The Dare Affair: Summer In Savannah Anth. (Dynasties: The Danforths Book 6.5

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “Where’s the light?” She searched the wall and found the switch, flipping it on. The room was cramped, stocked with items much too mundane to notice. “Does the door lock?”

  “Not from the inside. We could get caught in here.”

  “That’s part of the fun.” She studied the tight quarters. “But maybe we should block the door. Just in case.”

  “This’ll work.” He moved a pallet of paper products, securing the entrance.

  She glanced around for a chair and came up with a sealed box and a stack of clean white towels.

  “Is that for you or me?” he asked.

  “Me.” Behaving like the lady she was trained to be, she covered the box with a towel and sat on the edge of it. “You’re going to stand in front of me.”

  He stepped forward. “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “What do you think?” Her face was nearly level with his fly.

  Recognition dawned in his eyes, and he rubbed his thumb over her mouth, tracing the shape of her lips. “Naughty girl.”

  She unzipped his trousers, pushing them down, finding him aroused already. “Naughty boy.”

  His stomach muscles jumped, and she teased him with her tongue. By the time she took him into her mouth, he was playing with her hair, toying with the braid, loosening it.

  Katrina took him deeper, and he watched her, lifting her chin, looking into her eyes.

  “This isn’t fair,” he said.

  She stopped, came up for air, smiled. “Why? Because you can’t do anything to me?” She pulled his trousers down a little farther. “Poor baby.” Lowering her head, she showed him how good she could make him feel.

  He groaned, and she sensed he was close. She could almost taste his orgasm, taste the saltiness spilling into her throat.

  But instead of losing control, he pulled back and dragged her to her feet, attacking her zipper, peeling off her jumpsuit.

  Suddenly everything changed. He had his hands all over her, his fingers pressed between her legs.

  He grabbed her, kissed her, made her head spin. They bumped into the pallet against the door, stumbling over supplies.

  She moaned, and he tore apart his wallet, searching for a condom. He was taking her game and using it against her, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t think beyond the urgency, between the desperation of wanting him the way he wanted her.

  He secured the protection, spilling credit cards in his wake, scattering them onto the floor.

  Finally he dropped onto the box and made her straddle him. Naked, she rode him, her head tipped back, her body arched.

  Sensation slid over sensation, warm and wet and filled with friction. She dug her nails into his shirt, then ripped the front of it open, baring his chest. He leaned forward and sucked on her neck.

  They were going mad, she thought, damning the consequences.

  “Kiss me,” he growled. “I want you to kiss me when it happens.”

  She covered his mouth with hers and their tongues clashed, warring like enemies, like lovers who longed to tear each other apart.

  His release was swift, deep and aggressive. She felt him shudder, knowing he’d spilled his seed. Katrina climaxed, too. As warm as a waterfall, as powerful as rain, as potent as the kiss still thundering between them.

  Chapter 6

  Katrina sat beside Clay in his Porsche, a make and model that fit his sporty lifestyle.

  They were on their way to his mother’s house, and she was nervous about seeing his family, about the emotions this visit would probably stir.

  “You look nice,” Clay said.

  “Thank you.” She smiled, realizing how often he complimented her. She wore a summer dress and sandals, hoping to appear unpretentious.

  He reached over and moved her hair away from her neck. “I wonder if my mom will notice the hickies.”

  “That’s not funny.” She slapped his hand away, wishing he would quit teasing her about what they’d done last night. Sneaking out of the supply room had been a feat in itself, considering her tousled hair and his torn shirt. And, of course, there were the marks on her skin, the telltale signs of lovemaking she was determined to hide.

  “This is it.” Ten minutes later, Clay parked in front of a modern condominium complex, trimmed in red brick and indigenous foliage.

  They took the sunny path to his mother’s unit, but Clay didn’t knock. He opened the door and escorted Katrina inside, calling out to his family.

  “Oh, my.” Marie Crawford, his fifty-two-year-old mother, rushed to greet them. “Look at you.” She took Katrina’s hand. “As beautiful as ever. I was so excited when Clay told me he was bringing you to dinner.”

  “Thank you. It’s good to be here.” She smiled at the other woman, memories floating to the surface. She’d met Clay’s mother when Marie had worked out of her home, struggling to sell her dresses to upscale boutiques.

  Marie finally turned to her son, embracing him. “My handsome boy.”

  “My gorgeous mama.” He gave her a loud, smacking kiss, and Katrina admired their easy manner.

  The rest of the family gathered around. She knew Clay had considered himself the man of the house, protecting his sisters and helping Marie with financial duties. In some ways, he’d thrived on being the only male, and in other ways he’d struggled with the overwhelming pressure that came with having two younger sisters and a widowed parent.

  These days his sisters had charming husbands and sweet-faced babies, toddlers stumbling along with well-loved grins.

  The Crawford brood headed to the kitchen, where a home-cooked meal sent cozy scents into the air. The condominium Clay had bought for Marie provided luxuries missing from his youth. He and his sisters had grown up in a cluttered apartment, with Clay sleeping on a foam futon in his mother’s sewing room.

  “I made sweet bread,” Marie said to Katrina. “I remember how much you liked it.”

  “Thank you. Everything smells so good.” She glanced at Clay and saw that he’d scooped up one of the toddlers, bouncing the boy on his hip.

  Katrina’s family never ate in the kitchen, nor did they hang around while meals were being prepared, poking their noses into pots and pans. Her mother approved the menu, but that was where the culinary intervention ended. Here everyone pitched in, including the husbands in attendance.

  When someone suggested Clay set the table, he handed the toddler to Katrina. Jenna, the mother of the child, merely smiled and went about her duty: sprinkling feta cheese over a Greek-style salad.

  Katrina took the youngster and nuzzled his hair. He shook the toy clutched in his stubby hand, then offered it to her.

  “Why, thank you,” she said, studying the plastic boat.

  In turn, he grinned and bumped against her breast. His name was Danny, and he appeared to be as flirtatious as his sexy uncle.

  While Clay set the table, he winked at Katrina and snatched an olive from the salad, receiving a playful slap from Jenna. Clay’s other sister, a curvaceous brunette named Tiana, rolled her eyes.

  By the time the meal was served, Tiana’s daughter, a two-year-old with chubby cheeks and pink overalls, sat on Clay’s lap, eating diced fruit from his plate.

  “So what do you think?” he asked Katrina.

  She knew he meant the food, the pork tenderloin, clam stew and cilantro-seasoned rice. “It’s wonderful.”

  “Did you know Mama works at a bridal shop now?” Jenna asked.

  “No, I didn’t.” Katrina glanced at Marie, who looked up and smiled.

  “I made both of my daughters’ wedding dresses.” She turned to Clay. “And someday I’m going to get that son of mine down the aisle.”

  “Who? Me?” He shot a good-natured grin to his brothers-in-law. “No way. I’m not like these guys.”

  Marie snorted at that, convinced, it appeared, that her club-owner son would make a fine husband and father.

  When Katrina’s chest constricted, she spoke to Marie, admitting her own failure. “I was engaged. B
ut it didn’t work out.”

  “And now you’re seeing my boy.” The older woman’s voice softened. “Maybe you can tame him. A proper girl like you.”

  Tame him? She lifted her water, took a time-stalling sip. Apparently Clay’s family hadn’t heard the rumors. They didn’t know that he’d corrupted her.

  The conversation shifted to another topic, and after dinner they drank decaffeinated coffee and ate dessert in the living room. Clay and Katrina didn’t touch, no loverlike pats, no hand holding. But that didn’t stop Marie from treating them like a couple, from matchmaking in her own motherly way.

  When the evening ended, everyone hugged Katrina, treating her like one of the family. Marie gave her an extralong embrace and a loaf of Portuguese sweet bread to take home.

  Suddenly Katrina wanted to cry.

  Clay drove her to the Beaumont guest house, and she invited him inside, wishing her emotions would settle.

  She put the care package in the bread box and leaned against the counter. French doors led to an informal garden, flourishing with summer blooms. But as beautiful as the setting was, the stillness made her lonely. She missed the camaraderie in Marie’s condo.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She gave him an unconvincing nod. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t seem fine.” He came toward her. “Are you still hurting over Andrew? Is that what this is all about?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She glanced at the garden. “I guess I want what your sisters have. I think I’ve always wanted that.”

  Clay turned silent, slipping his hands in his pockets. His hair fell softly across his forehead, gentling his features. Katrina wanted to put her head on his shoulder, but she couldn’t summon the courage to touch him. Not now. Not like this.

  He finally spoke. “Do you want to do something with me tomorrow?”

  Her heart made a girlish leap. “Do something?”

  “Go to the park. Feed the birds. Just spend a lazy day together.”

  She couldn’t recall ever doing something so simple with Andrew. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “Then meet me at the big park around eleven. Near the fountain.” He removed his hands from his pockets. “It was my favorite place to go when I was a kid.”

  “When we were teenagers?”

  “Yes.” He brushed her cheek with a fleeting kiss, then stepped back, putting distance between them. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there.” She walked him to the door, stood on the porch and watched him go, already anxious to see him again.

  Clay arrived at Forsyth Park, sat on a vacant bench and waited for Kat. He checked his watch and realized he was early. Too damn eager to see her, he thought. Too damn attached to a woman whose heart belonged to another man.

  He glanced at the famous fountain with its robed female figure, water-spouting mermen and majestic swans. And when he turned back, he saw Kat. She was early, too.

  She came toward him, the sun glinting off her hair. Their eyes met from across the walkway. Most of the benches near the fountain were occupied, but she’d spotted him right away.

  He liked the way she moved, the way she carried herself. Her strides were long and graceful, her clothes swaying softly with each step. Jeans and a T-shirt had never looked so good.

  She sat next to him, and he had the notion to grab her, hold her, to never let go. But he gave her a lazy smile instead.

  “Kat.”

  She crossed her legs, returned his smile. “Clay.”

  He lifted the bagged bread he’d brought and handed her some. For a while they remained silent, tossing tiny pieces on the ground, watching the birds eat.

  “So you used to come here when we were young,” she said, starting a conversation.

  “Because of the fountain,” he admitted. “I like the way it makes me feel.”

  “And how is that?” she asked.

  “Sort of mythical, I guess.” He looked at the statues. “Maybe it’s the mermen.”

  “My daddy calls them tritons.” She shifted to observe the fountain. “In Greek mythology, Triton was Poseidon’s son. Triton was half man and half fish. Or half dolphin. I’m not quite sure which.”

  Clay hadn’t studied Greek mythology, but he’d heard of the well-known gods. “Poseidon was lord of the sea, right?”

  She nodded. “He rides along the surface of the sea in a golden chariot pulled by dolphins.”

  He thought about the dolphin paperweight on his desk. “Where does Poseidon live?”

  “In a golden-domed palace near Atlantis.”

  “Lucky him.” Clay had always been at home in water. Swimming in the ocean made him feel strong and free, mythical, like the mermen. “I guess going to that charity gala with you won’t be so bad. I don’t mind donating money for an aquatic museum.”

  She tossed another handful of bread crumbs to the birds. “I’m looking forward to it. My mother already bought me a dress. It’s—” She paused, laughed a little. “I doubt you want to hear about my dress.”

  “Why not?” He laughed, too. “I grew up around that kind of stuff. I’m used to it.”

  She smoothed her hair away from her eyes. She wore it loose today, still covering the marks on her neck, he suspected. The places where he’d sucked on her skin.

  “I’ll surprise you,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “With my dress.”

  Suddenly the aquatic gala seemed like a prom date. “At least tell me what color it is.” So he would know what type of corsage to bring her, he thought.

  “White.”

  He tilted his head. “My mom made you a white dress for the Christmas Cotillion.” The debutante ball hosted by Savannah’s finest, an elegant event Clay could never have attended.

  “All the debs wore white. This dress isn’t like that. It isn’t quite so…virginal.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Good thing.”

  She smacked his shoulder, scattering bread crumbs onto his shirt. He dusted himself off, cupped her face and kissed her. In front of the fountain, he thought. In front of the merman protecting the water.

  When she made a sweet sound, he deepened the kiss, tasting the breath mint still melting in her mouth. Then he scooped the mint onto his tongue, stealing it from her.

  She gasped, but he didn’t let her go. He liked shocking her, teasing her, doing things she didn’t expect.

  Finally they separated. “We shouldn’t behave like this,” she said. “Not in broad daylight.”

  He shrugged, even if his heart was pounding. “It was just a kiss.”

  “It made me dizzy.” Her lashes fluttered. “You make me dizzy.”

  “Too dizzy to have lunch with me? I’m about ready for a burger.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  “Good.” He took her arm, and they walked along a tree-shaded path, content to be in each other’s company, to be friends as well as lovers.

  They dined at a nearby café, and Clay realized he’d been watching Kat eat. Everything about her fascinated him: the way she sipped her cherry cola; the way she made eating a char-grilled burger look graceful. His plate oozed with condiments that had fallen from his bun, but those messy globs didn’t happen to her.

  “You haven’t tamed me yet,” he said.

  She glanced up, and he knew he’d thrown her for a loop. Apparently she hadn’t expected him to bring up his mother’s deep-seated wish.

  “Do you want me to?” she asked.

  Yes, he thought. “No,” he said. “There isn’t a man alive who wants to be tamed. Chained to the bed maybe.”

  She blotted her mouth, leaving a lipstick mark on her napkin, a paper kiss, coral-pink and pretty. “You have a one-track mind, Clayton.”

  “And you’re still my fantasy.”

  Her cheeks flushed. She took a drink to cool herself off. He recognized the signs. The lady had a libido.

  She glanced at their waitress, who darted past to se
rve a nearby table. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

  “Just like we shouldn’t have kissed at the park?” He shrugged, smiled. “Invite me to go home with you.” He wanted to make love with her in her bed, in the Beaumont guest house, with sunlight spilling over her skin.

  She didn’t respond, not right away. So Clay waited, anxious to hear her voice. He couldn’t shake her from his blood. He couldn’t end the day without putting his hands all over her.

  “Come home with me,” she finally said, her cheeks still flushed.

  They took separate cars. Clay stopped by a pharmacy to pick up some condoms, replenishing his supply and giving Kat a head start.

  A short while later he traveled down the avenue that led to her parents’ estate. Shadows dappled the road, sunlight zigzagging through live-oak patterns.

  He turned into the driveway, passing the mansion and taking the foliage-lined route to the guest house. And then he saw a midnight-blue Mercedes parked next to Kat’s luxury sedan.

  When the trellised porch came into view, his heart nearly stopped. Kat stood beside a tall, well-groomed man.

  Andrew Winston. Her former fiancé. Clay recognized him from pictures he’d seen in the society pages.

  Time to face the music, he thought. Or kick the other man’s butt if it came down to an ungentlemanly brawl. He squared his shoulders and closed his car door loudly enough for Kat and Andrew to hear. They both turned, and his breath clogged his throat.

  Kat looked vulnerable, lost in a way that made him ache. Andrew’s aristocratic features remained stoic, aside from a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  Clay moved forward, and Kat fussed with her hair. Was she trying to keep the marks on her neck hidden? Hoping her old lover didn’t notice them?

  “Andrew stopped by,” she said.

  “So I see.” Clay met the other man’s gaze, and they stared each other down. He wanted to grab Mr. Society Pages by his high-and-mighty lapels and shove him down the porch steps, but he wasn’t about to let his working-class roots show. Not unless Andrew threw the first punch.

  “What are you doing here?” Clay finally asked.

  “I’d like to speak to Katrina.”