Sizzle (St. Martin Family Saga): Emergency Responders

by Gina Watson

  Then she saw a wrapped package with a white bow and an attached note.

  Eve,

  Again, I’m sorry about not letting you speak with your sister. I would give you anything, but not if it compromises your safety. You’ve put your trust in me and I won’t break it for anyone, including you. Please put the dress on when you’re ready and meet me in the kitchen for cocktails at 7:30. We have dinner reservations at 8:30.

  P.S. I saw the pendant and thought of your eyes. Depending on your mood they fluctuate from light to metal gray to sometimes steel blue. I thought you might use it as a touchstone—something that grounds you to this new world with me. Anyway, I wanted you to have something you could use as an anchor. This is our reality—you and me together.

  I love you,

  Clay

  Tears drifted from her eyes and onto the note smearing the ink. Sniffing, she opened the box. Inside was a beautiful pearl pendant. At least she thought it looked like pearl. But it was bigger than any pearl she’d ever seen, and the jewel was oval shaped. Her thumb ran across its smoothness, and the color darkened. The setting was arresting, with prongs, fingers, that held the pearl safely in place. Aptly there were ten. Ten fingers to hold the jewel safe, just as he held her life safe in his own fingers. The pendant was attached to a long silver chain. The gesture was so appropriate for her that his perception almost frightened her. Clay’s connection with her ran deep. He knew everything about her, and that was freeing. But he kept the door leading to his own demons locked tight. And she knew demons haunted him, just as they did her. She knew they lay behind his fear that he would hurt her during sex. But he would never hurt her. She knew it in every part of her body and soul.

  He’d rescued her in many ways—physically, emotionally, mentally. What had she done for him? She wanted to rescue him back.

  She dressed and clasped the pendant around her neck. The weight of it comforted her and reminded her of Clay’s protection.

  She met him in the kitchen, and the sight of him in a charcoal suit was like catnip. He was sexy and smelled divine. The suit made him seem even larger than he normally did, but she’d come to equate that body of his with pleasure, comfort, safety, and above all, love.

  Frank Sinatra played softly through the house system as their eyes met, and Clay grasped her hands in his, pulling her close until they were cheek to cheek and swaying to the music.

  “You are simply beautiful.” He kissed her temple. “Love you in this dress. Are you done being mad at me?”

  Eve nodded. The steel hardness of his body in contrast with the silk smoothness of his suit had her entranced, as he did so often. She wanted to take a moment to bask in his honesty and strength. He’d said he’d keep her safe at all costs, and she trusted this fireman with her life. Their time together hadn’t been long, but she realized that had she stayed with Nicolas for a lifetime, she’d never have been able to feel safe in his arms the way she did with Clay.

  Still swaying, they moved closer until their lips met, and Clay rubbed her earlobe in his fingers while his tongue explored her. He tasted like olives, and she discovered he’d made cocktails and she was smiling because she knew she was in crazy love with the man.

  After sharing a drink and a handful of tasty kisses, they walked arm in arm maybe two hundred yards on the small beach, turned a corner, and arrived at what seemed like a beach cabin; only the inside was outfitted with ambiance galore.

  Shabby chic decorated every surface. Empty wine bottles, twinkling with tiny lights, lined the walls. The effect was both romantic and fantastical. They were seated at an intimate corner booth. Since it was round, they huddled together, neither wanting to release the other for even a second. She hoped that meant Clay was as affected by her as she was by him.

  They sipped wine and slurped oysters. She gazed into his eyes, loving the strength she saw there.

  “Clay, I’m sorry about the phone. I trust you with my life. You’ve never given me reason not to.” She took another deep sip of wine, as did he. “I can’t explain how intense my desperation was, knowing Mia was close, yet not being able to reach her. I felt out of control and I hate that.”

  He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “It’s your sister; I completely understand. But telling you no was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. Thank you for doing the hard thing when it’s the right thing.”

  Thinking about Mia made her worry and she wouldn’t be able to rid herself of the anxiety until her sister was safely settled in Louisiana. Putting her faith in Clay and his friend Augie, she settled into the booth and shared tapas and wine with the man she loved.

  14

  The gift of the beach was the most precious thing Eve had ever been given. Even now that they were back, she recalled the sights, smells, and sounds. Sitting at Clay’s kitchen table, Eve was emailing and updating her blog as she snacked on cheese and crackers. Cookie sat at statuesque attention on the floor next to her legs. She threw a slice at the dog and it was gobbled up before it hit the ground. “Little beggar.” She leaned forward to cut another slice of cheese, and a loud knock at the door startled her.

  “Damn.” She’d nicked her index finger with the sharp knife. She sucked the finger into her mouth and went to the door.

  A sophisticated women wearing a charcoal gray suit—exquisitely tailored—and black stilettos stood on the front stoop. Actually, she overwhelmed it. The woman was a force.

  The suit was tight and closely followed her curves, including the much too round, much too squished-together melons that were her breasts. The cut revealed deep cleavage. Her hair was several colors, and Eve couldn’t decide if she would classify it as copper, red, or brown with highlights. Her lips were unnaturally enhanced and sported way too much red. Eve estimated the woman to be in her midthirties, which had her thinking she would be much closer to Clay’s age than her own twenty-three.

  The woman cleared her throat, and Eve realized she’d been rudely staring. She smiled.

  “Hello, what can I do for you?”

  “Is Clay not home? I can catch him at the station if that’s where he is.” The woman tilted her head to look past Eve and into the house.

  “He went to get us groceries.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. Then she smirked at Eve. “Us?”

  Eve didn’t know what she was expected to say, so she nodded.

  The redhead raked her long sculptured red nails across her chest as she regarded Eve. “Hmm. Well, you’re not his sister, Clara, so who are you?”

  “I’m Eve. Would you like to come inside and wait? He should be back any minute now.”

  “Now that might be interesting.”

  The woman was peculiar, but Eve moved aside and let her enter the house. She hadn’t met any of Clay’s female friends, except for the wives and girlfriends of the firefighters, and was eager to see what this one wanted.

  They sat in the living room.

  “So, Eve, are you fucking him? Is that why he hasn’t been around the club these past weeks?”

  Eve’s jaw dropped and her body tensed. Her lips moved, but no words came out.

  “I’m Pamela, by the way.” She crossed one slim leg over the other. “I’d no idea he had a woman on the side. No wonder he hasn’t needed the club.” She eyed Eve coolly. “Play house by day, bound and gagged by night.” She shrugged and looked at her nails. “Must be fun.”

  Eve abruptly stood. “I think you should leave.”

  Pamela wasn’t impressed by her demand. She offered an evil smile.

  “But I only just got here.” Her forehead furrowed as she appraised Eve. “I must say, you seem much too young and innocent to be meeting Clay’s needs. Is he training you? At the club he demanded experienced partners only.”

  Eve’s heart was beating so frantically, she could hear it. Her stomach flipped as the woman kept talking. What club? What partners? She couldn’t hear anymore. Hands fisted, she
said. “Shut up!”

  Pamela’s smile turned to a frown. “What’s wrong, dear? Didn’t he tell you about the club?”

  Eve hadn’t known her eyes had filled with tears until they flowed down her face. “A nightclub?”

  “The Hoodoo Pot is much more than a nightclub.”

  “What’s the Hoodoo Pot?”

  “Baton Rouge’s very own members-only sex club.”

  Eve grabbed her stomach and focused on not losing her lunch.

  Pamela pressed her palms to her thighs and stood. “Well, sweetheart, I can see by your reaction that you’re in the dark on this.”

  She thought she would just come in and drop that shit in Eve’s lap and then leave? Eve wouldn’t stand for it. Her jaw clenched and her hands balled into fists. “Sit down.”

  Pamela eyed her with a raised brow. “Got some spunk in you, that’s for sure.” She sat.

  Eve wanted to know about Clay’s needs. Sensed he wasn’t telling her everything. It really wasn’t fair. How could she meet his needs if he wouldn’t tell her what they were? Share with her as she shared her needs with him. “Tell me everything.”

  She shrugged. “I already did.”

  Eve’s head lowered, and her gaze bore into Pamela. “I want to know specifically what Clay does at the club.”

  Pamela’s long bony index finger went to her forehead as she made use of the sculptured nail to push a loose swath of hair from her face. Her brow, every bit as sculptured as the rest of her, lifted to a center point. “With all due respect, I don’t think you could handle it and I don’t feel like playing nursemaid to a broken down young adult.

  Eve lunged at the painted woman, not recognizing her own strength. She grasped the woman around the shoulders and shook her hard. “Tell me what he does at the club!”

  “Jesus Christ.” Pamela pushed Eve and she fell on to the floor. “Are you in love with him or something?”

  Eve stood with her chin on her chest, knowing her relationship with Clay would never be the same again. A lone tear tracked down her heated face.

  Pamela’s nail beneath her chin lifted her face to the woman’s eyes. “So you are. In love with him.”

  She sighed, “Clay binds women and fucks them hard. Sometimes he gags them, more with his cock than with anything else. He uses their bodies and when he’s done, someone else comes in to clean up.”

  Dazed, Eve knew it was true. She’d sensed dominant tendencies in him when they’d made love. Or should she say had sex? Fucked? She’d been considering it lovemaking while he’d been fucking. She slowly lowered herself into the leather recliner across from Pamela. She leaned over with her elbows on her knees and dropped her face into her hands.

  “Come now, it’s not as bad as all that. Clay is an incredible fuck. You take him anyway you can get him. Listen hon, Clay and I, we used to live together back during our college years. I thought he’d hung the moon and I envisioned all sorts of sappy scenarios that obviously never materialized. But I realized something that has helped me distance myself all these years later—men like Clay can’t be satisfied by one woman. It’s impossible. Instead of getting all down in the mouth about this revelation, learn to have your own brand of fun. Consider the club. I’d be glad to give you a personal tour.”

  Eve thought she was going to be sick.

  The sound of a key in the lock had both women turning toward the door.

  Clay stepped inside, carrying groceries and seeming very domesticated in his casual attire. Eve raised her head slowly, her eyes meeting his, finding nothing readable in his gaze. His advance halted when he saw Pamela. His brow furrowed and his lips tightened as his upper body tensed. He stretched to his full height, something he did when challenged.

  Pamela smiled, and Clay squared his shoulders.

  He fixed his stare back on Eve. “Why are you crying? You should be rejoicing because now you have the answers you’ve been seeking.”

  His jaw clenched tight as he grimaced and his face turned red. Something pulled deep within her belly as she anticipated the storm that was brewing.

  “Pamela, what are you doing here?”

  She stood and sashayed toward him. “I’m glad to see you’re among the living. You’ve been at the club almost every day for five years and then these last several weeks, nothing. I was worried. Not to mention, the women have been asking for you.”

  Every day! Eve gasped. When she heard the sound, her hand instinctively cupped her mouth, but not before Pamela tossed her a smirk.

  Pamela scraped her thick shiny nails down her long neck. “When your invoice went unpaid, I became concerned.”

  Clay nodded and set the groceries down. “Sure you did. The only thing that can make you worry is a loss in your bottom line. Thank you for that concern, but everything is fine. You can leave now.”

  Pamela regarded Eve on the couch. “Yes, I can see that everything is fine. You’ve gone conventional. Hmm, well once you get bored, you can always reinstate your membership.” She started walking toward the door and then pivoted back. “For a fee, of course.”

  Clay’s arms unfolded. “You won’t be getting another cent from me. Ever.” He put his hand on her back, and her feet started to shuffle. Opening the door, he pushed her across the threshold. “Now leave before I lose my patience.” He slammed the door behind her.

  He lowered himself to the couch. Eve pulled her legs to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees. The room was so quiet, she could hear Clay breathe. She turned her face so she could look at him. He was sitting, frozen as if made of marble, and he was staring straight ahead. It wasn’t yet dark, but shadows filled the room.

  “I don’t smoke, don’t use drugs, I hardly ever drink. I go to mass every week, and I live simply. I help others whenever I can. I have one vice and it’s a big one. Shortly after I met you and we’d been intimate, I thought I could give up that lifestyle—and I did, I haven’t been back to the club—but I need to be honest with you. It’s all I think about.”

  He stood and went to the kitchen. Eve rolled her head from one knee to the next, not wanting to believe what she’d just heard.

  So that was it then. He’d throw away what they had because he needed some club, some kind of sex he couldn’t get from her. He’d broken her heart.

  But hadn’t he told Pamela she wouldn’t get another cent from him?

  And… he’d never given her a chance to meet his sexual needs. Not those that he thought she couldn’t handle. But he couldn’t know she wouldn’t want what he wanted. What if she loved what he loved? Craved what he craved? He’d just never cared enough to find out.

  He’d wanted to cure himself. And he’d chosen Eve to help him.

  No, she didn’t doubt that he liked her well enough; he was a kind and good man. But he thought she was normal, the kind of woman society accepted, and so he tried to make it work with her. But he’d just admitted it wasn’t enough, that she wasn’t enough.

  When he said it was all he thought about, he hadn’t meant her.

  She trembled.

  He hadn’t meant her.

  She heard the tinkling of rice fall into the fancy rice cooker. Raising her head, she watched him put the groceries away and add water to the cooker. He was making dinner? Her blood boiled. He thought he would just dismiss her that easily and then go about his normal evening? It had been her idea to make the rice dressing and roasted chicken, so why did he get to act as if everything was normal, as if the world hadn’t just crashed?

  Because for him, her heart answered, it hadn’t.

  If only she could rewind the clock back an hour to when they were happy. Before she knew he no longer wanted her. Before she knew she wasn’t enough.

  Before the man who was perfect for her admitted she wasn’t perfect for him.

  Her body trembled at the stinging anguish coursing through it. She’d be leaving, that was all she could do. She wouldn’t be able to rent conventionally due to her status, but if she could find a short-term rental
, that would work. She’d make it work.

  She slipped from the living room and went to the computer she’d left in the guest room and searched for a place in New Orleans. After twenty minutes of searching, she felt the air in the room shift. She’d been so focused, she hadn’t realized Clay had come in until he stood right behind her.

  “New Orleans?”

  Before she could turn to him, his thick, warm hands were kneading her shoulders. “So you’re leaving me?”

  She couldn’t form sound around the lump in her throat so she cleared it. “Clay.” Her voice was raspy and it hurt to speak. “What would you have me do? I ask you repeatedly to share your needs with me and instead of you telling me I get to hear it from an oversexed, overdressed, overly made-up woman who is so scarred I doubt she even realizes she is in pain. From her I learn you two used to be a thing and she proceeds to tell me that I will never satisfy you and that I should consider joining this club.”

  He attempted to pull her close but she wouldn’t let him.

  “And do you know the worst part about it? She could be right. It’s not like I would know or have ever been given the chance to satisfy you completely.”

  He gently pulled her hair into his hands and slowly swept it across her left shoulder. His lips were at her exposed neck as he whispered, “I don’t want you to go.” His teeth delicately traced her jugular, sending tingles down her spine. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave, but it’ll break me.” The moist breath against her skin had her unable to think clearly. He continued to use his teeth at her collarbone, one of his favorite spots, as his hands massaged her arms. She felt her nipples stand at attention for him, anticipating his touch. His lips were just hovering over the skin at her neck, and she felt the force of his exhale. “You said you wanted to be what I need, and my God, you’re so much more. Having experienced your purity, your joy, I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do if you leave.” His lips nibbled at her earlobe. “I should be the one saying I want to be what you need.”