Temptation (A Temptation Novel)

by Karen Ann Hopkins

  “Rose, wake up. Rose. Rose!” I heard Justin but ignored him, all too warm and comfortable curled up in the plushy comforter. The afternoon sunlight was down far enough to leave the room in a dull, dreamlike haze and I burrowed deeper into the softness, close to falling back asleep. Then the little twerp had the nerve to grasp my shoulders and start shaking me violently. That woke me up.

  With all my weight I hurled myself onto him, knocking him off the mattress. Satisfaction filled me as I observed Justin lying on his back on the floor. But the feeling was short-lived, replaced with a panic attack when it suddenly occurred to me how late it was. Swiftly I slid across the mattress, frantically searching for the phone.

  Once my hand grasped it under the sheet, I said a silent prayer and peeked at it. Yes! I danced in my head when I saw that it was five o’clock, early enough to leisurely start getting ready, but late enough to be almost ready to go. Perfect. I bounced up, grabbing the clothes I’d set aside for the occasion.

  “Gee, Rose, you didn’t have to do that,” Justin said, rubbing his head.

  I figured I had five seconds to spare, so I rounded on him and hissed, “What do you want?”

  “I was going to invite you to go with Sam and me to the movies in town tonight. Dad went to the hospital to get his office in order, so we thought we’d eat dinner out and go see the Transformers movie.”

  “You’ve already seen it twice. Isn’t there something else playing?” I suggested impatiently.

  “We like that movie. It has everything—robots, explosions and a hot babe.” Justin smiled slyly.

  “You’re too young to be interested in hot babes,” I informed him with my nose wrinkled in disgust. “But I’m not going, so I don’t really care what you guys waste your money on. Now get out of my room so I can change.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked keenly. Maybe he was growing a brain.

  That would be dangerous.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but if it gets you out of my room faster, I’m going for a ride.”

  With that I pushed Justin out the door and locked it behind him. A few minutes later I was dressed, and hearing Sam’s truck engine revving up, I leaned out the window to watch him drive away—perfect timing again.

  Turning to the big round mirror attached to my retro-style dresser, I studied my reflection. I left my long, wavy hair down, with a few stray curls around my face. I decided to put a little blush on my cheeks and some gloss over my lips. Less was definitely more with Amish guys, I determined. Besides, I didn’t wear much makeup anyway.

  Standing back, I admired myself in the mirror. I looked pretty good. Hmm, except the top. Maybe it was just a bit too formfitting. Turning sideways, I was impressed to see how I was filling the shirt out this year. I certainly didn’t remember looking so…developed in it last year. Yeah, probably the wrong shirt for a guy who was used to seeing women dressed in smocklike dresses. I took it off and rummaged through the closest pile on the floor.

  I finally decided on a cute light blue top that had a little lace along the collar. His family seemed to like blue, and it hugged my chest just enough, without being trampy. And the lace made it feminine—just right.

  Stopping in the kitchen briefly, I spread mayonnaise on two slices of bread and stuck a thick piece of cheese between them, proceeding to eat quickly. Justin’s comment about my cooking popped into my head, and I was doubly glad I had body slammed him. I was in too good of a mood to dwell on it, though, and let my obnoxious brother slip from my mind, to be replaced with thoughts of Noah.

  Catching, grooming and saddling Lady didn’t take much time, and when I did the final time check, it was six-thirty. The exact time I wanted to be heading up the road.

  Easily, I found the opening Noah had told me about, and once on the other side, I was delighted to see the fields went on as far as I could see. There were pockets of woods dappling the scenery, separating one hay field or crop from another. The picture was breathtaking enough to have been plucked from an art-gallery wall. And the property was isolated by a thick row of trees along the road, making it a superb place for a secret meeting. The lane was wide and level, spotted intermittently with grass and dirt. After a few minutes of getting used to the new surroundings, I squeezed Lady into a canter, reveling in the exhilaration of her muscles moving beneath me as we sped up, the wind whipping my hair back.

  I was so into the joy of the ride that I failed to hear another horse moving up behind me fast. Almost too late, I caught sight of Noah from the corner of my eye, just in time to urge Lady faster before he passed us.

  Glancing sideways, I saw him grin wickedly at me, and I knew the game was on. Leaning lower over my horse, I moved with her, pushing with my lower legs, asking for still more speed. We were going so fast tears were developing at the corners of my eyes—still I urged her on.

  He was right alongside us, and if Lady swayed at all in his direction, we’d brush legs hard. I didn’t care, though. I wanted to win. I saw the challenge in his eyes, and I knew Lady was fast. Faster than the tall bay buggy horse he was riding. And even if she wasn’t, I was sure my Arabian could keep the race close.

  But before either of us won, we ran out of running space as the path narrowed and I could see a sharp turn ahead leading into a stand of trees. Noah held out his hand, indicating for me to slow down, and I responded in unison with him and his horse, reining down to a walk right before the turn.

  Sitting up and patting Lady vigorously on the neck, I exclaimed, “That was awesome! I would have beaten you if we’d had more room.” I exhaled loudly, still filled with the powerful adrenaline rush.

  “Your horse is really fast,” Noah commented, catching his breath. He studied her for a moment and then brought his eyes up to me with the same admiring look on his face.

  Blushing, I glanced away, feeling butterflies spreading out in my stomach. It was a strange feeling, being both pleasant in one way and totally unsatisfying in another. When I got the nerve to turn back to him, he was still silently watching me, this time with an unreadable expression.

  “Wow,” I breathed. “Do you do that often?”

  “No. That’s the first real race I’ve run in several years,” he answered thoughtfully.

  “Why?” I asked him, relaxing in the saddle, swaying with the movement of the horse.

  Pausing to answer, he said, “Well, since I’ve been done with school and working full-time, I just don’t have much time for joyrides. Then when I do, it’s difficult to make plans with my friends. There’s always so much to do around the farm.” He scowled and I suddenly felt sorry for him. He was too young to have to work all the time.

  I was miffed and without thinking I blurted out, “Do you like being Amish?”

  He sighed, scanning the trail ahead, brooding over my question for an amount of time that I was becoming uncomfortable with, when he finally answered, “Yes, I like being Amish—for the most part.” He glanced over at me with a slight tilt to his mouth and then continued, “I enjoy the simple way of life we have, the sense of community and the closeness of our families.”

  After considering what he said for a minute, I asked with astonishment, “But don’t you want to be able to drive a car or watch TV?”

  He laughed at that, shooting me a look of amusement. “Do you think those things are so important?” His grin spread into a full-blown smile. “I can get to most places I want to go in my buggy, and if I need to go farther away, I hire a driver. And you know…there are more enjoyable things to do at night besides watch TV.”

  He eyed me speculatively. When comprehension dawned on me, my eyes widened and a blush heated my face, causing him to chuckle.

  Okay, I wasn’t even going there, so instead I swallowed my embarrassment and asked him, “What’s your horse’s name.”

  He laughed again, obviously entertained by my squirming discomfort at the last topic of conversation. While his tanned face attempted to be serious, he patted the horse’s neck an
d said, “This is Rumor.”

  “That’s a cool name,” I said, looking closer at the gelding beside me, glad for the distraction.

  “You’re probably right. I don’t think Rumor could have beaten your horse,” he said complacently, as if the fact didn’t bother him in the least.

  “Yeah, but I bet Rumor’s got a lot more sense than Lady here,” I pointed out as I ran my fingers through her long mane.

  “Why do you say that?” he asked with curious eyes.

  “Well, she’s usually pretty spooky about things. You know, freaking out at mailboxes, the wind, even birds.”

  After running his eyes over her again, he commented, “She’s doing fine now.”

  “Probably because she has a big, strong gelding like Rumor to protect her,” I joked with a little laugh.

  Noah just nodded his head, a whisper of a smile playing on his lips.

  The path narrowed. Really more suited for single-file riding, but we continued side by side, with our knees now rubbing, and with each touch a jolt of hot energy coursed through me. I wondered if he was feeling it, too. I glanced over at him and he was looking straight ahead, focused on some imaginary object in the distance.

  We were moving between two fields of corn, and the stalks were beginning to press in on us, being as tall as the horses. I became aware that we were very much alone, sheltered and hidden from the rest of the world. And that realization sent my heart thumping unnaturally hard. Loud enough that I feared he’d be able to hear it. He was definitely close enough to hear it, at a proximity that I was sure his parents wouldn’t have approved of. Close enough to kiss even—with a little stretching. I dismissed that thought quickly and twisted in the saddle to stare at the corn plants, feeling the still, warm air that was emitting from them.

  After a few minutes of silence, the only sound coming from the horses’ breathing and hooves touching the ground, out of the blue he asked, “Do you really like to dance?” His voice was different, raspier than before. That was random. Turning back to him, I saw conflict on his face.

  “I love to dance. I do both ballet and jazz, but it’s going to be difficult now.”

  “Why?” he probed.

  “Well, for one thing, my dance company is in Cincinnati, and that means I’ll have a two-hour-long drive each way if I continue, which would be near impossible with my dad’s schedule at the hospital. And there aren’t any studios of the caliber that I’m at around here,” I said, spreading my arms wide at the stalks around us.

  Just saying the words out loud dampened my mood—how I’d miss dancing.

  “What do you wear when you dance?” he asked with a scary intensity, his eyes never leaving my face.

  With that question, I was starting to get the gist of his troubled look, but I decided to answer honestly anyway. “I wear leotards, stretch shorts and tights to practice in and dance costumes for the performances.” I looked right at him, daring him to say something bad about it.

  “Are you comfortable being in front of all those people with so few clothes on?” He asked it in a guarded way, as if he was trying to be as polite as possible.

  With a soft laugh, I said, “Everything important is covered up, and yes, I’m very comfortable with it. I’ve always been a bit of an extrovert, and dance is a form of artistry, Noah. People aren’t looking at my body. They’re watching me dance.”

  “Yeah, I bet they are,” he said sarcastically.

  I squeezed my lips together tightly, trying to control the anger that was rising in me. With a small breath and an attempt to keep the sound of my voice level, I said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Did you know that the Amish don’t dance?” When I lifted my eyebrows at his interruption, he continued, “The elders believe dancing is very sensual and that it gives young people ideas about…things.” He waited for my reply with his eyes slightly narrowed, obviously expecting an argument.

  I was going to control myself, though. I’d already decided hours ago that I wasn’t going to be too judgmental about his way of life. It would be hard, though.

  “Well, that’s too bad for you all. Dancing is wonderful. It’s a way to express myself and be athletic. And the music…” After a pause, I added, “The music really is the heart of it all. Is it true you don’t listen to any music?”

  “We’re not supposed to, but sometimes we do.” He shrugged. “Usually when we ride in a car, we listen to what the English driver has on the radio.”

  Our legs were still rubbing as we walked down the lane, and the bothersome fluttering in my stomach and beating of my heart were causing my brain to turn to mush under the physical bombardment. But still I managed to find the brain function to know that I didn’t comprehend the last part of what he’d said.

  Confused, I asked, “What do you mean English?”

  With a quick glance back at me, as if he was disclosing an embarrassing secret, he said in an even tone, “Just not Amish.”

  “You mean that I’m considered English to you?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Yep—it doesn’t matter where you’re from or what color your skin is. If you’re not Amish, you’re English.” He said it with a surety that I found slightly disturbing.

  Looking squarely back at him, I sighed. “Now, let me get this straight. You don’t dance and you aren’t allowed to listen to music, but sometimes you do, and the entire population on the earth is English to you?”

  “That’s a bit simplified,” he muttered with an edge to his voice I hadn’t heard yet. I watched him deal with his agitation by running his hand absently through his thick hair, leaving it wonderfully ruffled.

  At the second I was admiring his hair, a couple of birds, quail, I think, flew up noisily in front of us with their feathered wings pumping hard to get airborne.

  Lady, being true to her spooky nature, shied right into Rumor—hard. Noah reacted quickly, reaching out with his free hand and grasping my arm to steady me on my horse. Not that I really needed the help, but it was a chivalrous thing to do. I certainly didn’t mind the physical contact either.

  For a few seconds we just stood there with his hand gripping my arm and Lady trembling beneath me, almost on top of Rumor. Glancing down at his fingers, I bit the corner of my mouth and looked up at his face, which wasn’t very far from mine. Both our legs were being mashed between the horses. I could only speak for myself, but I assumed he was feeling the same pain I was.

  Still holding on to to me but with a looser grasp, thank goodness, he asked, “Are you all right, Rose?”

  His voice was anxious, and I felt his warm breath touch me when he spoke. I was actually a little faint, and it certainly wasn’t because my stupid horse was afraid of a ten-ounce bird. My breathing quickened, and I waited for him to lean in and kiss me. This was the perfect time and place. Well, besides the fact that our legs were being crushed.

  I waited—but nothing. He didn’t do it. Instead, when I couldn’t get my lips to answer him because they were too busy getting ready for a kiss, he released my arm and moved Rumor out a little in front of us with a nettled expression written on his face.

  I must have been mistaken about his attraction for me. Feeling suddenly and completely disappointed, I inadvertently sighed too loud, squeezing Lady into a walk.

  But before my emotions could play too much havoc with me, he stopped Rumor and waited for me to walk up alongside him. And again our legs were lightly brushing together—a truly wonderful feeling—and I was happy once more. Talk about mood swings.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” He stared straight at me with smoldering eyes, and his voice was low and serious.

  That question meant I still had a chance with him, I assumed. I admitted in an equally low and serious voice, “No.”

  Watching him closely, I noticed he breathed a little easier, but he still had something on his mind.

  Not looking at me this time, he asked tentatively, “Have you ever had…a boyfriend?”

  So he wasn’t just wor
ried about a current guy in my life; he was going to obsess about any previous boyfriends, too. That was interesting. Was he the jealous type? I spied at him from the corner of my eye and saw that he was a statue of stone, hardly breathing at all, waiting for my answer.

  “No—I’ve never had a boyfriend. You know, too busy with my horse and the dancing…” I trailed off, fidgeting with the laces on my saddle, feeling suddenly awkward explaining to this gorgeous guy why I was sixteen and always single.

  The curiosity got to me, though, and I took a little gulp of air and bravely asked, “What about you—do you have a girlfriend?”

  Instantly, he relaxed in his saddle and turned to me with a brilliant smile. “No, up until now I hadn’t met the right girl yet.”

  My eyes must have bugged out, because he laughed at my expression. Was he insinuating that I was the right girl? His confidence was beginning to irritate me. What made him think that I was automatically available?