Hero For the Asking

by Gina Wilkins

  She moistened her lips and returned the smile. He looked so good in the shadowy artificial light from outside. But then, he looked good in broad daylight, also. Or any kind of light. "I had fun, too. Thank you."

  He chuckled, his hand stretching out to twist one of her curls. "Aren't we being polite?"

  Because she was fighting the urge to catch his hand and hold it to her cheek, her own smile was a bit forced. "Yes, aren't we?"

  Something in her expression must have given away her feelings, for his smile slowly faded, to be replaced by a look of hunger that matched hers. "I'd like to kiss you, Spring," he murmured, his hand sliding into the hair at her temple to cradle her face. "I think I want to kiss you now more than I've ever wanted to do anything in my life."

  Chapter Five

  Since when had he started asking permission to kiss her? She wet her lips again, realizing nervously that he wanted more than startled acceptance this time. He wanted full cooperation. He was making an implicit demand for her to acknowledge that she was attracted to him, that she wanted the kiss as badly as he did. Even as she almost shyly removed her glasses and leaned toward him, she wondered how much more he would force her to admit.

  Her lips had barely touched his before he was kissing her. The battered fedora tumbled off her head, unnoticed by either of them. His mouth slanted greedily over hers, moving with the same rough-gentle passion with which he'd kissed her the day before. And, as with the last time, she could only hold on and allow herself to be lost in him. A far distant part of her mind pondered her response to him. She'd never been like this with anyone else. She'd never relinquished control. Clay took her control, yet he seemed no more the master of his own emotions than she was of hers.

  It felt only natural when his hand slipped beneath her borrowed, oversize jacket to settle with bold possessiveness on one of her breasts. Almost unconsciously she inhaled, pushing herself more fully into his touch.

  "Ah, God, Spring. You feel so good in my arms." His voice was only a breath against her lips; he refused to break the contact between them.

  She didn't know what to say except his name. It seemed to be enough. He kissed her again, and this time his tongue surged between her lips to caress hers. Teasingly. Tenderly. Lovingly.

  "Kiss me back, sweetheart," he muttered, then took her mouth again.

  With no further hesitation she gave in to his half-pleading demand and returned his kiss with all the formerly unknown passion within her.

  After what seemed like a hot, life-altering eternity, Clay suddenly startled her by pulling his mouth away from hers, giving a low, husky laugh and hugging her with such fervent enthusiasm that she thought she would have at least a few bruises, if not broken bones, when he released her. "You never stop surprising me, Spring Reed," he told her with apparent delight. "We're going to be so good together."

  She swallowed hard. "We're...what?"

  Cradling her face in his hands, he smiled meltingly at her and kissed her nose. "When we make love, it's going to be the most exquisite, most erotic, most incredible thing that has ever happened to either of us. I can hardly wait."

  That got her attention. Spring backed frantically away from him, pressing herself uncomfortably against the door behind her. "I've already told you, Clay, we are not going to have an affair."

  Flashing his most boyishly charming grin, Clay grabbed the hand that was pushing forcefully against his chest and kissed her knuckles. "We're already having an affair, Spring. We just haven't made love yet."

  "Nor will we," she snapped, jerking her hand out of his and shoving it shakily through her tangled hair. Summer's hat. She couldn't find the hat. She looked wildly around for it, talking rapidly as she grabbed her purse and the borrowed fedora and held them protectively against her breasts. "What happened just now was a mistake. I can't—I won't let it happen again."

  "It will happen again." Clay spoke almost lazily as he watched her frantic preparations for escape with visible amusement. "Again and again and again, until you admit that it's utterly ridiculous to try to deny this thing that's between us. You can call it love or lust or earth-shaking attraction, but it's there, and it's not going to go away."

  "Then we'll just have to ignore it," she declared. Call it love, he had said. No. She wouldn't call it love.

  "Can't you see that this won't work, Clay?" She was almost pleading now. "I'm just not the type who can handle this sort of thing. Please don't ask for something I can't give."

  His face softened and took on an expression of such sweetness that it brought a lump to her throat. He touched her cheek, fleetingly, not enough to force her to draw back again. "Darling, you've already given it. You just haven't admitted it yet."

  Given what? Her heart? "No, Clay," she whispered, shaking her head.

  He knew when to quit—temporarily. "I'll walk you to the door."

  Before she could protest, he was out of the car and at her side as she walked in awkward silence to the front door of her sister's home. She used the key that Summer had given her, then paused with one hand on the doorknob. "Clay, I—"

  He silenced her with a quick kiss on her slightly swollen lips. "Good night, Spring. You'll be seeing me around in the next few days. A lot."

  Threat or promise, the words held a note of determination that she had to take seriously. Without giving her a chance to reply, Clay whirled on one orange tennis shoe and left her staring after him.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later Spring stood before the mirror in her bedroom, brushing out her hair as Summer sat cross-legged on the bed, her compact body almost quivering with frustration. "Aren't you going to tell me anything about your date with Clay?" Summer demanded, her elbows on her knees as she stared at her sister's reflection.

  "I told you it was nice."

  Summer snorted inelegantly. "Nice. Yuck."

  Spring set down her brush and turned, tightening the sash of her pastel flowered robe. "What's wrong with nice?"

  "It's insipid. It's something you'd say about a date with your ex, Roger. Not Clay."

  Spring sighed. "What do you want me to say, Summer?"

  "That you had an exciting, adventurous evening. That you'll never forget a minute of it. Say something romantic and sweet that will make me believe there's still hope for you."

  Shaking her head, Spring dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, stretching her bare feet out in front of her on the plush carpet. "Summer, we went to a junior-high-school play and then had dinner at a little Italian restaurant with an odd name that I've already forgotten. Does that sound like the kind of date you just described?"

  "No. But then, you were with Clay McEntire. He has a way of making seemingly mundane things extraordinary."

  "All right, dammit! My date with Clay was exciting. And adventurous. I'll never forget a single moment of it. Does that make you happy?"

  Blinking at her sister's uncharacteristic show of temper, Summer leaned forward slightly. "Was it something I said?"

  Spring groaned and hid her face in her hands. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump all over you like that. It's just that...that..." Her voice trailed off.

  "Clay's getting to you, right?" Summer tried to sound sympathetic but wasn't particularly successful since her brilliant blue eyes were sparkling with delighted pleasure.

  Dropping her hands, Spring straightened her spine. "Okay, so maybe I am a bit...infatuated with him," she admitted carefully. "But that's all it is. He's good-looking and interesting and amusing. It's perfectly natural for me to be attracted to him. What woman wouldn't be?"

  "Of course," Spring agreed gravely.

  "But that doesn't mean that there's anything developing between us. Nothing lasting, I mean. There couldn't be."

  "Why not?"

  "Why not?" Spring repeated incredulously, jumping to her feet to restlessly pace the room. "Summer, I've only known him for three days. And I'll be leaving California in nine more days. Besides, Clay and I are entirely different. Much too diffe
rent to even consider a serious relationship."

  Summer shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no. That excuse won't wash with me. Remember who you're talking to. Spring. I'm the former party girl married to the ex-spy-turned-businessman, remember? It would be hard to find two people more different than Derek and me, but we love each other so much that we've learned to accept those differences."

  "You and Derek aren't as different as you like to imply," Spring argued. "And at least you live in the same state."

  "So? People relocate all the time. I did. Besides, logic and geography have nothing at all to do with this. We're talking about human emotions here. The way you and Clay feel about each other."

  "But I don't know how I feel about Clay. And I certainly don't know what he feels for me."

  "Are you kidding? The guy's nuts about you! He's had the look of a man who's been poleaxed ever since you walked into my den last Friday. And since Clay is not a man to hide his emotions, I'm sure he's told you exactly how he feels."

  Call it love, he'd said. But she couldn't call it that. She just couldn't.

  "He's told me that he's attracted to me," Spring admitted. "He's convinced we're going to have an affair."

  "And would that be so awful?" Summer teased.

  Spring took a deep breath and glanced at her sister, knowing her feelings were all too clear on her face. "It just might be devastating," she whispered.

  Her sister's mischievous smile faded immediately and was replaced by a look of compassion. "Spring—"

  "Summer, you're not in here grilling your sister for details about her date tonight, are you?" Derek's voice inquired blandly from the open doorway.

  "Why, Derek. Am I the type of person to pry into someone else's personal business?"

  "Yes, you are," Derek and Spring replied in smiling, unhesitating unison.

  Spring thought again how very much she liked her brother-in-law. Summer tossed her head indignantly and climbed as gracefully as she could from Spring's bed. "I won't stay here and let the two of you insult me," she announced with great dignity. "I'm going to bed."

  "Good night, Summer," Spring bade her fondly. "Good night, Derek," she added as he left the room with a conspiratorial wink at her.

  Summer glanced back over her shoulder as she limped from the room. "Sleep well, Sis. Try not to worry about anything, okay?"

  Spring assured her sister that she would sleep like a log, but she was lying through her teeth. She wouldn't sleep a wink for thinking of Clay. Her body still tingled from the desire that he'd aroused in her, desire such as she'd never known before. What was it that he did to her?

  Call it love.

  No, she wouldn't call it love. Not that.

  * * *

  During the next two days Spring discovered that Clay was a man who carried through with his promises—and threats. It seemed that every time she turned around he was there. On Tuesday night he showed up on the Andersons' doorstep and invited himself to dinner. He stayed three and a half hours. During that time he patted Spring's shoulder five times, hugged her twice, squeezed her hand nine times, kissed her cheek once and kissed her mouth twice briefly and once thoroughly. She counted.

  By the time he left, she was on fire. She took a long, cold shower before going to bed, but all that did was give her goose bumps. It did absolutely nothing to dampen her newly awakened libido.

  On Wednesday Clay called Summer and offered to take the three of them to dinner that evening. Being the determined matchmaker that she was, Summer cheerfully accepted. Spring tried to act annoyed, but they both knew that the scolding was only a formality. The truth was that Spring couldn't wait to see Clay again, and she and Summer both knew it.

  Dressed in cream and a delectable shade of mint green, Clay was at his outrageous best from the moment the evening began. He teased the others until they laughed helplessly, then laughed good-naturedly when they teased him right back. Spring spent much of the evening capturing his wandering hands and returning them firmly to him, her stern looks not very adequately concealing what those daring touches did to her.

  She could have gladly strangled him when he introduced her to their waiter—who turned out to be a former student of his—as the woman he would like to have an affair with. Eyeing her vivid blush, the young waiter grinned, congratulated Clay on his excellent taste and provided a bottle of champagne to further the cause.

  "You," Spring told Clay through clenched teeth, "are going to die."

  "Have an affair with me," he retorted, "and I'll die happy."

  Summer and Derek laughed, greatly enjoying the entertainment provided by the other couple.

  "Walk me to my car, Spring," Clay ordered some time later after nightcaps in the Andersons' den. "I've got to go."

  "I'm sure you can find your way to the driveway," Spring replied blandly, not moving from her chair.

  "Aw, c'mon," he whined boyishly. "There's something I want to show you."

  "That's exactly what I'm worried about," Spring retorted, much to Summer's and Derek's amusement. They all knew that the "something" he wanted to show her was nothing more than a ploy to get her alone. Still, she stood, with a great show of reluctance, and walked out with him.

  It was a dream of a night. Cool, fragrant, inhabited by dancing fog wraiths and twinkling diamond lights spreading out for miles around them. Spring closed her eyes and inhaled, then opened them to survey the glory around her. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she murmured to Clay.

  He turned and leaned against his low sports car, catching her forearms to pull her into a loose embrace. "I used to think so."

  "You used to?" Almost without thinking about it, she rested her hands on his shoulders, her lower body settling lightly against his. "What happened?"

  "I met you." His arms tightened around her. "Now I compare everything I see to your beauty. Nothing else measures up."

  It should have sounded trite, corny. It did, of course, she assured herself, but it still made her knees go weak. She tried to sound annoyed, but her voice came out all breathless. "That's dumb. Besides, I'm not beautiful."

  He lowered his mouth to within an inch of hers. "Yes, you are," he murmured.

  "No, I'm—" She stopped, swallowed, then finally moaned. "Oh, Clay, please kiss me."

  "Thank you," he said unexpectedly, then took her lips with the familiar hunger that was more overwhelming each time he kissed her.

  Spring slipped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, her mouth opening eagerly under his. His hands were warm and searching over the lightweight sweater she wore, stroking her curves and contours with open palms. A tiny whimper lodged itself in her throat when his fingertips slid between the hem of her sweater and the waistband of her skirt to trace the soft skin there, then moved around and upward to cup one of her small breasts through the fabric of her bra.

  "You are beautiful, Spring," he muttered against her mouth. "And I want you so much." He rocked her gently against his lower body, against the proof of his wanting. "I need you."

  "Clay, I—" She caught her breath when he rolled her hardened nipple between thumb and forefinger, the sensation shooting from her breast to some deep, yearning part of her. "Oh, Clay."

  He kissed her again, his tongue surging between her slightly swollen lips to stroke hers, withdrawing, then sliding back in. The sensual imagery made her weak with desire, and she arched against him in an unconscious plea for the ultimate intimacy. His hands fell to her hips, holding her almost painfully against his straining manhood for a moment before moving her a few inches away from him. His voice was raw with his need. "God, Spring. Much more of this and we'll end up making love right here in your sister's driveway."

  She groaned in chagrin and dropped her hot face to his shoulder, pulling in a painfully ragged breath.

  "What do you do to me, Clay McEntire?" she breathed. "At home I'm so sensible, so firmly in control. With you I'm like a stranger. Impulsive and impetuous and even a little wild. I don't know how you do it."

  "
Don't you like what I do to you, Spring?" he asked whimsically, his own breathing returning slowly to normal.

  "Yes, dammit. But it won't last, Clay. I'll go back to Little Rock next week and I'll be myself again. I'm...comfortable with my life there."

  He was silent for a long moment, his cheek resting against her hair, which she'd worn straight and loose to her shoulders. Finally he spoke, almost reluctantly. "Is there someone special at home. Spring? Are you involved with anyone?"

  "Not anymore."

  He digested that, along with her tone. "Tell me about him."

  "His name is Roger, and he's an attorney. Very attractive, very pleasant. We dated for almost six months. We had a lot in common, wanted the same things in life. Successful careers, marriage, family. A few months ago we realized that we didn't want those things with each other, so we said goodbye."

  "Sounds sad," he said thoughtfully.

  "It was, in a way. I cried when our relationship ended, but I think the tears were due more to the end of a pleasant fantasy than to the loss of Roger."

  Clay raised his arms to cup her face between his hands, his eyes intense in the artificial light. "I don't ever want to make you cry, Spring. I never want to hurt you."

  Was he warning her not to start wanting the same things from him that she'd thought she'd wanted from Roger? He didn't need to. Spring had known all along that Clay wasn't the type who would be content with someone like her. Perhaps he was intrigued with her now, but it wouldn't last. Clay thrived on excitement, new experiences, adventures. She wasn't the type who could provide such things for him on a regular basis. Nor did she want to try. She just wanted a normal, happy life. She wouldn't mind occasional adventures, some excitement, but she needed sanity, as well. She needed to be loved by a man who needed only her, who would want no woman but her.

  And she really wished that man could be Clay.

  "I'd better go in," she said at last, a note of weariness creeping into her voice.