"You know what? I've had a bad night, dickhead, and I don't need this crap from some random muscled up, tattooed, sarcastic, rude thug on a beach." I turn around, all too aware that I just told off a guy who could pick me up and break me in half. I start moving away as quickly as one can on sand. It momentarily occurs to me that I haven't talked to anyone like that in years. I can almost feel the backbone I thought I'd lost raring up inside of me.
"Hey!" he calls back. For some stupid reason, I stop and turn around.
"Why do you think I'm a thug?"
"Really? That's the part you're upset about?" I ask with a sarcastic chuckle.
"I've been called worse. Trust me."
"Well, so have I. And I don't need it from some guy I don't know and won't ever see again. Have a good swim. Maybe the waves will carry you to a place where people don't care if you're a jackass." I walk toward the house, up the stairs and through the back door without looking back.
As I sneak up the stairs, I think about how good looks can only carry a person so far. If they have a horrible personality, like beach jackass guy, looks don't matter. I change into my night shirt and a pair of shorts, brush my teeth and slip into bed. My room is pitch black dark with only hints of moonlight peaking through my window.
Sleep seems to be avoiding me, and I turn to face the window hoping the sound of ocean waves will carry my mind away for the night. What must Reed be thinking right now? My internship is probably over, and I think I might be okay with that. I can't sit there and work with him when all I want to do is kiss him. Ugh.
Unable to sleep, I put on my headphones and find some soft music on my iPod. I snuggle the covers around me, and wish for sleep. Respite. A way out of this maze I call a mind. Music has always been a calming force for me, and I miss playing the piano for the first time in a long time.
Just as I am dozing off, I feel something. Or someone. Next to me. Getting into my bed. I yank the headphones off and hurl my iPod across the room before sitting up.
"What the hell?" I yelp, pulling the covers up around me and slapping the crap out of whoever is in bed with me. Whoever it is has a rock solid chest because I swear I broke a finger hitting him.
"Damn! That hurt!" he says, and then I realize it's the guy from the beach. I flip on my bedside lamp, jump up and grab a bat I keep by my bed. Terrible, painful memories flash across my mind. I want to run away. I hear sounds, feel things, see things... I'm transported back, and I think I start to scream. Bruce and my mother can't hear me most likely since they're on the other end of this huge mansion, and Carmelita took a vacation day.
"I'm calling the cops!" I say as I reach for my cell phone. He jumps up, wearing only his boxer briefs, and grabs my hand tightly.
"No, you're not calling the cops." His calm voice scares me as he stares down at me with the greenest eyes I've ever seen. He speaks through gritted teeth, and his breath is ragged. I'm sure I'm about to get raped or tortured or kidnapped.
"Let go of me..." I plead, tears streaming down my face. "What do you want with me?" I continue to pull as hard as I can against the tightness of his hand around mine, and I don't have a chance. He's just too strong for me.
"Nothing. I want nothing. I swear. I thought this was my bedroom. I'm new around here. I must have miscounted the doors. This place is fucking huge."
O.M.G. This must be Kellan.
"Kellan?" I ask softly, and he releases his grip as his eyes widen.
"You must be Willow?" he says, still no hint of a smile on his face.
"Nice to meet you?" I say trying to calm the situation. He's almost like a scared animal who has been cornered.
"Boy, having a thug in your bed must have been scary," he says, sarcasm leaking from every word.
"No, having a jackass thug in my bed was scary," I say, trying to diffuse the situation with humor. It isn't working.
He walks across the room and turns his back, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He's so large and strong looking on the outside, but I can feel something about him. He's fragile in some way. I'm pretty keen on other people's emotions. What they're giving off. Where their weaknesses lie.
"Welcome home," I finally say softly. He seems like a caged animal as he slowly paces the room. I wonder why he isn't leaving. Finally, he takes a deep breath and turns around.
"This isn't home," he says and walks out the door, slamming it behind him.
Nice to meet you, Kellan, I think to myself and then try desperately to go to sleep.
Chapter 11
I awake the next morning, and I wish that my mind was clear. It never is, but this morning is particularly bad as I have visions of pushing Reed away in my mind. And those visions are mixed with my hot, angry new step brother who crawled into bed with me last night. Welcome to my dysfunctional life.
Stepping out onto the deck, as I do every morning, I get a view I wasn't expecting. There's Kellan, at six in the morning, doing yoga on the beach. Yoga? But he's a convict. Where would he have learned yoga? He's wearing nothing but a pair of low hanging athletic shorts that show off some major abs. I can see those sexy cuts that lead from his sides down into those shorts, and I shake my head to try to erase the thought like a mental Etch-A-Sketch.
I put on some yoga pants, for comfort ironically, and a tank top and head downstairs. No one else is up yet, so I slip outside and watch him for a few more minutes.
"Are you going to keep staring at me like some kind of stalker, or are you going to join me?" he says without turning around. So much for my future as a super spy.
"How'd you know I was here?" I ask, crawling out from behind a dune.
"You learn to keep your eyes open in prison, Willow," he says turning around. His green eyes seem to stab right through me, and they're only more haunting in daylight. "So, are you joining me or what?" His voice is rough and gravely, which stands out in stark contrast to his seeming love of yoga.
"I... uh... I don't know any yoga."
"Really? Rich girl living the beach life doesn't know any yoga? I'm shocked. I guess prisoners are higher class than I thought." Oh, he's so sarcastic and cocky.
"Are you always such a dick, Kellan?" I ask, which sends him shooting back up from his pose and staring at me. I almost see a hint of a smile, but it's gone in an instant. His shorts hang dangerously low, and seeing those lines that dip down into his shorts is causing my eyes to dart around dangerously.
"Yeah. Pretty much. We didn't have any etiquette classes in my cell block."
"Is that going to be your excuse?" I ask, aware that I may have just crossed a line. I cross my arms and wait for his answer, acting a lot more authoritative than I really am. My strawberry blond curls blow in the ocean breeze and I blow one strand out of my face.
"Excuse me?" he says walking closer. I stand firm, but mainly because my feet have sank into the warm sand.
"Are you planning to use your prison time as an excuse for everything? Just curious so I can be prepared to listen to it over and over again." I stare up at him because he looms over me. His large frame is rippled with muscles and I can't find an ounce of fat on him anywhere.
"It's reality, rich girl. I did time."
"First of all, let me clear up this whole notion that I'm a rich girl. Your daddy is rich, not me. Not my mother. We come from humble beginnings, and this isn't home for me either." I sit down on the sand and stare at the water. This guy is really getting under my skin. "So, if anyone is rich, it's you, Kellan." I almost growl the words.
He stands there for a moment, shakes his head and then sits down a few feet away. "Trust me, my father has no intentions of leaving the family legacy to me. I'm as broke as it gets, and I am the black sheep of this family."
"Only because your infractions are public knowledge," I say softly without thinking.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Sorry I interrupted your yoga practice," I say standing up.
His hand comes out and grabs my arm, and a jolt of
electricity rockets through every pore of my being. What the hell? Why is he always grabbing me like that?
"Join me," he says gruffly, and I don't know what to make of it. "Come on, I've been locked up with men for five years. It might be nice to have a female to share this with for once. Yoga practice with The Shark and Two Tooth Lopez wasn't exactly fun." I start laughing, and he finally cracks a smile. And what a smile it is. For an ex-con, he has beautiful teeth. I imagine Bruce Avery made sure he had the best orthodontic care as a teenager. He has dimples on both sides, a strong jawline with just the right amount of stubble and those eyes. Man, those eyes. Reed has gorgeous eyes too, but there is something different in his. Kellan's eyes seem to already know me. They pierce right through me.
"Okay," I finally agree. "What do I do?"
He pulls me to the area where he's flattened the sand out a bit. "We'll start out in mountain pose. This is what grounds you, helps you connect with where you are. Stand with your feet together, take a deep breath and bring your arms up like this and then into prayer position..." He explains the position so calmly that I can hardly believe this is the jackass I met last night on the beach. He slides his fingers up my arms as he shows me how to raise them, and I can barely think straight. Maybe I should get my hormone levels checked.
After a few minutes and a couple of poses that make my muscles ache, I beg for a break. He laughs and agrees, and we sit back down on the sand.
"You're a pretty good yogi," I say as I fall back on the sand, out of breath.
"Yeah, I'm flexible for a big guy. I've got moves you can't imagine, Willow." I look at him for a moment and he breaks into laughter. His laugh is deep and throaty and sexy.
"You're a lot nicer today than you were last night," I say as I throw a little sand at his leg and sit up. He sits up too.
"I guess I should apologize for that. Coming home was harder than I thought it was going to be."
"Your Dad?" He looks at me and nods, and there's almost a grateful look in his eyes.
"How'd you know?"
"Just a lucky guess," I say, not wanting to tell him that I overheard his conversation with my mother.
"Your mother was nice. Very welcoming. My father, not so much. He doesn't want me here, and I can't blame him. I'm unnecessary baggage that will embarrass him in the community. He had to run away from Atlanta after I went to prison, or at least he thought he did. And now here I am again, the ex-con son living in his mansion, mooching off him." There's an edge to his voice, and I recognize it from last night.
"Kellan, your Dad loves you..."
"Don't tell me that, Willow. You don't know anything about me or my relationship with my father." The anger is back and he stands up. I see his hand go into his hair again, and I know that I can't talk to him anymore right now. He walks toward the water, leaving me sitting on the sand.
Without saying a word, I walk back to the house and shut the door.
***
"Welcome home, my boy!" Carmelita says as she squeezes Kellan tightly. She's a tiny thing, maybe five feet tall, and he towers above her. But he hugs her back and smiles, and she grins from ear to ear. "You're so big now. What they feed you there?"
"A lot of really crappy tasting food, Mama Lita." He calls her Mama Lita. How sweet.
"Well, I fill you full of good stuff now! Enchiladas and tamales..."
"That sounds wonderful, Mama Lita," he says as he kisses the top of her head. It makes my heart melt to see this big guy, all tough and hardened, kissing Carmelita's head like she's the most precious thing on Earth.
"What you eat for breakfast?" she asks him as I walk around the corner.
"You don't have to..."
"No! You eat, my boy. Eggs and bacon and coffee?"
He hesitates for a moment and then looks at me. "Make that for two. Willow is going to join me." He doesn't ask, but I don't argue. He gives me a knowing glance complete with a hint of a smile, and I smirk at him.
"Good morning, Carmelita," I say as I give her a quick hug and walk to the table.
"Good morning, Miss Blake."
She continues her work in the kitchen as Kellan and I sit uncomfortably at the table. I think he's just as unsure of what to say as I am. When he's not looking at me, I survey the tattoo on his right arm. It's simple and the only one he has on that arm, and it is totally not something I'd ever expect to see on a man, much less an ex-con.
It's a hand drawn sunshine complete with rays shooting out from it. It looks happy and sad all at the same time. And it stands out in stark contrast to both of Kellan's personalities. He catches me looking. Of course.
"Something interesting?" he asks.
"No. Nothing." He stares at me for a moment and then shifts so that his arm is facing another direction. He knows I was looking, and it's obvious he doesn't want any questions.
Carmelita finishes up and puts our food on the table before going upstairs to do some cleaning. We are left in silence as all I can hear is the clinking of our forks and the small sips of coffee each of us takes from time to time.
"Sorry about before," he finally says softly. Who is this guy? Why is he hot one minute, cold the next? Maybe prison time can do that to a person.
"It's okay." I take a bite of my eggs and wish away this conversation.
"No, it's not okay. It isn't your fault that my Dad is an ass." He takes a huge bite of his eggs and then shoves bacon into his mouth. Definitely needs to work on his table etiquette, but I'm pretty sure prison will do that to a person.
"He's not an ass, Kellan. He's been very good to me and my mother."
I can almost hear him grinding his teeth, and I can see his jaw clenching. "Well, good for you, Willow. I'm glad you've enjoyed living in splendor with my father."
"Don't be a jackass, Kellan."
"You really like that word, don't you?" he mumbles.
"And you really like being angry. Look," I whisper with a sudden surge of confidence. "I get that you've got history with your Dad. And I get that you have had a tough few years. And I totally understand that you don't know me from Adam's house cat, but I didn't have a hand in any of that. So, I would greatly appreciate it if you'd stop snapping my head off at every given moment. This is my house too, and I'm not going to feel uncomfortable every time I have to have a conversation with you. Okay?"
Suddenly, he just smiles at me. A real, honest to goodness smile. I throw my hands up as if to say "what" and he steals the last piece of my bacon, which is a criminal offense in my mind.
"I like you, Willow Blake. You seem like one person, but I think you might be someone totally different deep down. It's... interesting."
"Back at ya," I say as I reach my fork over and stab the last piece of his eggs and eat them. "So can we agree that we're on the same side here?"
"On one condition."
"And that is?"
"That we don't consider each other brother and sister."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because then that makes me a weirdo that I think my new sister is incredibly hot," he says with a wink before he puts his plate in the sink and walks upstairs. I'm left at the table with my mouth hanging open and my heart pounding.
Great. My ex-convict new step brother, who has been without female contact for five years, thinks I'm hot. And, sadly, I think he's hot too.
Yep. My life is going just as planned.
***
I finish my breakfast and then head upstairs to shower and get ready for my day. It's Saturday, and I am planning to study for an upcoming math test and then read a book that I've been dying to finish. I'm nineteen, and this is how I spend a Saturday. Sad.
Just as I reach the halfway point of the stairs, the doorbell rings. It's still pretty early, so I can't imagine who'd be here at this hour on a Saturday. I swing open the door and Reed is standing there holding a bouquet of flowers and smiling.
"Reed," I say softly. I realize in that moment that I've missed him. If nothing else, he's been my only real friend. And now
he's kissed me like I've never been kissed before, and I so want to do that again. And again.
"Hi, Willow," he says as he holds out the flowers. "For you."
I take them, my first ever bouquet of flowers from a guy, and smell them instinctively. "They're beautiful."
"Can we talk?" he asks. He's wearing a pale pink polo shirt, white shorts and boat shoes. He looks like he just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement. How can this guy be interested in someone like me? Oh, that's right. I look normal. I look like the step daughter of a wealthy man, but I'm not who he thinks I am. And I never will be.
"Sure," I say softly before I hear a noise behind me. Reed's eyes shift to whatever is moving behind me, and then his face changes.
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