Spark

Someone pinch me.

“Seriously,” he said, glancing over at where her horse was yanking tufts of grass out of the ground. “Is he trained like a dog?”

Layne giggled. “No. Horses are herd animals. If he ran anywhere, he’d go back to the barn.” Though really, if the barn manager caught her lying out here with the horse running loose, the woman would probably have a word or two to say about it.

“Like that day on the trail,” said Gabriel.

Layne nodded. “The day you ran.”

He snorted. “You scared me off with that . . . that hug.”

She almost laughed at his tone, but then remembered the whole reason she’d thrown her arms around his neck in the first place. He’d looked so stricken, so sad. Even now, she could see shards of emotion in his eyes.

Despite the amount of time they’d spent together, she was still no closer to discovering his secrets.

And he was a master at keeping them hidden.

It had to do with his family; she knew that much. She never saw him with his brothers, but talking about them was just about the only thing to turn his voice sharp. No matter how much she loved his company, she couldn’t help wondering if he was spending time with her so he could avoid spending time with them. Even in the mornings, he stretched the minutes as long as possible, until she knew he must be practically sprinting home to make it to school in time.

She reached up and pushed the hair out of his eyes. He turned his head to kiss her wrist.

Layne had to remind herself to focus. “What’s it like, having a twin?”

He closed his eyes and gave a tight sigh. “I never know how to answer that question.” He paused. “I mean, what’s it like not having one?”

“Come on,” she teased, trying to lighten his mood. “Do you finish each other’s sentences? Feel each other’s pain?”

He snorted, obviously not playing. “No.”

“Are you and Nick still not speaking?”

He shrugged a little.

She could feel him distancing himself again. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

Now his eyes turned hard. “Why do you care?”

She matched his tone. “Why shouldn’t I care?”

He was going to fire back; she could tell. She braced herself for words sparked with anger.

But then he just sighed and rolled back to the ground to lie beside her. “I’m not even sure where to start. He brought Quinn home for dinner, and I just . . . I picked a fight. I’m not even sure why.”

“Did you like her?”

“No, no, nothing like that. But we hardly ever fight, and this one it got out of control. I almost . . . it could have been bad.

Mike and Chris broke it up. Hunter, too.”

There was more a lot more. She could hear it behind the words.

“What else?” she said.

He was staring at the sky now, almost directly into the sun. It had to be hurting his eyes, but he wasn’t even squinting. “It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

He scowled, and she thought he wasn’t going to say anything else. But then he turned his head to look at her. “I wish I could undo it, but . . . I can’t. They don’t understand. Nick especially.

I mean, he’s the perfect one. Never in trouble, covering my ass when I screw up which is all the damn time.” He turned back to the sun. “You know, he got hurt right after homecoming? My fault. I couldn’t even help him. He doesn’t blame me, but I just . . .

I just . . .”

“You blame yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re mad at him for not blaming you.”

Now she had his attention. “Yeah. How do you know that?”

Layne thought of her mother, of how much she hated the woman for abandoning her family but how much she blamed herself for not being a more perfect daughter. “Trust me. I can play the blame game all day.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything. The silence suddenly had a weight to it.

She understood only a fraction of what he was talking about, but details could come later. This was the first time he’d come close to saying anything at all, and she didn’t want him to stop.

“Have you tried to talk to Nick?” she said.

Gabriel fidgeted. “Yes. No. It’s complicated.” He rolled up on one arm again, until the line of his body was almost against hers. She could feel his warmth through the material of her jacket. She wanted to hold her breath, as if one small movement would spook him and send him bolting down the path again.

“I just snapped, I guess,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I’d never started that fight, but then it feels like some bizarre turning point.” He was closer now, his voice gaining momentum.

“You know how you can trace back moments to one action that didn’t feel important at the time? But then later, you go back and think about it, and you realize one little decision turned your whole life upside down. If I hadn’t been so angry, we wouldn’t have fought. If we hadn’t fought, I never would have driven out of there the way I did. If I hadn’t driven out of there, I wouldn’t have ” He faltered.

Layne stared up at him. His eyes were wide, his breathing a little quick.

“Tell me,” she said. “Just tell me.”

He flinched and looked away. “It was the night I drove you home,” he said, his voice rough. “I was furious. I wasn’t thinking straight. It wasn’t . . . I can’t . . .” He swallowed.

“Please,” she said.

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

Hate him? What could it be? He wouldn’t have what?

He’d been angry. Driving. Layne knew too much from her father’s profession, and her imagination was getting carried away again. “Did you hurt someone?” she whispered.

“No.” He made a choked sound. “No. Just the opposite.”

Well, there went her theories about hit-and-run accidents. I wouldn’t have . . . been with another girl? Her own throat felt tight. “Is there . . . someone else?”

“What?” His eyes snapped to hers. “What? No. No, Layne, there’s no one else.” He leaned down to brush his lips against hers. It brought him even closer, his chest weighing on hers.

“Please,” he said, kissing her again. “Please. I would never hurt you like that.”

His kisses felt light but heavy: desperate, as if he worried she’d pull away any minute.

“Just tell me. I won’t ” she started, only to have him trap her lips for a breathless second. “I won’t hate you. No matter what.”

He went still, staring down at her. His blue eyes were full of hurt and fear and wonder. She’d never thought a guy like Gabriel could look vulnerable, especially not lying on top of her, but there it was.

Layne stared up at him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s not about trust. I don’t want to disappoint you.” His hand fell at her waist, securing her there against him.

She froze. Half an inch of fabric sat between his palm and ruined skin.

Gabriel paused, but he didn’t move his hand. “Do you trust me?”

She could barely breathe. Her voice came out with a squeak.

“It’s not about trust. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He laughed softly, and it broke through some of the tension.

All of a sudden, any vulnerability was gone. “You’re crazy.” His hand tightened on her waist, strong and secure through her jacket. He leaned down again, and she was sure he was going to kiss her, but his mouth landed on her neck. His lips whispered against the skin there, followed by his teeth, right against the edge of her jaw. When his mouth caught her earlobe, she gasped and arched into him, surprised at the flood of heat in her body.

His hand slid up her side, holding her there, and she trembled, warring with how much she liked it and how much she worried he could feel.

Gabriel drew back, just enough to look at her. The sun was behind him again, leaving fiery sparks in his hair. A cool breeze kissed her cheeks and made her long for his warmth.

“You still owe me a secret,” she whispered.

“I know.” His lips brushed hers, featherlight. “I know.”

“Tell me ”

“Shhh.” He unzipped her jacket.

She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

But he stroked a hand across her cheek. “Cold?”

She shook her head, but her breathing was shaky.

He kissed her again, and for a moment, it felt like his kiss was electric, like the sunlight was tangible, a blanket of warmth and sensation that smothered her thoughts. His tongue coaxed small sounds from her throat, and she buried her hands in his hair.

She lost track of his hands, consumed by the feel of his body against hers.

Then he’d pulled her shirt free of her riding pants, and sunlight stroked her bare stomach.

She gasped and broke the kiss, bracing an arm against his chest, using her other hand to try to yank her shirt back down.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey.” His eyes were locked on hers, his hand on her face, nowhere dangerous. His voice was soft. “Your scars aren’t all you are, Layne.” He settled back into the grass a bit, though his face was still close to hers. A smile played on his lips. “And I swear I’m not just saying that to get to second base.”

She laughed, but it came out like a sob, and she was terrified she was going to cry.

Gabriel shifted closer again, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. “Do you really think I’m going to run if I see your scars?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Do you really think I’m going to run if I know your secrets?”

That chased the gentle humor off his face. It reminded her of Friday night, sitting on the tailgate of his car, when they’d played Truth or Dare. When she’d made a decision to jump, praying he’d be there to catch her.

She reached for his wrist, pulling his hand away from her cheek, drawing it down the front of her body. She held her breath again, sliding his fingers under the edge of her shirt. Her palm flattened over his hand, holding his skin against hers.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

She shook her head quickly, and he laughed.

Then he slid his hand out from under hers, stroking the length of her abdomen. His thumb traced the line of her bra.

She sucked in a quick breath.

“See?” He leaned in to speak against her ear. “I still think you’re beautiful.”

She knew exactly what his hands were feeling, exactly where the scars turned smooth skin into something that felt like melted rubber. She waited for him to jerk his fingers away, to make a sound of disgust, to recoil.

Instead, he slid her shirt higher, then bent to kiss his way across her stomach.

Every nerve in her body was firing. She thought she might hy-perventilate.

Especially when his teeth found the skin at the base of her rib cage.

At that moment, he could have told her he was a bank rob-ber, and she wouldn’t have cared. An arms dealer. A foreign spy.

All she knew was that suddenly clothes were in the way.

She started yanking at the shoulders of his sweatshirt, trying to drag it over his head. He laughed again, but this time it was a slow sexy growl of sound as he lifted enough to help her yank the hoodie free.

The contents of his pockets spilled across her bare skin, and she giggled, grabbing for keys and his iPod, tossing them on top of the abandoned sweatshirt. Then her fingers closed on something slick and metal.

She frowned as she held it up. “A lighter?”

Gabriel was staring at it in her hand, that same inscrutable expression on his face. Tousled hair, rumpled T-shirt. Somewhat lost, but defiant at the same time. Those typical defenses were falling into place.