Whisper Privileges

by Dianne Venetta

  “My folks?” She chuckled at his terminology.

  “Sorry.” He smiled, but his gaze shot to the table and back. “Must be a southern thing. From where I come from we refer to parents as folks.”

  “I gathered.” Actually, it sounded sweet. Old-fashioned. As so much of what Clay did and said. Touching the cold end of her fork, she said, “My parents both live here, but they’re divorced. Both are remarried, but don’t speak to one another.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry to hear that. Bad blood?”

  “If you call an extramarital affair bad blood, then yes. Very.”

  “Who did the cheating?”

  “My father.”

  He frowned.

  “More than once, actually. My mom stayed for a long time, but finally gave up. He refused to quit so she refused to stay married.”

  “Do you stay in contact with them?”

  “I do. Mostly by phone. We don’t do holidays or anything.” The sadness that entered Clay’s eyes made her feel the pang of loss all the more. Fingering the hard edge of the fork, she added, “It’s better that way. The last time they were together they fought horribly.” And she had no interest in being around them, or their mutual hatred.

  “That’s too bad. I’m sure your mom harbors a lot of bitterness.”

  “Can’t say as I blame her, can you? I would hate it if my spouse cheated on me.” Then it dawned upon her that’s exactly what happened to Clay. “I’m sorry,” she offered quickly. She didn’t mean to be insensitive by bringing up bad memories for him.

  “Don’t be.” He held up a hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He looked away and for a moment, seemed lost in a faraway place. Was he thinking of her? Was it painful for him? When he returned his focus to her, she noted a sharp change in his expression. “I can understand how your mom feels. It’s no fun when you learn your wife—or husband—cheated on you. It’s a bitch. It really messes you up for a while, but you get over it.” He reached for his glass of water and sipped, condensation dripping onto the tablecloth below.

  She wanted to console him in some way, to let him know she understood, but she didn’t. Not really. She only understood what it was like from the outside looking in, the resentments that built through the years, the anger against one parent for hurting the other and the constant longing for things to be different.

  “A part of me is still bitter, I guess. But only a small part.”

  “Wish I could say the same for my mom. It eats her up.”

  “Even though she’s found someone new?”

  Sydney nodded. “The mere mention of my father sends her into a furious rage.” Truth was, it felt as though the anger was even directed at her, as though she had something to do with her mother’s misery. Reaching for her glass she thought, she may resemble the man, but that’s where their similarities ended. She and her father were nothing alike. And she planned to keep it that way.

  “Are you an only child?”

  “I am.”

  Clay rolled his lips together. “Hm.”

  Grasping the base of her glass, the exterior cold and wet, the reaction made her feel as though her life were lacking in some way. “Better only one kid had to go through it, right?”

  “That’s one way to look at it, I suppose.”

  And really, wasn’t Q in her same position? He was an only child. His parents were divorced. Did they speak? Was Clay’s relationship filled with animosity?

  “Divorce is an ugly thing.”

  “That it is,” she agreed, and wished their bottle of wine had arrived. She could use a drink right about now. Talk of her parents never bode well and reinforced her decision to cut ties, change course, revise her future and steer wide and clear of their mistakes. She was in no hurry for marriage or children, if ever. Sydney glanced to the side just as the hostess was leading a middle-aged couple to their table. Several yards away, she watched as they took their seats and listened to the hostess reel off the house spiel. A waiter swooped in and filled their glasses with water and for the entire time, the man was touching his date. First his hand, then his arm went around her, now he was pulling her close. Checking their hands, Sydney saw the two were married.

  Whatever. Romance over candlelight was easy. It was the long term devotion part that stumped people.

  “Q was very impressed when I told him about our bike ride.”

  The out of the blue statement snapped her attention back to Clay. “Really?”

  He nodded, his smile reflecting it was true. “Thought it was very cool.”

  “I still feel bad about taking you away from him,” she replied.

  Clay covered her hand with his and her insides jumped. “Don’t. He had a ball with my folks. They went to the Seaquarium, drove by the marina, the beach. He didn’t even know I was gone.”

  Sydney wondered if that was a good thing or not.

  # # #

  Clay drove her home and as a proper gentleman would and escorted her up her front walkway. It felt strange to be on an actual date with him where he picked her up and dropped her off. So much of their time had been “running into each other” or “meeting up” that this felt all the more serious. It was him and her...

  ...and the threshold of expectation. Inserting the key, she glanced at him as she unlocked the door. Should she ask him in? Part of her wanted their evening to continue yet another part of her was concerned where it may lead. She turned to face him fully. But as they were growing closer, she knew it was only a matter of time. Sydney peered into his eyes, trying to avoid his mouth as she wondered what he would do once inside.

  “Thanks for another spectacular evening,” Clay said quietly, the heat of cobalt blazing beneath the lamplight of her front porch.

  “Spectacular? Wow,” she tried to joke, “now that’s saying something.”

  “I mean it.” He reached for her hand and her body tensed at the touch. “I enjoyed hearing you talk about volleyball. Your face lights up and you really come alive.”

  “I do?”

  “You absolutely do. And it’s a beautiful sight to behold.”

  Clay was laying it on thick again, something he tended to do—something, she decided, she tended to like. Shallow or not, she enjoyed being in the spotlight of his attention.

  “It kinda reminds me of Q and the way swimming brings out the best in him.”

  Q. Sydney exhaled. That’s what she remembered most from their conversation. Family. Duty. Obligations that didn’t include her. “He’s really a great kid.”

  Clay took a step toward her. “He is.”

  “And you’re a great father.” Was it wrong to spend time with him, even if it didn’t go anywhere? In a selfish rush of decision, she glanced toward her door. “Would you like to come in for a minute?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Clay grinned, and gave a light squeeze to her hand. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  A flurry of nerves trampled her pulse as she pushed open the door and flipped on the light switch. The sight of flowers bursting from the vase gave her pause. Extravagant, thoughtful, Clay’s sincerity graced every petal. She turned. Definitely put him the nice guy category. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “A glass of water would be great.”

  “Coming right up,” she said. Clay followed her further into the room as she strode into the kitchen. Clay was in her home. She retrieved two glasses, filled them from the sink and via the pass-through, gazed at him. Hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans, he wasn’t looking at picture frames, wasn’t perusing her décor, he was patiently awaiting her return. She swallowed. Her return. Where the two of them would be alone in her home. Water spilled over onto her hand and she cut the faucet. Damn it. “Out in a minute,” she called to him and hastily dried her hand, the sides of the glass. With a quick dodge to the freezer, she plunked several ice cubes into each and walked into the living room. Clearing her throat, she said, “Here you go.” She handed him a glass, keeping one for herself.
/>
  “Thanks,” he said with an obligatory sip, as though to prove he really did want the water.

  “Would you like to sit?” she asked, fighting the rising tide of awkwardness gurgling inside her.

  “Sure.”

  In a restaurant, the rules for decorum were clear. In her home, she dictated what happened next. But what if she didn’t know what she wanted to happen next?

  Sydney lowered onto a seat cushion where Clay joined her.

  “You’re easy to be around” he said, and sipped from his water again.

  “You are too,” she agreed, and clutched the water glass to her lap. Surely he wasn’t going to settle for small talk—they’d been talking all night!

  Setting the water down on the side table, he turned his body toward hers. Like a soldier on high alert, Sydney prepared for advancing troops. He shifted his legs so they were closer. Not touching, but closer. He ran a hand to rest along the back of the couch and she stiffened. “I can’t believe closing ceremonies are in three days.”

  Her mind zipped through dates and sure enough, he was right. Three days. She peered at him, the glass growing cold within her grasp. “Time flies, doesn’t it?”

  “I have to confess, I’m not looking forward to leaving.”

  The reminder pulled at her spirit. She wasn’t either. She wished he lived closer. Maybe that way, the two could get to know one another the old-fashioned way—over time. Sydney took a quick sip from her water, then leaned over and placed the glass on a coaster atop the sofa table. Pressing palms to her skirt, she warmed them against the thin denim fabric.

  “Maybe Q and I will extend our vacation.” He slipped into a smile. “Enjoy the Sunshine State a little longer.”

  She brightened at the mention. “But doesn’t he have to fly back with his team?”

  He shrugged. “Not if I decide otherwise. We can stay as long as we like.”

  We. With Q and Clay here and no team, the two of them would have no time alone to themselves. Her spirits plunged. Not that she didn’t like the boy, but dating didn’t happen as a trio. It was duo or “don’t do.”

  “Then again, my parents could always watch him back home while I hang here a few extra days...”

  Reticent to believe it was possible, she countered, “How will they get him back—drive?”

  “Or he can fly. My brother can meet him at the airport. He and his wife help out with Q when need be. They can handle him until my folks arrive back into town.”

  Sydney felt a twinge of guilt. “That sounds like a lot to ask.” Something didn’t seem right about making plans based on getting Q out of the way. Clay was his father. He had obligations. He shouldn’t be hanging out in Miami to be with her when his son needed him back home.

  Then it struck her. Clay had an entire life that didn’t include her and a busy one at that. Who did she think she was entertaining thoughts of the two of them together?

  “Besides, I haven’t had near enough time with you.”

  She lapsed into the sentiment. While she felt the same way, she was torn.

  “You look great tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, the comment hooking her attention back to them, the privacy of her home. Sitting in close proximity, the skirt high on her thighs, she felt exposed. Sydney slid her hands to the skin of her quads, lifted, pushed her shoulders back. Clay’s hand moved from the back cushion and touched her bare shoulder. Only a tap, but she felt the zing straight through her midsection. He brushed the hair away from her neck in what felt like a tickle of silk.

  “To be honest, I’m having trouble forgetting that kiss today.”

  She lowered her eyes. Leave it to Clay to head straight to the point.

  He reached over and tipped her chin up. “How about you?”

  “It was nice...” she mumbled, pulse drumming with anticipation at the intimate touch to her bare skin. The kiss had been spectacular for her. With the curve of his knuckle, Clay skimmed her cheek in a move that prickled her breasts. “And while we’re being honest, I have to admit you have one of the nicest rears I’ve ever seen.”

  She bristled. “My rear?” That was the least of her better attributes.

  “It's phenomenal, if you ask me.”

  “Hardly,” she scoffed.

  Clay emitted a hollow chuckle. “How can you say that?”

  “Just trying to be realistic.” She looked away. “I know what I look like in a bathing suit.” It suddenly grated on her that like Charlie, he'd seen her butt hanging halfway out of her suit and made her feel as if he were visualizing her half-naked in her uniform rather than fully dressed as she sat before him. She gritted her teeth. Damn Charlie for bringing him to the tournament in the first place. She was beginning to like Clay and wished they’d started off on a more positive note—and not with her cellulite-clad butt cheeks on display.

  He moved a forefinger to her jaw and turned her face back to him. “Don’t you think I’m a better judge of these things?”

  About to disagree, she retreated. This was not a conversation she wanted to be having. She looked at him directly. “I’m only trying to be honest about my appearance, Clay.”

  “In your opinion.”

  Obviously, she thought, but remained mute.

  “I thought you looked great, especially your rear.” He waggled his brow with a grin. “Very nice.”

  Quelling a grimace, she glanced at the front door. Maybe this had been a mistake. Suddenly, things weren’t so easy and carefree—the way they should be.

  “You have a beautiful body, Sydney.” As though sensing her withdrawal, Clay leaned close and whispered, “An incredibly sexy, strong, beautiful body.”

  She could feel his penetrating gaze as it gathered her close. “Is it wrong to want to be with you?” From the corner of her eye, she caught his gaze drop briefly to her lips. “Is it wrong to want a woman to the point of distraction?”

  She hoped not. It was the same way she felt about him.

  “But better than your body—and I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he laughed softly, “I like hanging out with you.”

  She turned to face him fully. He did?

  “You’re funny. Fun.” He brushed his fingers through long strands of hair that had fallen forward. “I want to go to the beach with you, watch your volleyball events. I want to take you sailing, teach you how to play golf.” He winked, in that easy natural way of his and said, “I even enjoyed my bike ride today.”

  “You did not.”

  Clay’s brows shot up in surprise. “I did, too.”

  She narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms. “Really?”

  “Really.” He gently tugged her arms from their knot and laced the fingers on his free hand with hers. Warm and cozy, it was a sweet connection. The other hand was currently sliding beneath her hair where he caressed the nape of her neck, the soft sensitive skin. Nerves bubbled deep in her belly. He leaned closer and gently thumbed her palm. “I’ve never wanted any woman as much as I want you right now.”

  Her breathing stopped. Sound the horns—he was coming in for the attack.

  “Do you feel the same? Or is this attraction one-sided...”

  Sydney nodded, mute. Throat dry, she wished she’d had taken more of that water, but didn’t dare make a move to get it now. Locked within his presence, his woodsy, citrus cologne enveloped her, seeped into her pores. Totally unique to him, the scent was imprinting itself on her senses, lulling her under his power. Clay’s hand stilled. He eased forward and her lips parted. When he smiled, she realized she had played right into his hands. But rather than arrogance, she detected pleasure. With a nudge to the back of her neck, he pulled her head toward him and joined their lips in the softest of terms.

  The move stole her breath away. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could only feel the moist heat building below as he kissed her. She relaxed into him as his tongue made silky swathes around hers. Releasing her hand, Clay cupped her jaw, sank deeper into the kiss and she resp
onded, surrendering to his sweeping demand. Ravenous, hungry he delved deeper, harder. Coupled with the firm hold of her face, the thrust of his mouth felt like he couldn’t get enough of her.

  And it felt good. To be wanted like this, man and woman both giving in to instinctual need. Clay drove harder and she gave in to him. His was a raw sensuality she had not experienced, a near animalistic greed. It was primal, sexual—welcome.

  Clay stopped. The withdrawal so sudden, her lips felt swollen, exposed. Doubt hammered in her chest. She searched his face for explanation.

  Lust peeled the cheer from his deep blue gaze. There were no signs of his earlier tease. Beneath the line of his brow, shrouded within the heavy line of his lashes, hungry eyes darted hotly across hers. Understanding filtered into her mind.

  He was seeking permission.

  Tracing the outline of her face, his finger roamed down her neck, along the bare skin of her shoulder, fell back along the line of her triceps, his moves deliberate, meticulous. Did she want to continue? He trailed back over the underside of her arm, down to her wrist, ultimately settling in the palm of her hand. The graze of his fingertip sent tingles straight to her breasts. She looked at her hand. Was this something she wanted?

  Excitement swelled. Yes. Absolutely. There was no place she’d rather be, no other man she’d rather have close to her. Clay lowered his lids and once again, interlaced his fingers through hers. Without a word, he lifted her hand to his face. With one eye fixed on her, he kissed the back of her hand, the side, skimmed soft lips to her wrist, back to her palm, warm wisps of breath fanning flames across her skin as he traveled. He dipped his tongue into her palm and swirled it around, tightening her nipples into pebbly rocks. Then, in a move so unexpected, he flattened his tongue in a swipe across her hand—it was all she could do to sit still. Clay checked with her but she could only stare, captive within his embrace.