Soul Drifter (Divinely Touched Book 1)

by Dyan Brown

  “Thanks.”

  “Yup! And here…”

  She opens up a cabinet or two and finds towels, handing me two. She doesn’t seem to have been affected by her drinks and is moving very efficiently around the small bathroom. Gathering her own set of towels, she puts our dresses over her arm and opens the door. We grab two more fruit drinks, two bourbons, and four bottles of water as the bartender wraps for the night, leaving the privileged to fend for themselves.

  With all due respect to my massive training routine, I haven’t been in a swimsuit in a few months and feel like I’m walking around the house in my underwear. I follow her back outside and over to the bubbling Jacuzzi behind a rock wall that separates it from view of the rest of the yard. The boys are already sitting on the sides.

  We put the dresses on the back of a pool chair and the towels and water in the seat, each of our four hands filled with a fruity tall glass in one hand and a short dark glass in the other. I think the bartender was being nice with the guy’s drinks, because they are nearly full. I wonder for a moment if the ‘fruities’ are overstocked on rum, too.

  Grayson looks me up and down as I head over with the drink. There it is. My smirk. I love that little thing. He looks at me as if I’m sex incarnate. There’s no other way about that look—it’s undeniable and distinct lust. One look from him, and I’m at a loss for air. I tell my body it still must function and hand his drink to him.

  “Thank you.” He lets our fingertips brush in the trade. “Want to sit?”

  I set my drink down on the sandstone edging of the bubbling water and sit, glancing at Abby as I do. She is whispering something to Jay, and he looks over at us, nodding.

  What in the world are they saying about us… about me?

  I take a sip of my drink and have to suck in air from the shocking amount of alcohol in it. The steam coming off the water rolls over my lower body and brings the familiar scent of chlorine. I slip my calves into the gurgling water and feel the contrast of heat to the slight chill in the air. It makes goose bumps sprout over my thighs, stomach, and arms.

  Grayson takes a hardy swig from his highball glass and sets it on the other side of him, the ice clinking with the movement. He stands on the seat in the water, turning to me, and then sinking into the water. An invitation?

  Oh, God, wow!

  I stir my fruit-flavored rum, taking another timid sip from the straw and letting the warm burn flood my chest, closing my eyes for a moment and waiting for the liquid courage to take effect. Breathing in the cold, fall-scented air, I try to find some balance between wanting to be Aphrodite and needing to be Mother Teressa. Is he seriously giving me come-hither eyes while half naked? Maybe I’m just drunk.

  I dare to open my eyes again and have to shake myself slightly when I do. Jay and Abby are gone, along with her dress and their towels. I glance around for a moment and then dare to look back at Grayson. He is chest high in the water, sitting exactly across the way from me.

  “Where did…” I trail off, unsure of what I’m supposed to do. Do I take this as a sign he’s ready? Do I take this as a sign they wanted to go do it? Is it a sign of anything at all? Grayson’s never let us get past kissing and over-the-clothes petting. I’ve wanted this for ages, but now I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve never done this before.

  “I asked them to leave.”

  “Why?” I don’t think he could even hear what I said because I barely could myself, but he answers anyway.

  “I wanted you…” He stands, and the water drips from his chest, down over his abs, to the rim of his trunks, “…to myself.”

  His eyes bore into mine as he takes the few steps in the steaming water to close the gap between us. I clench my bottom lip in my teeth, trying to decide if it is possible to move. If I do, will I wake up? Do I even care? He hasn’t looked at me with this much want since our hike.

  I glance around as Grayson nears my knees, which I hope don’t show their shaking. I can blame that on the cold, right? Yes. I see his glass and think for a moment that I’ve never seen him drink before. Maybe he’s just loose enough not to have all his guards up.

  Would that be taking advantage of him?

  All those thoughts and questions disappear as his warm hands find my ankles in the water. I can’t help my eyes from whipping back to his and being held captive there. He doesn’t let go of my gaze as he slides his hands up the back of my calves to my knees and slowly pulls them apart. My lips part, and I breathe in piercingly at the vulnerable spot he is positioning me into.

  Moving forward, he dips his head lower and brushes a feather-light kiss to one knee, then slides his lips upward, slowly grazing against my skin, his hair tickling my thighs as he goes. I want to cry at where he’s going; in relief or passion or horror, I’m not sure. I do nearly cry out in pain when he stops before making any sort of contact with my swimsuit.

  Sliding between my legs, his hands continue up my thighs. The bumps on my skin renew at the touch, and I can feel my breasts tighten and a pulse throb against the center of my bikini bottoms. His hands rest on my hips as he pulls me closer to the edge of the water and closer to him.

  “Is this okay?” Grayson whispers.

  I nod because talking is no longer possible, then lean closer to him. I’ve had a lifetime of not being able to feel his skin on mine, and I need to fix that. Our eyes haven’t missed a glance until he looks down at my body. I can see the hunger in his eyes growing stronger with every inch he examines. He exhales, pulling my body the last inch into his, and we melt into each other. Lips, arms, chests, and… hips.

  My legs wrap around his waist, and I slide my arms over his shoulders as he sinks his tongue into my mouth. Pressing our bodies together, he lifts me from the stone and we descend into the water. Backing into the far corner of the Jacuzzi, he sits in his spot, only now he’s pressing my body down onto his in the water. His hands are as hungry as mine are, longing to be able to touch and feel, running along the curves of my hips, up to my waist, to the edge of my top, then down again. I nearly whine in protest that his hands didn’t find my breasts. I press my chest against his to feel pressure on them, and he doesn’t seem to need more of an invitation than that. The next time his hands come up, he quickly pops my breasts out from under their covering.

  Breaking our kiss to look down at me, Grayson moans. Grabbing one breast in each hand, he massages them for a second before deciding that his mouth is better suited on them. I moan, vaguely aware of my nails digging into his shoulders. Grayson lets out a rumble from his throat as he sucks hard on my right nipple while rolling the other between his forefinger and his thumb. The feeling of my breast in his mouth is too much, and I grind down hard onto him.

  Two layers of cloth. That’s all that’s left between us. I reach down and find him in the steaming water. His moans nearly turn into cries as he winces, and I almost stop but he pulls me closer, burying his face in my shoulder. I try to ignore the fact that I’ve never touched a guy before and take advantage of this moment, feeling every ridge and length of smooth skin in my palm.

  He lets me continue for another moment before his free hand, the one not pressing the small of my back into his body, finds the pulse that is now throbbing above his lap. I chirp in a gasp as he presses against me with his palm, then wiggle against him, my body begging for more friction.

  There’s a small pang of relief and a deeper burn that pushes into me with his fingers. My body moves over his hand, taking the offered intimacy I’ve been denied for so long. I must be dreaming. I must be. There’s a part of Grayson inside me. The thought makes me press harder down onto his hand.

  The new and unfamiliar sting of his long fingers rubbing painfully slow circles in a place I didn’t know existed; the water lapping over my one free breast and the rasp of his stubble on the other… The steam coming off the water makes moisture bead on the front of my body while a cool breeze licks over my back and ruffles my hair. I can hear the trees rustle and sway over us, the c
anopy a shelter enclosing us in a world of our own.

  The first word to make it out of my mouth since I got here spills out of me. “More…” I rumble low against his skin. Dream or not, I will take everything I can and give him whatever he wants. He pushes deeper into me, and we both moan at the feeling. I grasp him and squeeze up his shaft to the tip.

  The flood of everything is too much. I need him in me. All of him. Now.

  I reach with my other hand and pull his trunks down over his lap until he’s only covered by water. I pull away slightly, and he resists by pulling me closer. I pull back again, and he lets me. Grayson’s eyes follow me with wonder as my hands go to the rim of my bottoms and I tug downward on the fabric.

  24

  Grayson’s eyes grow wide as he watches my thumbs pull at my swimsuit—not with passion, but fear. “No!” he blurts, and his hands fly up from the water, splashing, to stop mine.

  I’m frozen and embarrassed; I’m sure my emotions reflect on my face.

  “No,” he repeats more softly this time. “Not like this, Samantha. As much as I want you, and…” He looks over my body in front of him, with my breasts exposed and the top edge of my bikini bottoms visible on top of the water. “My God, I want you. But I can’t. Not here. Not just because we’re tipsy.”

  Well, I’d guarded my emotions for this, and here it is—rejection.

  My heart sinks even though I knew it was highly possible. Trying to keep my expression natural, I breathe in, grounding myself, and start to back away, dipping into the water to tuck my breasts back into their cups. I go over to my drink and take a long sip; letting the alcohol burn as it slides down the back of my throat and using the time to compose myself, to let my heart slow from its frantic pace.

  “All right, then,” I finally say. “What do you want to do now?” My voice is light, but still flat. I sit back down on the opposite side of the hot tub and watch him work to re-cover the body parts I uncovered a few seconds earlier. I must catch him off guard with the question because for a second, he seems surprised at my response. Normally I’m in some state of begging or halfway through an apology by now. This time, I will do neither.

  “Uh. Okay.” He reaches back, grabbing his glass so we both have something to do with our hands and mouths besides use them on each other. “Well, we can’t stay in here for too much longer; I’m kind of getting dizzy. From the heat,” he tacks on, as if perhaps it will make him appear more masculine.

  I try my best to conceal my irritation and think of a subject change, but instead we end up sitting in silence for three or four minutes, avoiding each other’s eyes. He wants me, but not like this. Like how, then? Would it be too awkward of me to ask him where he sees this going? Or is that too much like asking if we’re ever getting married? I’d ask why we just can’t fool around and not have sex, but I’ve heard that answer too many times to count. It’s kissing and nothing more.

  At some point, I just need to start getting real about my thoughts on this relationship. He hasn’t even told me he loves me, and I sure won’t be the first one to say it. Finally, I just look over and ask softly, “Can you take me home?”

  It’s his turn to look disappointed, but he nods and gets out of the water. I think I see a hint of irritation reflected in the dim light as he goes for our towels. I get out and follow behind him, and he gives me one so we can both dry off.

  “Is it all right if I clean up before we go?” he says blandly.

  “Of course,” I say politely but stiffly.

  “Come with me; I don’t trust the guys here when they’re drunk.” His words are tight and serious.

  As we walk into the house, I follow the curves of the muscles in his back as we walk. I’m trying not to think about the ‘what might have been’ of the last half hour, but my nail marks are still visible on his shoulder blades. The sight of the scratches makes me bite my lip at the memory of making them. I can still feel his fingers in me, my breasts pressed against his chest; yet now he’s getting ready to take me home.

  As we head through the house, still half-naked, a few of the guys give him drunken cracks about heading to his room with me. Only a few of them realize he’s wearing a ‘don’t fuck with me’ look, I can see it from just his profile as he eyes a particularly wasted brother down. We turn into the foyer and pass another guy chasing two girls around while they squeal. The guy turns toward me, but I don’t really catch on to what he’s doing until it’s too late.

  I shriek as he reaches underneath the back of my towel, goosing my upper thigh. I jump from his reach, but it isn’t necessary since Grayson already has him by the neck and slams him into the wall by the front door. The handful of brothers who aren’t too drunk pull Grayson off the rogue brother.

  The only audible thing I hear in the shuffle is Grayson roaring, “She’s mine!”

  I cover my mouth with my hand, so I don’t… shout? Smile? I’m not sure. Maybe both. The guys finally split the two of them up, and Grayson’s face is bright red with anger when he finally turns my way.

  He is so heavy-footed that he practically stomps toward me. “You good?”

  My eyes feel as wide as dinner plates as I look at him and nod. I’ve seen him fight, almost daily. I’ve never seen him angry like this. It rolls off him like lava rolling down an icy mountain, hissing and steaming as it goes. I open my mouth to say something to calm him down, but he cuts me off.

  “Okay, come on.” He picks up the towel and my dress as he nudges me toward the stairs.

  My cheeks grow hot with emotion as I tighten my towel around myself and feel his hand guiding me at the small of my back up the stairs. The heat from his hand is so intense I can feel it through my towel. It’s as though I had missed a massive spot with sunscreen before going to the pool. When we reach the top and see the hallway is free of occupants, he finally feels he doesn’t have to literally protect my ass from other men, and he takes the lead again. Regardless of the intensity of the heat, I want his hand to touch me again. Now I understand the term ‘glutton for punishment’.

  Getting closer, I realize I’m now way more curious about seeing his room than wanting to get this night over with and going home. I’m really going to see it. My mind runs through a blur of all the things I’ve assumed about his room.

  He stops at the last door on the right. When he punches a four-digit code into the keypad, the door unlocks with a pop.

  We walk in, and I take in the room. Neat and clean. That was a no-brainer. No pile of clothes a week overdue for laundering, like my room. Blue plaid comforter with complimentary beige sheets over the large, centered bed. There’s a small pile of papers and books stacked on the desk where he was working the night before. There’s a large, benched window beside the desk with a bed pillow leaning up against the wall, like he was sitting with his legs stretched out reading there recently.

  The two doors on the opposite wall from the window must be the closet and the bathroom. The lights on the nightstands were already on when we came in, but he turns on the desk lamp, too. Guess we really shouldn’t be alone in his bedroom while it’s too dark.

  I wonder if he wants me to prop the door open, too, or perhaps go get a chaperone.

  He walks over to his closet and pulls out jeans, then moves to the dresser, pulling a crisply folded T-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs from the first and second drawers. “I’m just going to rinse off the chlorine, and then I’ll be out. Make yourself at home.”

  I nod. It feels like we’re farther from each other now than we’ve ever been. Forget the room between us; he may as well be back in Omaha and I may as well be back in Dallas.

  He pauses at the door, looking like he wants to say something else. I meet his gaze eye for eye. I watch his chest rise and fall more quickly than it should. Grayson’s mouth opens to speak, and I bite my lip.

  “I…” He rethinks what he was going to say. “It’ll be okay, Samantha. We will be okay.”

  I sigh. “I know. It’s just—” I really shouldn’
t ask now. “I know,” I reiterate. “Go wash up. I’m fine.”

  He hesitates a moment longer but disappears behind the white door. I look around the room again and notice a bookcase to the left of the door, adjacent to the window seat.

  I wander over and look at his books. There are tons of novels. I know some of the names—Stephen King, James Patterson, and Michael Stackpole—but most are unfamiliar. They look like they range from murder mystery to horror to Star Wars-type fantasy. I didn’t think about him being so into books; I never see him reading for pleasure. I guess if I’d really thought about it, I could’ve seen that about him. How has a shared love of fiction not come up in all these months? In all the conversations we’ve had?

  The water turns on in the bathroom. A moment later, there is the familiar sound of a glass shower door clanking shut. I sit on the window seat to wait and see the book he must currently be reading over on his nightstand. I walk over and see an epic fantasy novel. Picking it up, I let my eyes start to automatically scan the words on the back, but I’m not taking in what I’m reading.

  His bookmark is sticking out the top, three-quarters of the way through the book. I notice it looks like a photo trimmed in white, like school photos are. I pull it up slightly to see a cute little boy, possibly in kindergarten, with brown hair, massively freckled skin, and deep blue eyes. My breath hitches for a beat, but I look on his nightstand to find more family photos, many more deep blue eyes I don’t know, and even pictures of me.

  He must have just used a picture of a younger cousin for a bookmark. I look at the back and see “Caleb 2019-2020” written in neat, feminine handwriting on the back. Yep, school picture. I have a lot of Jason’s too. It’s really sweet that he keeps family photos on his nightstand. I almost sit on the bed but rebound up.

  I wouldn’t want to get his comforter damp or put a wet butt print on it, and I really should get dressed. Putting the book back down, I walk to the end of the bed where he put my dress. Starting to pick it up, I unwrap my towel and put it on the bed. I hear a noise behind me and look over my shoulder at the bathroom door.