Glow (15 page)

She clamped her eyes shut, experiencing his sweet agony along with him as he emptied himself at her farthest reaches, his big body shuddering behind her.

*   *   *

SOONER
than either of them was ready for, he withdrew. She stung a little. He hadn't ridden her as forcefully as he had in the past, but he hadn't lied about coming deep and hard in her. The second he was gone, she felt empty.

He immediately bent and straightened her shorts and panties around her ankles. He drew them up her legs and over her hips. She straightened, helping him furtively by pulling them up. She watched him as he drew up his boxer briefs and hastily fastened his jeans. When he was nearly finished, he glanced up, his gaze moving over her face.

“I hope you thought your little game was worth getting him fired.”

“You're going to fire him from Durand?” she asked, straining to mute the anger in her tone.

“No,” he said, glancing into the forest. “From this assignment, though. You're coming back to the castle at night. His services aren't needed anymore.”

She opened her mouth to protest his cocky assumption, but he cut her off. “Let's move before he returns. Kar Kalim is back this way,” he said, referring to his horse. He gestured with his head toward the northwest. Alice nodded, too dazed following their illicit, outrageous tryst to say much of anything coherent.

She followed him, their progress slowed by brush and thick foliage. They finally reached a slight clearing. On the far side of the clearing, Alice noticed a horse path. She saw Kar Kalim tethered loosely to some low-lying bushes. He was even bigger than Quinn, the horse on which Dylan had given her first lesson last week. His coat color reminded her of Dylan's eyes—so dark brown it was nearly black and so lustrous it shone. The horse regarded them as they walked into the clearing, his gaze striking Alice as intelligent and regal.

“How did you know where I was?” Alice whispered as Dylan approached Kar Kalim and reached for the tether.

Dylan merely pointed west. Alice stepped back and saw the break in the trees. In the distance, there was a clear shot of a stretch of the beach and a pale blue Lake Michigan.

“You saw me jogging?”

Dylan nodded. “I knew Janocek would be following after a bit.”

“Janocek? That's the name of the guy you've had watching me at night?”

His mouth was drawn in a tight line of dissatisfaction. “As much good as it's done me. Either I have a highly incompetent security team at Durand, or you're damn near impossible to guard,” he said, his swift, annoyed glance telling her loud and clear he knew which option it was. “I saw you glance back, like you knew you were being followed. There was something on your
face. Rebellion. Then you took off like a shot. I had a feeling you were about to pull something.”

“I don't like being followed. I don't like being watched all night, either,” Alice said thickly, finding it difficult to meet his eyes. In truth, she was a little embarrassed. Her actions suddenly struck her as juvenile.

“Then you'll just have to sleep at the castle every night, won't you.”

It wasn't really a question, so Alice didn't respond. She was too embarrassed to meet his stare. Her gaze clung to his boots and hard jean-covered thighs. The truth was, she didn't want to be anywhere else at night but by his side. It was just that sometimes, she felt like if she surrendered too easily to him . . .

She'd somehow lose herself.

“I . . . I never got to tell you more about what happened that night. About what I remembered . . . about Addie,” she said, her voice sounding a little congested. She'd surprised herself by bringing it up in this situation. Until that moment—until seeing him again—she hadn't realized how much she longed to share the incredible experience with someone.

Not just
someone
. Him.

She started slightly when he placed his glove-covered hand on her chin and forced her to meet his stare. She blinked when she saw the emotion that blazed on his usually impassive expression.

“I want to listen.”

Her lip trembled at his stark honesty. He noticed.

“I'm not what you're making me out to be in your mind, Alice. I don't want to control you. It's a complicated situation, to put it lightly. I've told you I was in love with you. Do you believe me?”

She swallowed thickly, trapped in his stare.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I think so.”

“Do you need to hear it more, less . . . or not at all?”

Her heart squeezed unpleasantly in her chest at his expression of grim inevitability.

“It's not that! Of
course
I want to hear it,” she grimaced. “I'm just so confused right now,” she mumbled miserably, because she'd withheld the truth. Not the part about being confused. That was pretty much becoming the everyday air she breathed. No, it was that he'd told her he loved her twice now, and it was like a concise rapture on both occasions, a joy too acute for her to truly comprehend or absorb, let alone communicate.

“Do you want to be with me at night, Alice?”

“So much.”

“Then
stop
fighting it,” he bit out, white teeth flashing.

A small spasm of emotion shook her. She nodded. He dropped the reins and took her into his arms. His mouth captured hers. She sunk into his strength. His heat.

God, she was like a moth to a flame. Did the moths consider it worthwhile, even as they were being incinerated?

There, in that moment, under the influence of Dylan's kiss, Alice thought maybe they did.

K
uvi asked her that afternoon if she wanted to join her and some of the other counselors at the Lakeside Tavern in Morgantown that Friday night. Alice soberly explained why she couldn't. She'd agreed to meet Dylan in the woods tonight and to resume their previous routine—if being with Dylan Fall could be even remotely called
routine.

She had all day long to anticipate seeing him, to worry about it . . .

Relish it.

Her kids were in a manically enthusiastic mood that evening because they'd come out tops in the wall climb challenge that afternoon. It seemed that Alice's initial matchup between Noble D and Judith for the zip line had been inspired.

While things might still be prickly between the pair, she noticed that the physics of attraction were definitely coming into play. D and Judith used to invariably end up on opposite sides of the common room at night, Judith regally ignoring D's curious, longing glances from afar. Now that they'd been thrown together, however, something new was happening. They were both smart, competitive kids. Scheming for success turned out to be a language they could comfortably use to communicate. The pair had masterminded the logistics of the wall climb today, coming up with a creative solution for various team members' challenges and strengths. Alice had largely remained hands-off. Relinquishing
control and giving the two of them the freedom to handle the task had been a personal challenge for her—Alice. Watching them all work together so successfully had been her reward.

Something certainly
had
changed, Alice observed wryly as she entered the common room that night. D, Judith, Terrance, and Matt sat in a loose circle around a table, reliving a few exciting moments from the wall climb. Judith was silent as she listened to Terrance describe his harrowing moment on the top of the wall when he didn't know which direction he was going to crash to the earth. But as Alice approached, she noticed the girl was listening closely and enjoying herself. She was definitely allowing herself to be part of the group.

“If you stayed on top of that thing any longer, I was worried the wall would decide which direction you were going by falling over itself,” D said. Terrance and Matt laughed loudly. Judith was unable to repress her amusement any longer.

“You were like a giant balanced on the head of a pin there for a few seconds,” Judith snorted with laughter. They all busted up even louder. Alice slowed her pace, grinning as she observed the type of moment that comes only through achieving a goal through personal challenge and teamwork. Dylan had been right. He'd told her before that an important part of leading was delegating tasks. Alice felt the truth of that firsthand at the moment.

Judith wiped a tear from her eye. “But you pulled through, Terrance. We couldn't have done it without you.”

Terrance looked pleased by the rare compliment from Judith.

“Crystal knows we're up to something, by the way. She's been watching you, me, and Justin like a hawk,” Terrance said in a hushed tone to Matt after they'd all quieted. He referred to their very experienced night cabin supervisor, who had just arrived and was greeting a group of girls across the large room. “But if we're good enough to come out on top on the wall climb, there's no way we shouldn't be able to . . . you know,” Terrance said shiftily to
Matt and Judith. Judith glanced up and noticed Alice slowly approaching them. She gave Terrance a repressive glance.

“Steal Bang?” Alice finished pleasantly, coming to an abrupt halt next to them.

Judith's, Terrance's, and Matt's expressions ranged from panic to convincing noncomprehension. Noble D just stared at the table uncomfortably.

“What's a bang?” Terrance asked, pointing at Alice and giving Matt an “insane-lady alert” look.

“You know,” Alice said with the air of musing quietly to herself and ignoring Terrance. “It occurs to me that a team that strategized so brilliantly on the wall climb should be able to recognize that the candidate or candidates to send on a . . . oh . . . say a
secret
mission or something, isn't necessarily the obvious one or ones, because that person or persons would have the spotlight turned on them.”

Terrance scowled at her cryptic statement. “You okay, Alice? Did you eat dinner? You light-headed or something?”

“I'm fine,” Alice said blithely, because while Terrance and Matt were looking confused, D had slowly raised his head and Judith was regarding her through a narrowed gaze. Alice had paused behind a couch. She idly picked up a throw pillow. “And it also occurs to me that a team should consider the ultimate
goal
of any task. Is it really the
obvious
goal?” Alice wondered as if to herself, keeping her voice low so that only the four kids heard her. “Or is the real goal something symbolic? Could the goal be achieved in some alternative way without taking any unnecessary risks? Taking
anything
, really? That's what I wonder about.”

“You and me both,” Terrance said, rolling his eyes. Alice smiled innocently, flipping the throw pillow and catching it.

“I was just thinking about things, that's all. It's a good night for thinking . . .”

“Or going nuts,” Terrance muttered under his breath.

“. . . about goals, and how the most brilliant of plans often achieve more than
one
purpose,” Alice continued. She abruptly tossed the pillow. Despite his hunched-over position, Noble D straightened and caught it with the reflexes of a natural athlete.

Judith blinked at the sudden move. Her stare transferred from D to Alice, her eyes widening.

Message received.

She pointed at Terrance. “We're running in the morning. Don't be late. Night, you guys,” Alice said before she sauntered away.

*   *   *

DYLAN'S
last kiss in the woods—that hot, deep, tender one—rode her consciousness as she crept out of her cabin that night at nine thirty. She'd never known it was possible to be both anxious and relieved to the point of euphoria at the idea of seeing another human being . . .

At the idea of resuming her schedule of spending the night in his bed, wrapped in his arms.

The night was still and quiet. There were a million stars in the night sky. Alice wasn't sure if it was her sharp anticipation in seeing him or if she was getting used to his silent nocturnal movement in the dark woods, but unlike most nights, when he surprised her, she turned to him just before he touched her back. Instead, his hand slid along her T-shirt and cupped her shoulder. Alice stepped toward him and went up on her tiptoes, both her hands pressed against the solid wall of his chest.

She found his mouth in the darkness unerringly. Her kiss was hungry; she held nothing back. All the feelings that she'd been stifling found an outlet in that kiss.

It only took him a split second to get over his surprise at her attack. Then his arms were closing around her, and he was joining in that wet, wild kiss.

After a delicious moment, where Alice felt her toes curling in her tennis shoes, she reluctantly came up for air.

“I'm still mad at you for keeping things from me,” she breathed out against his lips.

“Exactly how am I supposed to know what to tell you and what not to tell you, when you send me so many mixed messages?”

She bit her lip, unable to answer his question as concisely as he'd asked it.

“I know I'm sending mixed messages,” she conceded. “What else can I do? I'm confused.”

“Understandable.”

“But you shouldn't have treated Thad like that,” she whispered. “You're far too protective of me, Dylan. I'm an independent person. I always have been. I don't want to live in a cage.”

A breeze caught the tops of the trees that surrounded them, making them sigh softly. It suddenly struck Alice that she was having this conversation with him in the pitch black, where she couldn't see him. Maybe that made it easier, somehow. When she looked into his deep, magnetic eyes, she sometimes lost herself.

“I respect that,” he whispered stiffly after a moment. “And I still don't think you should be giving anyone carte blanche with your loyalty, but I do understand that Schaefer has become your friend. For better or worse.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Why are you so protective of me? If you can't stop doing it, you at least have to tell me why. It isn't
twenty years
ago, Dylan.”

“Not now,” he whispered tensely. She felt his hands tighten on her shoulders and sensed he was peering into the darkness around them, searching the shadows. He really was paranoid.
Wasn't he?
“All right, we'll talk,” he said finally. “But not here. Up at the house.”

They were silent for the rest of the trip to the castle. Once
they'd arrived at the terrace doors, he quietly told her to use her key to make sure it worked. It did. She disarmed the security system, too. When they reached the kitchen, he told her to go on upstairs and he'd bring them something to drink.

In Dylan's suite, she strategically sat on the couch in the sitting area before the fireplace. She wanted to talk to him, and didn't need the distraction of the great luxurious bed or the smoking memories of what they'd done in it on previous occasions.

Dylan entered a few minutes later. He wore a dark red plain T-shirt and jeans that emphasized his body in the exact right places. She ate up the vision of him, all big lean male, a man who was supremely confident in his physicality, who knew his power and strength, and precisely how to use it. He carried two glasses. She guessed the one with the dark brown liquid was Dr Pepper. A strange giddy feeling went through her at this evidence of mundane familiarity on his part. His favored drink was club soda with a lime twist—which he carried right now—or expensive French brandy, when he wanted alcohol. He'd never blinked once early on when she'd named her favorite unsophisticated, sugary beverage.

He set their glasses on the coffee table before the couch, reached into his back jean pocket, and plopped a box of Sweet Adelaides on the table next to her drink.

She grinned unabashedly and reached for the box. “Thanks.”

Sweet Adelaides were a Durand bestseller. Along with Jingdots, they were Alice's longtime favorite sweets. Alice had recently learned that Marie, Dylan's cook, kept a huge jar filled with various Durand candies on the counter in the castle kitchen. She felt shy but happy, too at Dylan's little gift. Which was stupid, of course. She opened the box and poured a few of the caramel, peanut, and chocolate candies into her hand, giving Dylan a sideways smile.

“You really must love me if you're willing to feed my chocolate addiction.”

He sat down on the cushion next to her and leaned back, draping one arm across the back of the couch. Alice paused in the process of popping the candies in her mouth, her hand stilling several inches below her chin. His T-shirt stretched over his wide muscular chest and lean torso. His strong, jean-covered spread thighs were a distraction, too, but it was what she read in his dark eyes that snagged her attention.

“I do.”

She'd been attempting to be light, but suddenly everything seemed dead serious. She felt her cheeks warming.

He smiled. “I know you come by the love of chocolate honestly. It's in your genes.”

A tingling sensation went through her forearms. Slowly, she opened her palm and stared at the chocolates she held there. She'd looked at similar candies hundreds of times.

She'd never
seen
them until now.

A shiver tore through her. “Oh my God,” she whispered, shuddering.

“What?”

“Sweet Adelaides. Alan Durand named them after his daughter.”

“Yes,” Dylan said with the air of someone confirming she did indeed have a cobra poised at the back of her neck. “I thought you realized it the day we told you about Addie. Sidney mentioned that Alan used to tease that his daughter was usually a Sweet Adelaide but could occasionally be a Sour Citrus—” He broke off when she just stared at him blankly. He leaned toward her. “Alice?” he asked tensely.

“It's okay,” she mumbled. Why hadn't she made that incredible charged connection until now? Yes, Sidney had made that statement, but it'd bounced right off her like many things had that fateful afternoon.

To a casual observer of the facts, the truth must have been obvious. But Alice was no casual witness. She was so deeply immersed
in this situation, she was blinded. Defenseless. That truth now rang in her ears and pulsed in her blood. It was like two electrical circuits had abruptly joined, sizzling with power and lighting up her brain, fusing together a small part of her—Alice's—childhood to Addie Durand's.

All this, from the seemingly innocuous stimulus of a common drugstore candy.

Slowly, deliberately, she raised her hand to her mouth and placed a chocolate on her tongue.
One
. She didn't toss all of them in there at once, chew, and reach for the next handful even before she swallowed, like she usually did. She closed her mouth and eyelids, letting the sweet flavor and velvety consistency of the chocolate fill her.

Her life didn't flash before her eyes, like they said of drowning victims. That would be far too dramatic of a representation of what happened to her in that moment. But because she allowed it, because she squeezed every ounce of meaning out of that little piece of candy that she possibly could, threads from her life that she'd formally thought of as inconsequential background noise, suddenly knitted together with the Present-Day Alice.

She swallowed.

“Alice?” Dylan repeated.

She blinked, coming out of her trance. It finally hit her how anxious he looked.

“Uncle Al would bring me Sweet Adelaides and Jingdots every once in a rare while. I told you how Al was my favorite uncle,” she prompted, holding Dylan's stare. He nodded. “It'd be like Christmas for me, every time he held out that plastic bag of candy. Sissy would start yowling at him, accusing him of spoiling me after I'd just mouthed off to her, or committing whatever sin I'd just committed. But Uncle Al would ignore her. And on a few occasions when she screamed too loud, he'd blaze up at her and say, ‘She
deserves that candy, Sis, that and a whole hell of a lot more! Are you forgetting that?'”