Clayton (Bourbon & Blood Book 2)

by Seraphina Donavan

  I roll my eyes at him even as I hear the approaching sirens outside. “Don’t go fishing just yet.”

  The cops are coming in, the paramedics on their heels. I’m being bandaged up. Clayton’s being questioned. I’m being questioned. Samuel’s worthless carcass is loaded onto a gurney and wheeled away to the waiting ambulance.

  Oh, the gossips of Fontaine or going to love this. I sense a vacation coming on. We can leave town and let them get all the talk out of their system before we come back. Except we’re broke, I remind myself. Or, rather, we’re the Darcy definition of broke, which is probably very different from mine. My childhood consisted of eating old peanut butter off the spoon because we were too poor to buy bread. There are definitely degrees of poor, and we’re nowhere near the real shit.

  “You’re going to have to run that by me again, ma’am.”

  I meet the sheriff’s dubious gaze. “He came here to kill me. But he didn’t want to kill me until Clayton was here to witness it. He also planned to murder Clayton and his attorney and make the whole thing look like a murder-murder-suicide… because he’s a nutball. I can’t tell you why he’s a nutball, sheriff. That’s beyond my scope of practice as a stay at home mother!”

  The sheriff sighs, as if he’s the one having a shit day. “You said he drugged you with horse tranquilizers?”

  He sounds like maybe he thinks that’s a good idea. “Yes. He said he stole them from Emmitt Hayes. He ran over a dog and dumped it at Emmitt’s to create a distraction and then stole some kind of sedative gas.”

  “Sick bastard.”

  “Really? The dog is what gets you? Not the fact that he was going to leave my child an orphan?”

  The sheriff’s face flushes and he looks uncomfortable for a minute. “I think we’ve got enough, but if we have more questions, we’ll be in touch.”

  I realize that rolling my eyes at local law enforcement is probably not helpful, but sometimes you just have to go with it. “Oh, I never doubted it.”

  The paramedics informed me earlier that I’d need stitches, which means a trip to the ER. I’m not crazy about it. As the house empties, leaving just Clayton and me standing in the shambles of it, I can actually take in the destruction of it all.

  “I think I used every wedding gift we ever received as ammunition against your father,” I say.

  He smiles. “Isn’t that the first time we’ve used most of them at all?”

  I look at the broken glass everywhere. “And clearly the last.”

  “Let’s go,” he says. “I need to get you to the ER. And me too. I got stabbed in the shoulder apparently. Somehow, I missed that.”

  “Tends to happen when you go all ‘Hulk smash’ on someone.”

  He laughs and it’s such a sweet sound after the craziness of the last few hours. “You’re one to talk… You singlehandedly destroyed this kitchen and kicked Samuel’s ass, not to mention giving him a nice little stab wound. According to the paramedics, if you'd been half an inch to the right, he'd be a dead man. You are officially a badass.”

  “Only a little badass,” I protest. I got in a few good licks, but I know that if Clayton hadn’t shown up when he did, the outcome would have been very different. Samuel was surprised by the fact that I fought back. If I hadn’t caught him off guard—well, I’m not going to think about that. I’m going to go get stitches in my arm and if we make it out of the ER before midnight, I’m going to Bennett’s, I’m picking up my baby girl, and I’m going to try to put this insanity behind us.

  Looking around the kitchen, I shake my head. “I can’t bring Emma Grace home to this mess.”

  “It’s taken care of,” he says. “I called Evelyn. She’s coming over to sweep up the mess. And once it’s done, Mia’s bringing Emma Grace back home and settling her into her own bed for the night. She’ll be here waiting for us by the time we get home.”

  He just perfectly encapsulated why I love him. The planning, the innate thoughtfulness, the slight cockiness in his assumption that we would be going home together. Not that I’m going to give him shit about that. I figure heroically saving my life and arranging to have the mess cleaned up earns him enough brownie points to get off that hook, permanently. The bonus of arranging for Emma Grace to be back home with us, well that earned him more than my good graces. It might even earn him actual lingerie from me.

  “I love you.”

  I didn’t mean to say it. It’s not like it’s a secret or like he doesn’t know. Typically, we’re not ones for saying it. We’ve always been the people who just showed it instead. But it’s out there, and it honestly feels good.

  He opens the front door and steps back to allow me to pass. “I know.”

  I glare at him. “Don’t you Han Solo me, Clayton Darcy! I’m not pouring my heart out just so you can get cocky!”

  “Fine. I love you,” he says, opening the car door. But as I step past him to climb in, he crowds against me, until we’re almost touching. I look up and he’s staring down at me with the kind of intensity I would have found terrifying when I met him all those years ago. “But that’s just a word… it doesn’t even come close to describing everything I feel for you. When you’re not in my life, it’s like I can’t breathe, like everything is just hollowed out and empty and all I’m doing is marking time till you come back.”

  Now I can’t breathe. God above! How does he do that to me? How does he turn the tables and leave me just reeling from it all? “Damn you, Clayton.”

  “Get in the car, Annalee. Before we both bleed to death in the driveway.”

  Clayton

  * * *

  The adrenaline has worn off. It’s just gone. I’m keeping my hands clenched into fists just so she can’t see the fact that they’re shaking. I’ve never been so fucking scared in all of my life.

  If Samuel were in front of me right now, I’d hit the bastard again. A part of me wishes I had killed him. I know that he’ll find some way to weasel out of this just because that’s what he does.

  Climbing behind the wheel, I start the engine and ease onto the street. There are several people on their porches, a few curtains being drawn back as we drive by. Everyone in Fontaine wants to know what’s going on and if we don’t oblige them with information, they’ll just make it up. Hell, they can’t make up anything as deranged as the truth. I ought to let them.

  That’s a Mia question. She’s the PR expert, so I’ll let her do her thing and spin this in the way that is least damaging for the company and for those of us who have to continue living here.

  The hospital is only a few minutes from the house. Everything in Fontaine is just a few minutes away, to be honest. I’ve seen more of this place in the last month than I ever want to again.

  Walking in, I go the desk and check us both in. The receptionist whose name I ought to know; hell, I think I went to high school with her mother, looks at me in absolute shock. I don’t have to think hard to figure out why. Annalee and I both look like extras from a disaster movie. We’re covered in blood, some of it our own, some of it Samuel’s.

  Handing over ID’s and insurance cards, I take the forms she gives me and the two clipboards and go back to where Annalee is sitting. She chose a spot in the corner. Like we can hide!

  “You’re just going to have to brazen it out,” I tell her. “Everyone in town is going to be talking about this… for a while. It’s not going away quickly.”

  “Fantastic. Thanks for the pep talk,” she sneers.

  “Just keeping it real.”

  “That’s my job,” she says sharply. “Do you think this is going to make it weird for Emma Grace at school? And her big dance recital is tomorrow night… I don’t want this insanity to overshadow it.”

  “We’ll just make a bigger deal out of it to make sure it doesn’t,” I promise. And we will. I’d already planned on getting her flowers.

  “What’s going to happen to Samuel? Be honest with me here.”

  I sigh and stop filling out the form for a second. �
�He’s not going to prison. It’s a nice pipe dream, but you and I both know that won’t happen.”

  “He broke in! He drugged me! He tried to kill me! He was planning to kill you and John!”

  “But he’s Samuel Darcy… and he has friends that will cover for him, that will call in favors. At the most, he’s going to get a slap on the wrist in county jail. This will not be prosecuted to the fullest, Annalee… but he’s still leaving here. Whatever it takes.”

  She’s finished filling out her paperwork, so she takes the clipboard from me and starts filling out mine. She’s the queen of multi-tasking. “I don’t like it. I hate that he’s getting away with it.”

  “He’s not the only one who can call in favors… I can make his life hell here. And socially, after this, he’s screwed. Most of his circle will drop him like a hot rock. It’s not going to be hard to convince him to go.”

  “Promise me… I want him gone. If Emma Grace had been home—.”

  “Don’t!” I can’t think about it. I won’t. If I do, I’ll go find him and finish what I started. “I’m not letting anything happen to her. And I’m not letting anything else happen to you.”

  The ER door opens and a nurse appears. She calls Annalee back first and I sit there, waiting impatiently. I don’t like that I can’t lay eyes on her right now. Samuel is somewhere in the hospital, I know. I put nothing past the son of a bitch.

  After a few minutes, the nurse calls for me. I walk toward her and she smirks. “So much for living on the hill… The Darcys have gone redneck.”

  I’m not in the mood. “Your brother works at the distillery… and your husband is trying to get a job there. Think you’re helping out either of them right now?”

  She clams up then, but her expression remains sour. I tolerate the temperature check, the invasive questions, and the blood pressure cuff that is way tighter than necessary. When she leads me back to the ER she puts me in the cubicle next to Annalee’s, not because she’s being nice but because there’s not other option. Samuel is on one side of the nurse’s station and we’re in the only two cubes on the other.

  He’s under guard. There are two sheriff’s deputies standing outside the curtained off area.

  “I should have driven us to Lexington.”

  She looks over at me. “No. He’s not running us off… not from here, not from anywhere. Besides, I’ve had a shitty day and I’m not dealing with that traffic.”

  I just want to be home. In my actual home… with my wife, with my daughter and without it looking like an earthquake zone. The doctor walks in and I just keep holding onto that thought.

  12

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Annalee

  * * *

  They finally discharged us both and I feel like we’ve been there for hours. I glance up at the clock as we’re making out way outside and I realize we have actually been there for hours. Three of them, to be precise.

  I look at Clayton over my shoulder. He looks exhausted and I know I don’t look much better. “This day has been endless.”

  “Let’s just go home. I want a shower… preferably with you and then I want to sleep for about twelve hours,” he replies.

  Heaven couldn’t be better than that sounds. “No funny business in the shower. Neither one of us is allowed to get our stitches wet or do that much lifting.”

  “I’m probably too tired anyway,” he says, and opens the car door for me. He kisses me and while it was intended to be a quick kiss, it doesn’t stay that way. His lips move over mine and his tongue glides over the curve of my bottom lip. Resisting that is impossible. By the time he pulls back, we’re both breathless and I can feel the heat pooling between my thighs. With nothing but a kiss, he makes me crazy.

  “So much for sleeping,” he says. “I’ve missed you. Every goddamn day, I’ve missed you.”

  “Just get me home and take me to bed. You can prove it.”

  The drive home is fast. Mia is sitting in the living room and Emma Grace is long since passed out in her bed. Mia looks from Clayton to me and then just shakes her head. “You both look like the walking dead.”

  I smile even though I don’t really want to. I really want to yell at her to get the hell on out so he can rip my clothes off. Instead, I say, “We both kind of feel like it too.”

  Mia gets up off the couch and grabs her purse. “I can take a hint. I’ll see you at Emma Grace’s recital.”

  When she’s gone, the door locked behind her, Clayton is on me instantly. His mouth is on my neck, his hands are stripping my clothes off.

  “Emma Grace is upstairs,” I protest.

  “The office,” he whispers. “The door locks.”

  It’s also ten feet away. I move quickly and he’s right behind me. The door closes softly and the clicking of the lock is impossibly loud. I’m already stripping.

  I’m exhausted beyond belief. The events of the day have left me raw, like an exposed nerve. All the emotions are running hot and close to the surface, but I need this. I need him. To forget. To feel. To just escape into something blissful for a few minutes.

  He’s behind me, and I can feel his naked chest at my back as he guides me forward until I can lean over on the desk. His hands are on my back, stroking down over the curve of my hips, then cupping my ass. He pulls me up until I’m on my toes, my legs spread just a little. His hand slides between my thighs. I’m so wet for him already. I don’t need any foreplay. Just him. Sinking into me. Filling me up.

  “I need you,” I whisper and the sound is so broken I can barely recognize my voice.

  “Tell me what you need, baby,” he says softly and slips two fingers inside me. I arch my hips back against him, wanting more.

  “Just fuck me… please. Don’t make me wait. Don’t make me beg.”

  I hear his zipper and then I feel him pressing against me, the velvety soft head brushing against my thighs. I press my forehead against the cool desk top and part my thighs just a bit wider. His breath hisses out, the sound so loud in the room. Then he’s pushing into me, sinking in slowly.

  I can feel every inch of him and I can’t hold back the moan or the shiver. His fingers are gripping my hips tightly, digging into my flesh. He begins to move, withdrawing in long, slow strokes only to plunge in again, more forcefully, deeper. My whole body tenses in anticipation of that thrust, of the power and the heat of him.

  One of his skilled and oh-so wicked hands moves from my hip, sliding over my belly, then lower until he’s lightly strumming my clit in time with each thrust. I’ve got a death grip on the edge of the desk now and I can’t hold back the shattered moans as he plays my body like an instrument.

  My legs are trembling, the muscles of my thighs quivering as he strokes into me again and again. Everything inside me is coiled tight, the tension building to that razor edge between pleasure and pain. When his other hand moves up to my hair, gripping it tightly and pulling my head back, it simply snaps, the climax pulsing through me in time to the beat of my heart.

  Clayton’s movements become faster, rougher, and then he stiffens against, his hand clenching my hair even tighter. The flood of warmth as he comes inside me only heightens the tiny aftershocks of my own release, making me shiver beneath him.

  When he leans forward and presses a kiss between my shoulder blades, I can’t help but smile. There’s always a contradiction in him, equal parts demanding and tender, gentle but with a firm touch. He is simply everything I have ever needed and more.

  “We need a bed,” he whispers. “Before we both fall over.”

  “You started it,” I point out. He’s moved away from me and I immediately miss the warmth of him as I’m gathering my discarded clothes.

  “You’re kind of irresistible… and we’ve got some lost time to make up for,” he says softly.

  We do, but for now, all I want is to go to sleep with his arms wrapped around me. I want to wake up with his leg draped over pinning me to the bed while I desperately try to figure out how to mange going to pee
and not waking him up. It’s funny the things you miss. The smell of his cologne, the fact that my side of the bed looked like a tornado had come through while his was barely disturbed, his often smart-ass remarks—all of those things have been missing from my life for a year, and now I get them back. It’s overwhelming and I’m alternately grateful and terrified. I don’t want to need him again, I don’t want to be afraid of losing him again, but it’s there, an incessant whisper in the back of my mind.

  “Stop thinking,” he says.

  “Easy for you to say. I’m worried,” I admit.

  He’s adjusted his clothes and looks moderately put together. I look like I’ve just been bent over a desk. “I’m worried—.” It’s a hard thing to confess, to put into words. “Worried this won’t work. That somehow we’re going to end up right back where we started… you’ll be keeping secrets and I’ll be jealous and insecure, wondering if it’s another woman, or worse, and you just don’t care anymore.”

  He pulls me into his arms, holding onto me tightly. I resent how right it feels. Yes, he’s moving back in. Yes, the divorce has been called to a screaming halt. But we’re not who we were a year ago, two years ago. This thing is still between us, a wall of solid ice over the parts of us that hurt the most. The only thing that will melt it is time, but if I can’t get a handle on my fear and if I can’t stop looking for all the ways it won’t work, that’s a chance we’ll never get.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I whisper. “I just can’t think anymore tonight.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” he says softly.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I’ll do whatever it takes to make it okay.” His tone is firm despite the gentleness of his voice. It’s so typical of him, but it makes me hopeful and I need that.

  13

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN