Counting on Cayne (Hallow River Book 1) (6 page)

As I climbed into the
passenger cab, a breeze hit my butt cheeks, now bared to the world in a thin
coating of translucent lace as my skirt flipped up in the wind. The dueling
versions of Cayne turned the tables once again. He spanked my ass with a loud slap
and slammed the door with a raucous laugh.

The river that gave the
town its name was now little more than a bubbling creek. In the slanting light
of evening, the water sparkled with a diamond sheen where it cascaded over
rocks. The willows bent low over the banks, their soft branches swaying
slightly with the delicate impacts of landing songbirds.

Cayne parked the truck on
a patch of grass near the shore and looked at me in the golden glow of a
partially setting sun. We sat in silence for several minutes, a shy awkwardness
creeping between us like we were two young kids on a first date. Cayne shook it
off and placed his hand on my bare knee.

“Come on,” he said with
a jerk of his chin toward the outside. “I have a surprise for you.”

He walked to the back of
the truck and lowered the tailgate. In the truck’s bed were a couple of fleece
blankets and a battered cooler. He hopped up, spread one of the blankets over
the dusty metal bed, and extended a hand. I braced one foot on the tailgate. He
hoisted me up with ease. I kicked off my shoes and dug my toes into the soft
fleece.

“It’s nothing fancy.” He
opened the cooler and sifted through its contents. “I didn’t have time to
prepare the kind of sophisticated wine and cheese banquet you may have become
accustomed to in New York.” There was a noticeable edge to his words. The
reference to New York stung. He handed me a bundle wrapped in foil and a beer
can dripping with water and melting ice fragments. “I figured you’d soon be
getting tired of diner meatloaf, so I got you a barbecue sandwich from Henry’s.
Should bring back memories.”

“Are you serious?
Henry’s is still open?” I eagerly unwrapped the bundle and held a crusty roll
packed with shredded chicken and drenched with sauce. I brought it to my nose
and sniffed, the sweet and smoky smell evoking the comfort and delight of days
gone by.

Henry’s was an
institution in Hallow River. In high school, we would spend long summer evenings
dangling our feet from truck beds, stuffing our faces with barbecue, and
popping illicit beers. I took a bite and closed my eyes in delicious pleasure.
When I opened them, still chewing a mouthful, I saw that Cayne was watching me
and smiling.

I swallowed and wiped
the corners of my mouth with my thumb. “Thank you. This is amazing.”

He shrugged. “It’s
nothing. Just thought you might have been homesick for it while you were away.”
He cracked open a beer can and gulped a large portion of it, his Adam’s apple
bobbing with each swallow.

“I guess I was homesick
for a lot of things. I just didn’t realize it.”

I opened my beer, took
one sip, and nearly spit it all over the blankets. It was extremely bitter and
had a dishwater aftertaste that lingered on my tongue. “What the hell is this?”

Cayne laughed heartily.
“I wanted to give you the full Hallow River experience. Cheap shitty beer is a
must.”

“I appreciate that. Very
thoughtful.’ I ventured another sip and recoiled. “Ugh. I don’t know how you
can drink this stuff.”

“Years of practice, my dear.
Like dancing. You practiced and became a great dancer. I practiced and became a
great connoisseur of terrible beer.”

“Yeah, well,” I pinched
a piece of chicken and placed it in my mouth, licking the tangy sauce from my
fingers, “I don’t dance anymore.”

Cayne’s head swiveled
with surprise. “What do you mean? Why not?”

“I just stopped at some
point. That’s all. No big deal.” I bit into my sandwich to cover my discomfort.

“That’s a very big deal,
Brinley. Why would you just stop doing something that you love?” He sounded
genuinely upset.

I swallowed hard and
shrugged. “Things change, right? People change.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear
it. You were always at your most beautiful when you danced.”

His words echoed in a
silence that lasted for several minutes. I was afraid to look in his direction,
scared that it would lead me to confessions I wasn’t yet prepared to make.

“Speaking of change, when
did all this happen?” I gestured with an up-and-down motion that encompassed
his chiseled physique from the rounded muscular shoulders under his simple
white t-shirt to the flat and well-cut stomach that curved inward as he lounged
on the blanket. “I mean, when did Cayne Talbot become Caaaaaayne Taaaaalbot?” I
deepened my voice to a throaty growl as I said his name and squinted my eyes to
simulate a smoldering glare.

He chuckled softly. “I
don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took a last sip of beer and tossed
the empty can into a corner.

“Oh, please.” I
swallowed the last bite of my sandwich, crumpled the foil, and likewise tossed
it into the corner. “Did it happen naturally? Did you suddenly sprout a full
casing of superhero muscles overnight? You must have made a decision at some
point to transform yourself. But why? What happened to the scrawny kid from ten
years ago? I liked him.”

“Be honest with yourself,
Brinley” he said calmly. “You didn’t like that scrawny kid. That kid was
nothing to you.”

He crossed his hands
behind his head and lay back with his elbows out to the sides. His biceps
flexed. I noticed a black line of tattooed writing on his left arm but couldn’t
make out the words.

“Cayne, that’s not true.
I---”

“You left and forgot
that I ever existed.” His tone was flat and cool. “You ask why I changed. It
was because of lessons that I learned from girls like you. I didn’t want to
spend my life being sidelined and ignored because no one was willing to look
past what they saw on the outside. So I spent a year at the gym changing what
they saw on the outside. Now they see this.” He swiped one hand through the air
from his chest toward his toes. “And they don’t just walk away and forget.”

I sat with my legs
folded underneath me, balancing on my shins. The sky was shifting into hues of
violet and indigo in the deepening dusk. The first flickering pinpricks of
stars appeared in the heavens. Nighttime creatures began to chirp and buzz in
the high grasses.

“I’m sorry.” My voice
was faint. He looked directly at me. His eyes were luminous in the gathering
twilight.

“You don’t have to be
sorry.” His tone grew tender. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time or blame
you for anything. I’m just trying to explain. You had no idea how much I
worshipped you back then. How could you know? I was too much of a coward to ever
tell you. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. It’s water under
the bridge.”

He sat up and moved
toward me, lifting the sleeve of his t-shirt and exposing the tattoo of black
script that ran in a straight line on the inner portion of his arm below the
ridge of his bicep.

“See this tattoo? I got it
when I was eighteen. It’s one of my favorite quotes. ‘Each of us is all the
sums he has not counted.’ It’s from an old book called
Look Homeward, Angel
.
To me, it means that we are all products of everything that came before. We
can’t escape the past. We may try to bury it and hide it, but it never
disappears. It makes us who we are. I may try to bury that scrawny kid, but he
is still here inside me.”

He took my hand, brought
it to his lips, and kissed the tips of my fingers. I felt hot tears welling at
the corners of my eyes. “The same is true for you, Brinley. Whatever you are
hiding from, whatever you are running from, you can’t just bury it. No matter
how painful, it’s still a part of who you are.”

“What if I don’t want it
to be a part of who I am? What if I just want to forget and start over?” A tear
sliced down my cheek.

“I didn’t mean to make
you cry.” He placed his palm against my face. Another tear dropped and coursed
over the back of his hand. He kissed my damp temples. “I hate to see you cry.”
His warm breath played against my ear. “I want to make you happy.” His lips
moved down my neck. “What can I do that would make you happy?”

He kissed my chest just
above my collar and then around the other side of my neck. He put his hand
under the folds of my short skirt and inched slowly up my inner thigh until I
felt his fingers reach the edge of my panties and dive below the thin lace. I
gasped as he gently worked his fingers in further under the fabric and rubbed
me in a soft circular motion. I was wet and ready.

“I want you, Cayne.
That’s what would make me happy. I want you.”

He paused and looked
into my eyes with one hand still cradling my cheek and the other gently probing
and stroking. I trembled each time his fingertip circled and caressed the
sensitive swell.

“Are you sure this is what
you want?” He kissed me lightly on the mouth. He pulled me up so that we were
both on our knees facing each other. He kept his eyes locked on mine and pushed
his fingers deep inside me. I closed my eyes and gripped his arms tightly. “Tell
me this is what you want.”

He kissed me again,
harder this time, sucking and biting my lower lip. I tilted my head back as he
kissed me with added force, pressing his lips firmly onto mine and snaking his thick
tongue into my mouth. His fingers stroked me from the inside, plunging in
deeply and pulling out slowly. I rocked in time with his movements, groaning as
the hot tingling pressure and release of his touch took me ever closer to the
brink of orgasm.

“I’m sure, Cayne. I want
this. Right now.” The words came out in a series of breathy gasps. My heart was
pounding. I had never been more certain of anything in my life.

He paused, lost in
thought, his hand resting on my hip. The sky had grown dark. I couldn’t read
his expression in the pale white glow of the moonlight. I placed my palm
lightly against his chest and felt his racing heart and the rapid rise and fall
of his breath. His eyes met mine with a searching force. He nodded slightly, as
if he had reached a decision.

“I want you too,
Brinley. I’ve wanted you forever.”

He delicately traced the
outline of my chin and the front of my neck with one finger, stopping just
above my collar. He pinched open the flower-shaped buttons of my dress one by
one from my neck to the bottom of my skirt. I felt the ribbon around my waist
loosen and drop as he untied the bow. He brought his hands up to my shoulders,
dipping them beneath either side of my dress and slowly sliding the fabric back
and down over my arms until it dropped onto the blanket, his fingers giving me
chills where they brushed against my naked flesh.

I reached for the hem of
his shirt and lifted it up and over his chest and his raised arms. His bare silhouette
was outlined against the black sky in the shifting starlight. I ran my hands
along the hard bulge of his pecs, pressing the pads of my fingers into the
immovable muscle, and down the sculpted ridges of his abdomen.

The anticipation was
delicious and tantalizing. We were savoring every movement and every touch.

He kissed the tops of my
breasts where they rose round and full above the seams of my bra. My nipples were
hard under the lavender lace. He reached behind my back to unhook the clasp.
The delicate straps slid loosely down my arms, and the flimsy strip of material
fell into the space between us.

He cupped my exposed breasts
with the palms of his hands and rubbed his thumbs teasingly over my nipples. He
took each of my breasts in his mouth, sucking gently at first and then more
forcefully, circling each nipple with his tongue, his moist lips opening and
closing in a steady rhythm.

The play of his nimble tongue
over my sensitive flesh sent me into panting throes of desire. I gripped the
back of his neck, digging my fingers into his hair, and pressed my hips hard against
him, feeling the solid bulge of his massive erection. He wrapped his strong arms
around my back, lifting and lowering me onto the bed of blankets. All other
thoughts evaporated in the hunger of his embrace.

He plucked the thin
waistband of my panties with both hands, slid them down my legs and over my
feet, and tossed them aside where they fluttered on the breeze. His eyes eagerly
traveled the entire length of my naked body. I felt the heat of his ravenous
gaze on every inch of my bare skin. He swept his fingertips in a slow curving
path from my shoulders, over the smooth contours of my breasts, and across my
trembling stomach.

I swallowed hard. His
rough hands gripped my knees and spread my legs wide apart. His fingers danced all
the way up the soft skin of my inner thighs. I was fully open and glistening
wet. He provokingly caressed my throbbing clit with his thumb. I squirmed in
agonized delight and groaned quietly.

“This has to be for
real, Brinley. I can’t lose you again.” He leaned forward and planted his hands
on either side of my head. His eyes searched out mine in the darkness. “You
can’t run away.”

My brain flashed back to
an image of Granton saying those exact words.
You can’t run away
. It had
been a threat then, with his nails digging into the underside of my chin and
twisting my neck until I could no longer breathe. This time was different. Now
it was a question and a plea. Cayne was baring his vulnerable heart and asking
me to stay with him.
Please don’t run away. Please don’t leave me.