Walk with Me (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) (12 page)

Running to the hot tub, I regret not wearing my shoes, because my feet are probably going to turn black from frostbite. Donovan walks over to the wall and turns the dial, starting the bubbles to flow. He throws the towel off his shoulders, and unwraps the second towel from around his waist. His body is rock solid. Six-pack abs, broad hard shoulders and bulging biceps, and that butt, so hard and round. I just want to reach out and goose him. That is, after I run my tongue up and down the ripples on his stomach. What am I thinking? I need to get my head out of the gutter if I’m going to stick to my no-sex-on-this-trip plan. What is it about him that makes my mind immediately go there?

Donovan steps in and turns to me, prompting me with his index finger into the hot tub. I twirl my finger in the air, instructing him to turn around. Throwing my towels off, I quickly step into the hot tub and sink down to my neck. I exhale from the relief to my feet and welcome the hot water washing away the worries of the day.

“This is nice.” Donovan wades in the water toward me, dropping to his knees. He has a slightly devilish look in his eyes and a matching grin, which makes me a little nervous but also excited. He brings his hands to my face and pulls me in for a kiss. “Now, let’s see how Kenna stew is starting to taste,” he murmurs against my lips.

My chuckles turn to serious heat and passion as I kiss him back. With all the talking on the drive and all the time we are spending together, I’m letting myself go with Donovan, falling deeper into his world, and allowing him into mine. In this moment, this experience is only about the two of us and what we are sharing together. He lowers his hands to my waist, and I move my hands to his shoulders, wrapping my legs around his hips to float in place. We continue kissing like this for what could be hours. I don’t know because I’ve lost track of time, consumed in the romantic world that is Donovan. Only when the bubbles stop flowing do we break our kiss.

“It’s been thirty minutes,” he says. “We better get out before we get all pruney.” Donovan hesitates but eventually lets go of me. He gets out first and turns his back while wrapping up, giving me privacy. I follow him out and wrap the towels around me, covering myself, and we briskly stride back to the condo. He was right. After getting out of the high heat of the hot tub, walking back isn’t as cold.

“I’ll meet you back out here.” I motion with my head to the living room and make my way to my room. I didn’t think to bring any lounging clothes, so I think I’ll put on my pajama bottoms and tank top with my sweatshirt. My bottoms are a pale pink with little pink-and-green flowers and a matching pale green tank top. The sweatshirt is a light blue fleece, somewhat oversized. I pull my hair down, brushing out the tangles, and join Donovan in the living room after changing.

I made the right choice because Donovan has on his red-and-blue plaid pajama bottoms and a fitted blue T-shirt. I’m guessing his sleeping clothes, too. He is tending to the fire when I enter the living room. “Can you hand me an oak log from the stack over there?” Donovan points to a stack of wood at the far edge of the wall shared by the fireplace.

I grab a piece of wood. He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “No. That’s pine. I want a piece of oak. See the darker pieces to the right.” He points to a stack with the fire poker.

“What’s the difference, it’s all wood, it’s not like it burns any different,” I say.

He blanches at my response. “Pine is good to get the fire started or for short periods of time because it catches and burns quickly. It burns hot and fast. Oak is a denser wood—a more complex wood. You choose oak when you want a fire that lasts longer. It’s a little harder to get oak started. It takes patience and care in the beginning. But once it gets started, it just takes a little oxygen to ignite it and it can burn into the night.” He answers in a reticent tone, but somehow I think he may be talking about more than wood.

I hand him a piece of oak and walk into the kitchen. “Do you want a soda?”

“I’ll take a Diet Coke, please.”

I grab Donovan a Diet Coke and a glass of flavored mineral water for myself and bring them back to the living room, sitting down next to him on the carpet. “How can you drink soda this late at night? It would keep me up for sure.”

“The caffeine doesn’t bother me. And my body is so sleep deprived because of the hours I work that when my head hits the pillow, I’m out almost immediately,” he says, taking a big gulp from the can. “See.” He points to the fire. “See how the fire is just starting to burn through the hard exterior of the oak? Just a little while longer and it will really take off.”

I stare at the flames. The hot red flames from the pine wood lap around the oak like it’s impenetrable. But on the ends of the log, small red embers are growing and spreading along the underside. I lose myself in thought watching the beautiful dance of flames.

I remember watching my stepdad build fires for us in the winter. He never used oak or special wood. I think most of the wood he used was scrap two-by-four pieces that he had me collect with him at construction sites. Occasionally, he bought large wood logs and would use the hammer and chef knife to split them into smaller pieces. But he was no fire expert.

“I think it’s ready.” Donovan pulls me back to the present. “Do you want to do the honors?” He points to the lever that controls the flue. “Slowly pull the lever to let oxygen in.”

I rise to my knees, reaching over to do as he instructs, and sit back down next to him to watch the show. The wind blows the flames and ash around the fireplace and the edges of the log start to burn brighter. Flash. The entire log is engulfed with flame. The hard shell consumed in red, burning away to expose the solid core to the flame.

“Nice. That should last us a while,” Donovan says. “I’ll put another one on before we go to bed.”

I’m staring at the flames and the multitude of colors when Donovan reaches his hand up to my face and brushes my hair back behind my shoulder. The warmth of his fingers burns into my skin and instinctively my face turns toward him. When I look into his eyes, humor is absent, only passion remains. “You are so beautiful.” Without breaking eye contact he leans toward me for a kiss.

I close my eyes when his soft, warm lips touch mine and I exhale with a light whimper. This sound fuels his momentum and he deepens the kiss. With Donovan’s support, I lay down to the floor and he moves closer to my side, stretching out next to me with his torso over mine. He pulls his face back. “You keep surprising me, Kenna. Tonight has been fun. It’s not easy to find someone so sexy, so smart, and so funny. I think we’re connecting on so many levels and I’m developing very strong feelings for you already. Plus, you looked really good in your ‘bikini.’”

I say nothing in return, but he doesn’t wait for a response because he leans back down and covers my smile with his mouth and we kiss again. I don’t respond with words but my lips and body speak for me. My breath becomes ragged, matching his, and my hands wander over his chest, arms, and back.

When I can’t take the heat building within me any longer, I sit up, pulling Donovan with me, rip my sweatshirt off, throw it to the side, then start for the hem of his. Understanding my intent, Donovan helps my shaking hands do their job dragging his shirt off. I drop my gaze to his hard muscles and reach up with one hand trailing my trembling fingers along his smattering of chest hair. I kneel up and straddle his lap, now using both hands, tracing his shoulders and arms. Donovan leans back with his hands and arms extended behind him, giving me full access to his upper body. So open and vulnerable.

My eyes catch the ripple from his six-pack and I skim my fingers down to my new target. Using both hands, I let my index fingers cascade down his stomach from his chest to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. I can feel him growing harder under me and I look up into his half-hooded eyes.

That’s it—game on.

Donovan sits up and brings his hands to my waist, encircling me and pulling me closer to his body. Crushing his lips to mine, he sucks and bites my bottom lip. Moans escape my mouth between breaths and he releases a faint guttural growl, grabbing at my hips, pulling me down against him. “Oh God.” I throw my head back in response to the contact. He takes advantage of the opening and sucks and kisses my exposed neck and shoulder.

I’m reminded by his attention to my bare shoulder that all I have on is a thin tank top without a bra. Donovan pulls his hands from my hips and reaches up with his left hand, slipping off the strap of my tank top. Trailing kisses down my neck to the base where my shoulder meets my neck, he sucks and licks this tender spot. With his right hand Donovan caresses the side of my left breast, skimming the pad of his thumb over my hardened nipple. The contact sends a shiver through my body right to my groin where heat and moisture are building. My moans come louder and more frequent. My body begins to tremble.

Afraid of where this is going or that I won’t be able to stop if we continue, I pull my hands from his hair and grab both his shoulders, pushing his head and lips away from me. His hands drop and his eyes find mine, acknowledging my need to stop. I close my eyes and lean my forehead against his to steady my breaths. Our breath mingles while our bodies calm and relax.

When our breathing normalizes, I pull my head back and give Donovan a quick peck letting him know—in my way—that I’m okay and that he did nothing wrong. His eyes are still blazing with heat and passion.

Donovan’s lips curve from a frown to a slim smile. He lifts his hand, pulling the strap to my tank top back into place, kisses my bare shoulder, and exhales. “It’s getting late, and we need to be up early to get our gear and get you to your snowboard lesson. Maybe we should call it a night?”

I nod and smile in response, mainly because I haven’t found my voice yet, and give him another peck as I get up off his lap.

* * * *

Richard’s left hand has my neck in a vise grip, holding me in place against the wall in the foyer. I feel like I’m only thirteen years old, but I know I’m nineteen. Why am I here? I don’t understand. I ran away from this. How am I back home again and why would I return?

Lifting a tiny piece of white paper in the air with his free hand, he shakes it in front of my face. It looks like a scrap I might use to mark a place in a book. “What is this, Kenna?”

Is he trying to say I did a poor job vacuuming today?

“What does this look like, Kenna?” he demands again, pulling my head back with his hand still around my throat and banging it against the wall to force a response from me.

“I–I don’t know what it is,” I stutter. “It looks like a piece of paper.”

“That’s right. It’s a piece of paper. It’s a piece of paper I put in the doorjamb to my room. And do you know where I found this piece of paper?”

I’m frozen in place because I know where he found that piece of paper and what’s coming next.

“Huh? Do you know, Kenna? I found this little piece of paper on the floor. Now, that tells me one thing—you were in my room. Weren’t you?”

He has me pinned and my confession is coming.

“Weren’t you!” he yells, squeezing my throat, making it difficult for me to speak.

“Yes,” I manage to squeak out.

“You know the rules. You are not allowed in my room.”

“I needed to use the bathroom and the door to my side was locked. I’m not allowed to use the bathroom downstairs, so I had to go through your room to unlock my door,” I quickly speak to defend myself. Either Richard or my mom locked the door to my room in the Jack and Jill bathroom we share between the bedrooms for privacy, or Richard set me up. Do I dare challenge him? No. I should take the punishment and get on with my day. My smart mouth defies me, though. “But I think you knew that didn’t you?” I spit the words at him.

Richard’s face turns red, his eyes narrow with anger, and his body stiffens.

Uh-oh. I’ve done it now
. I panic. I need to get away from him, to escape like before. My eyes dart to the front door, but the lock is turned and the chain is secure. I’m trapped.

Wait. I’m not a frail thirteen-year-old like I feel, but a nineteen-year-old with nineteen-year-old strength
. I ball my right fist tightly like I practice every day in my kickboxing class and swing as hard as I can, connecting with the left side of Richard’s face. This stuns him and he drops his grip around my neck, staggering backward.

I take off running through the living room toward the dining area. If the bathroom door is open, I can make my way in and lock the door to buy some time. My body is strong and fast and responds to my mental demands. I run around the armless “spanking” chair when a brutal hand fists my hair and yanks me to a stop. My head and neck snap back and I lose my balance, falling backward to the carpet.

“You fucking bitch!” Richard screams.

I’m on my back facing a charging fist. I block my face from the blow, bend my knees to my chest and with both feet thrust them into the air at Richard’s body. The force launches him into the living room, stumbling over the coffee table.

I roll over and scramble to my feet, eyeing the chef’s knife and hammer he keeps next to the fireplace to split wood. I need a weapon to protect myself and urge my body to grab the knife.
He’s not worth going to prison over.
My mind is still in control even with my internal drive and instinct to do whatever is needed to survive.