“What would be important to you, Sydney?” He paused, the rise and fall of his chest visibly distracting. He closed in on her. “What would you change?”
“Okay, I understand what you’re trying to get at but—”
“Do you?” Finger to her chin, he tilted her face up.
Every fiber of her being charged at his touch. She could smell him, feel him. She could almost taste the light salt to his kiss at the park, the velvet slick of his tongue as it swiped over hers. Warm, wanting, the memory was visceral.
“Life can change in a moment, Sydney. You’re cruising along one day and all of a sudden it can change.” He skimmed his knuckle down to her throat. Captive within his measured gaze, she stood immobile. “It’s not in your plan. It’s nothing you can control. It just changes. And then you have to cope.” The noose closed around her heart. Clay was referring to Q. His son had a seizure. He nearly died.
What if he had? It wasn’t his first seizure, and may not be his last. What if he seized again, but next time wasn’t so lucky? What if he drowned? A strangle of anguish washed through her. She struggled to grasp the complexity of Clay’s life, the challenges he and Q faced on a daily basis. Could she handle it?
“You never know what life is going to give you, what can turn your world upside down—in seconds.” He glanced at her lips. Her pulse bolted. He lifted his gaze, leveled it with hers. “I don’t want to spend my life wondering, Sydney. I don’t want to play ‘what if’ about us. I want to know for sure, one way or the other.” Clay trailed his finger down to her collarbone, then allowed his hand to fall. “I want to know if we have what it takes to make a good fit.”
So did she. More than anything. Thoughts of failure slithered in, but she batted them away. What if...
What the hell if.
Sydney never backed down from a challenge. Not for as long as she lived had she ever walked away. Not from a show because it was demanding, a team because they were unbeatable, a coach because she was tough. Could that include a relationship with no certainty? An ex-wife that may prove difficult for her?
Locked within the demand of his gaze, the bindings broke free. Did it matter if it didn’t work out between them? Did it matter if it lasted months and not years? And what if he left her? Would she break down and die?
No. Desire mingled with nerves low in her belly as the chains hit the floor. No, she would not die. Sydney cocked a brow and excitement zipped up through her core. “If we never try, we’ll never know.”
“That’s right.” A sexy smile slipped onto his lips. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “No guts, no glory.”
She linked her arms around his neck, her body tense with anticipation. “No skin, no win.”
“Speaking of skin.” He leaned forward and touched his nose to hers. “I’ve been thinking of yours for days...”
Her insides ached at the mention. Clay wasn’t asking her to move to South Carolina. She wasn’t asking him to move to Miami. He was asking her to spend some time together. His lips hummed against hers, his breath warm as he glided across, cozy as he pressed forehead to forehead. She enfolded her arms around his neck and pressed her lower body to his. Doing this wouldn’t kill her. Longing swelled between them. In fact...
Clay delved his tongue inside. This didn’t hurt a bit.
He cupped her chin and probed deeper, harder. She opened to him, running hands through his hair. She wanted to inhale him, wanted him to devour her like he promised. She wanted to surrender as he made love to her. All of her, every inch, and she wanted to do the same to him.
Clay eased away and peered at her through hooded eyes. “Do you want this?”
She nodded.
He pushed the hair from her shoulder, slid his cheek across hers and nuzzled back and forth, pushed at her in a primal need to connect, to feel. He swiped his tongue by her ear, down the length of her neck, rendering her breasts to prickly peaks. Brushing the hair clear from her ear, he traced its outline with the tip of his tongue, whispering, “Do you know what I want to do to you?”
Excitement skated through her pulse. She could only hope.
“I want to look at your naked body.” His breath steamed against her ear, “run my hands over every inch of you…” An image flashed into her mind of Clay doing just that, running his hands over her entire body, and she shivered with pleasure. “I want to look and touch and feel and then I want to take my time...and taste you. Run my tongue.” He dipped his tongue into her ear. “Everywhere,” he rasped.
Spasms erupted deep between her thighs.
Clay pulled back and gently drew his fingers down the side of her face, as though admiring a fine piece of sculpture. He skimmed over her cheekbone, grazed the line of her jaw, trailed down to her neck and followed the line of her collarbone, the round of her shoulder. Desire warred with trepidation as his hand swept over the round of her breast, outlined its curve beneath the black satin of her tank top. Her nipples pulsed.
He searched her gaze. Was she with him? Was she good? She smiled that she was and returning a smoldering gleam, he continued down her waist, the length of her skirt, his fingers sneaking under the hem.
Sydney’s breath caught. Her loins flushed with heat. She’d been here before. Gliding over the curves of her bare bottom, he raised the material until her backside was entirely exposed and found the string of her panties. With a light tug he said, “Glad you remembered. This is my absolute favorite.”
Sydney suppressed a nervous giggle. She dropped her head to his shoulder, embarrassment colliding with want.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she murmured into the cotton of his shirt and breathed in the scent of him, the delicious scent of his cologne. Curling her hands around his shoulders, she relished the feel of his body, the curve of his back and shoulders, the hard line of his chest. Clay lifted her skirt clear up to her waist, the ridge of his pecs flexing against her breasts as he did so. Sydney rolled her head to the side, ran her hands down his back—
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
Startled, she pulled her head up and looked at him. “What?”
“I’m not moving my hands.” Pleasure crept into his smile as he tightened his grip. “I like your butt.”
Sydney felt thrilled and foolish. “I wasn’t trying to stop you...”
“Good.” Clay pressed into her. The man was rock solid ready. “Wanna go into your room?”
In a rush of dare and spontaneity, she eyed her couch. Her pulse whipped up. “How about we christen the couch instead?”
“Where it all started.” He laughed softly. “I like the way you think, Ms. Flores.” Before she could respond, Clay released hold of her. “Now come here you,” he murmured huskily and tugged her over and down to the cushion. “There are some things I’ve been wanting to show you.”
Nervous expectation surged as he positioned her length on the couch. With a hand behind her neck he hovered above her. Staring up at him, she remembered well the things he promised, the whispers of pleasure that had swirled through her mind ever since.
Clay leaned down and kissed her in the delicate way that only he could kiss. It was a combination of feather light pressure and hungry intention. Hot greed coupled with sultry pliancy that rocked and cradled at the same time. It made every ounce his desire clear. A flurry of trepidation swept through her. Sydney could only imagine how it would translate later.
He slid down her body, hands following in his wake. Sitting back on his heels, Clay made no attempt to hide his line of vision. Tingles singed her downy folds.
“Hot pink.” He smiled approval, his gaze steeped in lust. Then he opened her legs and she mildly flinched—but released. Nerves were not about to stop her now. Let him look. Let him see her. She wanted all that, and more.
At the glint in his eyes, she knew he meant business. Beginning at her knee, he walked his fingers up her leg. He stopped to caress the skin of her inner thigh, retreated, bent to kiss the i
nside of her knee, circled the spot with his tongue, a satiny tickle that touch clawed at her.
Sydney couldn’t take her eyes off him. Layers of blond lay tousled across his brow. It was the mess of early morning, the style of a lazy Sunday and a stark contrast to the stone of his gaze, the flames of greed licking at the blue of his eyes. Then his fingertips crept slowly up her legs, stopping inches away from where she needed them most.
She’d never been explored this way. Deliberately studied, perused—in the most blatant of ways. But she liked it. Could take him right now and rock to climax, but he had other plans. He curved a knuckle over her panties. “You’re wet.”
Oh yes she was—flooded. And if he slipped his finger inside her, she’d dissolve into a creamy mess of nothing. Locking gazes, he rose, pulled her up, then lowered to the center of the couch, maneuvering her so that she straddled his hips. He gestured for her to remove her shirt, beginning the process for her. No hesitation, no lingering, she did as he wanted.
She unhooked the center clasp, allowing her bra to fall away. He traced her ribs, the underside of her breasts and she resisted the urge to angle away. Bare nipples ached for attention and he gave it, leaning forward to suck one.
Sydney’s breath escaped in a jagged rush. She raked her hands through his hair and pressed him to her, mouth and nipple becoming one until he soaked the knot into surrender. Dropping her head back, she arched her chest, and guided him to do the same to the other.
Clay obliged, sucking, kneading, melting and asked, “Feel better?”
Pleasure coiled tightly within her pelvis. “Much.”
Lit only by the kitchen light, her living room assumed a lustrous quiet. It wasn’t dark, it wasn’t light. It was calm. Illuminating. On the verge of becoming lovers, this moment was for them and them alone. Man and woman about to embark on a journey of intimate beginnings, and nothing between them, it felt right. Special. Loving. Clay took her face in his hands and brought their lips together in a tender kiss. She yearned for him to press, to plunge, to probe as only he could but he didn’t. He kissed her cheek, kissed her brow, roamed to her jaw, her chin, then sucked at her lower lip, slipping a finger inside. Suddenly he ducked and pulled a nipple with gentle teeth and released. The thin layer of moisture chilled in the cool air.
It was ecstasy. Thoughts overrun with sensation she floated in a dreamy haze of suspended reality, a place where only feeling existed. Only desire.
Clay pressed her down into his lap and she could feel him stiff beneath his jeans. But rather than hurt, she sank into him, giving in to the churn of physical want. Slowly he rocked her to and fro, the pleasure of contact surging through her loins. Sliding arms over his shoulders, she folded them behind his neck and surrendered to the sensations filling her. Rolling her face into and against his, she craved the feel of him, the connection they were building. Pushing into him, she gyrated. Harder, faster, she forced the hot pressure mounting below to seek its release. Clay pushed and pulled with his hands. He licked her face, her throat, their rhythm easy and natural. Waves of molten sensation coursed through her body, fused her to him. In a sudden burst of spasm, pleasure exploded. It fired through her abdomen, streamed through her limbs, her breasts and she cried out, a shuddering climax rocking her tender loins, rendering her body limp.
Clay dragged his hand through her hair. “Give me more,” he demanded. He swiped his tongue across her neck, grabbed hold of her back, dove down for a savage taste of her breasts. Tremors rippled through her. More? Did she have more? As if in response, a swell of heat steamrolled through her, hundreds of pleasure centers imploded, ripped through her insides. Her breath fired in rapid gasps. Her legs quivered, her arms dropped. She didn’t hurt, she didn’t feel, the swell of flesh had gone numb. Sydney fell against him, expelling a sigh of exhaustion.
Clay hugged her to him and whispered, “My turn next.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“I think you should work for the Special Olympics.”
Startled by the random suggestion, she sharpened her focus. “What?”
“Yeah,” Clay said, his lazy smile easing into his voice. Head propped up by two pillows, his naked body was partially covered by white sheets, bed linens soaked in buttery shades of morning light, his skin suffused with the light scent of sex. “I think you should join the South Carolina delegation and travel with the team.”
“Sure,” she replied, head settled in the warm crux of his chest and shoulder. Arm slung over his torso, she was comfortable. Content. What had begun on her couch continued deep into the night, her comforter cast aside as they came together in a frenzy of discovery here in her bedroom. Clay had meant what he said about exploring her every inch. Tingles swarmed between her legs. And she had let him. Every, single, one. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She smiled into the side of him, his skin smooth and supple. “Move me right up next to you and live happily ever after.”
“Sounds good to me.”
It did to her, too. Part of it, anyway. The part where they could see one another every day, live and love as boyfriend and girlfriend in the normal terms of the words. Suddenly, the looming prospect of being separated from him by distance weighed heavy on her heart.
“C’mon.” He hugged her to him. “You’re an event planner. You plan events—big events.”
“Like the World Games?” she asked.
“Exactly.” Hot hands squeezed her firmly to him. “Now you’re getting the hang of it. World Games, the Nationals...”
While she liked the fact he and Q refused to give up their dream of competing, she wasn’t convinced it was a good fit for her. Thoughts of LBD International floated in, her dream of living abroad, traveling the world. “What makes you think they’d hire me in the first place?”
“You’re good at what you do. You’re great with kids. You already have experience with the organization. What’s not to hire?”
Work with the Special Olympics?
“It’s a great organization. They do everything first-class.”
Yes, she’d seen that firsthand. And they did so with calm, level heads, unlike some groups she’d encountered where each day brought new crisis. Not so with the Special Olympics. There was no grumbling, no griping. It was simply, what can we do to resolve this issue? Working with professionals of their caliber did appeal to her.
“Do you think your boss would give you a recommendation?”
Javier? Well, he was the one who suggested she work for a company like them in the first place. She frowned. Because kids were her strength.
But were they?
“Q loves you. His whole team loves you.”
Sam’s words came to mind about her Big Sister kids. Well they did like you. Sydney paused at the recollection. Did she have a way with kids she didn’t realize?
Clay turned his head and spoke into her hair, the warm moist heat reminding her of their intimacy, their chemistry from last night. “I think it’s the perfect match. We can be together and you can do what you love.”
In South Carolina. Her chest constricted, her breathing grew shallow and wary. Being with him, opening to him and allowing him free reign had been easier than she imagined. But moving to South Carolina? What if it didn’t work out as planned? Then where would she be?
Live your passion and your career will find you. If you and Clay are meant to be, you will find each other.
Was it so easy for Sam? Could she follow her passion, the rest be damned? Clay skimmed a finger the length of her arm. Waves of desire wound low in her belly. Let the details go. But she was a detail woman! How exactly did one let go of who they were? Details were her passion, her expertise. Nerves scattered like pebbles on a shiny surface as she silently cried, it’s what she did!
“Besides. Q’s gonna need some moral support.”
“Q?” Alarmed by the shift in tone, Sydney raised her head and peered at him. Worry poured through her. “What’s wrong?”
“Doctors want him to stay out of the poo
l.”
“What? Why?” Her breath caught. “Did he have another seizure?” She kicked herself for not asking sooner.
He rolled his head back and forth on the pillow, his gaze mellow. “No, but they think he could. They think this one was brought on by the stress of competition.”
“Oh no…”
“But Q’s made up his mind. He’s swimming.”
“Can’t they give him something for the seizures?”
“Medicine. But it will slow him down.”
I’m pretty fast. I count my strokes. She could see the pride in Q’s face as clear as if he were standing in front of her. Slow him down? That was bad news. “But what can I do?”
“Q looks up to you as an athlete. He’ll need your advice.” He grinned. “I’ll need your body.”
She punched him lightly.
But rather than continue the tease, he grew serious. “Because your heart’s inside.”
“Clay...”
“Will you come, Sydney?”
It was point blank. He was asking her to move to South Carolina. “I don’t know...”
“Will you at least consider it?”
Consider it? Struck by the realization she had nothing holding her in Miami, she thought, what’s not to consider? Hell, she had no job! Inundated with a slew of nervous energy, she looked at him hard. At this rate, she’d better start considering something. She took in the morning beard forming across his jaw, the layers of blond tangled from their first night together, the silky blue gaze as he waited for her reply. “Yes,” she murmured. She brought hand to his necklace and fingered the smooth, white beads. “Yes.” Excitement swelled. Gazing into brilliant blue eyes, she wanted last night to be the first of many. “I’ll consider it.”
Clay hugged her to him. “We’ll need a good lawyer, too.”
She laughed. “Well as it stands, I just happen to know one of those!”
“Good.” He smiled. “Q can’t live without swimming and he can’t live without the Special Olympics.”
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