by Dara Girard
“Brent is eager, but he isn’t ready yet.”
“He doesn’t have to meet him. The contact could be through e-mails initially. That way we can monitor what he’s being exposed to.” Clay picked up his pen and twirled it. “He’s the perfect bait to draw Emmerick out. To—”
“Brent would be meat. Think about who you’re considering. He has the intelligence of a tadpole. If you want to get to Emmerick by e-mail, why not do it yourself or have me do it?”
“No, because eventually I want them to meet and Brent has the mind of someone he’d be drawn to.”
“He’s not smart enough to use on an idea like this.”
Clay tapped the pen against the desk. “He’s loyal. You heard him. He would do anything for me. He’d do exactly what I tell him.”
“If he remembers. There are too many variables to take a risk of him getting involved with a guy like Emmerick. Brent talks big but you and I know he has a lot to learn and could be easily influenced by a man used to preying on people. Emmerick’s good. I saw him with you. If you put Brent out there, it would be a battle for control over his loyalty—his mind. Are you certain you would win? Brent could be a casualty of your revenge.”
“You think that’s what this is about?” he asked quietly.
Mack’s eyes met his. “Isn’t it? I know you want him.”
Clay sighed. Mack was right—this was becoming more about Emmerick than about anything else. He couldn’t allow himself to lose focus of what he was up against, what he was really fighting. He couldn’t risk Brent becoming entangled with Emmerick. He had to think of another way to penetrate his weakness.
“You’re right. I do want him.”
“We’ll get him, but you’ll have to be patient.” Mack rubbed his chin. “Actually, your idea has given me another one. Emmerick has another weakness we can use against him. His ego. You know how his system works. What if we created a division of the ministry and wanted his advice? We could trap him.”
“How?”
Mack told him the idea; Clay began to smile.
***
Jackie scolded herself as she rushed over to Clay’s apartment. She was late again. She’d torn her closet apart trying to find the perfect outfit for her dinner with him. At last she decided on a cream blouse and green skirt. She wondered what he would cook for her and hoped it wasn’t anything that splashed. Anytime she ate pasta she ended up getting sauce on her shirt. She raised her hand to knock.
He opened the door before she had a chance.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said.
He opened the door wider. “That’s okay. I expected you to be.”
Jackie stepped into the dimly lit room and heard the soft sound of jazz playing in the background. She turned to him with amusement in her eyes. “Are you going to practice your seduction scene on me?”
He closed the door. “I don’t need to practice. It’s already been perfected.” He led her to the dining room.
She sat down, impressed by the maroon tablecloth adorned with fine china with a gold trim. The room held a subdued elegance, except for Laura sitting on top of a bookshelf.
He followed Jackie’s look. “She helped me pick out the pattern.”
“I should be jealous, but she has an excellent eye.” She sniffed the air. “Everything looks great, but I don’t smell anything cooking.”
“I know.” He set a bowl in front of her filled with melon balls, pineapple chunks, blueberries, mango, and a sprig of peppermint.
She looked at it, confused. “Fruit salad?”
“Hmm. It’s up to you whether it will be dinner or breakfast.”
Chapter Eighteen
Her head snapped up. She stared, speechless.
As the silence stretched, so did his patience. “What do you say?”
“Have you ever eaten blindfolded?”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Have you ever eaten blindfolded?”
“No.”
“Let’s try tonight.” She stood and grabbed a dishtowel. “Sit down.”
“But you haven’t answered my question.”
“Don’t worry, I will.” She went behind him and folded the dish towel. “Close your eyes. ” Clay crouched down. Jackie wrapped the blindfold around his eyes. “Okay, now I’m going to put a piece of fruit in your mouth and you guess what it is.”
He hesitated, then said, “All right.”
“Open your mouth. Now what do you taste?”
He chewed a moment. “Pineapple.”
“Good, and this?”
“Cantaloupe.”
“And this?”
He frowned. “That’s not on,” he protested, using a typical British phrase meaning she wasn't being fair. “That’s two fruits.”
“What are they?”
“Honeydew and blueberry.”
“Very good.”
“I try.” He opened his mouth and motioned with his hand. “Keep it coming.”
Her heart stirred at the ridiculous yet vulnerable picture he made. His mouth open, as trusting as a child.
“Try to guess this.” She brought her mouth to his.
He licked his lips when she drew away. “Tastes like Mischief.”
“Does it taste good?”
He pulled her onto his lap. “Delicious.”
“Do you want more of it?” she whispered.
“As much as you can give me.”
She took his hand. “Then follow me.”
He lifted his hand to his face. “Can I take the blindfold off?”
“Not yet.” She took his hand and led him down the hall.
“Ow!”
She turned and saw him rubbing his forehead, the ceiling lamp swinging behind him. She winced. “Sorry about that.”
“My fault,” he grumbled. “That’s what happens when you have a Lilliputian guide.”
“A what?”
“Gulliver’s Travels. Never mind.”
Jackie led him to the bed and gently pushed him to sit down.
“Now wait there. I’m going to strip.”
He reached for the blindfold. “I’d like to see this.”
Jackie grabbed his hand. “No, just imagine it. We’re using different senses tonight. I’m taking off my top right now.”
“How?”
She paused. “How?”
“Yes. I want a better description. Are you pulling it over your head or one arm at a time?”
“One arm at a time.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Now the bra. It’s paisley and fastened in the back. I’m having a little trouble, but . . . there. Got it. I’ve tossed it aside. Now I’m slipping out of my shoes.”
“How?”
“How else does one take off high heels?”
“You could bend over and take them off, which presents a very nice image, or rest against the drawer and bring your foot up to pull it off, or you could kick them off, or—”
“I stepped out of them,” she interrupted, annoyed.
“Listen, if you’re going to be my eyes, I want important details.”
“I don’t think how someone takes off their shoes is an important detail.”
“Did you miss the memo? Men are visual creatures.”
“Tonight, try to listen. I’m removing my skirt by unzipping the back and slipping it off my hips. Now just listen and imagine.”
He heard the soft material fall to the ground, the scratchy sound of her stockings, then the elastic snap of her panties as she stepped out of them.
She came toward him. He smelled the tangy, crisp scent of jasmine and orange blossoms he’d first remembered in his office. He reached for her, his hands brushing her breast. “Just take off my pants and I’m a happy man.”
She unbuttoned his shirt. “No, I want to enjoy this, too.” She pulled back his shirt and rested her hands on his chest.
It was the first time he realized how much he liked the feeling of her hands on him. She didn’t have the
delicate fingers one would expect from an imp—they were little fingers, but seemed to soothe the darkness within him, tame the anger underneath, and stirred feelings in him he couldn’t articulate. She was a true enchantress, bewitching him with merely a touch and a scent. He felt her nimble fingers move to his trousers. In moments, he was naked and felt her warm body against the length of his, ready to gratify a growing hunger as she slipped a condom on him.
He drew her close, ready to indulge in the sweet liquid center between her thighs. A deep healing peace suffused through his body, ridding him of the clinging despair that had become a toxin. It had been a part of his spirit so long that its exit was almost painful. Its passing left him briefly hollow, but her love filled the empty space inside. Her hope, her optimism, her passion defeated any lingering doubt or fear that joy could never be his.
Tonight he felt joy, that seemingly elusive creature kept so long out of reach. Being a man of few words, action was his language, and this night of lovemaking was his pledge—that he would treasure her, honor her, care for her. It was the first time he tried to communicate with his body this way, so there were times his embrace was awkward or his kiss fumbled. But Jackie understood every word. She interpreted the heart-rending eloquence of his feelings as be held her, as he moved inside her. As his hot lips seared a path along her shoulder. She closed her eyes, reveling in the wonder of a passion she’d only known in her fantasies. Even her fantasies couldn’t compete with the delights of a real man. How sexy imperfection could be.
They held each other after the lovemaking ended, languid with pleasure.
He finally said, “I’m hungry.”
“Me, too.” She took off his blindfold and gazed at an amazing, wonderful sight. The shadows were gone.
He furrowed his brows, confused by her expression. “What?”
“Your eyes.”
“What about my eyes?”
She cupped the side of his face. “They’re beautiful.”
***
The next morning Clay squinted at the sunlight seeping through the blinds. He stretched out his arm to feel the warm body lying next to him. The space lay empty and cold. He turned, surprised, then sat up. He hadn’t expected to wake up alone. He glanced around the room. There was no sign that Jackie had been there. Not even a lingering scent. But he knew last night had been real. He ran a hand down his face, feeling the stubble on his chin. Had it been too real for her? Had she discovered she didn’t want to develop a serious relationship with him? He swore, a heaviness entering his chest at the thought of her fleeing him in the night.
He pulled on his pajama bottoms and walked into the kitchen. It was out of habit; he wasn’t hungry. He looked sightlessly through the cupboards and fridge, wondering what to do. So she’d left him—he’d survive. He decided to clean Laura’s cage.
“She left,” he told the bird. “The one woman I invite to stay and she leaves.”
Laura chirped.
“I know you stayed, but you’re an exception. Besides, you’ll fly away soon enough.” He lifted her. “Come. Give us a kiss.”
She gave him a peck on the lips. He heard the door open and turned.
Jackie stood in the doorway, her hip resting on the door frame. “Yes, I’m definitely jealous.”
He set Laura down and stood, his mood suddenly buoyant. “I thought you’d gone.”
“Is that why you’re giving my morning kiss to a bird?”
“If you’d stayed in bed you would have gotten yours, too.”
“I’ll know better next time.”
He frowned, noticing that the jacket she wore fit like a long coat. “Why are you wearing my jacket?”
She took it off and hung it in the closet. “It’s a chilly morning.”
“Where have you been?” He hated how possessive those words sounded. “Not that it’s my business.”
“I’ve been for a walk.”
Clay went to the kitchen, his appetite returned. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
He pulled down a box of cereal.
She frowned at it. “What is that? Molded bark?”
He poured the contents into a bowl. “Weetabix.”
Her frown increased. “Keeps you regular, does it?” She patted him on the back as she went to the fridge. “I suppose you have to worry about things like that at your age.”
“Yes. By the way, your bottle is heating on the stove.”
“I’m having fruit salad.”
“Need me to mash it up for you?”
“Using your face may cause some amusement.”
He sat and clicked his tongue. “Careful, little girl. It’s dangerous to tease me in the morning. I’m not much fun.”
Jackie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Oh, I think you are.”
They sat down at the table for breakfast.
“I took your keys and put them on the coffee table,” she said. “I just wanted to get out for a bit.” She placed a key on the table. “I’ve made you a copy of my key.”
“Good.” He put the key in his pocket. “There are a few items I’d like to steal.”
“My panties are in the top drawer.”
“I’m more of a garter man.”
“I don’t own any garters.”
He raised a brow. “Then I suggest you get some.”
They fell into silence, then she said, “So.”
“So?”
“Do I get a key to your place?”
He glanced around. “I don’t think there’s anything worth stealing.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I… Well, there is my Benny Hill video collection. I’m rather fond of that.”
“You don’t want to give me a key to your place?”
“I don’t like surprises,” he said, effectively answering her question. “I’d feel uneasy not knowing if I’d come home and find you here.”
“Oh.” Her tone was sharp. She stared at her fruit salad, feeling her temper rise. Clay was right. She didn’t like the word no in any form. But then she remembered the pleasure of last night and the joy of waking up with him in the morning. He had given her so much already at this point, it would be selfish to ask for more, to disregard the gift he’d given her. She smiled wryly, thinking of how she’d changed. The Jackie of before would have argued, but the Jackie now accepted it. Accepted him.
“Do you want your key back?” he asked.
“No.” She smiled at him so he had no doubt everything was fine. “It’s yours.”
After breakfast they went to see the cherry blossoms spreading their pink and white petals along the Tidal Basin. The sun painted the gleaming rotunda of the Jefferson Memorial a brilliant white and reflected its rays on the tranquil waters.
Later they went to the National Museum of Natural History, staring in awe at the eight-ton African bush elephant that stood at the door entrance under the rotunda. They marveled at the Hope Diamond and made their way around the Insect Zoo. At the museum store, he bought her a dragonfly brooch, which she immediately pinned to her shirt. She bought him a puzzle of an hawk. They planned to work on it once they got home.
They walked hand in hand, their spirits high, but Jackie’s enthusiasm began to wane as they walked back to his place.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“We have to tell them.”
His joy dimmed a bit, too. “Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll handle things.”
Jackie playfully elbowed him in the ribs. “We’re a couple now. We’ll handle it together.”
“Right. Together.” He smiled at her then turned. He halted so abruptly, a man collided into him. The man looked up at Clay and held up his hands, offering a ready surrender. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Clay smiled, trying to lessen the man’s unease. “It was my fault.”
The man took a hasty step sideward. “No, it was mine.” He hurried away.
Jackie’s mouth kicked up in a quick g
rin. “Do you usually scare people like that?”
He ignored her.
“Why did you stop like that?” Jackie asked. “Are you okay?”
“Only if I’m hallucinating.” He looked at something in the distance and swore. “No, I’m not.”
“What do you see?” Jackie groaned. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me. Another case.”
“No, it’s not.” He headed to the building. “Fortunately, this is something I can ignore.”
A woman called his name. “Clarence!”
He kept walking.
Her voice grew louder. “Clarence!”
Jackie searched through the crowd and saw an older woman struggling with a suitcase, waving at them. “I think she’s calling you.”
He shrugged. “I know she is. I don’t care.”
She stared at him, confused. “But she wants to talk to you.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to talk to her,”
Jackie tugged on his hand. “Come on. She’s an old woman.”
“Not that old.”
The woman caught up with them. “Clarence,” she scolded. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
He slowly spun around and flashed a cold smile. “Yes, Mum. Unfortunately, I did.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jackie stared at the woman in shock. This was Clay’s mother? This woman with fine, delicate features wearing dangling gold earrings and jeans that showed off a slender build that could shame any woman half her age? The woman smoothed down her shoulder-length hair, dyed—intentionally or unintentionally—an unfortunate shade of orange. The color matched her high-heeled shoes.
She held out a ringed hand to Jackie. “I’m Bertha Graham,” she said in a harsh British voice with a hint of island lilt. “And you are?”
“None of your business,” Clay said. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
“Are you dying?”
“No”
He began to leave. “Then come back when you are.”
“Clay!” Jackie said, appalled. “You can’t speak to your mother like that.”