“No,” she said, the moment awkward. “I say we just enjoy lunch, how about you?”
He smiled and held out his arm. “I’m already enjoying myself.”
“Actually, I agree with you. I’m enjoying myself—now that he’s gone.”
“So I gathered,” he said and suspected there was more to Charlie’s failure with this woman than a mere difference of personality, the mistreatment of a friend. Exactly what, he intended to find out.
Located bayside, the restaurant was decorated more tropical than nautical, the colors bright and crisp and loud. The carpet was very green, the tables were very white and the paintings were mostly palm trees done in fiery red and orange, canary yellow and cobalt blue. It was a colorful play on an otherwise plain green tree, but a traditionalist himself, the technique wasn’t quite his thing when it came to art. Walls soared twenty feet on the marina side, the boats and water easily visible as they walked to their table. Now that’s what he preferred to see—water, boats, masts and sails. Birds hanging in the breeze, boats floating dockside, sails rolled and tucked secure, he could almost hear the rigging as it clanged off the masts. The memories it pulled from him were powerful, immediate. He could practically taste the ocean air, feel the salt penetrate his skin.
The hostess stopped at a table for two, drawing Clay’s attention from the outside as he pulled the chair for Sydney, scooted her in and then sat himself. Dropping the cloth napkin into his lap he watched her do the same, the green of her eyes drawing him in immediately. Soaked in sunlight, they popped from the tan of her skin, the golden streaks in her brown hair. Unlike last night where it fell long and straight around her face, well beyond her shoulders, today she wore it pulled back, pinned high up on the back of her head.
He liked it. He found it sexier down, but he liked the way the faint blonde tendrils bleached from her time on the beach ringed along her hairline. The style framed her face and made it appear heart-shaped. Enhanced by full round cheekbones, her slender nose was near perfect beneath those incredible eyes. Rich deep green, they reminded Clay of the Atlantic Ocean on a clear day, the water glittering clear to its depths. “All that talk of fishing has made me glad you chose a seafood place,” he said and held his glass as a waiter stopped by to fill it with water. From the looks of him, it seemed as though his tropical print shirt was an attempt to match the décor. But this was Miami, where most everything seemed tropically-inspired.
With a brief glance to the man, Sydney smiled. “If you’ve never had stone crabs, you should try them.”
“Actually, I had some for the first time last year and I agree.” He nodded, remembering the plump round claws, mostly pink but marked by distinct black tips. “They were pretty good. In South Carolina we have the blue crab. Not as meaty as your stone crab, but sweet and tender and one of my personal favorites.” Clay leaned forward and said, “I like mine best when prepared spicy and served with hot butter.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“How about you?”
“How about me what?”
“Do you like spicy?” he teased.
Sydney hesitated, but seemed content to play along. “Spicy, of course. Also buttery, creamy and sweet—I like a wide variety of flavors.”
He smiled, pleased by her response. “You sound adventurous.”
“I can be,” she said wistfully, then raised her glass for a sip of water.
Another waiter showed up tableside. “Have you had a chance to look over the menus?”
“No need,” Clay replied. “The lady will be ordering for me.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Hundred percent.”
“Okay.” Sydney ordered and with a nod to the waiter as he departed, Clay zeroed in. “So tell me about Sydney.” The feature attraction. “What do you do for fun?”
“You already know. I play volleyball, enjoy fishing...”
“Anything else?”
“I work a lot, which doesn’t leave much time for anything else.”
He frowned. “All work and no play make for a dull girl, you know.”
“Not when you enjoy what you do.”
“Which you do,” he returned, though sensed some frustration regarding the same. Did she really enjoy what she did for a living, or was she merely passing time until she found a husband? A lot of women he met did just that—pretended to be career-minded until landing a man to take care of them. Then it was bye-bye career and hello stay-at-home. Nothing wrong with stay-at-home mothers. His mom did. His grandmother did. But they never pretended otherwise. Did Sydney?
“Yes. I like putting together events, coordinating the details, helping carry a show to a successful conclusion. For me it’s like conducting an orchestra. There are so many different players, so many different pieces of the whole that must be managed and arranged for a seamless outcome, that I find challenge in the process, satisfaction upon completion. You know you’ve done well when you see people having a great time without the first thought as to how the event came together, from the inconspicuous garbage cans to the positioning of signage throughout the venue—because someone else handled the nitpicky details.”
“It’s true.” He leaned back against the wooden chair. “Now that you mention it, I’ve attended a few conventions and never thought twice about how they came to be.” Clay proceeded to tell her about the boat shows he’d been to, the previous Special Olympics events he and Q had participated in.
Sydney raised her glass as if toasting his observation. “There you go,” she affirmed and took a sip of water.
“It’s nice to enjoy what you do, so long as it doesn’t dominate your life.”
She glanced outdoors. “In the beginning it has to, don’t you think? If you want to be successful, I mean.”
“Sure it takes time, but you need to maintain a certain sense of balance between work and personal. Everything can’t be about the job,” he pushed, wondering how much truth there was to Charlie’s comments about her. She sure seemed intent on her career. Did she use people for advantage? Is that why she dated her boss? Is that why she didn’t currently have a boyfriend?
“One day I hope to work for a major international company and restrict my duties to handling their in-house events worldwide. I won’t get that job if I don’t prove I’m willing to make my career a priority. Event planning is not a nine-to-five job. It requires long hours, odd hours, and the position I want means plenty of time away from home.”
Clay heard ambition when she talked about her job, but he also detected a bit of free spirit in her voice, a part of her geared toward the carefree and fun. This was the part he wanted to know more about. “You like to travel, I take it.”
“I do. There are so many things I want to see, places I want to visit and what better way than to combine work and pleasure, right?”
He grinned. “I couldn’t agree more. But one can travel for pleasure alone, too.”
“If they’re independently wealthy, sure.”
Lunch landed between them, each receiving a thick chunk of Mahi Mahi scored by the familiar dark line through its flesh, a wedge of lemon, side of asparagus and small portion of pasta. Pleased by the sight of it, he commended her choice.
With a glance outdoors, Sydney picked up her fork and changed subjects. “So what do you do for a living?”
Nice one-eighty, he mused. Smooth and easy. But why? Did she not enjoy discussing her private life? Or did he make her uncomfortable? Satisfaction swelled in his chest. He hoped it was the latter. “Family business. My family has been in textiles for generations. It’s expected that we kids continue the business, keep it in the family.”
“What exactly do you do with the textiles?”
“Nothing. I work the numbers side. Management,” he said, purposely vague.
“Hm. Sounds interesting.”
“Can be.”
She stared at him. Where she could have continued to probe, she switched subjects instead. “So when is
your son’s first event?”
“Sunday morning,” he answered, intrigued by her change in direction. Most women he met wanted more information about his background, his job, but Sydney didn’t seem to care. Desire surged warm and new. It was a refreshing change. “Why don’t you stop by? If you’re not needed elsewhere, I mean.”
“It’s possible.”
He cut his first piece of fish and slid it into his mouth. Light, flaky, near creamy in texture, it hit the spot. “This is fresh fish.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“Anyway, I know Q would enjoy talking to a fellow athlete. Now that he’s swimming, he’s all about the competition, his time, how he can improve. Some days I can barely get him out of the water!”
She smiled.
Clay reached for his glass and added, “I’ll enjoy talking to her as well.” He winked. “An athlete—who by the way—looks fantastic today.” For the second day in a row, she was dressed in a sleeveless tank and plain straight skirt cut above the knee. Today’s color of choice was a shade lighter than her skin.
“Thank you.”
Short, sweet, it was the perfunctory response. She sliced off another chunk of fish and he thought if attire were any indication, Sydney was a no-fuss kind of woman. “That shade of tan really compliments the green of your eyes,” he said. It complimented the lean muscular tone of her arms, too. Outlined the broad cut of her chest and shoulders, hugged her fat-free midsection.
She cocked her head and finished chewing, peering at him with a mix of pleasure and suspicion. She swallowed and reached for her water. “You always this complimentary?”
Clay reminded himself not to push too hard, too soon and smiled, “When the situation warrants it, I am.” Women liked to be noticed. They liked to know that men hadn’t missed them. But Sydney was no ordinary breed of woman. She combined brawn and beauty and from what he could tell—brains—and rolled them up into one damn fine package. So fine, you couldn’t miss the woman. Yet he believed she wanted to hear the words same as any other. “I hope you don’t find this too forward of me, but you have one of the nicest figures I’ve ever seen.”
Her cheeks tinged pink, her lids shuttered and her gaze dodged to the side.
Chapter Six
Direct hit, he mused. Satisfied, he watched as she sought shelter in her water. Actually, her body was phenomenal, though he wasn’t about to push that flap open. He wanted to reel this prize in slowly. “Somehow I managed to catch sight of those amazing hits of yours. You're an incredible volleyball player, you know that?”
“You’ve mentioned that before,” she said, the comment pulling a reluctant smile to her mouth.
“Have I?” He chuckled, amused by her observation. “I mean it. I’d hate to meet you in a dark alley somewhere—I might get clobbered.”
She screwed her face at his choice of metaphor.
“On second thought, that might not be a bad idea! You and me in a dark alley,” he said playfully. “Definitely dangerous.” She shook her head, refusing to rise to his bait. Instead, she twirled a small amount of angel hair pasta onto her fork, then slid it into her mouth.
Clay imagined what those lips of hers would taste like, how that solid body of hers would feel held close against his. He remembered all too well what it looked like on the beach. From her calves to her rear, her abdomen to her shoulders, he liked what he saw. “I'm glad Charlie invited me to your game.”
“He only goes to stare at half-naked women.”
Clay grinned. “Can't say as I blame him.”
“Yes, well...” She paused, and her mood abruptly cooled. “I'm sure you impose a bit more dignity on your natural impulses than he does.”
“Hmm... Depends on what you mean,” he said cautiously, not happy about the sudden chill. But it did open the door to her feelings for Charlie, an avenue he wanted to explore.
“Charlie has a tendency to voice what he's thinking, whether it's appropriate or not. How are you two even friends?” She pushed the filet around on her plate. “You seem so different from him, I don’t get it.”
“I told you. We go way back. Used to golf, play poker.”
“You play poker?”
He grinned. “Used to play a lot with Charlie during college, but since Q’s diagnosis, pretty much never.”
“Did you gamble?”
He laughed. Oh, how Charlie would have loved that! But Clay never thought it would be fair. The other players didn’t stand a chance, and bringing in the ringer to turn a couple bucks didn’t sit well with him. Though early on, it had been pretty exciting. To walk into a card game and know with certainty you could run the table? Clay shook his head at the memory. “Nah, I never bet.”
“Why not? Isn’t that why people play poker?”
Maybe so, but for him the thrill came in testing his ability. Challenging himself with better and better players. Money never entered the equation. “I just enjoyed the game.” He winked. “Played for the fun of it.”
“I bet Charlie gambled.”
That he did, but Clay didn’t want to drag his pal into the ditch any further than Sydney already had. Dragged him, hell. She was wielding a shovel and burying the poor guy! He chuckled at the vision. “Charlie never gambled with me. Our real connection is through family. Our parents are good friends and well...”
“I’m sorry for you.” She stabbed her fish with her fork, then sliced it clean through.
Damn... Charlie really brought out the blades in this one. He reached for his water and contemplated his next move. Alienating Sydney was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but giving up his friend as sacrificial pawn didn’t feel right either. Granted the man always had it too easy with the women which made Sydney all the more intriguing, but that was his problem. Charlie never had to try. Keeping his nose clean while he drank the nectar of the gods was his biggest concern. But Clay had to admit, the two of them sure did have some fun back in the day and women were definitely front and center in the mix.
Giving him nothing but profile, purposefully concentrating on the marina and not their conversation, he had to pull her back. Had to keep it honest, but had to reel her back to him, to them. “I don't ditch my friends just because they behave badly, Sydney. I try to stand by their side and give them a chance to improve. It’s only fair.”
Green eyes blazed as she announced in no uncertain terms, “Charlie is a cheat and a liar. Like I said, he dumped on a good friend of mine—one I introduced him to—then had the nerve to act like it was no big deal, as if the woman was the one with the issue.”
Clay reached across the table, but not far enough to touch her. Only in town for the events, he didn’t have a lot of time and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let talk of Charlie sever his chances. “I hear what you're saying about him, but Charlie and I have been friends a long time. I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Feel free,” she said, bitterness curling the edge of her words, then plopped the bite of fish into her mouth and chewed, her jaw rigid as it moved.
Half an hour later Charlie spun the Lexus up to the front door of their office building. While Sydney gathered her purse, Clay was up and out of the car, standing by her open door with an extended hand. Placing her hand in his, he pulled her up easily, yet remained very close. Face to face, he held her in his very near gaze. “How about dinner this evening?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? A girl has to eat, doesn’t she?”
She smiled in apology. “Thank you for lunch, though. I had a nice time.”
“Are you sure? It’s just a harmless meal.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
He grinned. Because you’re a smart woman. “Okay.” He chuckled, amused by her direct response. Clay reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. Pearly-smooth olive skin was deceivingly fresh and floral scented and nothing of the spice he imagined she’d wear. Placing the most gentle of kisses on the slope of her wrist, more pat than kis
s, more promise than pleasure, he finished with a sweeping graze of his lips down the length of her fingers, pausing at her fingertips, sealing the move with a slight nip. He wanted her to think about this one later. “I’ll see you around the pool.”
Mildly flustered, she asked, “The pool?”
“Q’s events?” he prodded, enjoying his effect on her.
“Of course—the pool. Yes, perhaps,” she replied, more stumble than certainty. “Maybe I’ll see you around the pool.”
“I look forward to it,” he said and winked. “See you later, Sydney.” Lowering into the car, he took satisfaction in the way she absently rubbed the spot on her hand where his lips had been. Don’t you worry. We will meet again, you can count on it.
# # #
Early Saturday morning, confident everyone on site was in place and ready to go, Sydney glanced at the distant sky. Without a cloud to speak of, she figured it would be easy to spot the planes as they approached. But cupping a hand to her brow, she struggled to catch sight of the first one. Was that it? The pinprick of black, way in the distance?
She could barely make it out. But according to the schedule, the first plane should be landing any minute now. With over three thousand athletes set to arrive, they expected a plane full of people to land practically every minute. A plane every minute? She was no pilot, but that seemed like an air traffic control nightmare. More like a crowd control nightmare she thought, gazing around the cordoned-off section of the tarmac. Everyone present was hyped and raring to go but at least they all seemed happy and orderly. From the high school cheerleaders and band members to the folks dressed in bright orange T-shirts emblazoned with the words “I am a volunteer,” news media, Special Olympics staff—everyone was buzzing with expectation.
Suddenly grateful she had opted for tennis shoes this morning, the perfect match to her sleeveless white tank and khaki shorts, Sydney had the feeling this was going to be a very long day. But with the Cuban coffee still warm in her hands, she decided she’d be just fine, so long as she had her espresso. She picked it up on her way in from the enormous tent behind her. Housing area restaurants as they doled out local flavors, the scent of which drifted through the morning air tickling her appetite, it was the place for meet and greet. Aromas of pollo asado and croquetas de jamón beckoned her belly, not to mention the plates of guava pastry she saw splayed across the tables next to the ham and eggs. The city leaders were offering an amazing taste of Miami for their guests today, dishing out breakfast for the arriving athletes—it was all she could do not to march back there and fix a plateful for herself!
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