Strung (21 page)

He pulls away, winks and strolls out my room leaving me trying to hold my swelling heart in my chest.  The previously galaxy sized, empty space in my chest doesn't seem large enough now to hold everything I feel. 
He loves me!

~.~

An hour later, everyone is packed up.  I throw my weekend bag into the trailer with the other luggage and promise to meet everyone at Donavan's Pass.  Grace winks at me from the minibus as Morgan pulls out of the drive and I blush.

"Ready?" asks Chayton.

"Uh huh!"

He pulls me up hard against him. 
Finally!
  Grabbing my pony, he pulls my head back, his lips latch onto mine and he kisses me feverishly.  Desire sparks and unfurls, my muscles clenching deeply and I groan.

"You look hot in those jeans and absolutely naughty in that leather jacket," he smirks pulling back.  He slips my helmet on and adjusts my strap.

"Is that so, Mr. Donavan?  Well I
could
tell you how you look and what it does to me, but I don't want you distracted."

"And you think having you sitting on my bike, with your lovely legs spread wide; me between them, isn't going to be distracting?"

"Just imagine Morgan sitting behind you, or things are going to get fugly."

"Fugly?" he laughs.

"Yes Mr. Donavan.  Fucking ugly."

"Keep up that language and there will be more fucking than ugly.  I have no intention on still being here tonight!" he growls, checking that the zip on my leather jacket is pulled snugly to the top.

"Climb on, Ms. Ward.  I believe Bo and Luke are both anxiously awaiting your promised apology and have booked a bed at the passion cabin!"  He offers me a playful wink through his visor. 

What is this?  Wink at Acacia day?
  I roll my eyes and swing my leg over the seat behind him, snuggling up close and wrapping my arms around his hips, my hands very, very close to General Lee.

It's a beautiful, sun washed, day in Washington State.  The first real signs of spring are budding in the crisp air.  I snuggle in closer to Chayton as the powerful road bike weaves through the mid-Monday morning traffic, on our
two-hour trip to the mountains.  I'm a little surprised when we leave interstate 5 and head onto the 405 instead, but we'll just end up back on the 5 anyway.  There's probably just some congestion ahead that he is trying to avoid.

As the wind and traffic wiz by, my thoughts turn to the last two and half weeks.  How much has changed in so little time!  Saturday past, I had driven to see Victoria, rather than phone her.  Two hours, we sat and talked and at the
time, I didn't feel like we were achieving anything.  Now, with my arms wrapped tightly around Chayton, his declaration of love still ringing like huge bronze bells in my head, the whole conversation has taken on a completely new meaning. 

The gist of our conversation had boiled down to one simple thing:  I needed to make some different choices.  One of those choices, as suggested by Victoria, is to free myself from my self-imposed restrictions and fears.  At the time, I thought the suggestion was absurd.  But now...

A phrase from my studies blares at me, highlighted in luminous orange, bulging in bold uppercase:  "We are restricted only by the limitations of our own minds."

I doubt the author had my situation in mind when he wrote this little gem, but for all intended purposes – it fits.  The question is; would it be so easy to shift the limitations of our minds?  Is it really just a matter of making a decision, as Victoria suggests?

I gasp as the bike leans suddenly and accelerates through a gap in the traffic, shooting forward.  Although the move takes me by surprise, I'm not afraid.  I trust Chayton's ability to control the powerful bike.  In fact, this is fun!  This is what it feels like to trust and let go. 
Wow!  There's an epiphany for you.

Chayton settles back to cruising speed and my mind wanders back to its introspection.

Chapter 11

"Little steps, Acacia."  Victoria's voice echo
es in a memory.

I'll try
.  If I can trust him with my life on a motorcycle, perhaps I can learn to do more. 
I close my eyes and take the millionth deep cleansing breath of my short life, forming the idea in my head as I do.

I will allow this relationship to develop on its own, without letting the fear of a bad ending, control its progress and my decisions
– this I can do. 
I am not opening myself up to
trusting
Chayton or myself, at least not yet.  But my fear of getting hurt if the relationship goes bad, has been a large negative force.  Maybe by freeing myself of
this
, I can allow room for trust to be earned.  I open my eyes.  Yes, I'm ready to do this.  I feel lighter already and realise that actually, I feel more alive than I've felt in years.

We enter Bellevue and leave the 405 and my curiosity is piqued.  Oh!  Are we heading to Chayton's Bellevue mansion
?  Yes, it appears, we are.  We pull up at the front door and I swing myself off the bike, grinning like a lunatic.  I don't know why but I feel the need to run amok, whooping like the fan of a winning team.  Instead, I hug myself in silent congratulations.

Chayton swings himself off and tackles my helmet first.  I'm impatient to see his face, hiding behind his visor.  I have a brand new set of eyes and they are thirsty to explore the new world; my simple decision has placed me in
.  Finally, we are both visor free!

We stand together, taking each other in, appreciating our respective views, saying nothing for ages.  In contrast to my megawatt, cheesy grin, his is lopsided, slightly shy and incredibly sexy. 

"Why are we here?”  I finally whisper, still grinning.

"Because the cabin is too far away - it's been driving me insane having you behind me on the bike.  It's been too long.  I need you," he whispers.

"Me too," I lean toward him, desperate to feel his lips on mine. 

Chayton lift a finger to my lips, and I kiss it gently before parting my lips in invite.
  "Come, before this gets out of hand and I take you here in the drive," he growls suddenly.  He pulls me into the huge mansion.  We are almost running.  Well I'm running, to keep up with his long strides, as he leads me up an ornate curved staircase and down a long hallway.  The house flies by in a blur and I have no time to take in my surroundings.  We pull up short outside a closed door and he stares down at me, long and hard.

"Are you sure?"

"Never more," I answer and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to my lips.

His kiss is cautious and gentle.  Mine is not and he groans at the ferocity of my attack, pushing me up against the door and leaning into me, heavily.

His hands trap my face, forcing me to slow and we end up meeting somewhere in the middle.  I can taste this morning's toothpaste and a hint of coffee with a flood of desire as I explore his mouth, running my tongue along his teeth. 

Chayton pulls away first, panting, his hands still cradling my face.
He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on mine. 

"You are amazing and confusing and mesmerising and mine!  It's almost too good to be true."  His voice is low.

"I'll stick with 'yours' for now; we'll discuss the rest later."

He shakes his head, smiling that crooked smile again and opens the door,
supporting me so I don't fall backwards into the room.

Lips on mine again, he walks me backward until my knees
bump up against a bed.  I feel his fingers tug at my jacket zip at the same moment mine find his and we mirror each other, removing the heavy leather outer garments, letting them fall to the floor.

My fingers find the buttons on his waist coast.  Thank God
, there are only tree.  His lips leave mine bereft, exploring my jaw, my earlobe, my neck and stop.

I hadn't realised that he'd freed my t-shirt from my jeans.  Smiling shyly I lift my arms, allowing him to pull the annoying fabric over my head.

"You too Mister," I urge, pulling on the hem of his shirt.  He smiles lets me tug his shirt off to join the pile of clothes building up on the floor.

Wow!

"Wait!  Please!"  I cry as he starts to pull me toward him.

He freezes, concern flooding his face.  "What's wrong?"

"Stand very, very still," I order, shaking my head slightly.

He remains frozen, and uncertain as I slowly circle him, taking in every curve and dip on his finely tuned torso.  He really is magnificent.  If I were his
sculptor, I would be ecstatic with the result.  It might be the pinnacle, the culmination of my life's work – and he loves
me
!

I run a fingernail up the path of his spine and he shivers slightly, a soft growl escaping his throat.  His chest swells as he breaths and the light smattering of hair across his chest, pours like syrup from a spoon, to split his abdominal muscles left and right, disappearing to pool mysteriously under the fabric of his jeans.

I trace a fingertip from the curve of one shoulder, slowly down to his nearest nipple, circling it through the soft curls before tracing across his broad chest to the other.  I circle that nipple and kiss the small bud gently, pleased with his sharp intake of ar.  Leaning back again, I follow the trail of silky hair south, until I reach the waistband of his jeans.

For the first time, since I started my intense study of his form, I risk a glance at his beautiful face.  His previously uncertain expression has darkened.  Emerald flashes burn brightly in the depths of his dark irises.  His lashes seem impossibly long and heavy, hooding his eyes
.  His lips part and his tongue sneaks out, its tip running slowly along the edge of his top teeth. 

He not only loves me - he wants me!  Holy cow! 
And then we are on the bed, kissing feverishly, all hands, fingers, mouths, grinding hips and entwined denim. 

~.~

"I could get used to this."

"So could I, Ms. Ward," Chayton breathes against my skin and I feel the smile stretch is lips.

I am slowly returning to earth, my heart settling, my breathing slowing.  I long to run my fingers through his mussed up hair, to lift my head to watch him; still greedy for more.  But I just don't have the strength.  My muscles still quiver like Jell-O from our exertions, my energy reserves thoroughly drained.

"Is it wrong that it's Monday and I haven't done a shred of work?"

"Oh very," he chuckles.

"Is it wrong that I don't feel the slightest bit guilty?"

"That depends, Ms. Ward."

"Oh?"

"Did the world stop today, because you didn't work?"

"No, but it did stop when you told me you loved me," I whisper.  I turn my head on the pillow to gaze at him and he rests his head on his hand, gazing back.

"I like that your worlds stops for me.  We suffer the same affliction."  He kisses the tip of my nose and runs his lips over my chin, down my neck and toward my belly.  "We'll have to go before Morgan sends out a search party for me."

"What does Morgan actually do?"
I ask, realising that he seems to be a constant in Chayton's life.

"Morgan runs a security company."
Chayton murmurs, running rings around my navel with his nose.

Right!
  Morgan told Chayton about someone hanging around the shelter - because he was running security.  But if he runs the company, why have I not seen any other security people?

"Is he the only person in the company?"

Chayton lifts his head and looks at me quizzically.  "Heavens, no!  Morgan has nearly a hundred and fifty people under his wing." 

"Oh!"  Gosh, it's almost as if he is proud of Morgan.  How strange.

"So how come I only ever see Morgan?"

"I've asked him the same question," Chayton sighs.  "He insists on handling my security personally, even though I've told him it's not necessary."  He returns to nuzzling my belly.

"Maybe it's just so he can be around Savannah more," I suggest carefully.

"You've noticed it too huh?"

"He definitely seams smitten."

"Well I'm not stopping him.  He's a good man.  My sister could do worse, besides she could use a man who will look after her properly."

"You are very close to your sister."

"She is the only real family I have, and the only real family my mother ever had," he ends bitterly, sitting up.  "We should go before the temperature drops too much," he states flatly and heads towards his en-suite bathroom.

One day I'll learn to ask questions that don't piss people off.  I struggle into a sitting position, my limbs issuing a satisfied protest at every move.  For the first time, I take in my surrounding without the distraction of my very own walking, talking work of art.

The room is large, too large perhaps.  The
centrepiece is the huge platform bed beneath me.  A large padded, headboard covers half the wall above the pillows.  It's covered, in a light brown, soft, cracked leather.  On either side of the bed, sit two small, hand-carved tables of rich polished Teak.  On each table sits a simple small lamp and one table holds a small alarm clock. 
Gosh, it's nearly four O'clock!

Off to the one side of the room a set of small leather armchairs, arranged around a small glass coffee table, and on the other side a simple hand woven rug, in the same rich colours I remember from the cottage, fills the white tiled floor.  Two doors lead off the bedroom.  A bathroom, which I suspect is also a wet room and a walk in closet, from what I can tell through the slightly open door.  Not a single picture adorns the walls.  The expanse of white
, is only broken by the doors, and two floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the bed - not even curtains.

I stretch, trying to encourage blood flow to my lucid limbs and climb out of bed, padding barefoot and naked to the bathroom.  Chayton glances at me in the mirror as I enter and smiles around his toothbrush.  As I walk past, heading toward the shower he
snakes one hand out and captures me around the waist, pulling me toward him.  I wrap my arms around his hips and listen to the rhythm of his heart beneath his ribs while he holds me there and finishes brushing his teeth.

Rinsing the brush he holds offers it to me with a shy smile, his lips still damp
.  Sharing a toothbrush; it's such an intimate act, so comfortable, so right. 

"Thanks."  I take the brush from him and he grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing me chastely on the corner of my mouth before releasing me and stalking off.  Mood averted.

Chayton is dressed and yummy by the time I return to the bedroom.

"Come," he says.  "I want to dress you."

"Well that's a new take on seduction," I grin.

"It is, Ms. Ward.  But it means I get to see every little inch of you, in high definition, close up detail, until the very last moment.  It could be a few hours before I see you naked again," he grins, his eyes glinting.

"You think you can manage?"

"I'm willing to try.  Imagine the alternatives, Ms. Ward," he saunters up to me, his gaze caressing me sweetly.

"Alternatives?" I swallow.

"Stay naked."

"Tempting..."

"I know, but I don't want to share this vision with the rest of the world.  Besides, by some miracle, I've managed to keep my criminal record clean.  I'd like it to stay that way."

"Since you put it that way..." I swoop down and pick up my lace thong, dangling it from the tip of my forefinger.  "My ass awaits!"

He growls
, leaping and I fly with him onto the bed, content with the knowledge that we are not leaving just yet.  My heart releases a long content sigh before desire stirs the embers, reigniting the flames.

~.~

I sip on a mug of steaming hot chocolate, savouring the rich creamy caress on my taste buds.  Grace knows how to make it just right.  The two families joined us earlier for a communal dinner in the main house and we are all now huddled around one of the fires in the large hall. 

May is searching through a treasure chest of games and puzzles and glances up at me.  I offer her a comforting smile and she returns it shyly.  Her father, Edward, looks on with kind but tired eyes and a tense, sad smile.  An expression
, I'm sure I once sported.  His skin is slightly tanned and the tell tales signs of many hours spent out doors are clear to see. 

Edward and Chayton are discussing the old abandoned mines in the mountains and the impact
they have had on the environment and water supplies.  I think he is a geologist or something.  Between Edward and his daughter, they have only one suitcase of personal belongings, but a small mountain of electronic equipment.  

Susan has almost disappeared in a soft
beanbag, next to the fire, her waif of a little boy curled up on her lap.  She is paging through a large, worn, picture book with him.