Spark (20 page)

“Who’s starting fires?” Calla Dean dropped onto the bench beside Hunter. Actually, she straddled it. The blue streaks in her hair were gone, replaced with fluorescent pink ones. She’d braided a small section and tied off the end with a yellow feather.

“We’re talking about the ones on the news,” Hunter said smoothly.

Calla picked up a piece of Hunter’s broccoli and popped it into her mouth. Hunter watched this with a bemused expression on his face, but didn’t stop her.

“The arson stuff?” she said. “Someone’s got a fire fetish, huh?”

Gabriel reached out and turned her wrist over, exposing the flame tattoos. “Go figure.”

She snorted. “I got those to piss off my aunt. Did you know the first fire was right next door to my house?” Without waiting for an answer, she took another piece of broccoli and made a face. “What, you couldn’t add some butter?”

“I didn’t realize I’d be sharing.”

“Mind if I eat with you?” She took a third piece.

“Looks like you’re already doing that,” said Gabriel.

“I don’t mind,” said Hunter. He pushed the tray her way.

“Ugh. No way. I need salt. I’ll be back.”

Then she unfolded from the bench to weave through the tables toward the lunch line.

Hunter pulled his tray back and sliced another piece of chicken.

Gabriel watched him for a moment. “What the hell was that?

You two have a thing now?”

“No.” Hunter paused. “Maybe. I can’t get a read.”

“A girl doesn’t steal your food if she’s not into you.”

“She’s unusual.”

“Dude, no offense, but you’re unusual.”

Hunter smiled briefly but then sobered. “We talked for a long time Friday night. Her father is serving in Afghanistan, so she lives with her aunt and uncle. I think she’s lonely.”

Gabriel looked for Calla in the lunch line. Punk hair notwithstanding, she had a good six inches on most of the girls around her, and she helped the effect by wearing a shirt that revealed a long stretch of tan midriff. “Calla Dean is the captain of the girls’ volleyball team. She could probably snap her fingers and have guys bringing her lunch on their knees. She is not lonely.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of attention she’s looking for.”

Gabriel shoveled another mouthful of macaroni into his mouth. “Oh, you mean you didn’t spend the whole evening showing her your Arabic tattoo collection?”

“Farsi. And I don’t have a collection. Just this one.” He pointed to the inside of his elbow.

“What’s it say?”

“Nothing important.” Hunter nodded toward Calla, who must have grabbed something easy, because she was already paying. “What do you want to do about the fires?”

Gabriel scowled. It was easier talking girls. “I don’t know.”

Hunter’s voice was careful. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” Gabriel glanced across the cafeteria, at where his brothers were sitting. Chris and Becca, Nick and Quinn. He hadn’t spoken to any of them since he’d spent Sunday sleeping off the effects of Saturday’s fire. “For the first time, I feel like I’m doing something right.”

Almost by accident, Layne found her days falling into an easy routine.

It shouldn’t have been easy, what with the catcalls in the hallway at school, the jokes about scars and burn fetishes. The worst was when she didn’t know what they were talking about then it was embarrassing and humiliating.

Then Gabriel would appear at her shoulder and she’d remember she wasn’t alone.

Every day, they spent fifth period in the library, going through the day’s math assignment. Gabriel was getting better. He wasn’t fast, but he was trying. She could see it in the classroom, too. Instead of slouching in his seat, scowling at the board, he was actually paying attention. When he dropped his homework in the basket on Ms. Anderson’s desk, he did it almost defiantly, like throwing down a gauntlet.

He’d be back on the basketball team in no time.

In a way, it made Layne sad. Because now, after the last bell rang, he sat with her on the bleachers and watched Simon’s basketball practice. In a few weeks, he’d be in practice himself, and she’d be sitting here alone.

At first, Gabriel would make little comments to her, about what Simon needed to do to improve. When Simon would glance up at them, Layne would translate Gabriel’s remarks into quick signs.

When Gabriel realized what she was doing, he asked her to show him the signs, too.

She’d almost fallen off the bleachers. No one had ever asked her to teach sign language.

So she’d shown him some basics, for the most common criti-cisms he was shouting out, blushing as his eyes held hers while she moved his fingers into the right formation.

But afternoons in the school gym couldn’t compare to the mornings at the farm. She’d always loved the cool silence, the easy solitude when it was just her and the horses. But now each moment carried a hint of anticipation.

Gabriel had shown up every morning.

He always looked deliciously sexy, his hair tousled from the run, a night’s worth of stubble along his jaw. He told her it took twice as long to get to the farm as it did to get home. When she’d given him a puzzled look, he’d almost blushed and said, “I don’t want to be a sweaty mess when I get here.” Then he’d kissed her for so long that she’d forgotten her name, and he’d whispered against her cheek, “But it’s okay if I’m a sweaty mess when I leave . . . ”

But he never pushed her, never demanded more than she was ready to give. His hands never ventured outside of those safety zones, never even tried to get past her clothing. If her body stiffened at his touch, he backed off.

But now, after days of being good, her imagination was starting to get the worst of her. What if Gabriel felt her scars and thought she was disgusting? Talking about them in theory was a lot different from seeing red, puckered skin running up the side of her abdomen.

Thursday morning, they were lying on a grassy hill some distance behind the barn. Her horse was grazing a few yards away, a rope trailing from his halter. The air was crisp, but the sun warmed her cheeks, making her drowsy. She didn’t want to close her eyes, in case there was any chance she’d open them to find out it was still Sunday morning, that this week was just a dream.

The horse snorted at a butterfly, but then went back to grazing.

Gabriel turned his head to look at her. “Why doesn’t he run away?”

Layne gave a short laugh. “I keep asking myself the same thing about you.”

He rolled up onto one elbow to look down at her. It put the sun behind him and made his hair fall into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Someone pinch me.

“Seriously,” he said, glancing over at where her horse was yanking tufts of grass out of the ground. “Is he trained like a dog?”

Layne giggled. “No. Horses are herd animals. If he ran anywhere, he’d go back to the barn.” Though really, if the barn manager caught her lying out here with the horse running loose, the woman would probably have a word or two to say about it.

“Like that day on the trail,” said Gabriel.

Layne nodded. “The day you ran.”

He snorted. “You scared me off with that . . . that hug.”

She almost laughed at his tone, but then remembered the whole reason she’d thrown her arms around his neck in the first place. He’d looked so stricken, so sad. Even now, she could see shards of emotion in his eyes.

Despite the amount of time they’d spent together, she was still no closer to discovering his secrets.

And he was a master at keeping them hidden.

It had to do with his family; she knew that much. She never saw him with his brothers, but talking about them was just about the only thing to turn his voice sharp. No matter how much she loved his company, she couldn’t help wondering if he was spending time with her so he could avoid spending time with them. Even in the mornings, he stretched the minutes as long as possible, until she knew he must be practically sprinting home to make it to school in time.

She reached up and pushed the hair out of his eyes. He turned his head to kiss her wrist.

Layne had to remind herself to focus. “What’s it like, having a twin?”

He closed his eyes and gave a tight sigh. “I never know how to answer that question.” He paused. “I mean, what’s it like not having one?”

“Come on,” she teased, trying to lighten his mood. “Do you finish each other’s sentences? Feel each other’s pain?”

He snorted, obviously not playing. “No.”

“Are you and Nick still not speaking?”

He shrugged a little.

She could feel him distancing himself again. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

Now his eyes turned hard. “Why do you care?”

She matched his tone. “Why shouldn’t I care?”

He was going to fire back; she could tell. She braced herself for words sparked with anger.

But then he just sighed and rolled back to the ground to lie beside her. “I’m not even sure where to start. He brought Quinn home for dinner, and I just . . . I picked a fight. I’m not even sure why.”

“Did you like her?”

“No, no, nothing like that. But we hardly ever fight, and this one it got out of control. I almost . . . it could have been bad.

Mike and Chris broke it up. Hunter, too.”

There was more a lot more. She could hear it behind the words.

“What else?” she said.

He was staring at the sky now, almost directly into the sun. It had to be hurting his eyes, but he wasn’t even squinting. “It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

He scowled, and she thought he wasn’t going to say anything else. But then he turned his head to look at her. “I wish I could undo it, but . . . I can’t. They don’t understand. Nick especially.

I mean, he’s the perfect one. Never in trouble, covering my ass when I screw up which is all the damn time.” He turned back to the sun. “You know, he got hurt right after homecoming? My fault. I couldn’t even help him. He doesn’t blame me, but I just . . .

I just . . .”

“You blame yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re mad at him for not blaming you.”

Now she had his attention. “Yeah. How do you know that?”

Layne thought of her mother, of how much she hated the woman for abandoning her family but how much she blamed herself for not being a more perfect daughter. “Trust me. I can play the blame game all day.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything. The silence suddenly had a weight to it.

She understood only a fraction of what he was talking about, but details could come later. This was the first time he’d come close to saying anything at all, and she didn’t want him to stop.

“Have you tried to talk to Nick?” she said.

Gabriel fidgeted. “Yes. No. It’s complicated.” He rolled up on one arm again, until the line of his body was almost against hers. She could feel his warmth through the material of her jacket. She wanted to hold her breath, as if one small movement would spook him and send him bolting down the path again.

“I just snapped, I guess,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I’d never started that fight, but then it feels like some bizarre turning point.” He was closer now, his voice gaining momentum.

“You know how you can trace back moments to one action that didn’t feel important at the time? But then later, you go back and think about it, and you realize one little decision turned your whole life upside down. If I hadn’t been so angry, we wouldn’t have fought. If we hadn’t fought, I never would have driven out of there the way I did. If I hadn’t driven out of there, I wouldn’t have ” He faltered.

Layne stared up at him. His eyes were wide, his breathing a little quick.

“Tell me,” she said. “Just tell me.”

He flinched and looked away. “It was the night I drove you home,” he said, his voice rough. “I was furious. I wasn’t thinking straight. It wasn’t . . . I can’t . . .” He swallowed.

“Please,” she said.

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

Hate him? What could it be? He wouldn’t have what?

He’d been angry. Driving. Layne knew too much from her father’s profession, and her imagination was getting carried away again. “Did you hurt someone?” she whispered.

“No.” He made a choked sound. “No. Just the opposite.”

Well, there went her theories about hit-and-run accidents. I wouldn’t have . . . been with another girl? Her own throat felt tight. “Is there . . . someone else?”

“What?” His eyes snapped to hers. “What? No. No, Layne, there’s no one else.” He leaned down to brush his lips against hers. It brought him even closer, his chest weighing on hers.

“Please,” he said, kissing her again. “Please. I would never hurt you like that.”

His kisses felt light but heavy: desperate, as if he worried she’d pull away any minute.

“Just tell me. I won’t ” she started, only to have him trap her lips for a breathless second. “I won’t hate you. No matter what.”

He went still, staring down at her. His blue eyes were full of hurt and fear and wonder. She’d never thought a guy like Gabriel could look vulnerable, especially not lying on top of her, but there it was.

Layne stared up at him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s not about trust. I don’t want to disappoint you.” His hand fell at her waist, securing her there against him.

She froze. Half an inch of fabric sat between his palm and ruined skin.

Gabriel paused, but he didn’t move his hand. “Do you trust me?”

She could barely breathe. Her voice came out with a squeak.

“It’s not about trust. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He laughed softly, and it broke through some of the tension.

All of a sudden, any vulnerability was gone. “You’re crazy.” His hand tightened on her waist, strong and secure through her jacket. He leaned down again, and she was sure he was going to kiss her, but his mouth landed on her neck. His lips whispered against the skin there, followed by his teeth, right against the edge of her jaw. When his mouth caught her earlobe, she gasped and arched into him, surprised at the flood of heat in her body.

His hand slid up her side, holding her there, and she trembled, warring with how much she liked it and how much she worried he could feel.

Gabriel drew back, just enough to look at her. The sun was behind him again, leaving fiery sparks in his hair. A cool breeze kissed her cheeks and made her long for his warmth.

“You still owe me a secret,” she whispered.

“I know.” His lips brushed hers, featherlight. “I know.”

“Tell me ”

“Shhh.” He unzipped her jacket.

She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

But he stroked a hand across her cheek. “Cold?”

She shook her head, but her breathing was shaky.

He kissed her again, and for a moment, it felt like his kiss was electric, like the sunlight was tangible, a blanket of warmth and sensation that smothered her thoughts. His tongue coaxed small sounds from her throat, and she buried her hands in his hair.

She lost track of his hands, consumed by the feel of his body against hers.

Then he’d pulled her shirt free of her riding pants, and sunlight stroked her bare stomach.

She gasped and broke the kiss, bracing an arm against his chest, using her other hand to try to yank her shirt back down.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey.” His eyes were locked on hers, his hand on her face, nowhere dangerous. His voice was soft. “Your scars aren’t all you are, Layne.” He settled back into the grass a bit, though his face was still close to hers. A smile played on his lips. “And I swear I’m not just saying that to get to second base.”

She laughed, but it came out like a sob, and she was terrified she was going to cry.

Gabriel shifted closer again, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. “Do you really think I’m going to run if I see your scars?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Do you really think I’m going to run if I know your secrets?”

That chased the gentle humor off his face. It reminded her of Friday night, sitting on the tailgate of his car, when they’d played Truth or Dare. When she’d made a decision to jump, praying he’d be there to catch her.

She reached for his wrist, pulling his hand away from her cheek, drawing it down the front of her body. She held her breath again, sliding his fingers under the edge of her shirt. Her palm flattened over his hand, holding his skin against hers.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

She shook her head quickly, and he laughed.

Then he slid his hand out from under hers, stroking the length of her abdomen. His thumb traced the line of her bra.

She sucked in a quick breath.

“See?” He leaned in to speak against her ear. “I still think you’re beautiful.”

She knew exactly what his hands were feeling, exactly where the scars turned smooth skin into something that felt like melted rubber. She waited for him to jerk his fingers away, to make a sound of disgust, to recoil.

Instead, he slid her shirt higher, then bent to kiss his way across her stomach.

Every nerve in her body was firing. She thought she might hy-perventilate.

Especially when his teeth found the skin at the base of her rib cage.

At that moment, he could have told her he was a bank rob-ber, and she wouldn’t have cared. An arms dealer. A foreign spy.