Make Me Lose Control
It was those signs that fascinated her most.
The evidence of other teenagers, she was sure of it.
With a push of her hand, London swung open the door and peered into the dark interior. Before, she’d only visited during the day. In the gloom she could barely make out the usual litter: empty cans of Red Bull, Snickers candy wrappers, cigarette butts, a few moldy copies of GamerNews and People magazine. Seating choices consisted of various mismatched cushions that leaked stuffing and had been tossed onto the ragged indoor/outdoor carpeting.
Merely being around the debris of American kids made her feel closer to them. It was as if breathing in air they’d also shared could gain her entry into their world.
Suddenly, a flashlight flicked on.
On a breathless squeak, London jolted back, nearly falling. Regaining her balance, she saw the yellow circle of light jump along the walls as the figure wielding the instrument clambered to its feet.
His feet.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” a male voice said. Then the beam shifted, illuminating a face.
Everything inside London went still: her heart, her breath, the coursing of the blood beneath her skin. She knew that face. That tall, lean body. It was a boy she’d seen around town, always with a pack of other kids, always in a casual pose, comfortable with himself.
Who wouldn’t be comfortable with his tanned skin and his shock of dirty blond hair and with those very white teeth that seemed to be glowing like neon even in the darkness?
London swallowed. “I’m not scared,” she said.
She saw his head tilt, like a curious animal trying to figure out something new. “You have an accent.”
Not hardly! At least, she didn’t want to have one. The British kids she’d run into once in a blue moon said she didn’t sound like them. When she’d gone to school—and it was true that Elsa had not always been consistent on getting her to class—she’d attended an all-girl American school with American teachers.
Since she was twelve, she’d exclusively watched American television, determined to become what she considered the epitome of confidence and cool—the typical American teen.
“Cat got your tongue, England?” the boy asked.
“It’s London,” she was forced to admit. “It’s my name...and also where I’ve been living.” Since coming to Blue Arrow she’d been trying out different city names—US city names—to replace her own, as if selecting a new one would obliterate her otherness. But the minute Shay had started to explain that to her father today, it had seemed foolish. Babyish. Like believing in Santa or expecting visits from the Tooth Fairy.
Elsa had cleared up those misconceptions right away, despite Opal’s protests.
“Huh,” the handsome guy said now. “London...I like it.”
Emboldened by the compliment—giddy!—she voiced a question of her own. “And you are...?”
“Colton. Colton Halliday.”
Colton Halliday. London repeated the name in her head. It sounded like the name of a cowboy or a Wild West gunslinger. Very American and maybe even a tiny bit dangerous.
Though she didn’t feel afraid around him, she’d been truthful about that. Just warm and excited and like she was poised to begin the life she’d been waiting for. Until this moment, she’d been the victim of everyone else’s whims—her mother taking her to Europe, her father sending her to Blue Arrow Lake, Shay insisting on Gatsby and Shakespeare and that boring history book about Western civilization.
Colton slid down the wall so he was seated again. He set the flashlight beside him so its beam washed up the dingy wall and cast half his face in light, half in shadow. “What are you doing out here?”
She took one small step inside. “I live back that way.” She made a vague gesture. “You?”
“Promise you won’t tell?” he asked, though he didn’t sound too worried either way.
“Sure.”
“We local kids, you know, full-timers on the mountain, we have a few places, hideouts I’d guess you’d call them, where we go to chill. This is one of them.”
Hideouts. London nodded, pretending a teen-only retreat wasn’t completely beyond her previous sheltered—okay, freak—existence. “Just you tonight?”
“I had to get away from the parental units for a little while. They can be a pain in the ass, right?”
“Right.” London dug her toe into the worn carpeting. “My mother’s dead.” Her hand clapped over her mouth. What was wrong with her?
“God.” He twitched, then was silent a moment. “God, I’m sorry.”
“No. It’s okay. I...” Miserably embarrassed, she stepped back again.
“Don’t go,” Colton said. “I shouldn’t have...”
His discomfort only made her feel worse. “It’s okay.”
“Come back in, I don’t bite. You probably need a little downtime, too.”
Dueling desires warred within her. To go, to stay, to allow him to bite her. Goose bumps burst in hot prickles all over her skin at the thought. Biting! She’d never even been kissed. Yeah, at fifteen, she was unkissed.
Total freak.
“So, you go to school down the hill or something?”
Down the hill encompassed every place that wasn’t the surrounding mountains. London had learned that from Shay. “No,” she said, coming inside so she could make her own slide along the wall. They were propped on opposite sides of the small structure, London situated closest to the still-open door. “I’m sort of being homeschooled at the moment. I have a live-in tutor.”
Colton released a low whistle as he drew up his knees and draped his wrists over them. In the low illumination from the flashlight, she stared at his hands. They were long-fingered and bony-looking. Not like a skeleton, just...bony like a boy’s hands. Like a boy’s hands should be.
“How’s that?” he asked. “A live-in tutor? No dozing off during class, I suppose.”
“No.” If pressed, she’d probably admit she liked Shay. Yes, there was the dusting and the vacuuming and the Western civ book, but the woman had also been tolerant of her name experiments—which seemed even stupider now that Colton Halliday said he liked London.
Shay paid attention, too. She was the only one to ever notice that when it came to bubbling test answers, London had a peculiar technique. The first time she’d turned in a score sheet, Shay had taken one look at the paper then tossed it back. “Love the long-stemmed rose,” she’d said drily, noting the pattern London had made with her No. 2. “Now put your efforts into answers, not illustrations.”
“Finals are coming up at the high school,” Colton said. “That’s what my parents are on my case about. Studying. Hell, I can’t wait for summer.”
“What will you do then?”
“Hang with friends, swim, hike. I have a part-time job scooping ice cream, too. Gotta save for college...only a year away.”
Meaning he was going to be a senior next year. That seemed way older than her.
“What about you, England?”
“I’m—” She stopped herself from blurting out fifteen.
“Hey, I thought you liked London?”
His grin glowed again, seeming to light up the whole room. “I like ‘England,’ too, since I came up with it. My special name for you.”
Another riot of goose bumps bloomed over her body. “That’s all right, I guess.” It was better than all right!
“So...are you going to be around this summer?”
She shrugged, trying to play it casual. “Sure.”
“Then maybe we’ll see each other again.” Colton rose to his feet. “I gotta go now. Chemistry homework due tomorrow.”
London stood, too, pressing her shoulder blades against the wall to hold herself up because her knees felt wobbly as he drew near. “See you around, then,” she said as he passed through the doorway.
“Yeah, see you.” He turned, walking backward as he looked at her, the moonlight silvering his hair. “How old are you, England?”
“Seventeen,” she replied, without a single betraying quaver in her voice. It didn’t matter that it was a lie; it was her next foray into the life she’d been waiting to begin.
Fifteen-year-old London, who’d lost her mother and only just met her father, was an outcast, that freak she’d always felt like. But London, nicknamed “England” by a handsome, soon-to-be high school senior, was the master of her fate and the captain of her soul.
And surely, surely seventeen.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHAY BUSIED HERSELF at the sink, swishing the dishcloth in the soapy water contained by one of the mixing bowls she’d used in preparing the evening meal. The chicken enchilada dinner had gone okay, she supposed, and she was relieved that she and Jace—his real name—seemed to be of the same mind.
The mind in which the Deerpoint Inn didn’t exist.
Or, at least, of the mind that they weren’t the same two people who had spent a night there together.
If the three of them were going to share the house for the summer, Shay’s relationship with London’s father needed to be polite, professional and impersonal. Surely she could manage that.
Then, even with her hand buried in the warm water on a warm night, a cold fingertip trailed down her spine. She froze, her prey-sense kicking in. Someone was behind her.
Lifting her gaze to the window over the sink, she saw a man reflected in the glass. His height, his breadth, the very masculine mass of him seemed to press the air from the room. Her heart skipped as he strode inside on silent feet until only the expanse of the stainless-steel-topped island separated them.
Calm down, Shay admonished herself. He’s no predator. He’s nothing to you, not even that attractive man at the bar who was so charming at dinner and so blissful in bed.
As a matter of fact, he was the kind of man she wouldn’t find appealing at all. Upon learning of his ex’s death, he’d made exactly one phone call to his daughter and then left her in others’ care—without another word for weeks. Sure, Shay was self-aware enough to know she had a chip on her shoulder when it came to paternal issues, but anyone would agree that Jace should have maintained tighter contact since becoming London’s sole guardian.
“Where’s the kid?” he asked now, his voice low.
The sound of it—damn—reminded her of the night before. His voice, both rough and soft in the darkness as he murmured against the skin of her throat, as he whispered in the hot shell of her ear. Your breasts fit perfectly in my hands. Open your mouth for my tongue. Spread your thighs. Let me feel your wet heat.
“Shay?”
She jumped, and shook herself free of the memories. That man was not this one. The lover had been attentive and generous. This...stranger was neither of those things. “London is in her room, I believe.”
“Look at me, will you?” he said. “We need to talk.”
No, they didn’t. And looking at him, looking into those lion-gold eyes, wasn’t going to put them on that all-important professional footing. Maybe tomorrow, with more time and distance since they’d shared kisses, breath, a bed, she would have her armor intact and her memories safely locked away.
Maybe she could fully face him then.
The harsh screech of the bar-stool legs against the polished concrete floor scraped her nerves. He was sitting instead of going away, she thought with a grimace.
But there was an odd heaviness to the sound of his body dropping into the chair. Without thinking, Shay swung around, only to see Jace sprawled in the seat, his elbows on the island, his head in his hands.
“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.
“I’ll be all right in a minute.”
“Is it the elevation again?” She hurried to get him a glass of cold water. “Drink this down.”
He didn’t move. “No.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped. “If you’re afraid I’ll think less of you if your machismo takes another hit, forget about it. I—”
“Already don’t think much of me?” he finished for her, lifting his head.
He looked terrible. There were lines of pain around his eyes and he squinted as if the light were torture.
“Why would you say that?” she asked, ignoring her guilty flush.
His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I caught the hint from those emails you sent.”
Shay swallowed. Not only had she written all that stuff about dancing lessons and field trips to chocolate factories, but she also recalled subtly—or maybe not so subtly—expressing her opinion on absentee parenting. “You read them?”
“Finally. After I recovered.”
Her eyes rounded. “Um...recovered? Recovered from what?”
“I need to get some pain relievers.” He stood abruptly, the uncharacteristically clumsy movement knocking over the stool. At the loud clatter, he put both hands to his head as if to hold it together.
“Jace.” Shay rushed around the island to right the seat. Then she urged him back into it, tugging gently on one elbow. “I can get it. Something special? A prescription?”
“No. Just a couple of the regular kind.”
He took the tablets with the water and without argument. For a few moments he sat, eyes closed, just breathing. Shay gripped the metal edge of the island, watching him with concern.
When his lashes lifted, she could see some of the discomfort had left him. “Better?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s up?”
He shrugged. “Construction accident. I ended up with a badly sprained ankle and a concussion. For a time I found it difficult to think, read, communicate clearly. I still get headaches, obviously—tension brings them on.”
Remorse flooded Shay. While she’d been sending snarky emails and thinking uncharitable thoughts, he’d been laid up thousands of miles away with serious injuries. Still... “There wasn’t someone who could send an email for you? Make a call?”
“This was a lay-of-the land mission, four of us in the middle of nowhere. My interpreter-slash-fixer understood a limited amount of English and my Arabic is sketchy. Beyond blueprints, we had a difficult time making ourselves known to each other. So I concentrated on getting here as soon as I could.”
Frowning a little, she drew closer, continuing to watch him with assessing eyes. Definitely better, but—
“Christ, I don’t need a nurse. Stop hovering.”
Affronted, Shay spun around.
“Wait.” Jace reached out, but her arm slipped through his fingers. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to...”
Hot showers, Shay thought, with sudden understanding. Birthday celebrations. Depending upon someone else, if only for a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. “It’s all right,” she said, insult evaporating. “I’m going to make coffee. Would you like some?”
“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”
Her back was to him as she ground the beans and fiddled with the settings on the coffeemaker. Silence grew between them as she pulled mugs from the cabinet and readied the cream and sugar.
Before she sensed a single footstep, heavy male hands closed over her shoulders. Shay jerked once, then stilled. When he wasn’t hurting from a headache, she thought, the big man moved with such smooth grace. Unnerved by it, Shay placed her palms flat on the countertop and tried to calm her thudding heart.
“Shay,” Jace said, bending his head so his mouth was close to her ear. “I’m sorry. Really.”
She closed her eyes, willing herself not to lean into his warmth. A ripple of desire rolled over her skin, slid down her arms, over her breasts, her belly, her hips. God, she’d never felt like this, so aware of a man, so greedy for his touch.
She’d expected only one night with him, but now, now there was another possibility. There could be a summer of such moments, she thought, aching to feel his heat surrounding her, his weight on top of her, his thick column of flesh inside her again. Her eyes closed. There could be such a sweet, sweet summer. Yes, the fact that he was her boss was a complication, but if they could sort that out—
“Really sorry,” he continued, “but your employment will be terminated early. Though I’ll pay out for the full contract, of course, I’m giving you four weeks’ notice.”
“What?” Lust and longing had muddled her brain. She felt drugged with it and shook her head to focus her thoughts. “What did you say?”
“Four weeks’ notice,” he repeated.
The words splashed over her like icy water. Wrenching from his hold, she scurried to the other side of the island. “I don’t understand.”
“You do,” he said, his gaze on her face. “After what happened between us...”
But that hadn’t happened! Didn’t he understand their unspoken agreement that Shay and Jace were different people than Birthday Girl and Jay? Except...except a moment ago she’d been a breath away from begging for his touch, his heat, his—
Embarrassment kindled her temper. “Wait. Let me get this straight. Are you firing me because of our night at the Deerpoint Inn? I don’t think that’s legal!”
He grimaced. “Well—”
“You’re letting me go because of a...of a personal choice I made on my own time?” She was aware of the outrage in her voice. “Because I went to bed with you?”
“Jesus, Shay.” He glanced behind him. “Can you keep it down?”
“No, I can’t keep it down,” she said, though she lowered her voice to an incensed whisper. “How dare you judge me?”
“I’m not judging. I’m—”
“What about you? You’re a single dad but that didn’t stop you from indulging in a one-night stand, seducing a vulnerable—”
“Vulnerable, my ass.” Jace strode around the island and had hold of her shoulders again. “Seduce, your ass.”
“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to pull out of his grasp.
“Explaining to you the problem we have,” he said from between his teeth. “No, showing you the problem we have.” Then he bent his head and kissed her, his mouth hard and punishing and...
Beautiful. Masterful. Irresistible.
Shay’s lips surrendered to the pressure of his and then his tongue was inside, plunging to rub against her own, pulling back to toy with her, then sweeping back in again. Her body melted against the hard wall of his chest and she pressed her breasts to it and her belly to the heavy rise of his erection.
She tumbled into another bubble, still in Jace’s clasp. It pulsed around them like a heartbeat. It was a refuge. A private shelter. Their very own place. To anchor herself there, she tucked her fingers into the waistband at the back of his jeans. He grunted, low in his throat, and fed more deeply from her mouth.
Then, in an abrupt, desperate move, he pushed her away. Shay felt the counter at the small of her back, and she leaned there, panting. His golden eyes were molten and she felt his gaze like a touch as it moved from her mouth to her heaving breasts to the heated juncture of her thighs. Her muscles clenched there, and he groaned, as if he sensed that sweet spasm.
“You’ve got to see...” He sucked in a quick breath. “This is a problem.”
She crossed her arms over her chest to hide her taut nipples and trembling hands. “Just...just stop kissing me.”
He gave her a wry look. “’Cause that’ll work.”
“Jace—”
“No, I’ve made up my mind.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “I’m moving up the timetable.”
“Timetable?”
“I had a boarding school picked out for London come September. I know I was supposed to spend the next three months here, with her, with you, but obviously...” He shook his head. “I made a call. She can go to the summer session that starts in four weeks.”
Shay gaped at him. “You can’t do that.”
“Won’t she be ready? From those emails, I thought you said she was making great progress. Maybe I can get her another tutor at the school—”
“Jace, she needs time with you.”
His face settled into stubborn lines. “Look, I don’t know anything about her. I know even less about being a father and it’s obvious it’s too late for me to learn. Now that I’ve seen her, it’s clear she’s not interested in that kind of relationship with me anyway.”
“You can’t know what might happen over time—”
“A summer won’t help.”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
“No.” He forked his hand through his hair. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t blame her in the least, but...but no.”
Shay wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something at him. Maybe if she quit now, walked out on the stupid man, he’d be forced to rethink his decision.
Or he’d retreat for four weeks and not engage with the girl altogether until it was time to pack her off to boarding school.
Still, perhaps it would be better that she go, especially as Jace had made it clear he wasn’t interested in being around her, despite that scorching, seeking kiss. Shay could return tonight to her own place. Wasn’t she accustomed to being alone?
A furtive movement over Jace’s shoulder caught her eye. London, dressed in her usual dreary black, her presence moving along the hall like a shadow.
The girl didn’t need to be ignored and left adrift, she thought, her heart aching. London needed an anchor. Something Shay had been providing the past months.
Four more weeks wouldn’t be so bad, she decided. She’d take that time to do what she could for the teen...while taking care to save herself from any unreciprocated wishes or impossible dreams.
* * *
JACE AWOKE AT DAWN. Jet lag was a bitch, and so was the cold, cavernous master suite. He yanked on jeans, a T-shirt and a pair of running shoes and let himself out the back door that opened onto the wide deck that wrapped around the house.
The air was still, the sky a pale, pale gray. The green of the fir trees along the shore was almost black against the nearly colorless canvas. Mist rose from the lake, obscuring its surface. Resembling flying ghosts, the vapor skimmed across the water then shifted, driven by a slight breeze to return like second thoughts.
Jace jogged down the steps to the sloping lawn that led to the narrow beach and the dock there. The wooden structure was painted a deep blue with matching canvas awnings, and consisted of a short rock staircase rising to a platform that loomed over the water. From it, a gangplank angled down to the wide berth that contained the sleek powerboat he’d bought with the house. It was neatly tied to metal cleats and bobbed gently.
Where were the keys? he wondered as an urge came over him to take the thing for a spin. He could already feel the power of it in his hands and beneath his feet, a convenient vehicle for whisking him away from the tangled complications in his life.
But hell, this was a lake, wasn’t it? A finite body of water that meant he was caught forever within its boundaries. Any trip would only bring him back to his starting place.
To London.
To Shay.
To those misgivings that continued to emerge from the troubled pool of his thoughts.
But no, damn it, he assured himself. He’d made a decision to cut this sojourn short. The right decision.
All he needed was a little caffeine to cement that certainty.
So he turned back to the house, only to find someone else was up, as well. In the kitchen Shay was at the counter. Once more she was occupied with the coffee machine, her back to him.
The overhead light picked out gold threads in her auburn hair. The color warmed the stainless-steel-and-cement kitchen, a flame that seemed to give the place some much-needed life. A simple white T-shirt hung from her slender shoulders to brush the waist of the soft, beltless pair of denim jeans she wore. They were cuffed at the ankle to reveal her small bare feet, her toenails painted a translucent pink. Through the windows, the same shade was washing the sky as the sun began to rise over the mountains.
Jace stared at the woman, the same feeling every time he saw her rising like those vapor ghosts on the lake. It went beyond wanting her—and he wanted her very much. Maybe because she’d made him smile and laugh and, most important, take himself a little less seriously.