Whisper Privileges

by Dianne Venetta

  Peering at him, Sangría clutched close to her body in a relaxed hold, she observed, “Sounds like a big job.”

  “It can be.”

  “And you can do it on a part-time basis?”

  “Well, yes... Pretty much.”

  “Pretty much? What does that mean?”

  “Let’s just say I have a way with numbers.”

  “Sounds a bit vague.”

  Clay smiled. He could feel the suspicion as it built in her gaze. “Call it a photographic memory, but ever since I was a kid I could remember stuff—numbers, words, pictures, you name it. Kinda threw my family for a curve when they realized I could memorize and recite aloud entire books—before I was actually able to read them.”

  “Wow.” She chuckled at the confession. “I bet you were a good student.”

  He shook his head. “Hardly.” Clay made quotation marks in the air with his hands and said, “I had ‘behavior issues’. I hated school and the teachers weren’t too fond of me, either.”

  “Really? But why? Didn’t you find it easy?”

  “Too easy, and that was the problem. I was bored.” Despite repeated conferences, the teachers acted like his disinterest was a personal insult against them. They reassured his parents that if only he’d buckle down and get to his work, everything would be fine. At that point, he’d given up trying.

  She nodded. “So you acted up.”

  “Pretty much. It wasn’t until middle school that I began to settle down. That’s when I took my first course in algebra and became hooked. I loved not only the intricacies of the numbers and equations, but the fact that it all made perfect sense. Then economics came along and I found a real-life way to use numbers.” He smiled as fond memories of Mrs. Richardson entered his mind. In eighth grade, she made it all connect. She showed him that numbers were at the root of everything, from science to finance, space to human nature and if he was willing to understand them, he could manipulate them to his will and create anything he wanted. It had been an intriguing proposition. “When it was my turn to enter the business, my father walked me straight to the finance department.”

  “That’s incredible…” she murmured, as though she couldn’t imagine the scenario.

  “Actually, in the course of discovering Q’s autism, the doctors attributed my abilities as being autistic in nature.”

  She gaped at him. “You have autism?”

  Sydney’s shock didn’t bother him. He’d become accustomed to the reactions. When people learned of his condition and ability, their reaction was the same. Amazed and stupefied. “Not in the normal terms you associate with autism, but with research still in its infancy, they believe there may be a hereditary link between my abilities and Q’s autism. A different form of the same condition, if you will.”

  “Scientists seem to be doing a lot with genetics these days.”

  “They are.”

  “So, are you some sort of savant?”

  “No.” He smiled, unaffected. “Just an average guy with an above average memory.”

  She smiled. “I may not know you very well Clay, but one thing I do know is that you are far from average.”

  He winked. “I’m getting to you, aren’t I?”

  She suppressed a grin and pressed the rim of her glass to her lips. “Let’s just say you’re making headway.”

  Satisfaction erupted in his chest. “That’s all I need.”

  “Cevíche?”

  Startled, Sydney looked up at the waiter. “Uh, yes,” she replied, pulling her glass down by her chest and out of the way. “You can put them anywhere. We’re sharing.”

  “Of course.” He slid the dish in front of her, then placed the other before Clay. “Would you care for some small plates to divide them?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Clay said.

  “As you wish. ¡Buen provecho!”

  She looked to Clay for his reaction to the dishes.

  “So, what am I eating?”

  Sydney chuckled. “Yours is fried squid with peppers and mine is raw fish.”

  “Really?” He looked down at her ceramic bowl, bright red peppers tucked in between chunks of white fish, slivers of red onion with fresh parsley clinging to the meat. “It doesn’t look raw.”

  “Actually, the fish is ‘cooked’ by the acid of the lime juice.”

  “Huh. Never heard of it,” he said and reached for his fork. He poked at one of the tentacles swimming in a brownish-red sauce on his plate. Fried to a golden brown, only the twirly tentacle tips remained purple and batter-free. “These make it pretty obvious what I’m eating.”

  She laughed. “That they do!” she exclaimed and watched in amusement as he pierced one and plopped it into his mouth.

  Clay chewed for a minute, then nodded his approval. “It’s delicious. Nice spice to it.”

  “You said you like it spicy.”

  “And you nailed it.” Sydney’s eyes became nothing but lids as she made a fast detour to her dish. Clay savored a private smile. He liked that he could catch her off guard. She dipped into her cevíche, scoured around for a piece of fish, then pulled it from its bath of lime juice. Allowing it to drip dry, she asked, “Care for a bite?”

  Clay eyed the bite-sized morsel dangling from her fork and asked, “Is it safe?”

  “I’m not out to poison you, Clay.”

  A gleam entered her eyes, the ones that suddenly felt dark and dangerous—exactly how he preferred them. “Now there’s some good news,” he said, debating whether or not he wanted to eat raw fish. Taking food from her fork was the easy part of the equation. Consuming raw food was a harder sell.

  “You’d never know it wasn’t cooked if I hadn’t told you,” she informed.

  “I wouldn’t, huh?”

  “Not a chance.” She extended fork in hand across the table. “Have a taste for yourself.”

  “I intend to,” he said, desire flaring hot and quick as he leaned forward and pulled the piece of meat free with his teeth. Hopefully she didn’t miss his double entendre. Taking his time, he turned the meat around in his mouth and decided, not bad. “You’re right. It’s good and actually tastes totally cooked.”

  “Told you.”

  “Nice to know I can trust you. Wanna bite of mine?”

  “Sure.”

  A streak of wicked fired through him. Clay held her gaze and boldly asked, “Rings or tentacles...”

  Sydney reached for her water and Clay zeroed in on her face as he held the dimpled tentacle out for her consumption. Would she miss his intention?

  She glanced at the calamari on his fork, took one look around their immediate vicinity and then took hold of his wrist, slowly guiding the piece of squid into her mouth. His pulse hammered. Staring very directly into his eyes, she lingered, then methodically closed her lips completely on his fork and pulled the meat free.

  Clay’s heart thwacked within his chest. Desire pulsed in his groin. “I like the way you eat, Ms. Flores.”

  She eased back into her seat and visibly swallowed. She smiled demurely, but her intent had been clear.

  His smile lengthened, despite his attempt to remain cool. “Like you said, everything is good here. I think I’d have to agree.”

  Without reply, she drank from her wine.

  The remainder of their appetizers finished in the customary fashion of normal dining, though Clay couldn’t shake the image of her sultry pull of his tentacle. She was interested. If he’d had any doubts, he didn’t anymore.

  # # #

  Once their dinner was complete, Clay asked for an after dinner stroll around the plaza. Sydney agreed, reluctant to let him go. Spending time with Clay made her feel wanted, desired, and one-hundred-percent woman. Strong and confident, she respected him as a man, respected his choices. During dinner he shared more about his life with Q, their highs, their lows, and how it was important to him to be there for his son every step of the way. To Sydney, his role as devoted father made him a nice guy; one of the certifiable good guys
. But more than Q, he took the time to be there for her, a stranger. A woman he just met. Taking time to alleviate her embarrassment over opening ceremonies was something he didn’t have to do. But he did. And it skyrocketed him to the top of the heap. Though she wondered at herself for pulling that squid from his fork the way she did. What had possessed her to blatantly tease him like that?

  Pushing ten o’clock, the sidewalks had grown busy, but thoroughly consumed with each other, the two walked and talked, Clay bumping his arm against hers, hanging close when they stood. At the base of the stairwell he stood so near, she could feel the warmth of his body. Several times Clay brushed his fingers against hers, the contact amazingly brief that she wasn’t sure if he was trying to hold her hand or not!

  Near the edge of the plaza he stopped, and she stopped with him. “How tall are you?”

  She tamped back a squiggle of angst. About head and shoulders even with him she replied, “Five ten.”

  “Liar.” He grinned. “You’re all of six feet.”

  “I’m wearing heels.”

  He surveyed her feet. “Maybe an inch worth.”

  Boys had always made remarks when she was growing up. Sydney knew they didn’t want to ask the tallest girl to the dance and that her height was the reason she never attended the first one. She imagined her size challenged their egos. “Is it a problem?”

  “Not for me.” Shockingly blue, Clay’s eyes pierced the evening lamplight. So brilliant, they were almost hard to look at, even in the dim light of evening. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. Bravado skittered. Taking her hand in his, he led her to a dark corner of the building. As they rounded it, the two were alone, save for a few partygoers ambling further down the sidewalk. He stopped, turned to face her, then took both her hands into his. “I had a nice time this evening.”

  “Me too,” she replied, inundated by a fresh rush of nerves. The contact was simple, warm and engaging. It was intimate, easy, something she yearned to continue. “But it’s getting late.”

  “Nervous?”

  “No,” she lied. Should she stay? Go? She wanted to be with him but a sudden swell of doubt interfered. “I’m working, remember? Competition starts bright and early and I’m expected to be on site, first thing.”

  “Must be tough when everyone wants a piece of you.”

  She smiled beneath his gaze. She enjoyed it when he was so bold and direct, it made her feel feminine. “I don’t know about that...”

  “I do.” Clay leaned close and lightly kissed her. It was a lightning bolt to her skin. “Mmm...” He strummed his breath against her lips. “That was nice.”

  Sydney could barely breathe.

  “Can I have another dinner with you?”

  “Um…” she murmured, still reeling. Clay just kissed her.

  He gently tightened his grip on her hands. “I promise I’ll behave.”

  While he had been nothing but a gentleman, she found it hard to believe he wouldn’t push for more. But is this what she wanted? Sure she was attracted to him, wanted to spend time with him… He gave a light pump to her hands. Sydney searched his eyes for answers. But where would it go from there? Would they have a fling? Enjoy a few more nights of flirtatious dinner conversation?

  Disappointment entered his gaze. “And I thought I was making headway...”

  “Maybe,” she murmured quickly.

  “Maybe?”

  Heartbeats battered at her chest, defying her reply. Maybe? How about yes. You know you want it. “Maybe,” she repeated.

  He smiled, acceptance taking residence in his face. “I’ll take it.” He looked around them and then asked, “May I walk you to your car?”

  Desire kicked the breath from her lungs. Did she dare? She ventured a gaze to her car, parked half-way down the street. The location was far more isolated, far more private. But moving back to the familiar blue eyes, Sydney somehow doubted he’d take no for an answer. A zing shot through her midsection. And she could go for another one of those kisses. “Sure.”

  Clay’s expression filled with pleasure. Curling his fingers through hers, he secured their link and asked, “Where to?” When she pointed down the very road they were on, his smile turned devilish. “Shall we?”

  Exactly what she was afraid of.

  Neither said a word as they walked through the darkened evening air. Content with the faint breeze, the drum of nightlife blocked by the buildings that separated them, scenarios of what lay ahead streamed through her mind. Would he try anything at the car? Should she let him? Thoughts of his lips connecting with hers bloomed in her loins. Getting close to him, wanting him to wrap his arms around her...

  Whether she should or shouldn’t was quickly becoming irrelevant. She most definitely wanted to kiss Clay Rutledge. Her body tingled with anticipation. And she wanted more than a simple peck.

  When they reached her car, he stopped. Scanning the length of her vehicle he said, “Nice ride.” Red candy metallic, shiny and polished to perfection, the Mustang GTO convertible was her pride and joy. It boasted nineteen inch alloy wheels, stone gray leather interior, a superb audio system and most important of all, packed a V8 engine beneath the hood.

  Pride swelled. The car appealed to her sense of adventure, thrill, the part of her that wanted to see the world, travel the globe. But more important, it represented success; the freedom to buy what she wanted, because she had earned it. “Thank you.”

  “You travel in style.”

  “It takes me where I need to go.”

  “I’ll bet you draw a lot of attention when your top’s down.” Her eyes widened and he squeezed her hand. “I meant your car.”

  “I assumed you did,” she said, excitement flitting through her chest.

  He chided her with a mocking grin. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Clay reached up and brushed the hair from her shoulders and behind her back. He took his time, included some fine strands that clung to her shirt. Every cell in her body stood on high alert as she awaited his next move. “Are you able to stop by the pool?”

  “It’s on my rounds.”

  He smiled as though he knew she was toying with him. “Let me be more specific, Ms. Flores. Will you stop by the pool to see me and Q?”

  Even in the low light of a distant street lamp, his eyes glittered.

  “It could be arranged.”

  “Are you always this hard to get?”

  Is that what she was doing? Sydney suddenly questioned her motives. Was she trying to be difficult, evasive? Was she playing hard to get? She swallowed and decided on something in between. “I’m always this honest,” she replied, adding a shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t want to promise you anything if I can’t say for sure.”

  “Fair enough,” he said quietly.

  Allowing the moment to hang between them, and in no apparent hurry, Clay stared into her eyes. She couldn’t read his thoughts or decipher his intentions. She could only feel the warm soft skin of his hand around hers as it held them together, secure.

  “I’m going to look for you tomorrow.”

  She nodded.

  “But until then...” Clay leaned forward and delicately touched his lips to hers. “I want you to remember this...” he whispered into her mouth. Heat charged through her system as he put a hand behind her neck and drew her close. She held her breath as he skimmed back and forth, the wisp of motion humming soft and slow against her barely parted lips. Gently he kissed her. Soft and seeking, their lips grew wet as the kiss intensified. Clay’s movements were tender, yet she could feel his desire—hot and eager—surging somewhere close behind. The sensation heightened her own desire and if her hand wasn’t still clasped within his, she would have wrapped her arms around him and urged him for more.

  Clay pulled away, but remained close enough that she could feel the moist heat of his breath. “I could do that for hours,” he said softly.

  Oh, but could she! He hardly touched her, yet Sydney’s body
reacted. She wanted more—more of his lips, more of his hands, more of simply having him so close. She wanted him to take her in his arms and hold her, hug her, nuzzle his lips against her skin.

  “But we’re going to get arrested if we keep this up.”

  She giggled. He may have a point there.

  “Guess it will have to hold me over until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she mumbled, hating that she was about to let him leave, knowing she had the power to keep him longer. But she wouldn’t. It was too much, too soon. Rushing in would only be a mistake. She rushed into Javier and it had been the wrong thing to do. She didn’t want the same to happen with Clay.

  He released her, and stood by as she unlocked her car. Cupping her face, he delivered one quick peck to her lips and eased down onto the seat. “Drive safe,” he said and closed the door.

  Sweet, but safe was the farthest thing from her mind at the moment. She felt like driving fast and crazy, feeling the roar of her engine as it vibrated beneath her! Clay stood at the curb and waved her off and as she drove, she held onto his solo figure in her rear view mirror. Hands dug into his front pockets, she wondered if he was as consumed with the moment as she. Did the kiss affect him as it did her? Did he want nothing more than to stay, to take it a step further, to go all the way?

  Sydney pressed the accelerator, the gunning of the engine reassuring beneath her as she accelerated down the street. She did. She didn’t know what “this” was that they were doing, but she wanted all that and more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Skimming down her list of contacts, Sydney found the number for the electrical contractor and dialed. The International Expo of Tile and Stone was only two months away and one of the larger manufacturers set to participate wanted to increase the size of their exhibit which translated to add-ons, the scope of which she needed to determine and adjust for pricing. The call connected and she waited through rings. But it was nothing out of the ordinary. Changes seemed to be the name of the game with exhibits and vendors and usually they were made last minute. At least this group gave her some lead time.