Clay

by Jennifer Blake

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, turning her gaze toward the darkly glittering lake.

  “Good.” Dr. Gower stepped away from her. “As I said, you’ll be hearing from Anita.”

  He moved off quietly into the night. Janna heard the crunch of his footsteps on the gravel driveway that led to the road. Long seconds ticked past, then from some distance away came the sound of a powerful car engine starting. It purred away into the night and all was quiet again.

  A shiver ran over Janna and she clasped her arms around her waist. Everything was going wrong, or so it seemed. She wasn’t sure where or how it had begun, but there was no apparent end to it.

  Several things today had been odd, as she thought back on them, beginning with Arty’s visit. He hadn’t been his usual, irascibly humorous self. He had avoided her gaze much of the time, and when he couldn’t, she thought she saw condemnation in his watery eyes. He’d visited with Clay far longer than with her or Lainey, and the two men had talked in voices too low to hear. Clay had been silent, almost morose, when the old swamp rat had gone, so that she missed his lazy grin and suggestive banter. On top of that, there had been an unusual amount of activity out on the lake, with the sound of boats zipping up and down the main channel and waves lapping around the dock like surf. Regardless, Clay had not mentioned the commotion or even seemed to notice it.

  Lifting her head, she stared up through the feathery branches of a big cypress at the quarter moon that floated overhead. God, but what was she going to do? This was a judgment on her; to get so close to being able to save Lainey and then have the chance snatched away.

  Not for the first time, she wondered if it was really for Lainey’s sake that she was so determined to pursue this illegal transplant surgery. Was it actually her daughter she was trying to save, or was it her own selfish need that was so important, the need to hold on to the only thing that made her life worthwhile? In the end, was she only trying to save herself?

  She didn’t know. She really didn’t, and she was too tired from being wrapped up in the day-to-day emergencies of caring for Lainey to work it out. The only thing she knew was that she couldn’t stop. She was in too deep, with too much at stake.

  Janna moved back up onto the screen porch. The raccoon Arty had brought for Lainey was curled up in a ball in the corner of its homemade cage. Janna sat down beside him and stroked his soft fur through an opening between the wooden bars. The little critter had turned out to be as tame and mischievous as a kitten. Clay and Lainey had put their heads together and named him Ringo in honor of the stripes that ringed his tail. Janna had misgivings about the germs and infections that might be introduced by such a pet, but Clay had assured her that she was worrying for nothing. She hoped he was right, since Lainey had grown attached to the fur ball. If the truth were known, even she was developing a fondness for him.

  Money, she had to have more money.

  Her parents had loaned her a sizable sum already, though they objected on moral grounds and because they were horrified at the risk she was taking. They were nearing retirement age, however, and could part with no more, at least not comfortably. If she asked again for help with Lainey, they would try to talk her into coming back home where she’d be smothered and lectured and coaxed into resignation until both she and her daughter might well die from loss of hope.

  Janna couldn’t go back. She was grateful beyond words to them for letting her return home while she was pregnant, and for helping with the baby while she completed her degree in art at Mississippi State. She knew it hadn’t been easy for them, knew also that they loved her and Lainey. But they didn’t understand her distrust of male promises or her need for independence. They felt she should have accepted the first marriage proposal that came her way and become a stay-at-home wife and mother with her fabric designing as a nice little hobby.

  Arty had become a good friend. She appreciated his visits in this out of the way spot, and was grateful for the few times when he’d entertained Lainey so she could work. But as valuable as his presence had become, there were limits to what she could or would expect from him, even if he had it to offer.

  Dr. Gower thought she should turn to Clay. Now there was a joke. Ask for help from the man she’d drugged and tied to a bed, then kneed in his most vulnerable spot when he attempted to break free? He would help all right, help send her straight to jail.

  And yet, Clay belonged to the Benedict clan, a family of influence, community standing and a certain amount of wealth. Of all the people she knew, he came closest to having the means to solve her problem. All she had to do was overcome his Benedict sense of right and wrong.

  Clay was attracted to her. She knew that without conceit or any special sense of favor. It was purely physical, a chemical reaction with little emotion behind it. Could she soothe his wounded ego over being held captive by her? Was it remotely possible that she could convince him he was at the camp because she’d been so overwhelmed by instant desire that she couldn’t bear to let him leave?

  Sex as a bribe again. Why did that keep presenting itself as such a compelling alternative? Maybe Dr. Gower was right about her libido.

  Janna squeezed her eyes tight and leaned forward to put her face in her hands. She was strung out so far past exhaustion that the most incredible things seemed not only logical but also inevitable.

  How had she come to this? She’d thought never to make love except as an honest expression of deep emotion. It was abhorrent to even think of that kind of closeness, the orchestration of such intimacy, in any other way. How could she manage it without losing some portion of her pride and self-respect? Or, as far as that went, without getting hurt in the process?

  It was impossible. She just couldn’t do it.

  Could she?

  It was a half hour later when she got to her feet with weary effort and went back inside. She checked on Lainey to make certain that everything was proceeding normally with her dialysis, and that she was still asleep. Afterward, Janna showered for the night, noting as she did so that Clay had used her absence to take his own bath. He was a self-sufficient man she’d discovered, more than capable of looking after himself, entertaining himself. It was a good thing, because she had little time for the task.

  If he’d been a different kind of man, he could have made it harder for her, she thought. Thankfully he wasn’t, or hadn’t been so far. That was worrisome, she had to admit. From the things Arty had told her, she’d expected more fireworks. What did that mean, if anything?

  She brushed her teeth and pulled on her sleep T-shirt. Picking up her discarded clothes, she left the bathroom. Her long hair was caught inside the shirt’s neckline, and she bent her head forward as she dragged it free. Some slight sound, or brief movement at the periphery of vision, snatched at her attention. When she glanced up, she was mere inches away from a half-naked, male body.

  She stumbled, inhaling sharply, as she came to a halt.

  “Careful,” Clay said as he put out his hand to catch her arm. “I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

  There was a faint huskiness in his drawled words that brought moist heat to Janna’s face. She thought his every fingerprint must be seared into the skin of her arm. He was wearing only a pair of sleep shorts in a fabric that had the drape of silk but might be polyester, she noticed before hurriedly raising her gaze higher.

  “My fault,” she said as she stepped back. “I wasn’t looking.”

  “Had other things on your mind, did you? Such as whatever you were talking about with your late-night visitor?”

  She might have known he’d have the hearing of a wolf on the hunt. “I must have been talking to myself,” she replied over her shoulder as she continued toward her bedroom and tossed her discarded clothes into the basket of dirty laundry just inside the door.

  “Your testosterone level has climbed since dinner then. Sounded like a man to me.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  Voice soft, he said, “Don’t play me f
or a fool, Janna.”

  She met his dark blue gaze across the space that divided them. It was cold and piercing in the dim light of the cheap overhead fixture, so that she felt suddenly chilled. It seemed there was nothing he didn’t know or couldn’t guess about her, that it was useless to try to hide anything from him. The impulse to tell him everything and ask for his help rose inside her with such strength that holding it back almost choked her.

  She had to say something, do something to convince him that things were at least seminormal. Slipping past him again, she walked into the kitchen as she said, “I wouldn’t dream of playing you at all. I’m having a glass of wine. Want one?”

  He lifted a brow as he let his gaze travel from the top of her head, down the shining length of her hair, which trailed over her back like a damp shawl, to the pink toes of her bare feet. “Sure,” he said, lifting a shoulder. “Why not?”

  She busied herself taking the wine from the refrigerator and finding a couple of tumblers, since there were no wineglasses. After pouring the wine, she turned to hand a tumbler to Clay.

  He swirled the ruby liquid in his glass, watching it stain the thick sides. Without looking up, he asked, “So who was it out there just now? Maybe a contact for a drug drop?”

  She laughed with a harsh sound of strained nerves. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “It doesn’t pay. So was the guy a dealer?”

  “Do I really look like a drug pusher?”

  “You could be a go-between. Artistic types are known for a certain friendliness toward alternate lifestyles, and they can usually use the money.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I haven’t reached that level yet.”

  “No?” He paused, then said deliberately, “Must have been your contact for an illegal kidney then.”

  Shock washed over Janna. She couldn’t speak for a second, couldn’t move. She had to clench her teeth to stop their chattering and break eye contact before she could recover her composure. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? I thought maybe it was the reason you decided to knock me out, because I got in the way somehow. Though I have to wonder who you were protecting by it, Lainey, yourself, your supplier…or maybe me?”

  Outside, a breeze off the lake whispered through the trees and made the swing on the porch creak on its chains. An odd, surreal sensation gripped Janna. Almost without volition, she asked, “Why would you think any such thing?”

  “It all adds up, the secrecy, your isolation out here with a sick child who is obviously the center of your life, the serious nature of her illness. Then there’s the fact that Lainey expects to have major surgery soon.”

  Janna had heard Lainey ask Clay about a kidney, of course. The connection was fairly obvious, when all was said and done. “And what if you’re right?”

  “If I am, you must be crazier than I thought.”

  She turned slowly to face him again. Her voice as she spoke was uneven, and as breathless as if she’d been running a race. “Maybe I am, but some things do that to you. Things such as watching your child scream every time blood is drawn, or hearing her beg not to be taken in for the tests she must have to save her life. Watching her try to smile because she doesn’t want the nurses to get mad at her so they pull and shove her and make her hurt. Cleaning her blood with dialysis every other night, and trying desperately to keep a sterile field for the treatments in spite of interruptions by ringing phones, someone at the door, or accidents caused by clumsiness from lack of sleep. Reading the numbers every week, knowing that they are rising and that each degree upward means your child is that much closer to dying. Going wild with hope and joy at the news that a kidney is available, only to crash when you learn that it’s incompatible. Being terrified that you can’t afford whatever it will take to make her well, or at least well enough to lead a seminormal life.”

  “Don’t.”

  It was a request, harsh yet polite, as he took a step toward her. Still she couldn’t stop now that she’d begun. “Then there are the little problems, like making certain that she never loses her favorite toy because letting her hold it is the only way to keep her from crying. Doing your best not to cause her pain like everyone else, but knowing you must. Listening to her cry anyway when it hurts too much.”

  “Janna, please stop,” he said again, his voice husky and his face set as he reached with bound hands to brush the cool flesh of her arm.

  She paid scant attention as she began a slow rocking motion where she stood. Voice trembling now, she went on in a rush, “I have to be the mean mama always, you know, have to say no to everything she loves. To tell her, no, she can’t go swimming because it might cause infection in her peritoneal incision. No, she can’t have cake and ice cream and potato chips because every bite she takes should be nutritious. No, she can’t play with the other children because she might get a virus that she can’t fight or that would make surgery impossible at the chosen time. No, she can’t go outside because it’s too hot or too cold or too windy or too wet. No, she can’t run because she might fall and hurt herself. No, no, no, always no.”

  Clay released her long enough to take the tumbler from her shaking hand and set it on the nearby stovetop along with his own. Then he pulled her against him, lifting his arms over her head and settling her into the circle made by his fettered wrists. It was only as her face came in contact with his bare shoulder that she realized she was crying, the tears running in hot, wet streams down her face and neck to pool in the hollow of her throat. He drew her closer with gentle care, and that very gentleness snapped what was left of her self-control.

  With a strangled sob, Janna put her arms around his waist above his harness and held on tight while her chest heaved with difficult breaths and all the endless, useless pain tore at her heart. He smoothed his hand up and down her back and whispered curses and other things she couldn’t quite hear. He brushed his jaw against her temple in an aimless caress, and when her tears still ran, pressed a kiss to her forehead and the tear-streaked corner of her eye in the kind of passionless caress reserved for grieving children.

  Feeling it, accepting the benediction of its intent, Janna found a degree of self-restraint. Lifting one hand, she caught the sleeve of her oversize sleep shirt and wiped her face. Then she leaned back a little in the circle of Clay’s arms and raised her wet eyes to search his face.

  He was watching her, his own gaze shuttered behind his lashes. They stood perfectly still while time stretched to match the slow and heavy beating of their hearts. Her breasts were pressed to the hard planes of his chest; her pelvis met and fit his in perfect alignment. His breath feathered her cheek, and it seemed she could feel his gaze on her skin like the touch of blue-hot steel. She couldn’t move, couldn’t step away for the imprisoning hold of his arms. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to try.

  He dipped his head a fraction, then paused. She parted her lips for a swift intake of air. Did he move again, or did she? She wasn’t sure, couldn’t tell, but an instant later his mouth was on hers.

  7

  The touch of his lips was warm and tender and tasted of wine and desire mingled with her own salt tears. It filled Janna’s senses, setting off a rising tide of pure, rich pleasure. She breathed deep, inhaling his scent, which acted like an aphrodisiac so her nipples tightened, pressing more firmly against him. In some dim corner of her mind was a vagrant gratitude that he had made it unnecessary for her to carry out her half-planned seduction, but it was short-lived, banished by unexpected, unimagined wonder.

  He was perfect, the absolute match for her every curve and hollow, like a lock and key or the last piece of a puzzle. The brush of his bare thighs against hers, the slight abrasion of the dark hair along their muscled length, was an enticement to move closer. She complied in mindless instinct, until only a few threads of white knitted cotton separated them.

  And then there was nothing except endless, aching space as he released her in an abrupt movement.

  Lifting his arms up a
nd over her head, he stepped away until his back was against the white metal of the refrigerator. With the fingers of his bound hands lightly meshed and held in front of him at the level of his crotch, he slumped against it with his ankles crossed. In tones as devoid of emotion as his face, he said, “Sorry.”

  So was she, sorry that he had stopped, sorry that she was caught without a glib rejoinder to assuage her pride, sorry she could not pass off the incident as one without meaning. Frustration, both physical and mental, clouded her mind until all she could think of was how he could appear so unmoved.

  “I just meant to offer a handy shoulder,” he went on with the brief flicker of a smile. “Anything else seems like a bad idea under the circumstances.”

  “Yes,” she said in mechanical agreement. Immediately afterward, she wondered why he hadn’t taken advantage of her moment of weakness to force her to release him. He could have, she knew; she’d felt his strength of body and will. True, she still carried no padlock keys on her, but that obstacle could have been overcome if he’d been prepared to be cruel. Was she being lulled into complacency? Did he have some idea of taking her and Lainey hostage when he made his bid for escape so he could turn them over to the authorities? Or could Clay Benedict possibly have a concealed agenda that involved remaining at the camp?

  Janna opened her mouth to put the questions to him, then closed it again. Some things it was just as well not to know, she thought, especially when they couldn’t be changed.

  She moved away from him and down the hall. He didn’t offer to stop her. At the door of her bedroom, she looked back to find him following her movements with intent concentration. In quiet appreciation, she said, “Thanks for the shoulder.”

  He didn’t reply. She closed the door quietly behind her then stepped to the bed. Easing down beside Lainey, she flung an arm over her eyes. After a long while, her breathing and her heartbeat slowed and she was reasonably calm again.