Sydney flipped her glance back to the entrance. Was Clay like this with everyone? Did he flirt with her because he enjoyed the game, or was he truly interested in her for the woman inside? Conversations rose and fell around her, sparked by male laughter and a call to the bartender.
She glanced at her watch. Ten past seven. Was he coming? Did his plans change? Was he playing her? Charlie had done the very same to her girlfriend, the louse. Anger shot through her veins. Staring at the front doors, doubt filtered in. Maybe he and his friend weren’t so different after all. Maybe he was nothing more than a self-centered jerk. Self-recriminations came at her rapid-fire. Like Charlie. She kicked herself. She should have known better.
Clay pushed through the entrance and her heart dashed for cover. Dressed in blue jeans and white button down, he held the door open for a young woman as she walked in behind him, a similarly aged young woman with her. They beamed at him, and he smiled back. He scanned the dining room and quickly spotted her. He smiled again, but this one lingered. Her heart raced as he closed the distance with the smile, the one capable of drawing her straight into his arms.
She gulped. Maybe this dinner thing wasn’t such a good idea after all. Indicating to the hostess that he found his companion, Clay moved toward her, the white shells of his necklace snagging her attention as approached. When he neared, his generous mouth lured her back to his face. “Hello gorgeous.” He leaned down and dropped a presumptive peck on her cheek.
She suppressed a swarm of nervous energy as he eased down into his chair. Were they already developing a rhythm? “Hello yourself,” she said, trying to sound cool and in control, though she felt neither.
He slid his hand across the table. With a cursory glance around the restaurant he nodded. “I like it.”
“They have great food,” she said, trying not to stare into the blue of his eyes, brilliant within the tanned skin of his complexion. But it was hard not to—they reached out and grabbed hold of her.
Pleasure entered his eyes. “I was thinking quiet.”
Sydney blinked. She didn’t have a response for that one.
Elbows to the table, he leaned forward and crossed forearm over forearm. “What’s good?”
“Everything. And this is one of those places you can believe it.”
“I believe you.”
Why did everything he say feel so personal? Like it meant something more? She opened her menu. Best she kept her thoughts on the food. “What do you like?” she asked, but heard the word before he spoke it.
“You.”
She looked at him over the menu and smiled. “Are we going to do this all night?”
“I sure hope so,” he said eagerly, but hesitated, as though he thought better of it. “Okay, okay, I’ll relax. But have you ever been around someone you can’t seem to get enough of?”
Yes, as a matter of fact she had. Him.
“I don’t know what it is about you, but honestly, I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
And he never shied away from voicing as much, either. Something she discovered she liked. A lot. Once again, she couldn’t help wondering if he was like this with every woman, or if there really was something special about her, about them.
“Seafood, spicy, exotic,” he said abruptly. “That’s what I like. I’ll let you do the choosing.”
She dropped her gaze to the laminated pages, noting he hadn’t bothered to reach for his. Something she didn’t have to do, either. She already knew what she was going to have—what they would both have. “How about we start with some cevíche and calamares fritos, and then for the main dish we try some paella fra diavlo.” She flipped her gaze to meet his. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Do you drink Sangría?”
“I drink whatever you’re serving, darling,” he drawled.
Smooth and supple, his accent dripped of sweet, sensual...sexuality. She closed the menu. “Sangría, it is.”
The waiter appeared and Sydney ordered for the two of them. When the man left, she settled in for an evening with Clay, more excited than she had felt in a long time. It felt good to be out with a handsome, attentive man. A man interested in getting to know her, support her. Recalling their stroll outside the pool today, she believed his intentions were decent, honorable. Unlike some she knew. Visions of Morgan and her revelation this afternoon snared within the fabric of her pleasure. While she didn’t want to think of her, it suddenly occurred to her that Charlie might be serving up the scoop on her and Clay. Is that how Javier knew to stop by the pool? Did Morgan push him into it because Charlie told her about them?
“So, tell me, are you enjoying the events?”
She stuffed the venomous thoughts to the back of her mind. She didn’t want Morgan or Charlie of anyone to ruin her evening with Clay. “Yes and no. While I enjoy the idea of helping everyone, the job description for these events is not the best fit for me.” She reached for her water, but drew a line down the length of her fork instead. The cold steel felt good, comforting in its distraction.
Clay tipped his chin down and said, “Well I think we learned that the speaking thing isn’t your deal.”
“No,” she heaved a sigh. “It’s not my deal at all. In fact, I didn’t want any part of it but—”
But there was no sense in dragging him through the mess. Morgan was a bitch, plain and simple. She’d pay for her little stunt with the Mayor—the only question that remained was the how—as in how could she annihilate her competition without jeopardizing her job? That was the problem. It was clear Morgan had Javier’s ear and she didn’t. Have his ear? Hell, the woman was licking the damn thing! Sydney grabbed hold of her water glass. “Let’s just say the assignment was given against my wishes.”
He nodded as though he completely understood. “No fun when you have no say.”
“Exactly.” Sydney took a long, slow sip of ice water, the cold liquid welcome as it soothed her taut throat. “I prefer to stay behind the scenes. It’s where I belong.”
“Well now, I don’t know about that one.” A flirtatious smile lit up his face, sharpened the soft appeal of his empathy. “I enjoy watching you.”
“I’m not a stage prop.”
“Didn’t say you were,” he said and his pleasure fell away.
Sydney dropped her gaze to the table, soured by the reminder of her failure. Opening ceremonies would have been tolerable had she been able to utter the first word—the first coherent word—instead of croaking like a sick toad. But damn she couldn’t help herself. It was as though an adrenaline junkie took hold of her body and robbed her of every last nerve she had when it was time to get up and speak. Which was so simple. She spoke to people every day. She could even talk to groups. Why did the stage matter? What the hell was the difference?
“Did I say something wrong?”
Annoyed with herself, with Morgan, Javier—the whole situation—she lifted her head to face him. “No. It’s not you.” It’s definitely not you. Unless you count the fact that you’re the one person in the crowd I would have preferred didn’t witness my humiliating performance.
“What then?”
“I was only on stage because of my looks.” A fleeting thought of Mayor Cortez’s hand on her thigh congealed in her memory like a wad of rank oil washed up on the shores of a pristine beach. She tightened her hold on the frigid glass. And because some manipulative bitch wants me out of the picture.
“But they introduced you as a local volleyball champion. It made sense to include you because of your athletic accomplishments. I don’t see how it had anything to do with your appearance, though I’ll admit it’s an added benefit.”
She glared. “If only that were true.”
“What’s not—your looks? he asked, a shade too innocently. “Or your champion status?”
“Sorry to break the news to you Clay, but some in the business world still try to make gains the old-fashioned way. Sex.” Morgan sure as hell did. The Mayor did. Even
Javier, her conscience whispered. Even he used his position to impress and get his way.
He grinned. “Sex sells.”
“Not this sex.”
“You sound bitter.”
“Do I?” How could she not? But then again, how could he understand? She shifted her attention to the activity at the bar. The woman she had noticed earlier was now leaning into the man. She was touching his arm, caressing his skin. She was all but shouting, I’m ready, take me home. Of course the man was ready and willing. He was looking at her for what she could give him, how she could pleasure him. She turned back to Clay. Much like he would. Men had no idea what women were subjected to in the workforce, how they were taken advantage of or what one conniving woman would do to her female coworkers. She was certain men didn’t experience the same kind of discrimination, the same kind of backstabbing behavior.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about your boss putting you in uncomfortable positions. Or anyone else for that matter.”
“Is that what happened?”
Sydney looked away. “In so many words...”
“Does he usually ask you to do things you’re not comfortable in doing?”
She didn’t like the sound of his question. It was too accurate. Javier did ask things of her he wouldn’t ask of anyone else—because of their relationship—their past relationship. And Mayor Cortez? She clenched her jaw as an image of him and Morgan formed in her mind, she leaning close, using her body to get what she wanted. It made her want to spit. Maybe she was bitter. But she had good reason.
“Adversity can be a great teacher,” Clay said, as though to fill the space she left void.
“Yes, and next you’re going to tell me what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?”
He laughed and reached for his glass of water. “Whoa...you always this sharp when you’re unhappy?”
When opportunity for advancement is handed out based on looks? She dropped her gaze to the table. Yes, she rued. It cuts a bit raw.
Wine landed between them, a pitcher of ruby red liquid filled with chunks of orange, mango and lime. Grateful for the distraction, Sydney watched as the waiter grasped the pitcher with exaggerated flourish and poured the Sangría into their glasses, controlling any spillage with a white bar towel. Setting the pitcher off to one side of the table, he slung the cloth over his forearm and announced, “Your appetizers will be out shortly. Can I get you anything else at the moment?”
She shook her head and looked to Clay for confirmation.
“Nothing for me,” he replied.
“Very well.” Sydney trailed the waiter’s return to the kitchen, then hooked her gaze onto a foursome, walking in the opposite direction as they followed the hostess to their seats.
“Looks aren’t everything you know. What counts is the woman inside.”
“So I’ve heard.” She returned her attention to Clay and thought of his beauty pageant ex-wife. They didn’t enter and win because they were ugly. Or fat. They did so because they were beautiful. And thin. She glanced back at the slim brunette at the bar.
“My ex was the beauty pageant type and everything in her life had to be picture-perfect.”
Half-listening, Sydney took in a deep swallow of wine. The combination of fruit and red wine packed a punch of flavor that was intensely fulfilling. And easy to drink, she thought, fighting the urge for an immediate second sip.
“From her hair to her toe polish, everything was perfectly done, perfectly presented. She wouldn’t walk out of the house without a full face of makeup.”
Sounded like her mother. Desperate to keep her looks, her youth—her husband—she did practically everything to maintain her appearance, from surgery to skin peels, expensive lotions to layers of makeup and in the end? It didn’t work. Her father walked out and her mother walked on in search of the next man.
“When Q was born,” Clay continued, “it all came to crashing halt. From the minute they placed him in her arms, I think she sensed something was off, wasn’t the way she wanted.”
“But how could she know?” Sydney asked, suddenly drawn by the subject of his son, a world she didn’t understand. “I thought people didn’t realize their children had autism until much later.”
“She could tell.” Clay looked at Sydney and his expression dissolved into dispassion. Even in the short time that she’d known him, the bland indifference seemed out of character for him. “Q didn’t pay attention to her, didn’t really look at her. He was detached. All her hope for immediate and adoring love was erased and she had a hard time dealing with it.”
Abandoning thoughts of her own troubles, a piece of Sydney’s heart went out to Q’s mother. While she felt it unforgivable that the woman left, she felt some sympathy as to the why. Sydney heard that babies could recognize their mothers from the moment of birth, would even smile and cry for them. To have a newborn that didn’t even look at you? That would be tough. Circling her finger around the base of her wineglass, Sydney wasn’t sure she would handle it any better.
“By the time Q was a year old we could tell something wasn’t right with regard to his development, but it wasn’t until we took him to preschool that we knew for sure. He was definitely different from other kids his age.”
“But how could you tell?” Sydney hated to sound ignorant, but there was so much about the condition she didn’t know. So much she suddenly wanted to know.
“He ignored us. When we called his name, he’d continue doing what he was doing and paid no attention—which really bothered my wife. At first I was afraid he might be deaf, but...” Clay shook his head. “The boy can hear just fine,” he said and a smile tipped his mouth upward.
Sydney was glad to see it.
“When we took him to a doctor to check his hearing I think we both already knew. Then a second doctor confirmed the diagnosis of autism and it sealed her fate. She couldn’t do it. Within a few months she found someone else and left us.”
She reached a hand toward him. “I’m sorry, Clay.”
He tapped it with a glance but didn’t reach for her. “Don’t be. Like I said, it’s her loss. Q and I are fine. But trust me when I say looks aren’t everything. When the shit hits the fan, you need something solid to hold on to in the aftermath of crap. Life gets messy. You just have to do the best with what you have.” He raised his wineglass. “Cheers.”
Sydney followed his lead and held hers likewise. “Cheers,” she repeated and touched her Sangría rim to rim with his. Bringing the glass to her lips, the wine went down easy and smooth. This time, she detected the brandy.
Clay cast an appreciative glance. “That’s good stuff.”
She pitched up her glass. “One of my favorites.”
He grew quiet. “You have good taste.”
She nodded, thankful for the easier terrain. Brooding over Javier and Morgan—her own parents—was not where her mind wanted to be. She wanted to enjoy Clay. She wanted to be easy and fun. “This place makes some of the best,” she said and took another sip from her glass.
Allowing the conversation to settle between them, his focus came to rest on Sydney’s face, her cheeks…her mouth. Feeling the heat of his gaze yet again, she was struck by his forward nature. Clay made no effort to conceal his interest in her. While he didn’t actually voice as much, he certainly didn’t hide the lust churning in his eyes. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation.”
“I enjoy your company, Clay,” she said, as though the reason she was here was plain for all to see. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the swarm of butterflies tearing through her stomach, or the rise in temperature as her neck and ears flushed hot—from the alcohol, from him.
Sydney had accepted this date because she couldn’t resist him. Because she enjoyed being with him, looking at him. What would he do if he knew? Sydney brought Sangría to lips. She knew exactly what he would do. The sensation of his kiss on her hand after lunch cut through her though
ts. Clay would take full advantage.
Would she give it?
If the sudden urge to run her fingers through the soft layers of his hair were any indication, she imagined she would. Clay leaned back and smiled, taking her in as she was doing him. He slowly sipped from his wine and lounged in the silence between them, the subtle conversations of strangers floating around them, the privacy of an evening alone together, man and woman, the chemistry charged and mutual. Oh yes, given the chance she’d start with his hair continue to his neck but it wouldn’t end there. She’d want to touch him, kiss him, allow him to do all that and more. Clay was the kind of guy she could fall for—sexy on the outside, sweet on the inside; it was a combination she wanted to explore. “Q is fortunate to have a father like you.”
“I do my best. I’ll be honest, it’s not always easy. But I focus on the skill set I have and work from there.”
It occurred to her that she didn’t have any idea what Clay actually did for a living. He mentioned he was some kind of board member, consultant. What kind of job tolerated him to be the primary caregiver for a special needs child a decent career? “What do you do, anyway?”
Chapter Twelve
Clay grinned and set his wine down. He wondered when she’d get around to asking. Usually, it was the first question a woman asked and if they didn’t receive an acceptable response? They didn’t accept a second date. In his experience, females viewed a man in terms of how he could enhance their image, their lifestyle. But Sydney felt different. From what he could glean, she was warm and genuine. Hardworking, ambitious and she seemed pretty conscientious—the total opposite of how Charlie had described her. Matter of fact, she was beginning to feel like the kind of woman he could spend some time around. Pulling her further into his focus he mused, but then again, Charlie had been wrong before. “I’m the financial guy for my family’s business. Financial consultant is my actual title, but basically I do numbers. When management wants to save money or expand, they run it by me first.”
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