Cadence Untouched: A Dahlia Project Novel Read online

  “Because this place is part band camp. I want to see if music chicks are really like they are in that movie we saw last year. You know the line. That one time, at band camp...”

  I snorted a laugh at his reference to American Pie although I highly doubted any girl here would be like the one from the movie. Even from my position on the bus, the girls who looked to be our age seemed a little too uptight with their high-end clothing and regal stances. Still, I returned his smile and thought about the possibilities as my gaze continued to scan the crowd of females. Most of them were decent looking, some prettier than others. We’d have to be careful. Separating the instructors from the students might be tricky until we got a better feel for the place. The last thing Devon and I needed was to get in trouble for shagging a minor on accident. We already had enough heat on us.

  “Look, man. Whatever you do, just make sure she’s legal,” I told Devon.

  “Yeah, no joke. I won’t mess around with that shit.”

  My attention landed on one girl in particular in the crowd. She didn’t appear to be a new arrival. She stood with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other, pointing in various directions in an attempt to organize the mass of giggling teenage girls.

  She was pretty. Very pretty, but not in a made-up way like I was used to seeing. This girl seemed natural. Real.

  My eyes traveled up the length of her petite body. She wasn’t tall, appearing to be just a few inches over five feet. Normally, I liked the tall and leggy type, but there was something about the way her shapely legs disappeared under the cut-off jean shorts. Her white t-shirt was fitted, accentuating small, perky breasts, and knotted at the waist to reveal the smallest area of skin just below her navel. Her blond hair, the reason she caught my attention in the first place, fell in soft waves over her shoulders. The color could only be described as golden–as if her natural color was a light brown that had turned to spun gold by the kiss of sunlight.

  “That one,” I said to Devon and pointed.

  “Which one?”

  “The blond with the clipboard. I call dibs.”

  Devon looked to where I was pointing. He gave a slow nod in appreciation.

  “Nice find! I’d say it’s time we get off this stinking cheese, Fitz. The ladies are waiting.”

  “Yep, they sure are,” I chuckled and grabbed my navy duffel bag. Slinging the strap over my shoulder, I headed toward the front of the bus.

  “Enjoy your stay at Camp Riley,” the bus driver said cheerfully.

  Yeah, right.

  The driver obviously thought I was here by choice. I mumbled some sort of half-hearted thanks and climbed down the steps. As soon as my feet hit the gravel driveway, heat and humidity slammed into me. There was a subtle breeze in the air, but even that was hot. If I thought it was scorching on the bus, I was sadly mistaken. The summer air in the remote countryside of Abingdon, Virginia was suffocating.

  I blinked from the sudden wash of sunlight and pulled the sunglasses off the top of my head to shield my eyes. I turned around to wait for Devon, but he was already off chatting it up with one of the girls who we had assumed to be among the instructors. I smirked when I saw she was holding what could only be described as a flute case.

  Leaving him to it, I turned and began navigating through the sea of people waiting for instruction. My sight was set on my blond with the clipboard. Well, technically she wasn’t mine– yet–but she would be. She just didn’t know it.

  As I approached, I realized that she was shouting out names in a rollcall fashion, checking off those who answered, directing them to different areas of the camp. Her voice was sweet, yet still held an air of command. She didn’t seem to notice me when I walked up to her. She was too engrossed in her list.

  My original estimation of her height was accurate. Now that I was standing directly in front of her, I guessed her to be no more than five feet two inches tall–tiny, petite, and perfect. I took a step closer and peered down at her clipboard. As I leaned in, her scent wafted toward me. She smelled like sweet vanilla, and I nearly groaned.

  Hell, yeah.

  Before the week was over, this girl would definitely be all mine.

  “What about me? You haven’t called my name yet,” I drawled out, sounding just as cocksure as I felt.

  She glanced up at the sound of my voice, quirking one of her eyebrows up in surprise. Bright green eyes met mine, and I sucked in a sharp breath. They were shaped like almonds–exotic, vibrant, and unexpectedly disarming. Her lips pursed into what could only be described as a perfect heart. They were lush and full, with a thin coat of gloss giving them a subtle sheen.

  God help me, I didn’t even know this girl’s name, but I wanted nothing more than to lean down and bite that pouty lower lip.

  Her eyes were concentrated as she stared back at me, and an unfamiliar sort of energy passed between us. Something flashed in those deep pools of green, but I wasn’t given a chance to figure out what it was. Much to my disappointment, she looked away too quickly and glanced behind me.

  “Damn it. That bus wasn’t supposed to show up for another twenty minutes,” she said irritably and shook her head. Not skipping a beat, she flipped a page on her clipboard. “Name please.”

  Devon came up beside me, and I glanced his way. He was grinning ear to ear. My guess was he already scored plans with the flute player. I shifted my bag to my other shoulder and rocked back on my heels.

  “Fitzgerald Quinn,” I told the pretty blond. “But you, sweetheart, can call me Fitz.”

  “Everyone calls you Fitz,” Devon said in a snarky tone. I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow.

  She ignored us and ran her pencil down the length of the list. Coming to a stop near the bottom, she glanced up in surprise. Her eyes darted back and forth between me and Devon.

  “Fitzgerald Quinn. And you must be Devon Wilkshire,” she said with a frown.

  “The one and only,” he replied, then bent at the waist in an exaggerated bow. When he returned to a standing position, his mouth tilted up into a crooked smile and he tossed her a wink.

  Asshole.

  He was flirting, and it was pissing me off. I’d already staked my claim on this girl.

  “Yeah, I know who you two are. Both of you can have a seat over there,” she said and pointed to a wooden bench that sat between two large oak trees.

  “Why don’t you let me stay here and help you? The sooner we get these kids organized, the sooner you can give me a private tour of this place,” I offered, winking suggestively. I tried to sound self-assured, but surprisingly, my words actually came out shaky. Lame. Nervous almost.

  What the hell?

  At twenty-two years old, it wasn’t like this was my first attempt with a pick-up line. Piling on the charm always came naturally. Yet this girl made me feel like I was back in junior high school. Trying to shake off my nerves, I placed a hand on her forearm, just below her elbow, and allowed my fingers to dance lightly over her smooth skin.

  She glanced down at my hand, her beautiful face pinching into a grimace. She looked downright irritated. A slight breeze came up to ruffle her hair, causing it to wisp across her face and cover her eyes. I didn’t like the obstruction. I wanted to stare into those bright eyes, get lost in the sea of green that matched the forest behind her. It took all my restraint to keep myself from reaching up to brush away the strands of hair.

  What has gotten into me?

  I snapped out of whatever reverie I was having when she tugged her arm free with obvious disdain. She shook her head, then placed her pencil between her teeth. Bending slightly at the waist, she lowered her clipboard to secure it between her knees. Reaching into her back pocket, she produced a rubber band and pulled her hair into a messy bun of sorts on top of her head.

  And damn. That simple act just may have been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

  After she seemed satisfied her hair was secure, she took hold of the clipboard and pencil once more, her eyes narrowing at me.
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br />   “I’ve got this. I don’t need your help, but I do have a lot of work to do,” she told me, her voice dripping with contempt. “I’ll get to you later after I sort out the rest. Guys from USC get special instructions.”

  USC?

  It took me a second or two to figure out what she meant.

  “University of Southern California? We’re not from Calif–” I began in confusion, but she cut me off.

  “I know where you’re from. For right now, you need to have patience. Take a seat. Both of you,” she ordered sternly, her eyes shifting between Devon and me.

  I was taken aback.

  Who did this girl think she was? And why did she think Devon and I were from California?

  Sure, she knew my name. But it was obvious she didn’t know who I was. If she did, she wouldn’t be speaking to me in such a patronizing way. I was used to girls falling all over me. Devon said it had nothing to do with my good looks, but everything to do with my name and status. Whether he was right or not didn’t really matter. I’d never experienced discernable rejection such as this. Yet her snappy tone and take-charge attitude stirred something in me. I wanted her–like really wanted her–even though I should be annoyed with the way she brushed me off.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t catch your name,” I said, suddenly feeling an overwhelming obsession to get to know this girl.

  “That’s because I didn’t give it. And for the record, my name isn’t sweetheart,” she pointed out matter-of-factly.

  Her glare was icy. This girl was a spitfire for sure. I was kind of digging it too. Devon sniggered beside me, and I had to fight the urge to slam my elbow into his ribs again.

  “So, what is it then?” I asked impatiently.

  She angled her chin up and narrowed her eyes. She seemed to be contemplating her words before she finally spoke.

  “It’s Cadence. Cadence Riley.”

  I glanced up at the sign above her head.

  Camp fucking Riley.

  I closed my eyes as the realization of who she probably was dawned. She was obviously too young to be the owner of a camp that was established decades ago. More than likely, she was the owner’s daughter or granddaughter. I turned to look at Devon. His eyes were full of dread, an expression I was sure matched my own. Of all the girls here, I decided to set my sights on this one.

  So much for staying off the radar.

  2

  CADENCE

  The last of the new arrivals had finally dispersed, and the road was now free of buses and crowds of people. Each camp member had been given their housing assignments and was sent to unpack their belongings. Now, all that I had left to do was to give direction to the twenty housing leaders, all of who stood in front of me, staring expectantly.

  Wiping the slight sheen of sweat off my brow with the back of my hand, I took a minute to appreciate the view of the valley offered from the roadside. Abingdon was a truly beautiful place and it was full of some of my best childhood memories. The valley below was a vast stretch of green, flush with abundant pines and age-old trees. However, despite its beauty, it was too hot to stand in the blazing sun and give the leaders their instructions. I motioned for them to follow me instead.

  “As you know, you’ve all been chosen to be housing leaders to the students at Camp Riley,” I began. “I have instructions for you, but I think we could all use a break from this heat. Let’s head over to Creator Hall where it’s air-conditioned.”

  I turned toward the gravel pathway that led into the camp and started to walk. Once I hit the shaded canopy of the tall oaks and pine trees, the relief from the scorching sun was instant. It wasn’t unusual for Virginia to experience intense heat waves during the summer months, but ninety-four degrees was a bit extreme for mid-June.

  “Excuse me, but does that include us? I’m not sure if we were assigned to be housing leaders,” said a low voice off to the side.

  I slowly turned to my head to the left. Fitz, frat boy number one, was addressing me. Frat boy number two, Devon, just sat there with a stupid grin on his face. I shook my head, not knowing what to make of the pair. Fitz’s question was polite and well-spoken, and it was a fair one. There was no way for them to know what their job assignments would be because I hadn’t decided yet. My parents just told me to use them as needed.

  I looked back to Fitz and tried to be indifferent to the way the muscles in his shoulders bunched as he stood up from the bench where he had been seated. His t-shirt hugged him in a way that said there were hard, rippling muscles and taut skin beneath. I tried to disregard that chiseled jaw line–yes, freaking chiseled–like he was sculpted marble. His prominent cheekbones belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine.

  Nevertheless, my attempt at ignoring all six feet of that rugged gorgeousness was futile. For the second time since meeting Fitzgerald Quinn, butterflies danced in my stomach.

  The first arrival of those unwelcomed flutters came when he softly brushed his fingers over the skin of my forearm. His grin had been wide with an excess of both cuteness and suggestiveness. The combination caused a jolt of electricity to zap me, sparking what could only be described as fire all over my body. I had been terrified if he lowered his hand closer to my wrist, he’d be able to feel the rapid beat of my pulse.

  I didn’t know why he got to me so much. The feelings he sparked were unfamiliar and foreign. He was just another dumb boy after all. Okay… an extremely attractive dumb boy, but I found myself taking a page out of my mother’s acting playbook in order to hide my body’s reaction to him. It was better to keep all that bad boy charm far away from me.

  This was the first time my parents had put me in charge of Welcome Day at the camp, and I didn’t want to mess it up. When they told me there were going to be troublemakers headed my way, I did my research. Fitzgerald Quinn was the son of a successful and very rich politician. Devon Wilkshire was heir to a Fortune 500 company. From private grade schools to an Ivy League College, both were born with silver spoons in their mouths. It wasn’t unusual for the students and instructors at Camp Riley to come from money and prestige. Nevertheless, these two boys recently found themselves in trouble for something or other–I just wasn’t sure. I only knew I didn’t need that kind of distraction right now.

  Keeping that in mind, I decided on the perfect job for them. I would assign them to a place where they would seldom cross paths with me–but more importantly, to a place where I wouldn’t cross paths with Fitz.

  Ignoring the fact I could still feel the sizzle from where his hand had touched me, I adorned a poker face and answered his question.

  “You’re not housing leaders, but I do have assignments for you. After I give the leaders their instructions, I’ll give you yours.”

  I was sure neither one of these rich boys had ever waited for anything before in their lives. I figured it would be good for them to have to wait a bit longer. They needed to know who was in charge around here. Besides, if they learned their place early on, perhaps I could avoid any further touching from Fitz.

  I turned toward the ancient oaks that lined the long gravel drive. Their moss-covered limbs arched over us as we walked, giving shelter from the sweltering sun. We completed the short walk and entered Creator Hall. Approaching one of the long cafeteria tables, I rubbed the sweat from the nape of my neck. I breathed deep, taking a minute to appreciate the cool a/c. I knew I wouldn’t be in here for very long. Turning to face the individuals who would help inspire the creative young minds this summer, I motioned to the room around me.

  “Welcome to the twenty-fifth summer at Camp Riley. Some of you are returning instructors, some are new to the camp. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Cadence Riley. My parents are the founders of the camp.” I paused when I heard a snort. I looked at the back of the group. Fitz’s sidekick obviously thought something was funny. “Do you have a question, Mr. Wilkshire?”

  Devon actually had the decency to look embarrassed, before muttering something that sounded like,
“No, ma’am.”

  Turning my attention back to the rest of the group, I tried not to let my irritation show and continued on.

  “Creator Hall is central to all housing on the grounds. This area of the hall is the cafeteria where all meals are served to both students and staff. In the event someone needs medical attention, a small infirmary is also located in this building. The grounds are divided into four sections–Music, Visual Arts, Dance, and Theatre. Each section has five cottages that serve as the summer living quarters for our students. These cottages will have between eight and ten students. From sun up to lights out, they are your responsibility. You’ve each been assigned as leaders to a cottage that matches your area of expertise. As some of you may already know, Camp Riley used to be a small mining village but it was abandoned during The Great Depression. While the cottages have since been restored to include modern plumbing, there aren’t enough showers to go around. Instead, everyone will share a central bathhouse which is separated into male and female facilities.”

  A pretty girl with dark hair raised her hand to ask a question, and I nodded at her to go ahead.

  “I applied for both dance and performing arts. Do you know which housing section I was assigned to?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sophia Stanton.”

  I picked up my clipboard, riffled through the papers, and searched for her resume.

  “Sophia. You’re a drama major at Juilliard, have taught ballet at Steps on Broadway, and you’re looking to gain more experience with choreography. Is that correct?” When she nodded, I smiled brightly at her. “You have an impressive resume. You’ve been assigned to Demi-pointe, one of the dance cottages. Welcome aboard!”

  “Thank you!” she beamed.

  I went on to explain other buildings in the camp, such as The Flourish. It was the only store on the grounds where students could buy things like extra art supplies, replacement strings for instruments, or dance footwear. The store also sold essentials such as toiletries, water, and snacks. When I told the group stamps, envelopes, and postcards were also available for purchase to those who wanted to write home during the summer, I was interrupted.