All the while, I could feel my smile begin to stretch as wide as the open road.
Last time you call me green, Creek, I thought as the stiff strands of my wig lashed against my cheeks.
Chapter 11
“Take off your clothes,” a voice whispered at the edge of the lake like a ghost.
It was still a bit misty out, and I thought I felt a warm breath against the back of my neck—
I whipped around. There he was!
Creek, stripped to his torn jeans with his blonde hair dangling against his shoulders again, as if the powers that be had somehow beamed him right in front of me.
And he was grinning from ear to ear.
“You were a very bad girl today,” he remarked.
Unable to control myself, I hugged him with all my might, elated that he’d made it out of Bob’s place okay through God knows what kind of messy miracle. And Lord, how I wanted to kiss him again! But I felt like a fool with a bag of money and a t-shirt still bulging over my belly, because I’d been too preoccupied to remove them till I’d succeeded in hiding the motorcycle.
Creek broke away from me and gazed at my tummy with a laugh.
“You rocked it!” he said, patting my stomach.
“B-But how’d you get here so fast?" I gasped.
Creek’s lips slinked into a smile. He shook his head. “Sweetheart, it ain’t hard to get a lift in these parts when you’re not wearing a t-shirt. Now we gotta move—”
He slipped both his hands under my camisole, removing the money bag and t-shirt and letting them fall with a thump to the sand. To my surprise, he threw off my blonde wig and traced his fingers beneath my camisole straps, tenderly lifting them over my head.
My heart ricocheted inside my chest. Oh my God, I thought, is this the part where we have post-heist sex?
Creek’s eyes arrested mine. They were still that hard blue, broken by shards of glass in the middle like a guy totally focused on his mission. But there was a softness at the edges as well, as if maybe he wanted to . . .
Protect me?
And kiss me at the same time—
Both urges warring inside him.
Well, I decided, no time like the present to test that theory!
I rushed my hands up his firm chest and clutched his face, pulling his lips to mine for as much Heaven as I’d ever been allowed on this silly, spinning planet.
And spin I did! Inside, I felt as if I my whole being had gotten lost in a dreamy whirl. All traces of thought evaporated, only the smell and feel of his hard skin and soft hair overwhelming my senses. I was tumbling end over end, because no one had ever informed me that . . .
When you touch someone this beautiful—
It’s like falling into a pool of light.
And all of a sudden,
You’re that beautiful, too . . .
Creek’s hands surged up my bare back, and I couldn’t stop from pressing my breasts against his chest—my scratchy, Pinnacle-issue bra be damned—as my fingers nimbly undid the button and zipper on his jeans. I pulled them down his legs like they were as easy to rip from his body as saran wrap, and then I kicked off my shoes to do the same with my jeans.
Who was this girl??
I’d become a mighty blur—all animal on instinct and overdrive—who was determined to make both our bodies sing in the sunshine and sand that seemed to cry out for us to become one creature.
But then I felt Creek hoist my nearly naked body in his arms, hugging me tightly to his chest.
He kissed me uncontrollably for a few seconds, when all at once his lips broke free, and he rested his forehead against mine.
And he began to walk into the lake, gently carrying me, as though we were heading for some strange, a spur-of-the-moment . . . baptism?
“Bloodhounds,” he said breathlessly, his gaze full of alarm. “Bob’s got bloodhounds—”
From out of nowhere, I heard the echo of a chorus of dogs, their deep resounding barks growing closer by the second.
With one last kiss, Creek released me to the water, sailing me forward. The cold shock rushed to my neck, constricting my lungs and leaving me heaving for air.
“Swim, Robin!” He ordered, pointing to an inlet of the lake covered in shadows. “Swim with everything you’ve got!!”
“But what about you?” I cried, astonished and dog-paddling like crazy.
I saw Creek rush to the shore to grab the money bag. Then he pulled out a black trash sack from his jeans pocket on the sand and filled it with our clothes, my wig, and several heavy rocks. Tying a knot, he hoisted it with the money bag and dashed into the water after me.
“Go!!” he cried, doing a furious breast stroke, lugging the two bags with him.
I focused on the dark inlet and tore ahead, my arms slicing into the cold water until I thought my heart might rupture. A bam-bam! rang out over our heads, scaring me so badly I accidentally swallowed gulps of lake water and turned to peek back, my stomach lurching. On the shore stood a barrel-chested man pointing at us with a shotgun, surrounded by a chaos of gangly brown dogs racing back and forth on the sand, sniffing and howling in frustration.
“Keep going!” Creek yelled. He appeared to drop the trash bag with the rocks midway in the lake, because all of a sudden his strokes were so fast he was nearly next to me—
And he grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the inlet with a force that left me reeling.
There we were, in the dark shade of the inlet like a blanket had been thrown over us, making us disappear. Creek pulled me closer to him and grabbed me by the shoulders.
“Take a deep breath, the very biggest you can!” he commanded.
And without another word, I was under water—we both were—and Creek was towing me along with the money bag, his strong legs kicking forcefully through total darkness.
I couldn’t even see him anymore. It was as though we’d fallen into a black hole. I could only feel the pull of his hand through what must be some cave or tunnel under water. I kicked and kicked, when I saw the liquid ahead of us begin to appear gray, with a little shafts of light filtering through. My lungs burned, but I kept kicking, until I felt Creek pull me up—
Air!!
I gasped and gasped, my lungs feeling as if they’d nearly collapsed.
“We did it!” Creek burst, his eyes sparkling now. “Jesus Christ, we really did it! No one’s ever gotten away from Bob’s bloodhounds before!”
He wrapped his arms tightly around me for a victory hug, and I slumped against his hard chest, still craving more air.
“What?” I finally gasped. “You never told me about Bob’s bloodhounds!”
Creek threw his head back and laughed. “Sweetheart, why do you think nobody dares to rip off his piece of shit store? There’s a reason he can leave that much cash lying around.”
To my astonishment, Creek gazed at me with a look I’d never seen from him before. No longer a single trace of coldness, as though his eyes had been bathed in sunlight. They were so warm and radiant now that I wanted to fall into them, like the shimmer of a heavenly spring sky. He lifted me up and swirled me in his arms, our two bodies entwined and swooshing through the water as we both began to laugh. When we stopped, he stared into my eyes and brushed a wet strand of hair from my forehead.
“Oh my God, Robin,” he said, somewhere between admiration and total awe. “We’re legends now.”
Chapter 12
“Total self control is always the key,” instructed the visiting speaker in a bright purple kimono for our 3rd period Asian culture class. Her pasty, white makeup and blood red lips made her face look like a mask, and her black hair was piled high onto her head in an elaborate chignon, held together by chopsticks. “You must understand that Geishas embody perfection: beautiful, poised, mysterious. And as you go out into the world to lead multinational corporations, be aware that in Japan, and to some extent China and Singapore as well, businessmen will expect certain, shall we say, attributes—even from top female manager
s. Learning such skills will serve you well in Cincinnati, too.” She winked provocatively, running her hand down the suffocatingly tight sash that cinched her waist. “But don’t for a second think that means you have no power.”
Sister Beatrice giggled with a shy smile, covering her mouth. I noticed that between her formal nun’s habit and the guest speaker’s kimono, the two of them looked eerily alike.
“And that power comes from your inner treasure box of emotions that is never revealed, and keeps your coworkers guessing. This is the art of getting ahead in the global marketplace! Let them think you’re giving something, while you’re actually taking what you need. Each stop is merely a way station on your rise to the top. So take your cue from the time-honored wisdom of the Geisha. Though they may serve tea, dance, and engage in casual but always leading conversation with their best clients, they never betray their real feelings.”
All of a sudden, the guest speaker broke away from the front of the classroom and walked straight up to my desk, her wooden sandals clacking. She began to remove the chopsticks that held up her chignon until her hair spilled down to her shoulders, becoming wavier and oddly more brown. Then she grasped the edges of her cheeks and yanked at the white skin, peeling it from her face like puddy to reveal . . .
An utterly breathtaking woman.
So beautiful she appeared to be sculpted from a dream, just like that lovely one I had of floating down a canal in Venice. Her hair was tousled by a warm, soft breeze, and her kind, chestnut eyes held a sadness that broke my heart.
She reached down to pick up my pencil from my desk and wrote something in my school notebook. Swiveling it around, she tapped the paper for me to read:
Never betray your real feelings.
Except when you truly fall in love.
I glanced up at her in shock, and the woman’s eyes met mine.
Only now, she was wearing a formal nun’s habit, like Sister Beatrice. Her face was cocooned by the heavy black and white material that seemed to constrict more than just her cheeks. The look in her eyes made it appear as if her habit had also hemmed in her soul.
“Don’t run from love, Rubina,” she whispered to me in a heartbreaking Italian accent. “Embrace it.”
With that, she reached out to cup my cheek. Her fingers felt warm and soft, kind of like arriving . . . home.
Startled, I jerked a little.
But instead of the woman’s hand, all I felt on my cheek were two small feathers.
Holding them up, I trembled at the sight—one was black and one was white—like two roads I could possibly take in life. My vision was still a bit hazy, but I glanced around, realizing I was nowhere near my old classroom at Pinnacle. Instead, I was high up in the trees of Bender Lake on a wooden platform that was covered in the delicate spring petals from a blossoming dogwood nearby. Beside my feet were scattered an array of twenty-dollar bills, still drying in the late afternoon sun.
And then there was the nearly naked body of the handsomest guy I’d ever seen, his back to me, sleeping. A pile of dry clothes lay beside him and a couple of more wigs—items I knew that we would soon wear for more hits.
Because it turned out that Granny Tinker was right.
When I crossed the lake this morning with Creek, it was like the River Styx that we’d learned about in 7th period Classical Mythology at Pinnacle. My life was never going to be the same. I wasn’t the Robin McArthur I used to know anymore.
I was a girl who’d actually kissed a guy—twice!
I knew how to start a motorcycle now.
And I was a criminal.
This underworld that I’d crossed into had more than its share of consequences. I sat up on the platform, my gaze shifting to Creek, who continued to sleep soundly. He’d told me earlier, when we’d walked back from the lake to the woods, that we were “vampires” now. Not the sparkly kind in teenage novels that I used to devour like potato chips, but the real ones who must sleep during the day and only come out at night because they’re wanted by the law—as well as by guys like Bob, who Creek said “Play dirty as hell.”
What he meant by dirty I didn’t even care to know. It may sound strange, but even after the harrowing morning of our first job together, all I wanted to know was one thing:
Who was that woman from my dream?
Was she my mother? Or just some tortured, wishful fantasy of mine?
I stared at Creek, at the beautiful form of his tan back contrasted by the ugly burn marks that ran up his arm like a vicious dot-to-dot picture that told a story I would probably never hear. A story of darkness and abuse beyond my wildest comprehension. Then my eyes settled on the ornate red tattoo of the heart on his bicep that surrounded a particularly ugly scar. Clearly, it had contained a name that he’d held dear once, and at some point, painfully scratched out.
Who might Creek have loved? I wondered.
Did he give his heart for real, like the way that beautiful Italian woman had challenged me to love in my dream, in spite all of my aggressive Pinnacle training? Was this the advice of none other than Alessia?
Perhaps that was too much for a girl like me to ever know.
But as I heard the rappings of a woodpecker echo through the forest, part of me wished that I could magically heal Creek’s wounds. Make him whole—maybe even innocent again—just like wide-eyed Dooley, the one he protected so fiercely. And I swallowed hard, daring to lift a finger to edge it closer to Creek’s bare arm. Because by now, I’d pretty much already admitted to myself that I had a deep desire to . . .
Write my name there, too.
Oh God, I thought, am I actually falling in love?
Embrace it, my dream woman had said, as though she’d led her life full of regrets.
And didn’t want me to be that way.
I held my breath.
For just one winsome moment, I wanted to touch Creek on that heart tattoo while he was sleeping—while he wasn’t alert enough to put up any of those cold barriers between him and me, from a life that had been harder than I would ever imagine.
So I carefully—oh so carefully—skimmed my finger along the upraised ridges of that scar.
And Creek’s strong hands were gripped around my shoulders in an instant.
I was so frightened I felt like the wind had been sucked out from my lungs.
“Don’t ever touch me there!” he cried, glaring at me.
Wild eyed, Creek’s expression was so full of adrenaline I thought for certain he was going to kill me.
I wriggled uselessly, his tight fingers pressing white against my skin that hurt like hell. Wincing, I muttered, “C-Creek, I j-just wanted to—”
“Wanted what?” He demanded with a cruel urgency that brought me to tears. I bravely fought them back, because in my heart I knew—
He wasn’t even speaking to me.
He was speaking to someone else. Someone who’d really . . . hurt him.
“Ow!” I cried out finally, when I couldn’t take the pain anymore, but Creek wasn’t about to let go until he got his answer. He shook me a little.
“I-I just wanted to touch you,” I explained. “I mean, when you aren’t awake and you don’t have those barriers anymore.”
Creek blinked at me, incredulous. I could tell my words had begun to trickle into his mind a little. He shook his head as if shocked at himself—at his own kneejerk violence. He seemed to be just now registering that I wasn’t at all who he thought I was.
His grip loosened like he’d been lost in a delirium, and he slid his hands down my arms, yet his eyes still seemed a world away.
“Who was she?” I asked, my heart in my throat. After all, it was pretty damn clear to me that she was sitting right there between us, like a blockade.
Creek’s whole body stiffened. He let go of me and folded his arms, all tough as steel again. Then his eyes locked on mine, now rife with bitterness.
“She was someone who could walk away from Turtle Shores and waltz right back into her cushy life again, any tim
e she felt like it.”
In that instant, goose bumps danced over my entire being.
But I’d had enough—
Creek’s life might have been rough, but mine wasn’t exactly a picnic lately, either. And nothing gave him the right to hurt me.
“Well I don’t get that privilege anymore. Do you hear me? It’s all gone! Everything I ever had at Indian Hill. And as far as I’m concerned, I’ve earned the right to know her name.”
Creek’s eyes narrowed, studying mine. “What makes you think that?”
I crossed my arms and held my ground. “Because you know all of my secrets now. In fact, you’ve known them most of your life—with Doyle, and Alessia, and God knows who else from my family has been around here fucking things up. But I don’t know yours.”
“You know plenty,” Creek scoffed, grabbing a dry pair of jeans from the clothing pile he’d stashed on the platform. He slipped them on and stood up, as if taunting me.
And I stood up right along with him.
“But I want to know everything,” I pressed. “You said there are no secrets in trailer parks—except from me, is that it? Just because I was raised posh in Cincinnati by a white trash dad done good, you get to treat me like a second class citizen now. Isn’t that a little hypocritical?”
I tugged on a pair of dry jeans as well and zipped them up.
“Look,” I said, feeling a bit silly with just my Pinnacle-issue bra on top. “If we’re going to keep doing this—”
My breath snagged at the harsh reality of my life for a second.
“You know—robbing places—that means we need to have each other’s backs. And be completely ru-ruuuu—”
I didn’t just trip this time—I did a full-blown belly flop over that word.
Good God, I thought, I don’t believe I’ve ever said the term real to someone before and actually meant it, especially with my cold upbringing and steady Geisha brainwashing. It was like all of those other words I’d never gotten to really experience before in life: love—bonding—family. But for some weird reason, I was starting to believe that mysterious Italian woman from my dream was right, mother or not.
Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) Page 11