Summer's Desire (15 page)

"Wow, this sandwich is good! I had
no idea I was so hungry." I take a bigger bite out of the sandwich.

But then, alerted by Seth's unnatural stillness,
I look up at him. He's staring at me, not eating anymore, and he's angry.

"She thought you were staying out
to have sex with some random guy, and all she had to say was have a
nice
time?"
His voice is that scary kind of precise which means he's not just angry but
fuming mad. "What kind of foster parent is she? You're a sixteen-year-old,
beautiful girl entrusted to her care—and that's how much interest she takes in
your well-being?"

Beautiful?

I give a light shrug. "She's not
the worst foster I've ever had." Then, when I realize by the unholy light
in his eyes that I've made matters worse, I add quickly, "It's fine. This
actually works to our advantage, right? If she had said I couldn't sleep elsewhere,
that would've been bad, right? Right?" I use my most convincing tone, and
some of the tension seeps out of him.

"Come on, Seth, let's eat! These
sandwiches are good. You've turned into quite the master cook for someone who,
five years ago, used to burn even water." I nudge him teasingly with my
shoulder and smile at him, then take another bite out of my sandwich.

His expression wavers between irritation
at Louise's callousness and amusement at my distracting tactics. Amusement
wins. He looks up in a "heaven help me" gesture and returns to his food.

I
n retrospect, I can't believe my
appetite: I managed to eat two of those huge sandwiches! I haven't felt so full
in a long time.

Seth finished all the other sandwiches,
though, numbering at least seven. At my slightly horrified expression, he
laughed and told me he was a growing boy, so he had to eat a lot. Growing boy,
my butt! He's a 6'3'' giant! Still, he's an athlete and has a lot of muscle
mass to maintain—gosh, does he ever!—so I guess I understand from where he's
coming.

I'm in the bathroom now, standing in
front of the mirror. God, I look a mess! Huge dark eyes sunken with exhaustion,
pale cheeks except for a small red area on the right side, where Josh hit me.
Cheekbones that cut too sharp and lips that look too full for my face after the
couple of pounds I lost.

Also, the contrast between my skin-tight
T-shirt clinging to my upper body and my baggy pants bunched around my waist is
hilarious. And
not
in a good way.

I open the door a crack and call out,
"Seth, do you have an extra toothbrush I can use?"

Silence, then I hear: "You can use
mine if you don't mind."

It seems such an intimate act, to share
his toothbrush. Behind the door, I smile hugely. "I don't mind. Thanks!"

After brushing my teeth, then washing
and drying my face, I free what hair is still caught in my bun and leave it
flowing down my back. When I head back into the living room, Seth's eyes fly to
my hair in seeming fascination.

"I had no idea your hair was so
long."

I shrug. "You couldn't have known.
I usually wear it up."

"Yes, I noticed the bun." He
grimaces. I grin.

Seth comes closer, reaches for my
hair... "May I?"

I nod faintly, then hold my breath.

He catches a few strands of my hair, curls
them around his fingers. "Your hair's darkened quite a bit. I remember the
first time I ever saw you it was platinum blond. Five years ago it was ash
blond, and now it's this warm honey blond color."

I shiver at his nearness, at the sensual
way he's touching my hair. "It's been like this for at least three years
now. I don't think it'll change anymore." Heart in my throat, I ask,
"Which way did you like it best?"

He looks me straight in the eye. "I
like it all ways. It's still you." And on that leveling admission, he lets
go of my hair strands and goes into the bathroom.

Bereft of his energizing presence, I realize
that I can barely stand upright. Dragging my feet with utter exhaustion, I go
and lay down on the couch. I roll my body into a small ball, close my eyes, and
think back on my day.

I've had such a horrifying experience
earlier, yet since the moment Seth took me away from school, I've been so
focused on him that I haven't thought even once of Josh. Seth has managed, in
just a couple of hours—by taking care of me, talking to me, and smiling at me—to
give me complete peace of mind. That's how much power he has over me, over my
feelings. And his gentle touch has erased the memory of the scumbag's violence.

I owe Seth so much.

I don't know what I would have done if
he hadn't come for me today; I don't even want to think about what could've
happened. Even if he had saved me from the attack but then left me to deal
alone with its aftermath, I'd probably be a traumatized mess right now.

Instead here I am: content and relaxed, basking
in the light of Seth's attention. My body tingling all over whenever he's
looking at me or touching me—so in other words, all the time! My lips curl in a
small grin, then dip down again.

Of course, the wounds he inflicted on me
five years ago pulse just below the fragile surface of my current contentment.
But I don't want to think about them now; I don't want to let the past ruin
this perfect evening. Who knows, maybe it'll be the last one I'll ever have
with Seth, so I won't sacrifice it, not for any price. Not on account of my old
hurts.

I know I'll eventually have to find the
courage to have it out with him, ask him why he didn't contact me after I left
town, why he stopped being my friend. But not now.

"Sunny?" He's suddenly
whispering near my ear, brushing his nose over my hair.

When did he get back? I didn't hear him.
I keep my eyes closed; I'm too lethargic to make the effort of opening them. "Hmm?"

"You want to go to bed now?"

"Isn't it too early?" I mumble
a bit incoherently, and he chuckles into my hair.

"Yes, it's still early—only about
08:30 P.M.—but it doesn't matter. You look about ready to crash. Come on, lazy
pants!"

He picks me up carefully, and I barely
have the energy to circle my hands behind his neck. I love it when he's
carrying me; he makes it seem so effortless, as if my weight was insignificant.

"Aren't I too heavy?"

He laughs. "I could lift three of
you without breaking a sweat, moppet."

"I'm not little!" I protest, my
eyes flying open in indignation.

He gives me an incredulous stare but
wisely decides not to contradict me—I always knew he was a smart guy. But
still, he's a guy and thus constitutionally incapable of completely forfeiting
a battle, it seems.

So, "You
are
little compared
to me," he points out slyly, and though I'd dearly like to contradict him
some more, I don't this time; he's too obviously right.

Next thing I know, I'm landing on a soft
bed.

"Now let's get you comfortable."
He casually starts to unbutton my pants, and lightning-quick, my right hand flies
to press over the fastening, trapping his fingers. Our gazes collide in a
tempest of exploding emotion, and his face is suddenly so pale and still it
seems hewn out of marble. His eyes burn with anxiety and remorse.

Oh God, I realize on a flash of
understanding, he thinks I stopped him because I'm afraid; because I'm
remembering Josh! But I would never in a million years confuse Seth's touch
with that scumbag's, and I could never,
ever
be afraid of Seth physically
hurting me.

I'm not frightened because Seth is
helping me take my pants off—or because of any other reason! What I actually am,
all of a sudden, is nervous and hesitant: because being with Seth feels so
different now, and we haven't shared the same bed in over five years, and we're
not children anymore. And—I can't believe I'm even thinking this!—but I'm
wearing plain cotton panties and I wish that they were sexy lace panties
instead, the only kind that Seth is probably used to seeing on girls.

And it is on
that
particular
thought that my frenzied mental tirade screeches to a halt, leaving me ashamed
of myself.

Why do I even care what kind of panties I
have on? Seth certainly doesn't; he wouldn't look at me that way. It's only I
who has this huge new awareness of him, I alone who's overwhelmed by all these jumbled
thoughts and uncertainties.

But they're inconsequential right now.

What is
not
inconsequential is
Seth believing that I could ever fear him because of the scumbag wannabe-rapist.
And that is what I have to put to rights.

All this flashes through my head in less
than a couple of seconds. So in real-time, it's after no more than an infinitesimal
pause that my right hand starts to unfasten the rest of the buttons. The whole
time, I'm looking solemnly at Seth, filling my eyes with my utter trust in him,
and he looks back at me fiercely. Soon the storm in his gaze quiets, and that
awful rigidity leaves his face.

When I'm finished with the buttons, I
raise my hips a tiny bit; and his hands, frozen until now, start moving again: pulling
my pants below my bottom, then down my legs and finally off, leaving me in my
panties.

Next, he straightens up and casually grabs
the bottom of his snug jersey. He begins to draw it up... on which image I
squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

Yes, I'm awfully tempted to raise my eyelids
and peek at his fabulous body. But I've already been through so much today I
really think my poor enervated heart can't handle much more. So I keep my eyes closed
while the sounds of him undressing just a couple of feet away from me torture
my imagination.

Through my eyelids, I feel when Seth
turns the light off. A second later, he joins me on the bed and draws me to him
with sure hands. Just like when I was a child, my response is to burrow deeper
into him. But then I realize that I'm touching bare skin and, very much
unlike
when I was a child, a delicious trembling invades my limbs.

To distract myself from the wonderful feel
of his naked skin, I ask drowsily, "You're sleepy too?"

"Something like that," he says
obscurely, and his arms squeeze me a bit tighter—almost as if trying to make
sure that I'm really there, or something. I'm too bushed to analyze it, though.

"G'night, Seth."

"Goodnight, Sunny." His voice
sounds slightly hoarse.

With my next breath, it's lights out for
me.

Chapter 11

I wake to the sound of a husky voice.
"Rise and shine, Sunny! Come on, sleepyhead, we have to get ready for
school."

Without moving and without opening my
eyes, I take a few seconds to assess everything.

I'm lying on Seth, plastered to him from
head to toe, and I'm feeling hot all over. My face is resting on his hard
chest, my left arm is at his waist, my right to his side, and both his arms are
curled around me. Our legs are entangled.

I remember that I'm wearing a T-shirt and
plain cotton panties, whereas—considering all the warm, chiseled areas I'm
touching—it's safe to say that he's only wearing his boxer shorts. It's also
safe to say, judging by the impressive erection digging into my belly, that
Seth is built to size all over.

Intellectually, I know that his arousal
has nothing to do with me personally, that it's just an instinctive morning reaction...
but my traitorous body is impervious to the voice of reason. Instead, it is
melting, burning,
wanting
. I barely stop myself from grinding against
Seth.

Placing both my hands on his chest for
support, I raise myself and meet his fathomless blue eyes. My mouth curves into
its brightest smile.

"Good morning!" I almost
chirp, I'm so happy.

What a view to which to wake up in the
morning! I could almost believe he's an angel and I've died and gone to heaven—if
it weren't for the fire blazing in his gaze. There's nothing angelic about his
eyes; they're wicked, hot, and completely focused on me.

My breath catches in my throat.
Could
it be possible... that he wants me too?
For an electrifying second, I let
myself consider it... before reality comes crashing in and douses me with cold practicality.
Really, how deluded can I get? Seth can never want someone like me; I'm so far
below his league it's not even funny.

Yeah, I'm pretty enough, I guess, and as
long as I don't lose any more weight (and thus turn into a total bag of bones),
I have an okay body. But I'm no great beauty by any means, plus I'm a total geek.
Whereas the girls he's reputed to go for are like Jessica—confident and sophisticated,
with the look of a model: expensive haircut, perfect makeup, sexy clothes that
showcase all their assets, high-heeled hundred-dollars shoes.
Not
a (currently)
borderline scrawny girl who wears no makeup and puts her hair up in ugly buns.
Who goes around wearing threadbare, overlarge clothes and cheap sneakers. A
girl who's wearing granny panties in his bed, for crying out loud!