Forbidden, Tempted Series (Book 1) (3 page)

Flint hadn’t gotten more than a fleeting look at her then.

Her skin was a sickly brown. With a little sun, she’d probably look like a bronzed goddess, but the heavy purple bags under her eyes ruined the effect. Her hair—cropped short to her head—gave her elfin features a hard edge. Those bloodshot eyes narrowed, and Flint sucked in a sharp breath—no, she was not crazy. It wasn’t her imagination that suddenly she felt pressure pulsing against her body, a choking sensation stealing the breath from her lungs and making her dizzy as she tried desperately to gulp air into her starved body.

Flint broke eye contact first and could finally take a deep breath of sweet air, hands shaking as her body flooded with adrenaline. What had that been about? And what was up with psycho chick?

Then a terrible thought popped in her head. Were they dating? Cain and psycho? Or maybe exes? And that was the reason for the stare-down? But she’d been with Abel this morning and now at lunch, not Cain. Not only that, but something told Flint the girl wasn’t Cain’s type. Then again, weirder things had happened. She knew jack about Cain other than he had a fetish for all things black.

“What is she doing here?”

And speak of the devil.

Flint didn’t need to look to know Cain was the source of that question, even though she’d never once heard him speak. It fit him, deep and resonating with a heated shiver that whipped down her spine and flexed through her bones.

Flint looked up, wishing her heart would stop doing that stupid somersault thing whenever he was near. Cain was staring down at his brother, impossibly large arms folded across his thick chest.

Cain looked way too old to be in high school. No boy her age looked like that. Not naturally anyway. Maybe he was on the juice?

“Because she’s my friend.” Abel gave Cain a tight smile.

“She’s new. You don’t know her.”

Okay, he did realize she was right here, right? Flint gritted her teeth, counting slowly to ten in her head, wondering for the millionth time how two brothers could be so opposite.

“Go away, Cain. She’s fine.”

Flint could almost picture sparks shooting off Cain—the fine hairs on her arm stood up when he turned that hot glare on her. She wished she could see his eyes.

Why didn’t anyone make him take those things off? He was probably hideous. Missing an eye or something.

“Why are you here?” He snarled and she blinked... was it possible that his arms suddenly seemed bigger?

“Excuse me?” Flint wished she knew where the animosity was coming from. She’d barely sat down.

Cain advanced, each step seeming to tug at the very depths of her soul, reaching for something she couldn’t understand. But she knew in the pit of her heart Cain would burn and consume her if she let him.

His lips curled into a semi smile, and yeah, her stomach was definitely flopping down around her knees. Her chest heaved as heat and shame crept up her neck. Why couldn’t she control her emotions around him?

Was it hot in here? Because she was pretty sure she was starting to sweat, and her heart was definitely thumping like a rabbit on crack.

“Stop messing with my brother,” he growled.

Growled, like a full-on throaty animal snarl. Her knees went weak, and not from fear.

Abel flicked a french fry at him. “I’m not a kid, she’s my friend, she stays!”

Finally her tongue came unglued from the roof of her mouth. Flint stood on wobbly legs, narrowing her eyes to thin slits. “I’m not messing with your brother. I’m new, he’s nice, unlike some people. He asked me to sit and I sat. What’s your problem?”

Fear, and loathing, and anger so sharp it knifed her, made her words piercing.

Cain was in her space, breathing her air, body crackling like it was alive. She tingled, every nerve in her flaring to life, and again she was struck by how good he smelled.

So not fair.

“I don’t know who you are. You show up here and what—”

“What?” she hissed. “Show up here and what? I’m not trying to eat his brains, or worse... make him my personal boy toy, so what’s the big deal? I’m. Just. Eating. Lunch.”

Janet chuckled. “She thinks making you a boy toy is worse than eating your brains? Watch out, Abel.”

Flint rolled her eyes.

Anger buzzed like a hornet’s nest in her blood. But beyond the anger was a palpable and dangerous tension that made her reckless and scared. The stare-down with psycho chick made her already-frayed nerves stretch to their limits.

Then his face was right in hers, and his lips were so close and hers tingled when he said, “You don’t fool me.”

He took a step back and the movement was so fast she almost fell forward, not realizing she’d been leaning in. Cain jerked his head at the two other guys who’d been sitting next to him. They stood, each of them looking at her with that same hot press of eyes, before following him out.

Hands still shaking, she looked at a shocked Janet. A french fry dangled from the corner of her mouth.

“Oh em gee,” she whispered, “I’ve never seen Cain act like such a jerk before.”

Abel had his arms crossed over his chest, a sour look on his face.

Flint sat. “So he’s okay with you?” She pointed to Janet. “Which clearly means he doesn’t hate girls.”

“Cain wasn’t always like that,” Abel said, apologizing. “He’s usually okay actually.”

“Great.” Flint twisted her lips, picking at the stem of her apple. “So it’s just me.”

“Ah.” Abel flicked his wrist, some of the moodiness evaporating. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, how long have you lived in Whispering Bluff?”

Flint stared back at the doorway, the thread of kids casting her strange glances as they tossed their uneaten food away making her blush harder. Bad enough being the new girl; she didn’t need that kind of attention.

“Got here right before summer. Dad didn’t enroll me because there were only two days left of school.” She sighed.

“Lucky.” Janet smiled. “I’m pretty sure my parents would have enrolled me and told the teachers to give me the entire year’s worth of homework to take home while they were at it.”

Abel chuckled. “Probably.”

“But I don’t get it.” Flint looked at Abel. “Aren’t you new too?”

“You gonna eat that?” He nodded to her pizza.

“No.” She pushed it toward him.

He picked it up with a happy gleam in his eye, took a huge bite, and said, “I’ve been going here my whole life. Mom and Dad split their time together because of his job. Sometimes I go visit him, but mostly I stay with Mom, Cain with Dad. Pop’s back in town for a while, so...”

“Ahh.” Flint lifted her brows. “Makes so much sense now.”

“What’s that?”

“Why you’re nothing like him.”

Abel winked, warm brown eyes twinkling with unspoken laughter.

“Oh shoot,” Janet squeaked, shoving her chair back and picking up her tray. “I promised Rhi I’d help her with some homework. Gotta bail. Nice meeting you, Flint.”

Flint smiled as Janet walked away. “It’s the first day of school. Homework?”

Abel shrugged. “Overachievers.”

He sounded fond of them.

Flint picked up her milk carton. “She’s nice. You guys have a thing?”

“Who, Janet?” Abel gobbled up the rest of the pizza. “Nah, her parents would neuter me if I tried.”

She laughed.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked after he swallowed his mouthful.

Laundry, cooking, homework
... “Nothing.”

Abel stood up. “We’re going to the hole, come with us.”

“What’s the hole?”

He smiled, flashing that deep dimple again. “You’ll just have to come with us, now won’t you?”

“I
’m home,” Flint called out to her dad when she opened the apartment door. A habit she’d acquired recently. A way to give him time to hide the booze. Their way of life now, nothing but smoke and mirrors. She knew there was a problem and so did he, but as long as neither one acknowledged it... then they could pretend it didn’t really exist.

So she was surprised when he met her at the door smelling freshly showered and cleanly shaved, dressed in one of his more garish spandex costumes. Rhinestoned and bedazzled, it was pretty horrific. But Mom had made them wear it when they were a trio, the flaming DeLucas. She had to admit she did
not
miss the days of the funky spandex.

He turned with his arms out, a happy gleam in his brown eyes. “Still fits. I wasn’t sure.” He patted his chest. “I want to head out soon.”

The circus. Oh groan, she did promise him, didn’t she? Flint grimaced. “I’m totally there, Dad, but I’ve got a crap ton of homework. Can I at least finish my math before we go? And maybe get some food? I’m starving.”

She dropped her book bag next to the door, heading back into the kitchen to scrounge up whatever there was. Opening a cabinet, she huffed. A bag of chips lay half opened. The fridge was hardly better. She yanked out the bread. “Only the heel. Is there even any cheese?”

“I don’t know, baby, I’m sorry.” He looked flushed and she felt guilty.

“It’s okay, Dad. I know you’re busy.”

They both knew it wasn’t true, but he smiled and nodded anyway. “Becca would have never let it get that way,” he said in a sad voice, making her feel like an even bigger jerk.

She loved her dad, knew it was hard on him. Eventually he’d snap out of it—she had to believe that.

Flint pulled the heel out of the bag and took a huge bite. “Mmm... don’t even miss the cheese.”

He grimaced and she forced the slice of bread down her throat, wondering why bread companies insisted on putting heels in since most sane people hated them anyway. After three stale tortilla chips, she called it good and turned around. “Homework and then we can go. Give me about an hour.”

He glanced at his watch, a worried frown marring his brows. “Okay, but be fast. I want to make a good impression.”

“Daddy.” Flint blew him an air-kiss. “It’s just math. You know I can whip that out in no time. What time is your appointment anyway?”

Now he looked nervous. “Seven,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Seven.” She snorted, staring at the stove clock. “It’s barely even four.”

“Yeah, but in case we get lost—”

Flint grabbed her book bag, dragging it behind her by a long black strap. “Dad, you do realize we live in the boonies, right? I think I saw all of two stoplights in town. We won’t get lost. And now I know I can even take a shower.”

“Flint DeLuca.” He used that voice on her, one she hadn’t heard in years. The one that said
you’re in big trouble, young lady
. It was good to see him so excited, but...

Flint turned the knob on her bedroom door, flicking at the pink princess tassel dangling off it. “Can’t look desperate, Daddy. Relax—we’ll have plenty of time.” With a final air-kiss, she flew inside the door, clicking the lock shut behind her.

Poor Dad, like a puppy with a new toy. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. But it was kind of refreshing to see him like this again. She just hoped he got the job, because she dreaded the thought of what might happen to him if he didn’t.

Plopping down on her twin bed, she yanked out her books, and a scrap of white fluttered to the beige carpet. Curious, Flint bent to retrieve it and then unfolded it.

They’re watching you
.

~T

Kicking off her bright pink Chucks, she scooted back against the edge of the bed, staring at the words as if she could divine who’d written them by the size of the scrawl. Tracing the words, she tried to remember all the people she’d met today.

Two faces came to mind. Cain and the psycho with the bloodshot eyes. But Psycho hadn’t gotten anywhere close to her.

Flint nibbled her bottom lip, stomach twisting with something close to nerves. Was it him? And if so, why? Why did he seem to hate her so much?

Just thinking about Goth Boy made her lips tingle and her spine stiffen. She rubbed her striped socks together, toes digging into the moss-green paisley sheets of her bed. He was an irrational, muscle-bound mystery.

Flint traced the words again; the writing was too pretty and neat to be his. Not that she had a clue what he’d write like, but everything about him screamed hard. Hard muscles, hard attitude, hard... writing? She grinned. Why was she obsessing about him at all? Shouldn’t a note like this totally freak her out? It probably wasn’t normal that aside from the dip of her stomach, she was more curious than terrified. She was too new to have developed a stalker. Besides, she was no shrinking violet. Being raised in circuses most of her life, she’d learned many tricks of the trade, one of them being blades and how to handle them.

Mouth feeling like cotton, she jerked when her father bellowed, “Flint, I don’t hear you writing!”

“Jeez, Dad,” she muttered, mentally grabbing her rapidly beating heart and tucking the note into her jeans pocket. What was he doing anyway, pressing his ear against her door?

It was hard, but she managed to focus long enough to finish her math.

~*~

S
he stared out the passenger-side window of her dad’s ancient Ford pickup. A rusted tin boat, held together by scraps and pieces. The sun was beginning to set, making the world zooming past her window look like an orange-and-pink mirage of flames setting behind the woods.

Huge trees dotted either side of the two-lane highway as they drove out of town. They crossed a bridge, and a chipped red-and-white painted barn sat like an abandoned ghost, a dry creek bed running alongside them.

It was beautiful out here. But kind of creepy, especially as the world began to grow dark with the first blue tints of night. They had to reach a clearing soon. Circuses couldn’t go up in woods, no matter how cool it would look. The large trees would be a hazard in lightning storms.

No sooner had she thought it than a clearing full of corn spread out for miles around them. Their flat, broad leaves seemed to wave at them as they sped by.

Pain bloomed behind Flint’s closed eyes. She’d showered, dressed in a pair of tight black pants—refusing to analyze why she’d chosen that particular color—and slipped on a crimson tank top. It was late August, and humidity levels were high enough to cause her auburn curls to frizz like a wild halo around her head. She’d tried to do something pretty with her hair, plait it like her friend Bethany had tried to show her over a hundred times. But Bethany’s dad was a hairstylist to the stars; doing hair had been a genetic trait beautiful, blond Bethany had in spades.