, shiny and probably pink before the color of her skin changed. Identical in nature, each was raised and bumpy, precise lines running vertically from the palm of her hand, down her arm about two inches. I kissed one scar, and then the other, then placed her arms back above her head, running my free hand down the length of her arm.
A few tears slipped past her tightly closed eyelids. I kissed her just below the corner of each eye, then brought my mouth down on hers. I hoped she knew she was found. I didn’t intend to lose her to such darkness again. I didn’t intend to lose her to anything.
I focused on kissing her fears away, and maybe even some of my own. With painful slowness, I nibbled her earlobe, then ran my tongue down the soft spot on her throat. She wiggled beneath me, her body giving me permission to continue. I trailed kisses along her collarbone, happy that sometime in the night, she’d lost the bulky brown sweater she’d been wearing all weekend. The tank-top she wore now left little to block my exploration.
I kissed my way down her chest, stopping just shy of the crest of her breasts. I wasn’t going to move too fast, even though everything inside me screamed to do just that. Beneath my lips, her chest rose and fell on heavy breaths, as her hips pressed against mine.
I looked up at her and shook my head slowly.
Her eyes widened as her mouth fell agape, and if her skin hadn’t been gray, I know I would have seen that perfect shade of blush color her face and neck.
She stilled beneath me, from irritation, or anger that I’d told her no, I have no idea. I continued my exploration of her skin, kissing my way up her arms, and running my free fingertips over the trails my lips followed. As I made my way past her elbow, her mouth found my nipple and she grazed it with her teeth.
From somewhere deep in my belly, a pleased groan found its way to my lips and slipped past. Damn, that felt amazing.
I sat back to look at her, my head cocked to the side.
“You don’t play fair.”
“What?” she said with a laugh. “I don’t play fair? I think that’s the pot calling the kettle, don’t you?”
“Hmm. Maybe so.”
I didn’t give her much time to say anything else. Instead, fueled by that brief touch of her teeth on my chest, I lay back down on top of her and pressed my mouth to hers. She responded with the same determination, and I let go of her wrists so she could wrap her arms around me.
As her hands raked my back and our legs twisted together, I couldn’t think of anything even remotely coherent. I just wanted to lose myself in the touch of her fingers, the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, the pressure of her lips on mine…
I wanted to lose myself in everything that was Holland Briggs.
Holland
Saved by the bell, er, knock.
Not that I’d wanted saving, really—at all—but holy hell, what had come over me? I’d been halfway to all the way with a guy I really didn’t know—regardless of how right I felt around him.
What was it about kissing Mick Stevenson?
I wanted to do it all day, every day, and I’m pretty sure if Rosemarie hadn’t knocked on the door when she did, I could have died of starvation in Mick’s arms and never known the difference.
“Holy hell.”
“Did you say something?” Mick asked.
My eyes widened as I met his stare, surprised I’d let the words slip out, and I shook my head. I knew the shock was evident on my f
ace, but Mick didn’t comment. He just smiled a very knowing smile and pulled his shirt on.
“What do you think we should do today?” Disappointment curled itself around my chest as I watched his naked torso slip away under his shirt.
With his head tipped to the side, and one eyebrow raised, Mick said, “Well, um—”
“Oh, geez, relax. I know we can’t go anywhere, but can’t we do something around here? Or, like, go sledding deep in the woods, or something? Maybe we could hunt wabbits?”
“Wabbits? That’s cute. But I wouldn’t want to risk it. If someone were to see you…”
“I know.” I tried not to sigh and sound like a whiny little girl. “And I love that you’re so protective of me when you barely even know me, but—”
He crossed the room in a flash, and before I knew it I was on my back on the bed once again.
“Oh, I think I know you pretty well, Holland. For instance—” he ran his lips across the skin above my camisole, “—I have it on very good authority that this section right here,” he said as he reached the area closest to my armpit, “this section of skin makes you incredibly happy when I kiss it. You can’t tell if you’re in Heaven, or if I’m tickling you.”
I responded with a giggle, solidifying the truth in his words. Someone had been paying attention this morning.
“And I know that you are honest and good—” he quickly brushed his lips across the groove at the base of my throat, “—And I know that when you’re feeling especially defiant, your eyes light up with a spark of life, and something about that dare in your eyes makes me want to test it. Because I want to see that spark ignite.” He paused, then gently nipped my bottom lip. “And I know that we’re going to fix this, and then I am going to spend every second of every day getting to know you more. Starting with, but not limited to, that tiny sprinkling of freckles right below your left hip.”
My eyes widened, but I couldn’t find any words.
He pulled me to stand, my feet sinking into the plush white rug. “Now, shower and get ready, and let’s figure this thing out.” He kissed me, his lips and tongue slowly caressing mine, and my knees weakened. “Hurry up,” he whispered into my ear. He drew my earlobe into his mouth and I closed my eyes. “I want this curse broken so I can see you blush when I kiss you.”
