07

It wasn’t very likely in Willow Heights, but it was possible. Living in New York had leant her a certain sense of caution – maybe in rural Pennsylvania it seemed more like paranoia – and her senses prickled as she slid silently across the hall in her sock feet.

She almost had a heart attack when something – someone – moved in the kitchen’s shadows, a dark masculine form against the darker recesses of the unlit room. Her mouth popped open, but no sound came out.

Fists clenched, arms held close to her body, she wished she’d made time to attend a self-defense class or two while in New York. One of her roommates had gone through a Krav Maga phase and had invited her to try a lesson. Now, it seemed like a wasted opportunity. Weaponless and clad in pajama pants and a cami that almost matched, she’d just have to fight tooth and nail – literally – if the man in the kitchen emerged gripping a butcher knife.

« In my dreams she still doth haunt me, robed in garments soaked with brine… » A voice came out of the darkness, familiar but roughened, the melody scraping. « Then she rises from the waters, and I kiss my Clementine… »

« Donovan ? »

What the hell ?

« What are you doing in there, in the dark ? »

Now that she’d heard his voice, she knew it was him. Still, her heart raced as she forced herself to step forward, groping along the kitchen wall for the light switch.

When the light came on, he was gone.

« Donovan ? God… Damn it ! » She hissed when something sharp pierced the ball of her foot.

Glass. She’d forgotten about the sound of breaking glass.

Lifting and twisting her knee, she surveyed the shard twinkling below her toes, a crystalline thorn half-buried in the pad of her foot. Pulling it out hurt almost as much as stepping on it in the first place had.

Clearly, a jar had been broken. She walked around the glittering puddle of glass and dark red stuff that had at first looked alarmingly like blood, but was only raspberry jam. When she’d passed it, she hurried across the room to the open front door.

It had finally stopped raining, but the night smelled wet and humidity made the air dense and thick. Her voice was muffled as she called his name again.

He didn’t answer, but motion gave him away.

« Donovan ! » Frustration drove her voice an octave higher as she hurried across the yard, to where he was pacing toward the tree line.

Why was he ignoring her ? He had to hear her calling – only a few yards separated them now. Maybe he wanted his privacy – maybe he regretted being so generous with his hospitality – but she couldn’t let him go. Something wasn’t right. She felt that fact in her bones. The unlit kitchen, the rough singing, the treacherous mess he’d left behind in the dark, and his feigning deafness – this was all too strange to be called normal.

« Hey ! » She was half-breathless by the time she reached him. Her socks and pajama pants had most likely been ruined by her trek through the rain-soaked yard, but she’d barely begun to think of that when something much more disturbing registered – he was naked.

Completely naked, as bare as the day he’d been born. Holy hell … what ? Why ? Clementine’s heart sped like a thoroughbred out of a starting gate, lodging itself in her throat. She’d reached for his arm, and her hand rested there now, her fingertips against his bare biceps.

Finally, he stopped.

« Donovan, are you—«  She’d barely gotten a couple words out when he flung out his arm, striking her shoulder forcefully enough to knock her feet out from under her. Slipping in the muddy grass, she went down.

« Ahh ! » Her ass hit the spongy ground with a muted thud. It didn’t hurt, but she could barely breathe. He’d pushed her. Or half pushed her, half hit her. Whatever that had been. And he was towering over her, bare from head to toe, his skin shining in the humidity, his body not quite shielded by darkness, now that her eyes had adjusted.

« Clementine ? » His voice was just as rough as it’d been in the kitchen, but he wasn’t singing anymore. « What the fuck ? »

She drew in a deep breath and stood, taking a step backward from the man who’d knocked her down, the man who suddenly seemed like a stranger even though she recognized every slash of muscle on display, every hard line. « Donovan ? »

« What the fuck ? »

She could see well enough in the dark now to tell that he was blinking. « You’re awake now, right ? »

« I’m awake. » His answer almost sounded like a question.

« I think you were sleepwalking. » Her knees shook, and she counted on the darkness and her loose pajama bottoms to hide the motion. « You’re in the yard, behind the house. You’re not wearing any clothes. Let’s get you back inside. »

He didn’t move.

She hesitated, then willed herself to be brave. Finally, she reached out and touched his arm, just like she had the first time.

She couldn’t resist. Donovan looked like he needed someone to show him the way, and she couldn’t remember him ever looking like that before.

Her memories were extensive, and so deep they hurt. This was definitely a first. So, ignoring her weak knees, she exerted pressure against his muscles – they really were rock-hard – starting in the direction of the house.

He walked with her, and the journey seemed to take forever. She was aware of his every breath, of the heat of his skin. Aware and afraid that he’d turn and run, or simply walk away – what could she do to stop him, really, if he decided not to follow her lead ?

Finally, they made it to the house.

« What a fucking mess, » Donovan said as she pulled the front door shut.

His voice sounded clearer than before. Surely that was a good sign.

« It’s just a broken jar, » she said. « A little raspberry jam. » A lot, actually, but what did it matter ?

« Mmph. »

She froze behind where he stood, his back straight, his feet shoulder-width apart.

Jesus. The overhead lighting beamed down on his naked body, making him look like he’d been sculpted from stone. His skin was brown where it’d been exposed to the sun, olive where it hadn’t been. Muscles defined every contour of his body, roped tight over bone. Her gaze was drawn to the perfectly-shaped halves of his ass and the two dents above, at the base of his spine.

She hadn’t forgotten those dents, but something else drew her eye away from the sight. « Your foot ! »