Page 63 of Star-Crossed
Cy shot his sister a pissy look, but rolled up his sleeves, eager for the distraction.
Only, his mind didn’t want to cooperate.
As he lifted the heavy stones and felt the rough texture against his palms, he couldn’t help but recall the contrast of Lyra’s silky hair slipping through his fingers. The scent of sun-warmed soil only brought back the way she’d tasted when he pushed her damp panties to the side when he finally got her to his bed.
He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they persisted, each sensual recollection intensifying the ache in his chest.
“Careful there, buddy,” his father warned, mistaking the source of the tremor in Cy’s hands as he placed a stone on the slowly rising wall. “You don’t want to drop any of these.”
“I know,” Cy grumbled, gripping the next rock more firmly. He refocused on the task at hand, feeling the strain in his muscles as he worked, relishing a tangible pain he could understand and control, unlike the emotional turmoil roiling within him.
“Wow. She’s really got you fucked up, huh?” Kiki teased, nudging him with her elbow as they worked side by side. “You’ve been working like a man possessed all morning.”
“Nope,” Cy grunted, his focus on maneuvering a particularly stubborn stone into place. The effort was beginning to take its toll. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He stopped to mop it before the drops could sting his eyes with salt. “Just trying to get this over and done with.”
They worked in silence for another several minutes.
“So, how are things going with the business?” she asked, leaning against a large boulder.
“Busy,” Cy replied.
“Any interesting jobs lately?”
“Not really,” he answered, carefully keeping all thoughts of the work he had left to do for the tree at Star-Crossed as far away from his conscious mind as possible.
“Uh-oh.” Kiki smirked. “Here comes Dad with refreshments.”
Cy’s back barked at him as he stood. Sure enough, their father was approaching with a tray clutched in his hands, a broad grin on his face. The precariously balanced pitcher of lemonade sloshed as several small bodies zoomed around his legs.
“Okay, you guys,” Kiki said, corralling the young charges toward the yard. “Go destroy things in that general direction.”
“Thought you two could use a break,” their father said, setting the tray down on the wobbly picnic table Cy had also been meaning to fix. “Oh shoot. I forgot the salmon spread in the fridge. Would you mind grabbing it for me?” he asked Kiki.
She caught Cy’s eye over their father’s shoulder. They both knew it was a tactical maneuver, but what the topic of discussion would be, Cy could only guess.
“Sure thing.”
Traitor,Cy mouthed.
Taking a deep breath, he poured himself a glass of what he knew would be too-tart lemonade and steeled himself for the inevitable opener.
“So, uh, I heard you had a run-in with Darrell last night,” his father began casually, though there was an edge to his voice that betrayed his true intentions.
Translation:Myrtle called at the ass-crack of dawn to crow about you and Lyra showing up at their property.
“Yep.” Cy’s salivary glands contracted painfully on an acidic swallow.
“Awful nice of Lyra to help you wrangle that bastard back home.”
Translation:No way am I letting this go.
“Sure was.”
“Yep.” His father took a long swallow from his own glass. “That Lyra sure has been helpful lately. First the greenhouse, now this.”
Cy exhaled maybe the longest breath of his entire life.
“Dad, I’m only going to say this once. You don’t need to worry about me and Lyra McKendrick.”
