The Girl On The Half Shell
Page 37
“No one else in the world? Would that be a good thing?” he asked thoughtfully.
“No. But the illusion is grand, don’t you think?” she whispered.
Krystal turned her head to the side, lifting her lids to find Devon’s gaze sparkling as he studied her. He shook his head lazily. “No. The illusion wouldn’t be grand at all. It would mean I wasn’t here with you.”
It all changed at once, yet again, and so quickly that Krystal couldn’t stop it. The ticklish feeling stirred in her limbs. Devon’s words, as well as the closeness of their bodies, should have sent her into active retreat, and instead she felt herself wanting to curl into him. What would it feel like if kissed me? Would I still feel this delicious inside? Or would that old panic and fear return?
Laughing softly, Devon said, “I’m not used to relaxing. Can you tell?”
“I wasn’t used to it before Coos Bay, either. There is a different pace of life here. At first I thought there was no sound. That’s how quiet it seemed to me. Then I realized that there is music, beautiful music in this quiet.”
After a long pause, he murmured, “You’ll have to bring me here every Saturday until I learn to hear music in the quiet.”
Krystal smiled. “Once you hear the music it’s perfect.”
“It’s perfect now to me.” His voice was a husky, sensual whisper.
He was on his side facing her. When had that happened? An inadvertent thrill ran through her flesh, and she could see it in his eyes—the supplication, the want, and an unexplainable reluctance to indulge either.
Devon was no longer smiling, his eyes had become brighter and more diffuse. His fingertips started to trace her face with such exquisite lightness that her insides shook. For the first time, in a very long time, she felt completely a woman and wanting.
Was it possible? Had she finally healed internally as her flesh had done so long ago? Was she finally past the legacy of Nick? Was what she was now feeling real? Should she seek the answer with Devon? Or was it better to leave it unexplored?
“You are a very beautiful woman,” he whispered.
She watched with sleepy movements as his mouth lowered to her. It came first as a touch on her cheek, feather soft between the play of his fingers. Her breath caught, followed by a pleasant quickening of her pulse. She was unprepared for the sweetness of his lips and the rushing sensations that ran her body. His thumb traced the lines of her mouth, as his kiss moved sweetly, gently there.
His breath became rapid in a way that matched her own, and his mouth grew fuller and more searching. The fingertips curving her chin were like a gentle embrace, but their mouths were eager and demanding. Flashes of desire rocketed through her powerfully. Urgency sang through her flesh, a forgotten melody, now in vibrant notes. She found herself wanting to twist into him. Reality begged her to twist back.
Continue the story of Chrissie and Alan in the second book of the Half Shell Series: Girl of Tokens and Tears coming Spring 2015. Please enjoy the following sneak peek as Neil Stanton re-enters the story:
“Here, you look like you could use this,” says a quiet male voice above me.
I look up only far enough to see the carry size pack of tissue held out in long, tan fingers. I take one and anxiously dab at my tears. On the concrete walkway below there is a pair of some kind of work shoe and dark blue pant legs that look like they belong to a jump suit or something. Oh God, the janitor I barreled into. How humiliating is this? To be the girl alone on a concrete slab, crying and being consoled by the janitor.
I don’t look up, praying he’ll go away.
“Can I sit on your bench?” he asks politely.
I nod. “It’s not my bench and it’s a free country.”
He gives me a small laugh for that. I avoid looking straight at him, inhale another sniffle, and touch my nose with the tissue.
“Thank you. You’ve been very nice,” I whisper.
He settles near me copying my posture, feet on bench, legs bent and facing me.
“You know, Lambert will only bully you if you let him,” he advises kindly. “And he only bullies the students he thinks have potential they are not putting to good use.”
“Thanks. I’ll try to remember that. He doesn’t hate me. I have potential.”
He laughs and from a pack on the ground he takes a brown lunch bag and sets it beside him.
“Rough year?” He is carefully unwrapping some kind of minimart precooked burrito thing.
Jeez, is he going to eat that cold?
“Do you want a bite? It isn’t a terrible as it looks.”
I start to laugh when I really don’t want to. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Come on. What’s not to love? Week old beans. Week old rice and I’m not even sure what the sauce is. Be bold. Be brave. Eat a minimart burrito from yesterday.”
Ok, that was funny. I look at him then locking on green eyes and I see a really sweet teasing glint in them. His eyes are large, brightly colored and filled with a smile. Shoulder length blond streaked brown hair peeks out from beneath an army green bandana and the face of the janitor is tanned, really good looking…and really familiar.
Why does it feel like I know him?
“Are you homesick? Is that why you mope around campus all day?”
I lift my chin. “I don’t mope and how would you know what I do all day?”
He takes the keys hanging from his belt and shakes them. “There’s not much to do when you push a broom in the music department except listen and watch everything.” He takes a bite of his burrito. “You have Lambert’s class from 10 until 11. You sit on this bench until noon. You have a practice room from 1 until 2. You sit on this bench until 3. You have your lab with Jared the TA—who is hot for you, would really like to date you, and is afraid to ask—that’s at 3:30. And then sometimes you do another hour in a practice room, but most times you disappear from campus. You are back at 7 for symphony. That’s your Tuesday/Thursday schedule.”
My eyes round and I tense. Jeez, maybe he’s not just the janitor. Maybe he’s a stalker or something.
“How do you know all that?” I ask fearfully.
“I push a broom, remember?” he replies casually.
I start to gather my things.
“Hey,” he says putting his hand on my arm. “You don’t have to run for security, Chrissie. I would never hurt a hometown girl. The rest of the girls I stalk are in trouble, but you’re pretty much safe. We’ve got that whole SB thing going on. Like comrades bonded in warfare.”
His boyish eyes start to twinkle above an endearing smile. I stare at him. Chrissie: he knows my name. SB thing? He’s from Santa Barbara too. I study him more closely and I just can’t place the face. I know I know the face, but I’m not connecting the dots, and I’m not tapping into that instinct thing telling me if I use to like him or I should run.
He frowns. “Now I’m hurt.”
Crap, he can see I’m not remembering him.
He tosses his unfinished burrito into the bag. “Do you forget every really, really cool guy who does you a really, really big favor?”
I feel my heart drop to my knees. Really, really cool guy….Oh crap! Neil Stanton. Yep, I definitely remember him. The jerk from that night Rene and I went clubbing at Peppers before spring break. The guy who thought he needed to give me life advice after making a fool out of me. In my memory I can still hear him saying Didn’t Daddy teach you anything about how the world works.
For information on upcoming books:
www.susanwardbooks.com
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Current Contemporary Releases:
The Signature
One Last Kiss
Rewind
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Currently Historical Releases:
When the Perfect Comes
Face to Face
Love’s Patient Fury…Releasing December 1, 2014
About the Author
Susan Ward is a native of Santa Barbara, California, where she currentl
y lives in a house on the side of a mountain, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. She doesn’t believe she makes sense anywhere except near the sea. She attended the University of California Santa Barbara and earned a degree in Business Administration from California State University Sacramento. She works as a Government Relations Consultant, focusing on issues of air quality and global warming. The mother of grown daughters, she lives a quiet life with her husband and her dog Emma. She can be found most often walking at Hendry’s Beach, where she writes most of her storylines in her head while watching Emma play in the surf. The Girl On The Half Shell is her twenty-fifth novel.
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