Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1) (25 page)

Chapter 39

Grant

I stood over by the car, tarp in hand, and looked at Amelia with what I'm sure was the widest grin I may have had on my face in years. Instead of a smile back, her head was cocked and her expression a bit skeptical. She finally said, "This is the coolest car ever? Better than the Batmobile?"

I nodded and ran my hand down the side of the car before placing my fingers on the door handle.

"Your convertible? I mean, it's beautiful and hot, but superhero-worthy? I'm not so sure." She scoffed in the direction of my baby.

"Amelia, I can assure you this car is more than just superhero-worthy. Let me show you," I informed her and walked around the car, opening the passenger side door for her. "The Batmobile is a fine machine, but it's a bit flashy for my taste. I think something a bit more understated is appropriate."

She had a gleam in her eye that was absolutely wicked, and she followed me around the car, quickly ducking in, saying, "Thank you."

To my dismay she adjusted her dress, covering her alluring legs, when she sat down on the shiny, soft leather.

Her scent whirled around me, making me heady and warm.  I shut her door and walked around the car in exaggerated human speed. I needed to compose myself. I had been on the precipice of ruining the evening when Amelia had managed to soothe me by pulling out those comic books of all things, making everything right. She made
everything
right.

Stopping behind the car, I contemplated the new emotion spreading through my body. I couldn't be sure, because I had no experience with this, but I was almost positive what the feeling was. I'd seen it in movies, read about it in books and heard others think of it for years. I had even forced myself to pretend I had these emotions on my own, trying to make it work, to fit in with the rest of my family. But it always felt false. And now, I knew for a fact that it had been.

Just because I knew what it was didn't mean I was ready to admit it out loud. What if she didn't feel the same way? What would I do then?

I watched Amelia sit in the car and marveled at how this woman had changed the course of my life by simply being herself.  I opened the driver’s side door and slid inside next to her.

"You want the top up or down?" I asked, pretending like this wasn't the most important night of my life.

"Whatever you want, Batman," she said with an arched eyebrow, still not looking completely convinced.

I suppressed a smirk at the irony of her calling me Batman, if she only knew, and pressed the lever that folded the top into itself before easing down into the back of the car.

"I thought you didn't drive this anymore," she said.

I gave her a sideways look, my fingers on the key inside the ignition. "I didn't, but I told you, Amelia, I can change with proper motivation."

The admission surprised me more than anyone.  There was no reason I should stop doing the things I loved to punish myself. There was no changing who I was, there was only acceptance. Amelia helped me accept who I really was, even if she didn't have the whole picture yet.

I cranked the engine and it roared with life. An enormous hum vibrated off the walls of the garage. I backed out into the clear evening.

Amelia’s hair fluttered around her face with the movement of the car. With the top down and the engine purring, her scent and heartbeat where lost under the power of the machine.

“Sebastian worked on the car last. He’s never satisfied unless he’s upgrading something.” I drove the car down the street. Amelia had no idea of my power behind the wheel of a high-performing car. Other than running, there was no place I was more comfortable.

"He removed all the original electronics here and installed a state of the art GPS navigation system. It also has a built-in phone and tracking system. If someone even thinks of touching this car the information goes right back to the computer in my office so I can find it." I explained while pointing out the features. "Plus, this car has an enormous engine. It was original to the car, but it’s been upgraded to modern standards."

We had been traveling through the city at a normal speed but I maneuvered us onto the highway. Once I was sure there were no police or traffic problems ahead, I asked, "Is your seat belt secure?"

She hooked a finger through the belt and tugged. "Yep."

I shifted into gear, and as my tires squealed against the asphalt I said, "Hold on tight."

We shot off into the night to see exactly what a superhero's car could do.

~*~

Exiting the highway, I stole a glance at Amelia sitting next to me. I could tell she loved the speed as much as I did. The whole time we were moving she laughed and squealed and even though I saw her fingers clenched around the leather upholstery I could tell it was out of excitement, not fear. She acted scared but the wide smile on her face told me faster was better, and I was happy to oblige.

"Okay, you win. I admit it," she confessed breathlessly. "This car is amazing. Who taught you to drive like that?"

"I taught myself. It's instinctive." I found myself gazing at her hair, loosened from the tie at her neck. It was wild from the high speed and open roof. I couldn't help but grin.

"What?" she asked, and she realized where my eyes were and she instinctively touched the top of her head. "Oh crap." She groaned and pulled the visor down to see the damage.

While she wrestled with her hair (I couldn't even look at mine after my near hair freak out earlier) I attempted to walk, not run, to the passenger door to wait for her. Apparently satisfied, she snapped the visor up. I was surprised to see a conflicted look on Amelia’s face.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. I look like a rat built a nest on top of my head," she said and narrowed her eyes. "You should have warned me."

I laughed. "You said it was my choice, and anyway, I think your hair looks beautiful," I said, this time without gagging on my words.

Amelia's face rushed with blood and my desire grew. I silently prayed for it to pass and focused on the long strands of hair flowing around Amelia's face. My fingers twitched, and before I could stop myself I reached out and pushed a strand smoothly behind her ear, grazing her skin.

"The wild, untamed look suits you." If I could have blushed I would have, but I couldn't, and it only encouraged me.

"Thank you," she mumbled and her heartbeat quickened as her own blush deepened.

As we casually walked down the street Amelia pointed out a series of posters plastered to the side of a building. "Oh, Drew and I are going with some friends to the music festival downtown tomorrow night. You should come with us?"

I forced myself to pause as though I was considering her offer. I wanted so badly to say yes but large crowds were difficult for me. The smells and sounds were so invasive.

Normally I would have lied, but in an effort to fulfill my promise I answered truthfully. "I don't really do well in crowds. But thank you for the invitation.”

"Okay," she said. The hint of rejection was undeniable. I suppressed a frustrated sigh. What a way to start a date.

In an attempt to make her more comfortable, I began talking about the exhibit and some of the different artists we would see. As always, she seemed so interested in the things I had to say, which caused my ego to soar. We came to the front of the museum and Amelia stopped short. "We're going to the Asheville Museum of Art?"

“Yes.”

"But, Grant, the museum isn't open at night. We're way past closing time," she said.

We climbed the steps to the front door and a man in a suit waited for us with the front door open. As we approached, he said, "Mr. Palmer, I'm Michael Barnes, director of the museum."

"Good evening, Mr. Barnes. I appreciate you opening the museum for us." I glanced at Amelia, who had a look of confusion on her face.

I gestured for Amelia to go ahead and she walked through the door into the main lobby.

The director stopped and said, "I think you know your way around, right?" I nodded. "Good, I will be in my office if you need any additional assistance."

He said 'good night' and walked off. Amelia gave me a hard look.

"What?" I asked, feeling the grin on my lips.

"Grant, did you pay them off or something?" she asked in a hushed whisper, suspicion filling her eyes.

"Shall we?" I asked, ignoring her question, and started for the staircase to the second floor. If Amelia was ever going to fit in my life, she would have to realize at some point the Palmers don't live like other people. We have money, resources and connections. We used them all when the time was right.

As we walked through the exhibits I allowed her to set the pace, pointing out the pieces that inspired or drew her attention. Amelia was drawn to color; bright hues and abstract work seemed to be her favorite style of artwork. She spent a tremendous amount of time looking at a series of Kandinsky paintings, commenting on the subtle differences in each piece.

She walked toward one in particular and looked up at me with amazement in her eyes. "I love this one. It's so different with the black background."

Her bright, innocent eyes were shining under the spotlights and I could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. If only I knew thoughts instead of guessing. I was forced, as usual, to prod her for further information. "The irony of this painting is that Kandinsky was noted for his dislike of the color black. This painting is actually his final one. Composition X is its title."

She turned away from the picture, a sly smile lifting the corners of her lips, and said in a falsely impressed voice, "Mr. Palmer is there anything you don't know?"

Plenty. Like, how did this woman have such a powerful hold over me?

We continued through the museum like this, Amelia pointing out a painting or sculpture, and me answering her questions effortlessly due to the years of sleepless nights and a near photographic memory. We walked slowly, taking in each piece, and I listened as Amelia spoke in a hushed, reverent tone. It was quiet here, not a voice to be heard, a whisper to block out. Just me and Amelia, alone.

It was close to perfection.

She wandered a bit ahead of me and I wistfully looked at her hands gently swinging by her sides. I wished I could simply clasp one in my own. I shook my head slightly at the foolishness of my desires. Until I’d met Amelia, I'd never understood the need to touch another person like this. But now it was an ache. An overwhelming need to thread my fingers through hers. To rub my thumb over the creases in her palm or to simply cup the sides of her petite face in my hands.

"Are you coming?" she called, her voice echoing off the high ceilings from the next room, pulling me from my fantasies.

I walked in and found her engrossed by a collection of regional artwork. As I opened my mouth to give her history of the painting before us but Amelia turned and asked, "Isn't your family from Black Mountain?"

"Yes. They’ve owned property there for generations.”

"Have you ever been to Lost Cove?"

Lost Cove? I looked over her shoulder at a photograph of members of the Melungeon community from the early nineteenth century. Even in the black and white photo their specific brand of beauty was mesmerizing. Had Amelia read about them? My confusion quickly turned to unease.

Knowing my promise to be truthful would be tested, I braced myself, admitting, "Once."

"Oh," she said and wandered over to the next one, a painting. The Melungeons had the body of a person but faces like an animal. "This is called Spirit Animal.”

I followed her for a bit, responding to her comments and thoughts until curiosity got the best of me. I turned to her and spoke her name to get her attention and then asked, "Why were you asking me about Lost Cove?"

She looked around and found a bench across the room. Amelia motioned toward it and together we walked over and sat down.

She paused for a moment before speaking, her upper teeth biting down on her lower lip, drawing my attention to their perfection. "I haven't really told you this, but ever since my house was broken into I've been having nightmares.”

"You told me you were having problems sleeping. Nightmares? What about?" I asked, feeling myself hovering over the line of honesty. I had wanted to know the truth about her dreams for weeks. I’d caught bits and pieces when she mumbled in her sleep, but the clearest part was my name at the end.

"It's the same one. It's horrible. I'm chasing after that missing girl, Jenna, the one from all the posters?’ She paused, crashing her face in her hands. Amelia knew about Jenna. What else did she know?

"I chase her and she falls, then I fall and well, the only way for me to get away is to climb up a cliff, but I can't do it alone. Then in the end, you come and save me." Her face flushed a bit, but she didn't seem truly embarrassed. She looked almost thankful.

"I'm sorry you've been having bad dreams," I told her. "I don't understand though, what does this have to do with Lost Cove?"

She sighed. "No, I'm sure you don't. There is this girl at the coffee shop. Her name is Laurel. You know, the dark haired one, she's a Melungeon."