Dark Secrets (Dark Secrets #1)(65)
Author: A.M. Hudson

“No, David.” I twisted my wrist around in his grip and yanked it out through the break in his thumb and forefinger, then stood fast—folding my arms like a spoiled child. “Not until you tell me where we’re going.”

“You stubborn little thing,” he said quickly, taking one long stride in my direction, then arched his body downward as he swept me off the floor, into his arms.

“Whoa.” I pinned my dress under my legs, nudging his chest with my elbow. “Put me down. This is kidnapping.”

“No, it’s not,” he stated with a smile, keeping his eyes on the path ahead. “It’s a rescue.”

“Rescue?” I scoffed. “I don’t need to be rescued.”

He stopped walking and looked down at me; I shrank into his arms a little. “The fair maiden who is locked in the darkest tower, guarded by the cruellest beast, never believes herself to be in danger; only suffering sorrows untold and a heart untouched.”

“But I’m not in a tower.”

“You will be if you don’t come quietly.”

I huffed; he just looked forward and smiled to himself, then stuffed me in his car and drove away with me.

“Okay, Prince Charming.” I buckled my seatbelt. “Fess up. Where’re you taking me?”

“The lake.”

“Why?”

He stared ahead.

“David. Why?”

“Not telling.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to learn to control your moods, Ara, without getting your own way first.”

My eyes narrowed and I tightened my crossed arms. “You’re not my dad. I don’t need you to teach me a lesson.”

“Someone has to.” He held back a wry smile.

I huffed, bit my teeth together and looked out the window.

When David took the final turn onto the long stretch of tree-covered road, my arms loosened, my lungs drawing the fresh pine scent of evergreens and the cinnamon flavour of the approaching autumn. That smell was kind of comforting to me now—like the feeling you get when you finally come home after a really bad day.

We pulled over in the usual spot, then walked in total silence until my temper became a physical sting in my chest. “Why are you walking so fast?”

He ignored me, continuing on his path, gliding effortlessly over the rocks and twigs—as if he were walking an inch above the forest floor, like a ghost. Meanwhile, I stumbled and slid on the bark-covered slopes, brushing the side of my leg off constantly, then standing back up—trying to look as graceful as David.

Infuriation burned every drop of blood in my body. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“Because you haven’t calmed down yet.”

I pretty much walked with my teeth clenched the whole time after that. When we came to the rock where we usually sat, David shook his head and continued on a path we’d never walked down before.

“Now where are we going?” I whined, dropping my arms to my sides. “I’m tired and it’s hot. I don’t wanna walk anymore.”

He continued ahead—tall and sleek, never looking back.

Argh! I felt like throwing a rock at his head.

David spun around then, his eyes alight with a humoured glint. “Forget to have lunch, did we?”

“None of your business.”

“Actually, it is, because I’m the one that has to put up with your moods.”

“I’m not moody.” But I knew that was a lie, and as I looked away from the irritation in his stern eyes, my breath stopped around a dose of crushing anxiety; his words “put up with your moods” resonating with every belief I had that he would one day get sick of me.

“You’ll want to take those off.”

I looked down at my shoes. “No. Not until you tell me where we’re going.”

“Fine, leave them on.” He shrugged, then reached behind him and lifted his shirt, tugging it past the sharply cut V of muscles diving just below the waistline of his jeans.

I looked back down at my feet before it came off completely.

“It’s okay, Ara,” David said, a hint of laughter in his tone. “You don’t have to look away.”

“I wasn’t looking away.”

“No, course you weren’t.” He came to stand in front of me, the rim of his Calvin Klein’s showing just under the rise of his dark jeans; his tan skin covering every inch of him I wanted to see. And I could look, if I wanted to.

He held my hand firmly, like he was asking me to look, and when I finally braved it, a body like I’d never seen before, except on TV, gobbled up my heart, destroying me in the end with that cheeky grin.

“Something wrong, Ara?”

“I’m not blushing ‘cause I think you’re hot.” I reached down and slipped off my shoes, then dumped them by a rock. “You don’t affect me, David Knight.”

“I know. You’re too sensible to be knocked off your feet by a guy without a shirt.” He grinned, reaching his hand out. I stared at it. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, I walked the five-pace gap and touched his fingertips. “I don’t see why you need to take your shirt off; it’s not that hot.”

“Didn’t want it to get wet.”

“Wet?”

He nodded and led me to the cold, crisp water of the lake. “Do you see where we’re going now?”

I followed the direction of his nod. “The island?”

“Yes. There’s a small sandbar that extends all the way across. It’s only as deep as—” he considered my height for a second, “—probably your upper thigh.”

My breath caught in my throat as the cold water reached my knees, and my fingers involuntarily tightened around David’s. “How did you find this sandbar?” I asked. It was only wide enough for David and I to walk on, side-by-side, disappearing into the depth of the lake after that.

“Well,” he chuckled as he spoke, “let’s just say I kinda stumbled over it one day. It’s the only way out to the island unless you swim—or fly.”

“Is the water deep outside the sandbar?”

He nodded once.

Above us, fingers of clouds blotted out the sun, and a cool breeze dragged the shivers in my body to the surface. David’s jeans were soaked—the water seeping all the way up to his pockets, but not anywhere on those golden ribs, or arms, did I see so much as a goosebump. “How come you’re not cold?”

He looked down at me, then let go of my hand and wrapped his arm over my shoulder. “You are?”