Dark Paradise (22 page)

The unnatural stillness of Mala's body intrudes on my rant.

I press my hand against her chest, then lean close to her mouth.

She's stopped breathing.
“Oh God, no.”

I give her a little shake. Her head, cradled in the crook of my elbow, falls back. Her eyelids and lips have a slight blue tint. I shake her again, harder, and her head lolls on her neck.

“No!” I shout, “Mala, Mala, wake up!”

I look around for help, but there's no one. The stillness deepens until we're in a bubble, cut off from the rest of the world. Nothing else matters. A chill rushes through my body, but it can't compare to the icy coldness of her skin. A vein ticks in my throat in time with the frantic thumps of my heart. When I press my fingers to her carotid artery, it takes a few seconds before I separate her heartbeat from my own. My brain desperately files through the list of steps I learned in my CPR course: Check, Call, Care…no, wait: Look, Listen, and Feel.

Which comes first? In class, I got cocky because it seemed so simple. Now that I have to use it, I'm terrified I'll screw up. What if I'm forgetting steps? I should've taken her to the hospital right away. If she dies it's my fault.
Oh, God. What do I do?

Two rescue breaths, chest compressions. Was it fifteen compressions to two breaths? I shake my head. “Thirty and two. It's thirty and two.”

I roll her onto the ground and tilt her head back, making an airway, then use two fingers to open her mouth. I draw in a breath then press my lips against hers. I slowly breathe in the air, watching her lungs expand. The whole time, I pray for her not to die.

L
ips press against my open mouth, and air fills my lungs, expanding them. I shove hard, breaking free. Landry leans back. His face has drained of color, and he pants, obviously freaked out. He gathers me off the ground. “You stopped breathing!”

I know. I felt myself drowning.
My arms wrap around his neck, and I lean against him. I'm shaking so hard I think I'll break apart.

Landry's arms tighten, holding me together. “One minute you're fine, and the next, I couldn't feel you breathing,” he chokes out. “I tried to wake you. You turned blue. I've never been so scared in my entire life.”

“It was Lainey! She wouldn't let me go. She kept pulling me under the water. I couldn't break free. Why did she do it, Landry? Do you think she's trying to kill me?”

“I don't know.” He rocks me in his arms, trembling himself. “She's trying to tell us something, but I can't figure out what. Or even why I keep dreaming about her. I'm not a witch. I don't have special powers like you.”

“I'm not a witch,” I mutter.

“Still, for you it makes sense.”

“Nothing makes sense,” I wail, choking on the sob fighting to get out. The fear and anger I've been trying to hide bursts free. I cry so hard I lose track of time. When I finally climb out of the pit of despair I've fallen into, I find I'm clinging to Landry like he's my security blanket.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, sitting back. “She's your sister. I shouldn't—”

“Don't apologize. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. We used to be best friends—me and Lainey, fighting to hold onto our sanity in our parents' crazy, Bible-thumping world. You may not have noticed, but I'm not as religious as my parents. Lainey, though, she had the disposition of a saint when she was a kid. She was all fire and fun, but she never got mad. I tagged after her, and she never pushed me away even though we're five years apart in age.”

“You're lucky to have had her. I wish I had a brother or sister. It sucks being alone.”
I'm so tired of being alone.

“Yeah, I know.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and hugs me. “Lainey went to Loyola University. Something bad must've happened to her last year because she came back home changed. She turned angry and cold. She'd stay out all night with her boyfriends but never brought one home to meet the family. Whenever I tried to talk to her, she blew me off. Finally I stopped asking. Now I'll never have the chance.”

He looks down, and our eyes meet.

“Kiss me,” I blurt out.

“What?” His breathing quickens. “What did you say?

Oh, shit! I just propositioned him.
Me, squeaky clean, cowardly Mala. Lack of oxygen must've given me brain damage. I take a shaky breath and straighten in his arms. “I said kiss me.” My voice cracks. “It's okay. I won't punch you or anything. You have my permission.”

“Your head's not on straight.” Landry gazes off across the water…distant, cold. Oh, so sad, and it breaks my heart. All I want at this moment is to drink the pain in his eyes. Guzzle it down so it never fills him again. I know nothing's forever. A momentary patch is about all the comfort I can give him, but maybe for now, it's enough. For both of us.

“I know. I'm scared.” I take Landry's face between my hands, holding tight when he tries to pull away. “Stop. Listen. Why do I have to keep dealing with the craziness of my life alone? I'm so tired…Why is it wrong to want to escape?”

My trembling fingers lightly trace the curve of his jaw. I never in a million years thought I could be so bold. I've always protected my heart because I feared it would get squished. Being afraid hasn't gotten me anywhere but alone. “I
like
you, Landry. And…and I think you like me. At least a little bit, right? You make me feel safe…alive. Maybe…maybe I can make you feel the same way.”

His eyes, thick black lashes outlining luminous silver, close as I trace my fingers across his eyelids. I press my lips to the angled plane of his cheekbone in a gentle kiss. His skin tastes salty from sweat and smells of grass. Rich and pungent. Intoxicating. His stomach muscles tighten against mine, but he doesn't move. I kiss the other cheek, then tilt his head toward mine and brush my lips across his, so lightly that it's more a mingling of breath.

My tongue caresses his lips. I taste him in small nibbles, and then, feeling bold, I pull his plump bottom lip between my teeth, gently teasing him until he finally responds.

Impatient, he threads his fingers into my hair so I can't pull away. His tongue flicks against mine as I open my mouth to his, deepening the connection between us. I've heard about French kisses—in high school, the girls giggled about them and rated the boys according to skill—but until now, I've never liked a guy enough to want his tongue in my mouth. Landry rated pretty high on the Awesome Kisser scale. Now I understand why.

The rush of excitement chases away any lingering fear. At some point, he stretches out on the ground, and I lay on top of him. My hands caress his wide shoulders and rise to tangle in his silky hair. I rub against his chest, wishing our clothing didn't separate us. I want to feel the softness of his skin against mine. I want to trace the tempting dimple in the small of his back and lick the faded scar to the left of his belly button.

Yeah, I totally peeked when he did his striptease in the boat. I may be the queen of denial, but I couldn't deny myself the sculpted beauty of Landry Prince in all his glory. I pull my mouth free of his lips and slide down the hard length of his body. He sucks in a breath, stomach tightening when I run trembling hands up his chest, lifting his T-shirt to give me access to that scar. I trace my tongue around it in a swirl of motion, like licking an ice cream cone. He tastes ten times better than chocolate—maybe like chocolate and caramel with marshmallow chunks—all gooey and melty in my mouth. So tasty that I want to lap him up. But I bite him instead.

Satisfaction throbs at his growl. The soft bit of flesh between my teeth almost sends me over the edge. I'm so hot…burning up inside.

I release him, licking the soft indentations in his skin.

“Mala,” he moans, quivering when I pin his reaching hands to the ground. I give him a wicked grin, then lower my head. I steadily work my way up his chest, biting and licking until I reach his pecs. I run my tongue around his left nipple, then blow across the hard nub. His hips shift, a slight jerk upward. His erection presses against the fabric of his jeans. Is it uncomfortable?

I bite my lip, scared at the bold nature of my thoughts. It's like years of repressed sexuality screams to be set free. Too many romance novels have given me a working knowledge of what goes on. I can fake it until I make it, but I've got to decide right now how far I want to go. Soon I'll be too far gone. My body decides for me.

My hand slides between our chests and slips between the waistband of his jeans. Landry grabs my hand, breathing hard. I try to tug it free. I want to feel him. Is it soft or hard? Why is he stopping? He wanted me in the boat. Now I'm ready to take the next step. Lainey's trying her best to kill me, and I don't want to die a virgin. How sadly pathetic would that be?

Landry stares into my face, questioning. My pulse beats frantically. I lick my lips, not tearing my gaze from his, meeting it boldly. “What?”

His eyes squeeze shut, and he trembles. It's like he's fighting a battle for control, which totally sucks. He inhales, then lets the air trickle over his lips. His tense muscles relax. The enticing bulge in his pants shrinks. My self-control returns with his. I scowl, refusing to feel shame or regret. Confusion, though. My mind's cluttered with it. I never wanted to be labeled or judged. Mama, the woman everyone whispered about and ridiculed, left a stain on my soul. I've done my best through the years to prove I was not my mother—the whore. Yet here I am acting like a hoochie mama by trying to seduce Landry, and I can't seem to care.

“I'm sorry,” Landry says, rolling me off of him.

Why the hell is he apologizing? I started this.
I stare up at him, framed against the backdrop of leaves and sky. Emotions flit across his face: regret, shame…longing, all the feelings I refuse to acknowledge, hidden quickly behind a bland facade.
Well, now I feel like shit.
I sit up to rest on bent elbows.

He stretches out a hand, beckoning. “I'll walk you home.”

I remain silent, staring at his hand while biting my quivering lip, trying not to cry. He wouldn't have seen anyway because he refuses to look at me. I sit all the way up and tuck my shirt into the overalls, buckling the straps with angry movements. Humiliation churns beneath the surface, building into a sticky web inside me as I consider my circumstances: I'm being rejected. Landry freaking Prince who slept with half the bobble-head girls in town, including that bitch Clarice, doesn't want me.

Ooh, I'm so pissed.
I want to knock some sense into his fat head with a rock. Too bad the closest one is on the damn beach. I ignore his hand and rise on my own, not wanting anything more from Landry. Not help. Not condemnation or pity. I'm sick of his games. Sick of him!

“Mala, don't be like this.”

Silently, I pick leaves from my braids and brush off my clothes.

“I'm sorry if I've hurt—”

Liar!
“Could you get the fishing rods from the boat?”

“When I get back, will you let me explain?”

I can't meet his eyes. All I want is to escape. I wait until he's gathering our supplies, then break into a shambling run toward the tree line. A quick glance over my shoulder shows Landry's still facing in the opposite direction. If he doesn't notice me enter the woods, he won't be able to follow.

“Mala, stop!”

Panic spurts, and I put out a burst of speed fueled by adrenaline. Branches smack my face and scratch my arms as I shove deeper into the shady depths of the woods. I stumble over a rock and drop to my knees, sucking in great gasps of air. My head pounds so hard that my teeth ache.
What the hell am I doing?
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I'm so stupid.
I didn't do anything wrong—other than humiliate myself on an epic level. My aborted attempt at seduction and Landry's rejection isn't worth charging about like a rampaging bull. Why can't I think before I act?

A branch cracks to my left. The thundering roar of a gunshot drops me flat on my stomach. I wrap my hands above my head, cowering in the dirt, about as low as I can get without burying myself in a hole. A peek between my arms shows a shadow moving from behind a small elm tree, and booted feet plant themselves in front of my face. My focus rises to the barrel of the rifle pointed at the center of my forehead. It looms, shiny and big enough to blow a hole the size of Texas through my head.

I throw my hands back over my face with a piercing shriek.

“Mala?” the shout echoes from behind, but I'm afraid to answer Landry. I don't want him in the middle. This is between me and my surly neighbor, doing what he always does when we meet—trying to intimidate me. Dena inherited her dad's unruly red hair, and the twins got his awful disposition. Looking into his eyes is like staring into a dirty toilet. He doesn't even try to hide the hatefulness deep inside him.

Mr. Acker lowers the rifle and steps back. “Why you trespassing on my property?”

I push to my feet, glancing around me. I had stumbled into the old Savoie plantation graveyard—the section where they buried the slaves, not the family. That's up the hill closer to the main house. Still, it's Acker's land, private.

“Shit, you scared me half to death.”

“Almost shot you. Pulled the barrel once I figured out you too stringy for a deer. Ain't enough meat on you to feed my kids.” He leans his rifle against his shoulder. “It's dangerous for a girl like you to be roaming about in the woods alone. 'Specially after the rev's daughter got kilt. Know anything about that?”

A chill races across my skin. “Yes.”

He squints at me and hawks a wad of tobacco in my direction. “Thought so.”

“Didn't Dena tell you? I found Lainey's body.”

“Said something about it.” His head tilts as he studies me. “Also heard Lainey came to your mama for some kind of hoodoo shit. That true too?”

The spit dries in my mouth. How did Acker hear about Lainey coming to Mama? The only people who knew were me and…fucking Landry and his big mouth. He might as well kill me himself if he's going to go around spreading rumors. Doesn't he know how people round these parts feel? The old-timers still believe in hoodoo.

Mr. Acker's eyes narrow, and his fingers trace across the rifle. I work my throat trying to get out the words, but nothing comes. It's too late anyway. I've taken too long to deny it. He's considering whether to kill me. I'm so screwed. Even if I run a zigzag pattern like I'm trying to outrun a gator, I'm not faster than a bullet. My shoulder blades tingle, and I hunch my shoulders.

A crash of breaking branches comes from the side, and Landry bursts out of the brush. My legs wobble, and I stumble against the tree in relief. He freezes when he sees me, then his gaze moves to Mr. Acker. “Mala, you okay?” he asks, not looking away from the older man.

“I'm fine.”
Now.
Acker would be crazy to try anything with a witness around. I hope.

I take the hand Landry holds out to me. With a quick tug, he pulls me toward him while simultaneously stepping forward to block my body from Acker's line of sight.

“Mr. Acker,” Landry says with a nod.

“Landry, does the rev know you're associating with this girl?”

“Who I spend time with is nobody's business but my own,” Landry says in a tone so chilly that I shiver.

Mr. Acker's gaze hardens, and he spits. Tobacco lands an inch from Landry's boot. “Best get this girl home before she gets hurt.” He turns and walks off. I keep my eyes on him until he's no longer visible. Afraid he might return.