Laiken

“For the last time, I have no idea why you're asking me this.”

The woman stares at me like I have two heads. She holds up the sheet covered in square blocks of color. “Because someone has to pick the color of the table cloths, and I was told that person was you.”

“Table cloths for what?” I ask in exasperation. “And who would tell you to ask me anything?”

“I did,” Dominic says. I turn and see him standing in the kitchen doorway. His shoulder is propped against the white frame, and with his sandy brown shirt touching the paint, he reminds me of a snowcapped mountain. His eyes stick to me, refusing to move even an inch in any other direction. He's removed all pretenses about his hunger for me, and knowing that, while being under his hot stare, makes me squeeze my thighs together.

The woman sighs, flapping the color board at Dominic. “Sir, she won't pick a tablecloth color.”

A look passes between the two of them. “Wait, is this for what I think it's for?”

The side of his mouth pulls up sharply. “I talked to my father, he says we should move forward with the party.”

I'm blown away. The burst of relief that hits me leaves me boneless in my chair. I'm glad I'm sitting. “Dominic, that's such good news.” I'm grinning so wide that my cheeks hurt.

He moves into the room, and as he does, he brings a sexual energy that I'm not prepared for. My excitement has left me open, and I barely recover before he stands in front of me. “I didn't think it was right to leave the details about the party up to anyone but you, considering it was your idea.”

I inhale, trying not to take in too much of his scent. “That's nice, but expensive things like this aren't really my style. Have you looked at me?” I mean it as a self-deprecating joke. He purposefully runs his eyes over me, like I am a delicious dessert created just for him. I swallow nervously. “My point is I'm not a fancy socialite.”

“Honey,” the woman says, clucking her tongue. “You don't have to be a socialite to decide if you like green or gold or blue. Just pick a color, and we'll go from there.”

I glance up at Dominic and he shrugs. “If you hesitate here,” he says softly, “this party is never going to happen. There's going to be a lot of choices to make.”

Stealing myself, I eyeball the selection of colors with a critical eye. “When is the party going to happen?”

“A week from now, in November.”

I nod to myself. “So it'll be cold, but not quite winter. Is it still okay for things to be white?”

“Go with your gut,” the woman says.

“My gut says I don't know what I'm doing. But white sounds nice. Let's go with that.”

Looking relieved, the woman tucks the board under her arm. “I'll get back to you with the next decoration choices soon as I can, Miss.”

She leaves, and I cover my mouth to stifle my laughs. “She called me Miss. No one has done that before.”

Dominic puts his hand on the table very close to me. I wish he would sit; having him tower over me is reminding me of how he hovered with the same crackling energy while we were in the library, before we kissed. “It's probably the first time you've ever told someone what to do around here,” he says. “They're going to start thinking that you're in charge.”

I lower my eyes, furrowing my brow. “Except I'm not in charge. I don't have any actual power here.”

“You have more than you think,” he whispers. The strain in his voice draws my attention back to him. I know he's talking about something other than the staff addressing me with respect.

“Dominic, I told you. Stop trying to make something happen between us.”

He pulls air in, then breezes it out, bending closer to me. “You wouldn't have to tell me nothing was going to happen, unless you were worried it was.”

I'm locked in place, gazing into his eyes and losing myself in the rich molasses color. We're alone in the kitchen. The air should smell like cinnamon and strawberry pastries, but instead it's that wild animal smell he has. A promise that he'll let me know the sounds we'll make in the dark if I peel back my desperate need to protect myself for a single second laid bare. A simple blink, and I could be his.

Careful to avoid letting any part of me touch him, I glide my chair backwards. “I'm going to go help Wyatt in the preserve. I might be too busy with party planning from here on to spend time there this coming week.”

“If you need some air, I understand.” His cocky smile gets bigger. He slides into the chair I was in, filling the space with his every muscles flexing. The way I know he wants to fill me.

His legs spread wide. The kind of slouch an emperor would hold as he sits on a throne and plots how to rule the world. I imagine his skin absorbing the warmth I left behind in the chair.

He runs a fingertip over his chin. “Weren't you leaving?”

I shake myself free of the urge I have to climb into his lap. “Yes. Right, I've got to go.”

Dominic's lips curl into a knowing grin. “I'll see you soon.”

His cryptic promise licks at my ankles as I jog my way to the fenced-in miniature forest. I wish it were farther away. Leaving this state, this city... the planet might not be enough to slip from his enticing grasp. If I found my way to a hole in the moon, I'd sit there in the dark, still burning with lust for Dominic Bradley.

“Laiken,” Wyatt says, waving as I approach. He's got the gate open, he must have seen me coming. I dart through then bend over with my hands braced on my thighs, sucking in air. “You look like the devil's chasing you, girl.”

I shoot him a wary glance. He is, I think. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Please, I'm not that charming.” Closing the fence, he locks it. “What's happening? Out with it.”

His bluntness is one of my favorite qualities. “I'm going to be busy for the next week. I'm in charge of planning a party.”

Wyatt flexes his neck, leaning backwards, like I just turned into a giant snake about to strike. Then, to my shock, he shakes his head and laughs. “That's not what I expected you to say.”

My smile starts slow then it keeps going. “I know. I'm not the type.”

“You're not,” he agrees.

Unsaid words roll between us. I sense he wants to ask me why I'm doing this, and simultaneously, he knows it's not a good reason. We don't talk about my situation, not here. Not in this place. That suits me fine; I don't want Wyatt pitying me for being a kidnapped girl growing up in a stranger's home.

Overhead, the sky is free of clouds. The symphony of wildlife reaches my ears. Inhaling the earthy scents, I point at the garbage can on the path. “Don't let me slow you down. Put me to work.”

He breaks his stare. “Someday, you'll realize this is hard work, and you'll regret offering to do it.”

I smile slyly, because I know I won't.

Wyatt and I drag the can deeper onto the trail. The only 'trash' is dead branches or sometimes a small animal carcass. There's nothing left by humans here because no one ever visits but us two. As I toss refuse into the can, I'm struck by a question. “I always wanted to ask, but isn't the point of this preserve to be used for hunting? Why have I never seen or heard anyone come out here and shoot a deer?”

“Wondered that myself. When I moved in and started as the caretaker, the place was already flourishing. Whoever built it had nearly full-grown trees shipped in. It was expensive, for sure. Someone got their money's worth.”

I muse over what he's said while we work. The sun is high, but the weather has cooled enough that I'm not sweating. October is fading into the next month, bringing orange and red leaves as it goes. Only the pine trees resist with their hardy green needles.

Thinking about the coming chill brings the party to the forefront of my mind. Next comes Dominic. He's curling through my brain like cloying smoke. He's determined to help me plan the party. I'm glad for that, I can't do it without him. I just don't want to be in the same room as him. When we're yards apart, and he looks at me, I visualize his mouth on mine so powerfully that my tongue gets heavy.

“Lot of work to be done still,” he says, shading his eyes so he can squint at the sun. “Going to be a cold season. That rain is coming, I promise you.”

It's been a few days since he warned me about the storms. The trench we dug sits dry as a bone. We'd finished it on the day of my attempted escape. He hasn't asked me about any of it, though he has to know. I appreciate him avoiding the topic. It let's the preserve remain... innocent.

Thinking of the seasons, of holidays, wedges a thought in me. It sticks in my ribs like a bad meal. I have to toss it out, get it in the open, before it's too late. “Wyatt,” I say, taking a second to gather myself. “Do you know why Dominic never came home during his school breaks?”

“My guess is his mother didn't want him here.” He drags the garbage to the entrance, gets a new bucket and fills it with food pellets—honey-soaked ones the deer love. “That woman has never been good at hiding her dislike for her own son.”

I've seen the wretched looks he's talking about. “I don't get how a mom can be that way. Even if she doesn't want him here, what about his dad? Silas must have some say.”

Wyatt hesitates and dusts his gloves on his smock. “I don't know all the ins and outs, Laiken. Sometimes the answer is as simple as it seems.”

A pang of anger makes my core clench. “It's awful, the way she treats him.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, hoisting the bucket. “Or maybe she sensed he wasn't worth loving.”

That freezes me in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

Wyatt's face contorts; he shoots a nervous look around the preserve, then at me. Whatever he sees in my eyes makes him turn away so he can avoid looking at me. “It's not my place to talk about. Forget I said anything.”

“I can't forget, Wyatt! That's impossible.” I chase after him through the trees. “Dominic can be rough, and I'll admit he's turned into kind of a scary asshole, but to say he's not worth loving by his own mom is just... it's unfair.”

The older man strides through the preserve. He grunts as we cross over fallen branches, ducking thorns that raise up to assault us. I let him keep his silence as we move towards the feeding area. It's a habit; I always hope to see the deer, and you can't if you're noisy.

After we fill the grooves in the wooden troughs with pellets, we back away, lingering in the brush. The air vibrates around us—birds chirp, squirrels rustle high above. No deer come, and following Wyatt's cue, we back away towards the entrance.

We're almost to the gate when he finally speaks again. His tone is strained, thick with unease. “I can't say why she treated him poorly before he left. That's on her. But if my son had done what he did last year?” He frowns then throws the bucket into the tool shed harder than he needs to. “I would never welcome him back into my home.”

“What did he do?” I ask, terrified to learn—needing to know.

“Because you're forced to stay here, you're better off not knowing. But my advice?” Wyatt curls his callused hands at his sides. There's a mixture of disdain in his glistening, shrunken pupils, but beyond that, I see the shadow of terror. “Stay as far away from that man as you possibly can.”