Evie's Knight (25 page)

Yet he had said one thing that brought a smile to her face, helped her remember that it was Calvin she was talking to after all. It was when she was caramelizing the sugar on the crème brulee.

“You look
hot
with that torch, Babe.” He’d sounded like his old self again. Which made her miss him even more, realize just how different he’d been acting.

Evie hadn’t dared confront Calvin about the strange distance he’d placed between them. Too afraid to make it final. Part of her didn’t
want
to know.

She followed Calvin on his way to the back door, certain he’d turn around and tell her not to bother.

He did turn around, looked at her before speaking, “Come outside with me for a minute, will you?”

Evie’s heart skipped. “Sure.” She looked down at her hands, noticed the way they trembled, and made fists at her sides. She’d be okay, she told herself. Even if he broke things off with her, she would be okay.

The outdoor air didn’t feel cold to her, though she knew it was. Calvin took a seat atop the picnic table, let his legs hang over the edge. He reached for her, secured his warm fingers around her waist, and pulled her toward him.

Evie was surprised to see that he wanted her close at all. She shuffled one foot forward, hesitantly, then the other.

Calvin chuckled. “Come here.” He wrapped an arm around her lower back, pulled her more firmly against him. Laughter had coated his words, but once Evie was face to face with him, there wasn’t a trace of amusement left. In fact, the tightness of his jaw, the crease along his handsome brow gave hints of a deep sadness aching within him. There was something in his eyes that took Evie deeper, straight to his soul, revealing a more vulnerable side of him.

Heat flooded her heart, as if she could actually feel her love for him swelling within her, real, raw, exposed.

The mood changed as Calvin slid his hands up her back. “Evie Mae,” he whispered. He traced the warm tips of his fingers along the side of her neck, up to her face.  It seemed as if he might kiss her. The hold he had on her was much too intimate for anything else. But Calvin rarely got lost in moments like these. And she’d been almost certain, only minutes ago, that she’d never experience another passionate kiss with Calvin Knight again. That he’d be leaving her.

Those thoughts were forgotten in the next instant, as Calvin brushed his lips along her brow. His breath, hot and damp, caused her to shiver. She let her eyes close and felt him kiss her lids. One, and then the other.

Weak and vulnerable, she melted into him, reveled in the tenderness. His bottom lip glided down the bridge of her nose, then grazed her lips, enticing her, causing her mouth to water.

When he pulled away, Evie feared he might simply say goodbye, until he licked his lips, left them parted. She took in the fierce look of conflict pulling at his brows and wondered, for a split second, if this would be the last time he’d kiss her. The passion in his eyes, the force in his hands as he drew her near, gave life to that thought. 

Perhaps it
would
be the last, and in that case, Evie would take all she could. She’d draw in every degree of heat, take every ounce of fervor, drain the impassioned cup he offered tonight.

He brought his mouth to hers, skipping the soft, gentle teases, and went straight for a demanding kiss that screamed of desire. Like the expert of any fine craft or skill, Calvin Knight had mastered the kiss. The way he held her in his strong arms, pulled her against his firm, unyielding chest. He played with her mouth like he owned it. Pressing, pulling, tasting. Making her weak with desire. Encouraging her to let down her guard, meet his passion.

She did. Free from all reservation, Evie fell into the heavenly bliss. She sighed when he slowed, kissed her softer, gentler. With deliberate regard, she focused on each and every pleasure, tried to memorize them all. From his spicy, masculine scent, to the blessed strength of his arms. The heavenly feel of his lips, warm and smooth. The skin just around them, roughly shaven and cool. His hands were strong and certain, ever pulling her closer, with the perfect balance of patience and demand.

A groan sounded from deep in his chest as he took her even closer, caressing her like a cherished lover. She echoed his sentiment with a throaty sigh as his movements slowed to even gentler kisses, laced with such tenderness they nearly tortured her. He gave her one, final drawn-out kiss, and then encircled her in his warm embrace.

His breaths, quick and labored, warmed the bend at the side of her neck.

She stood stunned, uncertain of what to think.

“Will you be home tomorrow?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yeah, I should be. I’m just going to run in the morning, that’s it.”

He pulled away from her, searching her face. “I think I’ll come by. I need to talk to you.”

Evie took a step back as he released her and slid off the creaky picnic table. When she looked down, nodded, he took hold of her chin with his hand, came in once more, and pressed his fevered lips to hers, offering an almost cruel sensation of pleasure.

When she looked back up at him, he averted her gaze and stepped away, speaking just one last word. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

As Calvin pulled his Jeep into the parking lot, small raindrops splattered against the windshield. He eyed the morning sky–a blanket of deep clouds–and pulled on an old baseball cap before stepping onto the pavement.

Evie hadn’t been at the city track, but he knew she liked to jog at the high school as well. And with the fresh rain just beginning to fall, she was sure to be running by now.

As he strode toward the gate, Calvin closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the cool, rain-scented air, almost hoping she wouldn’t be there. Yet as he reached the fence lining the large stadium, he spotted her. There, at the base of the arena, speeding along the black racetrack ran Evie Wylder, jacket-less and already drenched.

His breath caught.

One step closer to ending it.

He reflected on the kisses he’d stolen from her the night before; they had practically ruined him, and he hoped they wouldn’t do the same to her. He’d given his love to her in those moments, nearly made love to her, and now he would leave. Evie would think she read him wrong. She may never trust her instincts again.

A spark of panic roared within him, shouting the same hideous words that haunted him each time he thought of leaving her:
She was abandon by her mother for crying out loud. How could you do this to her after all she’s been through?

“Better abandoned than dead,” he resolved, gritting his teeth.

He approached the top of the stairs, keeping hidden behind the concessions’ stand, and spotted someone else–a man. A flash of protective heat surged through him. Something about the scenario unnerved him. No, everything about it did. A large man in dark jeans and a hooded raincoat, slowly trudging along the quiet track while Evie sped by, her drenched ponytail tossing side-to-side. Thick drops poured down in a steady sheet as the rain picked up, obscuring Calvin’s view as he scrutinized the scene.

The hooded man held his head down while Evie passed; yet just after she glided swiftly by, he lifted his chin to watch her.

Still watching her.

Watching her still.

Calvin’s blood surged hotter.

Evie rounded the track, coming to a spot where the man would fall into view from across the way. The stranger ducked his head once more.

What the hell is she thinking?
Wasn’t she worried about that freak? About what he might do to her? And what about the storm? How could she race for mile after mile in all this rain? Yet she hadn’t even flinched. She only ran. Harder, faster.

Puddles quickly formed on the chipped pavement beneath Calvin’s shoes. He hadn’t grabbed a jacket, and his tee shirt quickly soaked up the cold and heavy water like a sponge.

He squinted for a better view as she came around once more. Again, the man lifted his head just after Evie sped by. A spew of curses raced through Calvin’s head. This guy was asking for it.

The stranger kept his leering eyes pasted on her slender body while she ran–predator and prey. Prey, exhausting all her energy as she raced around the giant track. Predator, lazily keeping a slow man’s pace, waiting for his moment to lunge.

An inner voice told him he was crazy, that he needed to stop being so paranoid and assuming the worse. An even louder voice told him his instincts were right; this guy was trouble. But Calvin wouldn’t interrupt yet. He’d let this play out–see what, if anything, the stranger had in mind.

After several more laps around the large track, Evie began to slow. The stranger hadn’t made a move, and Calvin’s head filled with a new sort of dread–the task at hand. He shuffled along the edge of the small building.

Another step closer to ending it.

His heart pounded, pleaded with each aching beat, begged him not to let her go. Or maybe it was doing just the opposite. Perhaps it was urging him on. Assuring him that now was the time; it needed to be done.

He forced himself to believe the latter, and took slow breaths of reassurance while Evie splashed through what looked to be her final lap. Slower, weary, rolling the tension from her neck. He watched, blood thick with panic as she passed the inconsequential man once more and headed toward the narrow steps at the stadium’s edge.

It was time. As Calvin brought a sluggish foot forward, a lengthy lace dangled from his shoe. He welcomed the brief distraction and bent down to tie the sopping laces, rain streaming from the curved bill of his hat. Just as he finished, a stifled noise rang in his ears, making each muscle in his body stiffen.

He shot back up to a stand, searching the field, and lost his breath. The stranger had Evie in his grasp. Beefy arms wrapped like giant snakes around her small frame as he tackled her to the ground. Thick fingers covered her mouth, muffling the sound of her cry. 

With three swift moves, Calvin answered her call. Halting all movement around him, he propped both feet–one after the next–against the building at his back and used it to catapult himself toward the scene.

Warmth spilled through his legs as he pressed off, his pulse mad with venomous rage. A spray of cool, hovering drops splashed against his face as he raced like a rocket to her aid.

Never had his heart pounded with such fury. Never had his mind been so ill with hatred and bloodlust.  Calvin focused solely on the scum-like creature atop her, noting the greedy hand on his belt. Flames of revulsion scorched his throat as he crashed into the petrified form, hoping to break every bone in his body. He secured the low-life with the fierce grip of his shirt, putting them face-to-face as they barreled onto the field.

Gruesome images flashed through Calvin’s mind–thoughts of brutally killing the man. He imagined punching a hole through his chest and tearing out the pumping vessel, knowing his superior strength would allow him to do it with ease.

As they rolled to a stop, the man’s body went limp and heavy. Calvin shoved him off like a dead weight and came to a stand. He hunched down to grip hold of the beast once more, and hoisted him over his head as a grunt tore from his throat. With his arms burning in protest, he hurled him toward the bleachers. 

The man flew like a massive saucer across the field, carving a path through the motionless drops in the sky. His lump-like body slammed into the metal seats before barreling down the spacious rows with a series of thuds. At last, he landed at the base with one final, quieter thud on the pavement.

Who was this guy? From what Fiona had said, Jocelyn couldn’t be behind this. Fiona could still hear the crazed woman’s thoughts; and that meant Jocelyn wasn’t controlling any other beings. Not yet, anyway. No, Fiona definitely would’ve seen this coming; it had to be separate.

Rage–hot and potent–spilled through him at the thought, caused a second stream of profanity to flood his mind. To know the creature had been watching, waiting, ready to pounce. He needed to be dealt with.  Calvin had to finish him off.

With his eyes fixed on the revolting man, Calvin strode across the field, imagining the many ways he could destroy him. He realized then that he wanted him awake and conscious, ever aware that his act against Evie had sealed his fate.

As his chest rose in anticipation, the sight of the fragile girl on the ground ripped the thought from his mind, reminded him that the man was real–human–not some mused being from his world in the sky. He stepped closer, noticed a small, familiar case on the ground–the mace he’d given her on her birthday.

In two swift steps, he closed the gap between them and sunk to his knees. His gaze washed over her rain-soaked form as she lay, clenched in fear. Her pale, slender arms were crossed above her head as a shield. Calvin waved a hand through the raindrops floating motionless above her, clearing the way to unveil her pretty face. Dark, wet lashes lined the tensed curve of her delicate lids. He stifled the cry in his throat.

Mind sick with grief, he uttered fervent words of apology, and wedged his arms beneath her damp back. Evie’s light and lifeless body went limp to his touch. He pulled her small frame close, inhaled the sweet scent, and nearly lost his resolve. His desire to take her, to be with her forever, pulled at him like a cruel force of gravity. Yet somehow he must find the strength to defy it. Strength that seemed to deplete with every new release of his breath.

With muscles loose and weakened–drained by the exertion put forth to save her–Calvin cradled Evie’s small form and vowed he would do what it took to keep her safe.  

The dense atmosphere started to lighten, and he forced himself to take action. Motion would resume soon, and he had to get Evie safely to the Jeep. He also had to notify the police.

Propping Evie with one arm, he grabbed the cell phone from his pocket and called 911, deftly noting the narrow, rain-less tunnel he’d sped through, the drops clustered around the hollow path in the sky.

“Yes, a man has just attacked my girlfriend here at the Roy High track. I’ve got her in my car now,” he lied, knowing it was the only way to explain the silence. “Her attacker is unconscious, lying beneath the bleachers.”