“Do you know what I would give to have that, just for a moment? To be able to look at words and numbers and just… understand?”
He stared back at her in silence, thinking his intellect was as much a curse as a gift. There was so much pressure on him to live up to his “potential.” What if he didn’t want to be all he could be? What if he’d rather blow up the world than make it a better place?
Sometimes he wished he was normal. A high IQ and straight-A average had never won him a date, or earned him any friends at school. Everyone treated him like a leper. Even his own family.
“Do you know what I would give to have what you have?” he asked.
“What do I have?”
“A dad who cares enough to stick around,” he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “And three brothers who would give their lives for you.”
She let out a flustered breath. “Please. My brothers treat me like a maid.”
“No. Juan Carlos jumped me once just for looking at you.”
His statement gave her pause. “Really? I don’t remember that.”
He laughed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, not about to elaborate on the incident. “It’s true. I had to be very careful about checking you out after that.”
The corner of her mouth tipped up. “You weren’t that careful.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, disagreeing quietly. “If I’d stared at you as often as I wanted to, I’d have been beaten down on a daily basis. And if he knew what I was imagining… he’d have killed me.”
Her smile disappeared. He didn’t think she was offended by his admission, but he didn’t fool himself into believing she was flattered. She’d hate him if she found out he’d seen her naked, and be disgusted by how many times he’d pleasured himself to that mental image. Dylan knew next to nothing about girls, but he was pretty sure they didn’t want to be jerked off to and treated like sex objects.
Feeling heat creep up his neck, he sat back down at his desk, taking a paper and pen in hand. “What’s the first line?”
She took a deep breath and sang the song again, her sexy, raspy voice vibrating down his spine like a silken caress, all the more effective a cappella. Her songwriting skills were impressive, but it was her singing that blew him away. The hairs on his arms stood up and every fiber of his being was aware of her, awakened by her, aroused by her.
As she finished the last verse, he gripped the pen so tightly that blood welled up from the fresh cut on his hand.
“What did you do to yourself?” she asked, wrapping her slender fingers around his wrist. Bringing his hand toward her, she laid it across her lap, palm up.
“Nothing,” he said, sounding hoarse. “It happened at work.”
“Work?”
“I got a job on the rez. Casino construction.”
Her lips parted in astonishment. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” he asserted, annoyed by her reaction.
“Oh, Dylan,” she murmured, making the same face Shay had. Concern and confusion, like he’d signed up for the front line in Iraq. “You’ll ruin your hands.”
“I’ll ruin my hands?” he repeated, angry and incredulous. “Who the fuck do you think I am, Itzhak Perlman?”
She flinched. “Who’s that?”
“Never mind,” he muttered, pulling away from her.
“You need a bandage.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Where’s the stuff? I’ll do it.” Undaunted by his attitude, she sashayed out of his room and into the bathroom, rifling through the medicine cabinet like she owned the place. “Ooh,” she said, examining a small spray canister. “Man perfume. Where do you put this?”
He shifted in his chair. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
She laughed and kept looking until she found some rubbing alcohol and a liquid bandage. Intent on coddling him as if he were one of her kid brothers, she sat down on his bed and brought his hand toward her once again. “I didn’t mean to imply that your hands are feminine,” she murmured, cleaning the cut with a square of moistened gauze.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
“They aren’t.” Leaning forward slightly, she lifted his hand to her mouth and blew, drying his skin.
If she’d put her face in his lap, his reaction couldn’t have been stronger. Who knew his palm was connected directly to his groin? One touch, and he was totally turned on.
“Does that hurt?” she said, lifting her head in surprise.
He realized he’d just groaned. “No,” he said, clearing his throat. “Are you kidding? It feels good.”
She rolled her eyes, thinking he was lying. “Don’t move,” she warned, applying a thin line of blue adhesive to the cut. When she lowered her head again, her soft breath fanning his skin, he held himself motionless, caught between exquisite pleasure and mild pain.
His excitement was impossible to miss; and the sudden tension in the room, difficult to ignore. She straightened abruptly, her gaze flying to his face. “I’m-sorry,” she stuttered, dropping his hand like it was hot.
He clenched his jaw, disinclined to apologize for something he had so little control over. She knew he wanted her. If she was shocked that
But she didn’t look shocked, any more than she’d looked offended when he admitted to entertaining impure thoughts about her. If anything, she seemed kind of… curious.
“Do you enjoy this?” he asked, an edge in his voice.
She moistened her lips. Her eyes had this smoky glaze to them, a dark heat he wanted to sink into. “Enjoy what?”
“Getting me hard? Having me lust after you?”
“No, I…” She trailed off, an almost indiscernible blush tainting her cheeks. On her, embarrassment looked delicious. “I enjoy being… desired. But I don’t like your anger.”
He wondered, and not for the first time, if her past experiences had caused her to be confused about her sexuality. Hell, he was confused about his, and he didn’t even have any past experiences. Maybe she was afraid of him. Maybe she just wasn’t ready.
He was more than ready, so ready he was about to explode. Even so, if she’d hinted that she wanted to pursue something romantic, rather than sexual, he’d have given her all the time she needed. Instead, she was gazing up at him with those sultry black eyes and “kiss me” lips, sending signals even the horniest kid in the world couldn’t misinterpret.
With a Herculean effort, he tore his gaze away from her, because he was in no mood to be jerked around- encouraged and rejected-yet again.
If she’d waited another minute, he’d have walked her home, but she rushed out of his room before he’d recovered well enough to follow. And she left both copies of her lyrics on the top of his desk.
He stared at the pages for a long time, comparing his slanted scrawl to her awkward, meticulous letters until the pages blurred.
Making a strangled, furious sound, he swept his arm across the surface of his desk, clearing it. When that failed to satisfy, he stood and upended the son of a bitch, sending it careening across the room. One sharp corner tore a jagged edge in the drywall before it landed on its side, contents spilling from the drawers, littering the floor.
Angel ran blindly, tears stinging her eyes, the cool night air biting her cheeks and upper arms. She stumbled over a rock on the side of the road and almost went sprawling, but she didn’t slow down until she reached the edge of her father’s property.
Cutting across the yard in silence, she approached her tiny studio, tiptoeing in the dark, panting lightly.
As she put the key in the lock, someone laid a hand on her shoulder.
