One
Fallen
adjective
Having dropped or come down from a higher place, having sinned
The Present
Earlier in the year, for my twentieth birthday, my father had bought me a pony. She was stunning ; with sleek dappled horseflesh and curious eyes. She was a placid animal, but in all truth so far, I had hated riding her.
Amy loved horses and used to be a good rider, but an incident with one of Mr McKenna’s horses had put her off. She hadn’t been on a horse for years. I’d encouraged her to talk about it but she’d said very little. It happened a few months after the fire at their house and so I assumed it must have been connected to that.
Even after a handful of lessons, I was useless . I always held my body so rigid, the thought of falling off and breaking a bone stopping me from being able to relax. And of course, if you are stressed when riding a horse, the animal can feel it through the tension in your body. I wasn’t stupid, I knew some stuff. I just found it difficult to put that knowledge to good use.
When I’d first seen her, I’d managed to keep the horrified expression from my face, but Amy had seen it straight away. My sister read me like a book.
“What will you name her?” she had said when we were out of earshot of my parents. It had been the day of my birthday party and my parents had put on a BBQ to celebrate. Mum always decorated the trees with bunting and fairy lights and made it extra special .
“Victoria,” I had replied, totally clueless as to what to name a horse.
I remember Amy omitting a hoot of laughter, “You can’t call her Victoria. That’s a crap name for a horse.”
After a couple of minutes pondering her words, I’d gone with, “Vicky?”
“That’s better,” she’d replied. So, Vicky, it was.
I toyed with the strap of my lemon, floral sundress, glancing over to the small paddock down the side of the house where ‘Victoria aka Vicky’ was grazing peacefully.
We had just had supper and were all in the back garden of our house at Orchard View Farm, enjoying the last of the sunshine. Our parents were due to go away on holiday and this was the last opportunity to get everyone together. They took their holidays in one clump every year during the summer and usually went away for around five weeks at a time. This year they were going to Portugal.
My brother Mattie was on his phone and our mother was plaiting our little sister Chrissy’s hair. Dad had just gone into the house to take a call on his mobile phone. Something to do with a possible delay with their flights. This time, our parents were taking Chrissy and leaving the rest of us to oversee the farm. It would be the first year we’d all managed to get out of going. Now we had all grown up, we all had different ideas of what type of holiday we wanted. After the last holiday, it had been apparent that family vacations just didn’t work anymore.
I wandered over to the paddock and rested my sandaled foot against the bottom rung of the fence, casting my eyes across the fields to Lamb Hill Farm, the McKenna’s place. Their new house now sat in the distance. Their old house had been demolished four years ago after the fire and had been rebuilt. I thought it was stunning, but my mother hated it. She said it was garish and ugly and brought the entire area down due to its un-rustic appearance .
My sister Amy suddenly joined me by the fence and followed the direction of my gaze, “Betty said The Psycho is back,” she informed me with a definite tone to her voice. She was of course referring to Nixon McKenna. That one boy who had been on my mind ever since that day at the pond.
I had known about his return, as my friend Charles had texted me, but I still felt my heart accelerate at the thought of seeing him again. He was like a puzzle I had yet to solve.
I had seen him on and off over the last few years, but not to talk to. Our parents gave us strict instructions that we were not to go near them. Especially Nixon.
After his house was destroyed, I’d heard he’d gone even more off the rails and had become a proper hell-raiser. Getting into fights with boys in the village and falling out with most of our neighbours. incident involved a broken bottle that had gotten him arrested and after that, he’d decided to follow a different path. He’d signed up for the army.
My dad said it was probably a good thing as it would help with the lack of discipline. Nixon’s father Mitchell, seemed to focus all his energies on his younger sons and allowed the eldest to do whatever the hell he wanted.
From the gossip I’d heard around the village, Nixon was based in Marham at the RAF/Army base there. He had also travelled quite extensively, having been sent on tour overseas several times. I wasn’t sure where. Somewhere hot, Charles had said. Now he lived most of the time at the barracks in Norfolk, so I hardly ever saw him. Which wasn’t a bad thing, considering the ill feelings he still held toward me and my family. Toward most people to be honest. I still couldn’t shake that feeling he’d instilled in me though. Like some type of dark, forbidden obsession.
Whenever our eyes had clashed, he’d turned away, as if he couldn’t stand to look at me. He and his brother Mason, had also had a few run-ins with my brother, but only verbal, no fists this time. Mason and my sister Amy however, still waged their own private war. It had been ongoing ever since they were children.
During those rare occasions I had bumped into Mason, he’d been civil enough, but his relationship with Amy had always been heated. Especially after my sister kept letting the tyres down on his truck, amongst other pranks.
Seth, the youngest had never been bothered with the drama but Boyd was a different matter and had been quite vocal in the village about us, significantly bad-mouthing my family. This resulted in Amy creating nicknames for the older McKenna boys; Mason was The Dog, Boyd, The Dumbass and Nixon, The Psycho. She went easy on Seth, saying he was just whiny and mildly annoying.
So, Nixon had come back from the army, early, Charles had said. I imagined he was back to help his brothers with the farm. They had been struggling. Their father's ill health had resulted in Mason having to take over.
Amy snapped my attention back to the present as she quizzed thoughtfully, “Do you think Nixon still thinks we were responsible for what happened?” This drew my gaze away from their house. I shrugged. Hopefully, it was water under the bridge now. I hadn’t seen Nixon for ages and so who knew? Didn’t they say time is a healer?
I knew my sister wouldn’t care either way as she thrived on a challenge. She had never been worried about repercussions when she was sneaking around their property. She still did, even now.
Amy’s comment circled my head. Would Nixon still be sore about that night? The fire had been fully investigated. Yes, there was evidence that it had been started on purpose, but nothing had led to my family. And of course, it wouldn’t. We were not arsonists.
Recently, our parent’s battle over the boundary had also died down. Possibly due to Mitchell McKenna’s ill health. They had bigger fish to fry. Amy still argued the point with his sons mind you. I didn’t care. I used the pond occasionally and had only bumped into Seth McKenna once. He had been there with his friends and we hadn’t spoken, but he did smile at me. I’d kept to my side; they’d kept to theirs. I just didn’t see the problem. We could easily share it.
Amy’s words provoked a myriad of other thoughts to flutter through my mind. Would Nixon still think I played some part in what had happened? Like I’d tried to tempt him with my body that day, to keep him out of the way? The thought was preposterous.
Dragging my thoughts away from that frustrating question that I didn’t have an answer to, my eyes roamed over Vicky’s beautiful coat. She really was a pretty thing.
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Amy said reading my mind and I turned to her with a nod. She was a good head taller than me, with chocolate brown hair and the greenest of eyes. Now seventeen, my sister had blossomed into a stunning young woman. She said I was the prettiest but I didn’t agree.
Yes, I was blonde, blue-eyed with a reasonable complexion, maybe a bit on the pale side, but I was petite in stature, standing at just over five feet tall. My nose was slightly turned up and my mouth was possibly too full for my face. Amy called me pretty and cute and said that most boys in the village talked about me like I was some type of goddess. Charles agreed and said my fragile appearance would make men want to protect me. Either that or bash me on the head and drag me back to their lair. Funny.
As a person, I was relatively introverted; and shy and I struggled being in the company of large gatherings of people. I didn’t like crowds. And that was the problem right there. I had been overprotected my entire life.
My mother had almost lost me during my birth and due to that, treated me with so much more care than she did my siblings. After years of being smothered, I’d just accepted it. Went along with what they wanted; allowing them to protect me from the big bad world and the monsters that walked it. What they didn’t realise was that the tender loving care they showered me with had left me stuck with a social vulnerability. And that wasn’t a good thing, the world being what it is today.
Lately, I felt a bit like a doll, empty on the inside; just a nice shiny surface. A perfect sculpture of a woman, who had nothing to say for herself. Currently, I didn’t have a job or any direction in my life, I just seemed to walk around feeling blindfolded half the time. This was something I was desperate to change.
I wasn’t weak-willed, not really. I just wasn’t the strongest of personalities. When out of my comfort zone, I’d be riddled with anxiety. I was more at home, one-on-one or in smaller gatherings. Sometimes I got so tongue-tied it was embarrassing. Not as though anyone ever really listened to what I had to say. Why would they? What experiences did I have to share with them?
As I said, it was my intention to change all that.
Amy’s phone started ringing, the sound warding off my thoughts, “It's Betty. I’ll see you later Jen,” she said before taking the call and walking away. Betty was Amy’s best friend and they were tight. Just like Charles and me.
Charles Kirk and I had been friends since Nursery. He was a huge Star Trek fan and had seen every single episode and film several times over. He also collected memorabilia and loved going to Comic Con. Everyone used to call him Captain Kirk, but not in a mean way.
Shelving my thoughts, I moved toward Vicky and she stopped grazing and trotted over. Her bridal was beautiful in soft leather and it was all the colours of the rainbow. I didn’t have a favourite colour, as there were too many pretty ones. That’s why my father would have chosen this one for me.
Running my hands down Vicky’s muzzle, I looked into her eyes. I really needed to shelve my fear of riding her.
After another glance over at Nixon’s house, I twisted away and joined my mother, who had just finished Chrissy’s hair. My parents were already packed and the thought of spending the next few weeks without them was one I relished .
Independence here I come!
*****
Later that evening, when the house was more settled, I decided to go for a walk in what was left of the sunshine. It was still light, but the sun wasn’t as high in the sky.
My father and mother were in one of the fields, something to do with a mix-up with some fertiliser. Sod’s law was that something would go wrong when they were due to fly the following morning.
Amy had gone to Betty’s for a sleepover and my brother and Chrissy were watching TV. A Netflix series called BBQ Showdown and it totally wasn’t my thing. I was probably one of the worst cooks to walk the planet. A cheese and tomato sandwich or beans on toast was about as good as it got, in terms of my culinary ability. That was something else I was determined to work on.
I was still wearing my sundress but had borrowed Amy’s old riding boots which she’d given me. I wasn’t intending to go riding, but they were more comfortable when wading across the fields than sandals or sliders.
As I approached the paddock, Vicky snorted and trotted toward me. I then opened the gate, took her by the bridle and led her out onto the dirt track.
I stroked her neck and then set off walking, holding her reins and leading her behind me out into field four which ran parallel to our house. It hadn’t been turned over yet and resembled the wild meadow where I intended to go. She followed behind me, quite happy to be leaving the enclosed paddock.
We set off walking across the fields until we came to the meadow where the river separated our land from Mr and Mrs McKenna’s place. I could see some of their sheep in the fields, like cotton wool balls dotted against a fuzzy green background .
The water trickled as Vicky and I came to a stop and viewed the pool. It was so idyllic there. I loved it. It also brought back memories of that kiss I had shared with Nixon. It was something I would never forget.
I stood at the top of the embankment and released the reins. Vicky happily started grazing. She wouldn’t get far if she did decide to wander off as all our fields had boundary fences and were gated. Any dirt tracks through were fitted with cattle grids even though we didn’t own livestock. Dad had them fitted purposefully due to animals from the McKenna place coming onto our land and eating our crops in the past. Another cross for our parents to bear.
Feeling a shiver, I wrapped my arms around my body and stared across the expanse of the water. It was at that precise moment that I heard a thumping sound coming from the opposite side of the river. I could see a broad man on his horse, galloping toward me. No doubt one of the McKenna boys, but which one?
As he got a little nearer, I immediately recognised him as Nixon and my heart jumped up into my mouth. My entire body went on alert and I felt a cocktail of excitement and fear.
The Psycho my sister had called him. She had a point too, as there was a definite danger vibe at that moment. As I said, we hadn’t seen each other for ages and hadn’t spoken over the last few years. That hadn’t affected how I felt though. I was still strangely drawn to him; like we were connected by an invisible thread. Odd when we didn’t really know each other that well.
My eyes roamed over him. He had changed. Still intensely handsome, but he looked larger, tougher . He wasn’t the same man, the one who had called me Little Mermaid and kissed me back like my lips were the most potent drug. The army had hardened him. I couldn’t see any trace of that man I’d met at the pool all those years ago.
It was his eyes that gave him away. Those deep, serious eyes that were glued to mine across the river with brooding intensity. He didn’t seem surprised that I was there. Maybe he’d seen me from a distance or had been alerted to my presence by some type of special sixth sense. I struck off the thought, my mooning days over this boy were probably over. Those eyes which had once glittered with humour and lustful intentions, now held the promise of menace and danger. Two things I certainly hadn’t wanted to see. In my dreams, his response to seeing me was so very different.
I needed to get a grip but my emotions were all over the place. My breath caught in my throat. The way he held himself on his horse, didn’t bode well either. I wondered if he’d come to frighten me away. To try and claim the pool again as being part of their estate. Maybe he’d say I was trespassing and tell me to leave. Would I stand up to him, show him he’d met his match? Probably not.
At that point, I was past caring about overanalysing stuff, I just wanted him to speak to me, even though my self-preservation senses were going off like a Geiger counter. I hated that defenceless feeling which I blamed my parents for. After years of being mollycoddled, I’d obviously started to believe their bullshit.
He watched me with a dark look and I wanted to put that light back in his eyes. That expression of yearning we had shared all those years ago before we had kissed. My first kiss.
Everything about him screamed, don’t mess me with and do not underestimate me . Nixon’s gaze clung to mine. He looked magnificent , so masculine and rugged, those strong thighs controlling the horse with ease. A man to be worshipped.
He wore leather riding gloves and held the reins in one, confident hand. The muscles of his arm flexed as he steered the beast where he wanted it to go. His other hand rested lazily against his thigh and I watched, fascinated as he squeezed his mount's flanks and the animal shifted, prancing from hoof to hoof.
I could see his intention clearly. Although we were separated by the water, I knew Nixon was going to drive the horse through the river to get to me. His intentions were stamped on his face. His eyes never left mine, he was the hunter and I the prey. Nervous knots started to twist in my tummy. If I knew that seeing him again was going to be this tense, I probably wouldn’t have come here.
Nixon had that look of authority that screamed he was supposed to be there and that I wasn’t. Like the meadow and the river were part of his kingdom.
It had been too long since I had seen him. He’d filled out even more, the bulk of muscle and strength evident beneath his shirt and jeans. He also appeared more intense. Brutal. Natural aggression bouncing off him in waves. Rough. The total opposite of me. A soldier used to combat. I’d never had a fight in my life and could count the arguments I’d had on one hand.
I swallowed nervously, a little afraid of him now. My heart was beating a frantic rhythm. Nixon was so certain and sure, his determination to get to me was raw and tangible. The message was stamped into the air between us and my senses were heightened as goose bumps flared over my body.
This man, whom I hardly knew, was still a weakness for me. He knew it too and would probably exploit that if he could. Nixon McKenna had a score to settle, probably still due to the fire that took his property. He had grudge bearer written all over him. I could clearly recall the fight he’d had with my father and the way he had looked at me. Like he’d wanted to throttle me, wrap those hands around my throat. The way he was looking at me now was full of resentment. His time in the army had obviously put more fuel on the fire (no pun intended).
The question orbiting my headspace was; what would he do next?
As I’d assumed, Nixon led his horse to the edge of the water and manoeuvred the reins. He then dug his heels into the animal's flanks, making a clicking sound with his mouth. The beast obeyed and surged forward and into the river. He entered the water where it was shallower and my heart raced against my chest as I watched as the horse’s powerful frame made its way toward me .
Fear and excitement intermingled. I was completely at his mercy. Would he yell at me, tell me to go or drag me off this section of land by my hair? Or, all of the above.
The bottom of the riverbed was lined with rocks and was uneven but Nixon steered the horse with the confidence of a skilled rider. I hadn’t even saddled Vicky. I’d led her about with her bridle. I glanced over to her; she’d moved away from me and was still eating the grass. It was much longer than it was in her paddock.
My backbone, what little there was of it, was crumbling with each step his horse took. I stared, frozen as Nixon and his mount rocketed out of the water and up the banking, Nixon leaning over the horse’s neck for balance.
He led the beast over in a lazy walk and started to circle me and my pony, watching me silently. His face was unreadable. It was an intimidation tactic. His stallion snorted as it picked up Vicky’s scent. No doubt it could sense my mare. My hands curled into the material of my dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I had left my hair loose and it tumbled over my shoulders, moving gently in the breeze. Would he think I looked pretty?
I turned my gaze away and moved to Vicky, starting to stroke her soft neck, eyeing him warily over her back. Nixon’s steed was jet black whereas Vicky was so pale, once again a massive contrast.
Pursing my lips and remaining silent whilst keeping my eyes locked on Nixon, I watched as he dismounted. He swung one large leg over the other and jumped to his feet, he didn’t even use a stirrup to lower himself down. He landed with agility and grace before releasing the reins and patting the animal’s neck. All the while, with his eyes on mine. The beast snorted and then also started to feed.
Nixon came to stand on the opposite side of Vicky’s body, withdrawing his gloves and holding them in one hand. He then ran his fingers across her back, also stroking her skin. She whinnied softly, lifting her head. She could sense his strength .
Nixon then curled his fingers into her harness and pulled her out of the way. She trotted off merrily and started grazing to the side of us.
Our eyes were still fused together and mine flickered briefly away but I saw Nixon stuff his gloves into the waistband of his jeans.
He was huge . There was now nothing between us but air and I inhaled his drugging scent. It called to everything inside me, like catnip to a kitten and my heart rate raced at his nearness.
Nixon’s large body towered over my much smaller one. He made my knees weak. There appeared to be so much more of him out of the water. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled back revealing his tattooed arms.
“Hello Jenna, still a picture of unblemished innocence I see,” he drawled in a dark, smoky voice.
My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. I braced myself, unsure of how to respond. I could see a mixture of fraying temper and something else. I couldn’t read that expression, but I didn’t care, I felt alive in his company.
“I take it you can still speak?”
I peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth, “I heard you were back,” I replied, my voice impressively calm. “You look different.”
“That’s what the army does to a man. You don’t. You look exactly the same.”
I wasn’t sure if my looking the same was a compliment or not but his comment shifted my thoughts to the army. So, he’d had a tough time. I knew I probably shouldn’t open that can of worms but someone needed to break the ice, “So, how was it? Being in the military and so far away from home?” My voice now sounded like it was coming from miles away.
He snorted, it was a harsh sound and I nervously cleared my throat. Nixon’s eyes probed mine, “You really don’t want to know Jenna.” His reply was instant.
I was determined that he wouldn’t knock me off track with the harshness of his tone, “Did you enjoy it? ”
He choked out a mirthless sound at that one, “It wasn’t a fucking holiday park.”
“Well, why did you sign up then? No one forced you to go,” I pointed out with a twist of my lips.
“It was something I needed to do,” he drawled out with a sigh, clearly not happy with the direction of the conversation.
“I see it’s toughened you up,” I replied with a shy smile. I meant this as a compliment but he didn’t take it as one.
“I was tough enough before,” he sneered back at me with a thread of steel.
There was a beat of silence.
I blew some hair out of my face, “My dad thought it would be good for you. Smooth out those rough edges.” I hadn’t a clue, why I had brought my father up. Talk about a red rag to a bull.
The expression on his face turned cruel, “Oh, the edges are still there sunshine, believe me, but now they’re twice as sharp,” Nixon warned me in an ironically blunt voice.
“Well, I’m glad you’re back,” I said honestly, my eyes fluttering across his face. This man had seen stuff, horrific stuff, I could see it in his eyes. If talking about his time away was hard for him, I needed to change the subject and fast. I didn’t want him hurting and being haunted by memories of difficult times. “I have my own pony now. What do you think?” I said, motioning toward Vicky.
Nixon then glanced at my horse, “Where’s your saddle?” he questioned, his gaze roaming over her before shooting back at me. “I must say, I can’t imagine you going bareback.” The deep sound of his voice remained unchanged. I remembered it like it was yesterday but his words held a hidden message. Something sexually aggressive that I didn’t really get. I was a virgin at the end of the day and totally naive in that department.
Pulling a face, I replied, “I didn’t ride her here. We walked. ”
His brows knitted together, “What do you mean you walked? It’s a horse, Jenna, not a fucking dog.” The severity of his tone was like a slap, but even though he was cross, I liked hearing my name on his lips.
“I don’t ride. I never have. Victoria was a past birthday present. I didn't ask for her,” I said her full name by accident. He didn’t flinch or look affected by what I’d just told him and he didn’t wish me a belated happy birthday either. As I said before, it certainly wasn’t how I’d envisaged this moment.
“Victoria?” he snorted, mocking the name, “You’ve never ridden a horse and yet Daddy buys you a pony?” Nixon’s disapproving tone made my hands curl into fists.
“So?”
His eyebrows then unthreaded, and he shot me a pointed look, “Aren’t you a lucky girl?”
“I’m twenty now, hardly a girl,” I stated with a raised eyebrow. I purposefully wanted to point out my age, having been just shy of sixteen the last time we’d been there. I remember he’d said he could wait. As in wait for me to grow up maybe? I imagined the fire had now put an end to any type of waiting.
There was another beat of silence, as I digested his lucky comment. In some ways he was right, I was a lucky girl but in other areas, not so much. Did being smothered by everyone around me and not given the chance to think for myself make me lucky? Being loved was fantastic , but too much of that emotion was suffocating.
“Are you happy to be home and back with your brothers?” I questioned shyly, using my friendliest voice.
It didn’t work. Nixon released a sigh of frustration and dashed a hand across his jaw, “What are you doing here Jenna and alone? I take it you are on your own?” He glanced around.
His words made me more nervous, “Yes. I’m by myself. ”
“Where’s your mouthy little sister?” I knew he was referring to Amy. And he wasn’t wrong. Amy was high-spirited and spoke her mind. She was the opposite of me in so many ways. I spent most of my days not knowing what to say, especially in situations where I felt off balance like this one. Amy wouldn’t have been so tongue-tied; nothing fazed her.
I recalled her mean Psycho name for him, no doubt his brothers would have told him about that. She’d been very vocal with Mason about all the nicknames she had assigned him and his siblings, “She’s at her friend's house. I’m sorry if she insulted you.”
He snorted, “For her to be able to insult me, I’d first have to value her opinion and I don’t. I heard she was physically attached to you. The boys said you don’t go anywhere without her. That you use her and the rest of your family like some type of pathetic shield.”
Did that mean he’d asked his brothers to keep an eye on me? Watch me? I shook off the thought as Nixon started speaking again.
“And yet here you are, unprotected . You know you shouldn’t be here, especially on your own.” That lump in my throat started to grow.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I’m on my side of the river,” I shot back in my best haughty voice, gesturing around the area with a sweep of my hand.
Nixon grimaced, clearly not in agreement with that, “Says who?” He dashed a hand down his face and I could see from the creases around his eyes that he was tired, “Did you come here looking for me? If you did you’ve made a huge mistake.”
Releasing a sigh I told him, “I come here every day.” As if that gave me more right to be there.
His face darkened, “And telling me that could be an even bigger mistake.” His coldness toward me was flawless . He was so beautiful and powerful. A man who was sure of himself, did he even have a weakness? I had no perspective in his company. I would probably have done anything he asked, no matter the risk. How pathetically self-destructive was that?
I took a deep breath before questioning, “Why?”
Nixon's mouth curled into the semblance of a smile. It held a hidden meaning, “It means I know exactly where you are when I feel the need to torture you.” My skin prickled and I took a step back. It was an automatic gesture. That self-preservation thing again.
“Why would you want to do that?” I felt afraid to ask but a strange sensation licked up my spine. He may not know it, but Nixon was already torturing me. The attraction I felt toward him at that point was almost painful. He stirred my senses like no other.
“You ask a lot of questions. Why do you think?” He spoke to me like he thought I was stupid. It didn’t overly upset me as I had been spoken to like that many times. Mainly by those who like to judge a book by its cover and saw me as a pretty airhead. Yes, I had my head in the clouds and daydreamed a bit, but I wasn’t thick by any measure.
Nixon noticed I had zoned out of our conversation and he repeated himself, “Well Jenna, why do you think you’d be on my shit list?”
Briefly shooting a glance toward his house, I replied with uncertainty, “Because of the fire thing?”
He shrugged those massive shoulders and tilted his head to one side. Regarding me thoughtfully, “Partly. But also, for making me feel things I don’t want to be feeling.”
“Like what?” My brow arched and I gave him a hopeful look.
His eyes searched my face as if the answer was written there, “I don’t know, anger, regret, compassion maybe?”
I didn’t like that, “You feel compassionate toward me? ”
Nixon barked out a laugh but there was no humour in it, “In a screwed-up type of way yes. I’m not usually a compassionate type of man. I don’t like feeling pity for someone who has wronged me.”
The thought that he pitied me was so much worse than him hating me. Hate was a much stronger emotion; pity was for losers. I wasn’t one of those, was I?
I uncurled my fingers from my skirt and dropped my hand to my side. I so wanted to touch him, “What is it about me that makes you feel that way?”
“You just have that quality. That feline essence. It draws masculine energy like a magnet to metal. An untouched, vulnerability that begs to be protected, cared for.”
Ah, so he felt sorry for me and wanted to look after me. That was easier to chew, “Well, surely that’s not a bad thing. I am untouched.” The words were out before I could suck them back in. Now I had just admitted to Nixon McKenna that I was a virgin. Great.
My revelation didn’t shock him, but his expression became almost pained, but only for a split second, “It depends on how you look at it.”
It was an odd conversation, like we were both speaking in some type of code.
I took a shy step toward him, looking up into his eyes through my lashes, “I don’t understand.”
“There are men out there that will want to take advantage of that air of vulnerability that surrounds you. Use it against you for their own ends.”
The meaning behind his words took a while to soak in, “Well, you’re not like that,” I suggested with more confidence than I felt.
His face darkened, “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m exactly like that.”
“So, you want to use my vulnerability against me?”
“Why not?”
I scrunched up my nose, “And in what way am I vulnerable?”
“Due to your feelings, you wear your heart on your sleeve,” he stated.
My brow scrunched, “My feelings about what? ”
He didn’t bat an eyelid, “Me.”
He was right of course but I wouldn’t go down without some type of fight, “You’re wrong. I don’t have feelings toward you, not really. I hardly know you,” I almost stuttered.
“Bullshit. I know want when I see it. I remember those lingering looks you’d give me when I was back home on leave. Even now.”
Nixon’s next sentence was drawn out like he was trying to understand the words even as he spoke them, “It’s the way you look at me; silently begging me to punish you, to screw with that perfect, safe little life you lead.” He paused for thought, those dark pools of his eyes, probing into mine. “And why wouldn’t I? You, have the face of an angel and a body that would tempt a saint. Perfection that screams to be soiled in some way. Ruined .”
He was much too close and I felt exposed and twisted away, “I think I should go.”
I gasped as he caught me by my arm and tugged me back with one yank, growling, “You’ll leave when I let you leave.”
His touch sent an enjoyable electric type charge up my arm and I stumbled toward him but he released me quickly. As if he didn’t like the feel of my skin against his own. Had he felt it too?
It appeared that the new Nixon was even more hot-headed than before. He was the kind of man who attacked first and asked questions later. I rubbed my hand down my arm where his fingers had briefly been and he eyed the movement, “I didn’t hurt you,” he bit out, staring at me angrily.
“You didn’t, it must have been static or something,” I informed him honestly. My skin still fizzed from where he’d touched me, “Didn’t you feel it, when we touched?”
Nixon snorted, “You’ve been watching too many silly chick-flick movies, Jenna. You need to come down off the cloud you live on and join the real world.” I hated that he tried to cheapen what I had said when he had felt it, I could see it in his face. Why did he drop his hand so quickly if not?
The backwards and forwards thing was tiring. Moistening my dry lips with my tongue, I sighed, “You know it doesn’t have to be like this between us. The war between our families is due to our parents, not us. And the fire is in the past. Can’t we be friends?”
“That is the last thing I want from you, Jenna. Friendship.”
“Well, what do you want?” I hated that mystery that was wrapped around him. He was now impossible to read.
“You’d probably faint if I told you that,” Nixon drawled with a slight snort. that was totally devoid of any humour. It still slid under my skin.
“I wouldn’t, I’ve never fainted in my life,” I assured him with a tilt of my chin.
He shot me a narrowed look, “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. I’m not that delicate,” I protested.
Nixon paused for thought before saying, “You should come with a fucking warning. You need to toughen up. You’re like a daydream, a breath of fresh air. You wouldn’t last long in any type of relationship with me. I’d easily own every inch of you. And how boring would that be.” He seemed to tag the last sentence on as an afterthought. To hurt me.
There was now no doubt in my mind that standing before me was a certified bad boy, but didn’t they say bad boys, were just misunderstood heroes? I wasn’t sure that assumption fit where this man was concerned. Nixon McKenna was now damaged goods.
Part of me knew he was bluffing, he knew I still liked him and was trying to put me off, “I don’t think it would be boring, all relationships need work, don’t they? It’s give and take.”
“And that’s my point, I don’t give, I only take. Nothing is a two-way street with me,” he loftily informed me. I felt an overwhelming urge to punch him in his insanely flat stomach; a definite first for me .
“I don’t believe you. You’re just trying to push people away. Everyone needs friends Nixon.” And he knew I wanted to be more than that, even now when he was being so disagreeable.
“Not ones that look like you. If you knew what was going through my mind right now, you’d run back to your family in a heartbeat.”
“Rubbish, you’re messing with me on purpose,” I panted. Totally confused by the mixed messages he was giving me.
“And you need messing with, you’re too perfect, flawless in fact. You need tarnishing and that’s something I’m extremely good at. And if you push me, that’s exactly what I will do to you.”
My chest suddenly felt tight, “Fine. If that’s the way you want to play it. Maybe I’ll mess with you too?” I felt elated suddenly. First the thoughts of physical violence and now I’d accepted his challenge. This man appeared to draw out the fighter in me, make me stand up and take notice.
Nixon folded his arms across his massive chest and quirked me a look with a head tilt, “And how the fuck would you do that?”
“I could make you less mean, draw out that darkness in you.” I suddenly sounded so confident, but my heart skipped a beat when he took a menacing step forward.
He glanced at me with sparks of both irritation and interest, “And what would be your strategy, Little Mermaid?”
“I don’t know. We’re opposites, I get that. But I’m a nice girl and a good listener. I suppose my strategy would be to kill it with kindness,” I replied honestly, lifting my chin to look him in the eye. Kindness was something this man wasn’t that familiar with.
He dropped his arms and his mouth curled slyly, “So, you think you can tame the beast little girl? ”
“Yes, if you were to give me a chance. I’m a good person and we could be friends. I think we all could. The thing between our parents should be pushed into the past.” I said with wide eyes, drinking him in.
“Friends, what a load of bull. You don’t want to be my friend Jenna and you need to stop eye-fucking me. You wouldn’t be able to handle me on any level, Virgin.”
My breath caught in my throat as he moved toward me, forcing me backwards against Vicky, who was now behind me. I could feel her fur against my back.
Nixon shifted his powerful body, crowding me on purpose. The look of intent in his eyes was dangerous, “Let me show you what I mean.”
I looked up at him through my lashes and gasped as he raised his left hand and ran his thumb across my bottom lip. It trembled, to be honest, my whole body did.
His gaze was focused on my mouth as my lips parted, “So, fucking sweet,” he whispered, his breath fanning over my face.
Nixon then slid that hand around the back of my neck and into my hair. I didn’t pull away, I was mesmerised. Caught up in his masculine spell and my heart turned in my chest. He was right, I wanted so much more than friendship.
A darker expression flittered over his features, a look of carnal need before his hand tightened in my hair and he roughly pulled my head further backwards, exposing my throat. I placed my hands flat on his chest as pin-pricks of pain skittered across my scalp, but I wasn’t frightened. I welcomed that feeling. This thing between us was dark and mysterious and I wanted to wade into those shadows with him.
Nixon’s eyes roamed over my face, “You really are perfect but outrageously naive if you think you belong anywhere near me. The boy you met here at the pool, Jenna, is dead,” he said before exhaling. He then dropped his head and ground his mouth over mine, hard ; claiming me. My arms fluttered to my sides, pushed away by his rock-hard chest .
It was totally different to that first kiss. His mouth was harsh and angry, the kiss more of a punishment. Nixon drove his tongue through my lips as they automatically parted.
His mouth was hot and demanding, hurtful at first before softening, his tongue stroking, slowing its pace and pushing deeper between my lips, tasting me. My arms then came up to his shoulders as I sank into him, loving that heat from his body. The chemistry between us was insatiable, and I couldn’t get enough. I felt my nipples pebble against my bra and heat flooded between my legs.
Although initially intended as retribution to bend me to his will and show me the animal inside him, his kiss was now full of passion. It charged between us like a river of fire. I could taste my first kiss in there, the boy from the pool wasn’t dead, he was trapped and I wanted to be the one to free him. I followed his technique and kissed him back and he growled into my mouth as my tongue met his. Soft and playful against harsh and determined.
Nixon released my hair and both hands circled my face, it felt almost loving. He drew my bottom lip into his mouth and then bit down gently, the motion sending a wave of lust to crash throughout my lower body. He then stroked his tongue into my mouth one last time, slowly, erotically . His muscular chest was rock hard and the softness of my breasts was flattened against it.
I sighed into his mouth as Nixon curled one of his hands gently around my throat, wrapping almost all the way around, before drawing away and placing his head against mine.
I wondered what had happened to him in the army, something severe, messed up I imagined. This wasn’t the right version of Nixon, not yet, but I still wanted him.
Nixon lifted his hand again and ran a finger along my collarbone, “This is a dangerous game, Jenna. Are you sure you’re up to it, as I don’t always play fair,” he said in a gruff voice. He slightly squeezed my throat, an example of his darker side. His words were slow, deliberate, and unavoidable .
“Maybe I won’t either then.” I knew I probably sounded pathetic next to the tower of strength that was Nixon, but I had my own weapons. And I had yet to bring out the big guns.
He released my throat and lifted his head, looking down at me. I was trapped between his body and my horse who was happily still grazing, undeterred, “You seem determined to throw yourself at me, but it will only end in tears, yours . You need to stay away and stop baiting me or you’ll regret the day you ever met me.”
“And what if I don’t?”
Nixon grasped my upper arms and drew me further up to his level and my head fell back. He pushed his face into mine. He should have terrified me but he didn’t. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling but it wasn’t fear. Adrenaline mixed with something else?
“If I catch you on McKenna land again, there will be consequences, Jenna.”
He then released me roughly and I stumbled back against Vicky who snorted against the impact of my body hitting hers. His eyes bored into mine.
After that, deep penetrative look, he turned away, strode to his horse, and mounted. His body bristled with a variety of emotions, none of them good. I had obviously gotten under his skin. My determination to see the good in him was abrasive it appeared. He didn’t want my attention. At least that’s the message he was trying to put out there, but his body told me a different story. He felt that pull too, I could feel it. That chemistry. He was trying to run from it as it made him weak. Having feelings for someone did that didn’t it? That’s what I told myself anyway.
With a click of his tongue, he steered the horse around, shot me a dark look and then galloped off into the trees, which were on our side of the river. But of course, he would, the McKenna’s believed they owned that part too.
After he had left, I felt deflated. That had probably been one of the most fired up situations I had ever been in. Nixon McKenna made me stronger .
My eyes prickled, but I refused to cry, recalling his boring comment. Talk about hitting me below the belt. Yes, I was quiet, but I’d never been called boring.
It took me a while to compose myself and after I had pulled myself together, I grabbed Vicky’s reins and walked her back over the fields. The whole time my heart was thudding in my chest. I knew I should listen to Nixon’s warning and stay away, but I couldn’t do it.
There was something insanely right between Nixon and me. Like we had a special connection in some way that went beyond naked attraction. I could see it and recognise it. The only problem would be getting him to.
I pushed that flicker of doubt aside. He was wrong, the boy at the pool wasn’t dead, he’d been buried alive and I was determined to unearth him.