by J. M. Madden
His stomach clenched as he recalled glancing over Sarah’s shoulder and seeing the packed bag on the bed. Nothing had scared him like that for years. It was obvious that she wanted to go as much as he wanted her to go; not at all. With a sigh, he consciously relaxed his muscles. Now, how to proceed…
He’d basically told her he wanted her and judging by her reaction the feeling was reciprocated. Perhaps if they had a mutually beneficial affair, he could finally get her off his mind. Constantly, thoughts of Sarah chased around in his head. He was not a long-term type of guy. The longest relationship he had been involved in had only lasted a few months before they’d grown tired of each other. Actually, Clayton had always suspected that Celeste just tolerated him for the sake of his money and the nebulous chance she might be a future Mrs. Gallagher. She seemed to be fine with dating him only occasionally to keep both their mothers off their backs.
Sarah did not seem to want anything from him though, other than companionship. She did not strike him as the gold digger type. The fact that she wanted to donate the commission for Tory’s portrait to the ASPCA said that she wasn’t greedy. Or was she also after a place by his side? Was she giving up a small payout now in the hopes that there would be a bigger payoff in the end? No, his mind told him definitively. Sarah was nothing like Celeste or his mother, for that matter. She was a completely different type of woman.
Downshifting, he turned right and headed out of town. The car jumped as he pressed down on the gas and swung around a truck in front of him. When he got back, he would make an advance. It would release the building tensions on both their sides and release him from the obsession he had been under for a year and a half. There was no way she could fulfill the expectations he had built in his head. It was a good plan.
That cautious voice in the back of his head warned him that rather than discharging the obsession, he may just be digging himself in even deeper. But Clayton pushed it aside. He knew he was not the type to fall for a woman permanently. He didn’t know how to love someone, how could he?
*
Sarah was extremely pleased with how well the portrait was coming along. Tory was a surprisingly good model and as long as she could talk, she wasn’t too fidgety. On one of her trips into town, she had bought Tory a set of earbuds and microphone so she could talk to Cara anytime she wanted, and it left Sarah able to concentrate on her work.
She thought back now on what Clayton had said just a while ago. Would he be able to engage in an affair with her in spite of Jillian’s objections to her? Sarah felt certain that the woman would do anything in her power to keep him under her thumb. Would Clayton continue to stand up to his mother, or would he eventually cave under the pressure? Sarah felt sure he would not give in to the woman. She had a feeling the relationship between the two was obligatory at best, based on feelings of responsibility to the family, not affection. Mrs. Gallagher wouldn’t even acknowledge he was her son.
The thoughts chased around in her head all day, and she felt she was just working on autopilot for much of the afternoon. Tory disappeared upstairs to get dressed for dinner and Sarah retreated to the kitchen to help Faust.
The older woman’s eyes were twinkling as Sarah entered the kitchen. She was just putting the finishing touches on an aromatic, loaded down tray.
“Mr. Gallagher called down requesting a dinner tray in his office. Would you be so kind as to take this up to him?” The older woman put a hand to her side. “My hip is bothering me again today.”
“Absolutely,” Sarah told her. “Not a problem at all.”
“Thank you, dear. Marianne called off today, so I’ve been extra busy. I appreciate the help.”
Sarah was secretly thrilled. Of course, she would take it up to Clayton. Any time spent with him at all was better than none. Quickly, she scrubbed her hands under the tap and straightened her ponytail, then hefted the tray in her hands. It was heavy today, and there were two covered dinners on the tray. Her heart clenched at the thought of his having a guest for dinner. What would she do if she went up there and he was entertaining another woman? You’ll be strong, deliver the food and get out of there as quickly as you can. You’ll be fine.
Outside Clayton’s door, Sarah had a sense of dèjà vu as she heard raised voices coming from behind the closed door. She hesitated in indecision. Should she knock and interrupt or wait for it to finish, then act as if she’d just gotten there?
The decision was taken out of her hands as the door was flung open and a furious Jillian Gallagher sailed out of the room. Sarah stepped back to allow her room to pass on the landing. The older woman stopped and glared venomously at her for a long moment, then stomped down the stairs.
Sarah proceeded through the door. Clayton was at the desk with his head tipped forward into his hand, massaging the bridge of his nose. She had seen him doing it several times after he had dealt with his mother.
“I understand now why you get headaches so often,” she told him softly.
Sarah was happy to hear a startled laugh as she used her elbow to turn off the harsh overhead light, then crossed to the table against the wall and set the service down. She flicked a switch on a small floor lamp then circled the desk to stand behind him. He raised his head and eyed her over his shoulder.
“Trust me,” she told him, as she placed her palms on each side of his face and gently pulled his head to rest against the top of his leather chair.
Sarah was very aware of Clayton’s crisp dark hair resting against her breasts as she began to make swirling, sweeping motions against his skin, circling in under his eyes, up the bridge of his nose and out across his heavy brows. The tension began to ease almost immediately, and she felt him melt into the chair, and her.
Sarah made it a point to remember every detail as clearly as she could, for she did not know how long he would let her do this. The fact that he was letting her do it at all amazed her, because she had a feeling he very rarely let anyone get this close. The way he had been brought up made him leery of attention and unfamiliar with affection, but what she was seeing now made her happy. Sarah honestly believed that everybody wanted to be touched and connected to another human being, regardless of how they were brought up.
Opening her palms, she began at the bristly point of his bearded chin and swept both palms up over the lines in his cheeks, over his strong cheekbones and up over his temples and into his hair. Sarah lost track of the time as she stood there, alternating the movements over his face until he almost seemed to be sleeping, his breathing deep and regular. Dancing her fingers through his hair, she began to knead his scalp, working from front to back and around the sides. Sarah was amazed at how thick his hair was, yet so soft that she reveled in the feel of it. Clayton never said a word the entire time and when she finally stopped, it was as natural as breathing to bend down and kiss the top of his head.
Sarah moved around the chair quietly, intending to let Clayton sleep as long as he could, when he reached out and snagged her hand.
She smiled at him even as her heart thumped in surprise. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Running his thumb over her knuckles, Clayton smiled slightly at her paint stained skin.
“I almost was,” he admitted. “Thank you for that. I’m more relaxed now than I have been for… a long time.”
Tugging on her hand, he pulled her between his spread knees. Sarah was stunned speechless as he drew her down into a kiss. It was just a light, tentative brush at first, but Sarah had been waiting too long to accept crumbs. Wanting more, she increased the pressure on his lips. And was overwhelmed as she was met with a furious response.
The man kissed as if he were drowning, and her mouth was the life preserver. Sarah was amazed at the intensity of this kiss. In one corner of her mind, she tried to remember every detail of what was happening, because this was the only first kiss she’d ever have with Clayton and she wanted to cherish the memory. The hint of toothpaste on his hot breath, the beard on his chin as it bumped into her lower cheek. She thought
she heard him murmur her name, but she wasn’t sure. It was hard to hear anything over the pounding of her heart.
Suddenly everything melted away as his tongue slipped between her lips. She couldn’t hold onto a coherent thought. Vaguely, she realized she was sitting on his lap and draped over the arm of his chair. Her hand was behind his head pulling him down, urging him on. Their teeth bumped as they changed directions, trying to get deeper into each other. Closer, she had to get closer.
A button popped as she forced a hand between them and into his shirt. Sarah was momentarily fascinated with the cushion of hair she felt with her fingertips, and the muscles beneath that fur. Her body thrummed with arousal. Sarah could feel heat and wetness pooling between her legs. He’d only kissed her and already her body was preparing itself for him. Underneath her ass, she could feel he was ready to satisfy her as well and she couldn’t help but put more pressure on him by shifting to one hip, turning toward him.
Tearing his mouth away, he groaned. “God, don’t do that.”
But he couldn’t seem to help himself either, because even though he held her in place so that she couldn’t move he gave an involuntary grind in response. Then, he seemed to find some measure of control, because he sat her up in his lap and held her immobile against his chest. Sarah struggled to catch her breath and slow her heartbeat. One thought chased after another and she grinned up at Clayton. That kiss! He had been incredible. Phenomenal. Regardless of his super calm exterior, he was a beast underneath all that starch and iron willed control. Sarah was anxious to finish what they started. Unconsciously she began to lean in toward his mouth again.
Clayton chuckled and held her back with his hands. “What a little hellcat you are,” he rumbled.
“That’s funny,” she told him, giggling softly. “I just thought you were a beast.”
With his hands on her upper arms, Sarah was limited in what she could touch, so she settled with resting her hands on his forearms, running her fingers over his skin. That was a treat in itself. Even though he was a businessman, Clayton kept himself in shape and even his forearms showed that. She looked up as he lowered his hands to her elbows.
He had a bemused expression on his face, as if he were confused by what had happened. Sarah was very clear on what had happened, and what she wanted to happen.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
Clayton stared at the woman on his lap in consternation. Why did she have to be so different from every other woman he’d ever met? Why wasn’t she bitching at him to release her, because he had mussed her lipstick or her hair, or some other stupid thing? She was supposed to make it easy for him to let her go, but instead he wanted to pull her closer and never leave the room. He had a raging erection but he was doing his damnedest to do the right thing and not go any farther. His heart pounded heavily as he fought with himself, and her.
Satisfaction surged as he looked at her swollen lips. He had done that. Her hair was no longer in a ponytail and he had a feeling he had done that as well. Heavily lidded green eyes pleaded with him to finish what he’d started and he felt his good intentions crumbling.
“No, Sarah.” Pushing her away, he stood up and took several steps away, running his hand through his hair. If he did not get out of here, he was going to ruin everything, and possibly hurt this beautiful woman in front of him. But he stopped before he reached the door. If he left her this way, she may never forgive him.
With a monumental effort, he leaned a hand against the stone wall near the door and dragged in several deep breaths. In all his thirty-four years, he could not remember ever being this turned on before, certainly not from one kiss. Falling back on habit, he began to rationalize what had happened. For more than eighteen months now, he had been celibate, because no other woman could hold his interest as much as the woman behind him. His heart clenched as he recalled the sultry look in her eyes and with a struggle he dragged his thoughts away to something less dangerous. Clearing his throat, Clayton turned back to Sarah, sitting behind his desk.
She had righted her clothes and her hair, but still looked vaguely mussed. Clayton could not help but feel satisfied that he had done that to such a spectacularly beautiful woman. What would she look like after he’d made love to her? Once again he tore his thoughts away from those treacherous waters.
“I asked Faust to send up two dinner plates.” He cleared his throat. “Would you join me?”
As a smile lifted her plump lips, some of the tension in his chest eased. She seemed…eager to eat with him. He searched for some other word but it suited the situation perfectly. She had leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk, chin in hand. “I would love to have dinner with you.”
With a flourish, Clayton removed the plate covers and set the service before her. From a corner cupboard, he revealed a hidden refrigerator. “Water? Tea?”
“Water, please.”
As he set the bottle before her, Sarah’s eyes drifted over his shoulder to a painting on the wall, hidden in a small recess from the entire room unless you happened to be sitting in this chair.
“That’s one of mine!”
Clayton gave a guilty start as he remembered the portrait. It had been the beginning of the entire situation they all found themselves in. Almost twenty months ago, Clayton had gone out with a woman who had taken him to a small gallery in lower Manhattan to see an artist she had heard great things about. The showing for that artist had been all right, certainly trendy and well received, but Clayton had found himself drawn to another set of paintings across the room. They were not the bold, indecipherable blobs they’d come to see. Every single one of these pieces were snatches of life, lovingly, warmly rendered. There was a picture of children stomping through mud puddles; there was one of horses sniffing a cat. There was a squirrel dangling from the edge of a bird feeder. One was a picture of a woman wiping her forehead with her arm in a sunny kitchen, trying to avoid her flour-coated hands. Clayton had to smile himself when he saw a little boy being swatted on the behind after he filched a cookie from the countertop. All of the paintings portrayed a life he had never experienced—or even imagined—but he found himself wanting to be a part of every one of them. Even the one of the old man kneeling at the headstone of his deceased wife, his forehead resting on top of the stone and tears leaving silvered tracks down his lined face. Would he ever feel like that for anybody?
Clayton recognized the fact that he had very little experience with positive emotions. Surely that was why this artist appealed to him so much. And as he moved to the last painting, he was stunned by the reaction that choked his throat. The little girl sitting at the dressing table reminded him so much of Victoria. And the reflection looking back from the mirror was how he wanted her to grow up, into a strong, beautiful, confident woman not bogged down by all the Gallagher family baggage, another emotional cripple.
After Robert had died, he had taken on the daunting responsibility of being the only male in her life, and he sometimes felt as if he were floundering. What did he know about twelve year old girls? Sadly, her mother did not seem to know or care about what to do with her either, and was more than happy to leave most of the day-to-day decisions to Clayton. She was too busy worrying about her own life. The only thing Andrea had insisted upon was boarding school, and that was only because his mother had insisted on it. Personally, he wanted to keep Tory in the house and at the private school she had attended for the past couple of years just a few miles down the road outside of Greenwich. But other than footing the bill, was the decision really his to make?
Now, as Clayton looked at the young girl at the dressing table, he admitted he did not want her to grow up. Or to leave the house. He wanted to keep her close and safe and small. How would he feel if Tory actually were his daughter? Even more protective and possessive, he assumed.
He turned back to Sarah but she already watched him, with a gentle smile on her lips. If anybody would understand how he felt about Tory, he had a feeling it would be her. “I s
aw this painting almost two years ago in a gallery downtown. I bought it immediately because it reminded me so much of Tory. It was only about a year after Robert had died.”
Pulling one of the leather chairs across from the desk closer, Clayton settled into it and reached for one of the dishes. The raging need was gone now, but there was still a warmth that could bubble up if he let it. He went through the motions of eating, but he didn’t really notice anything. Sarah pushed her food around on the plate as well.
“What happened to your brother, if you don’t mind my asking?” she asked quietly.
Did he mind her asking? Not nearly as much as he thought he would. Clayton relaxed back into the chair, folding his hands over his stomach, trying to appear casual, even though every muscle in his body was clenched in an automatic defensive reaction. Other people had asked him about this—hell, even the police had questioned him—but he didn’t mind the query coming from Sarah’s lips. And because it was Sarah that asked him now, he was able to take a breath and relax a little bit as he let it out before answering her.
“We had a sailboat over at Indian Harbor Yacht club. The entire family had access to the boat and club. I had taken the Sunfish out one day and she just wasn’t running right. I put in a repair order at the club and didn’t think anything more about it. I was usually the only one who ever used it, so I didn’t say anything to the rest of the family. Two days later, Robert took the boat out. He and Andrea had had a major blow up and he drove up from the city to get away from her.” The emotions washed over him once again, and he paused. “There was an electrical short in the main control panel. During the night, while he was sleeping off his liquor below, the panel caught fire. The boat sank and the body was never recovered.”
Sarah stared at him open mouthed, horrified. She’s guessed that Robert had died suddenly but she never imagined this sort of scenario. “My God,” she said finally. “I am so sorry.”
She looked at him for a long moment until her brows furrowed. “But how did you get the blame in his death? You had the boat scheduled for maintenance, right? It wasn’t your fault he didn’t talk to you or anyone at the club before he took it out. Is there a, what do you call it, a dock master or something there?”