by BJ Wane
“Skye, it’s Clayton,” he called out once he reached the upper level and rapped on the door.
“Clayton?” She inched the door open, blinking as she looked up at him with eyes round with shock, her face stark white. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
As a prosecutor hell bent on getting the maximum sentence for those who victimized others, Clayton could never afford to let himself get sidetracked by emotion. But every muscle in his body went taut seeing the lingering fear etched on her face and the way her soft lips trembled as she struggled to keep her composure. Taking a deep breath, he forced back the uncharacteristic urge to go all caveman on her and fell back on his usual lighthearted manner.
“Would you believe I couldn’t sleep and came in to work?”
She gave him a skeptical look and shook her head. Smart girl.
“No, huh? How about my sixth sense told me you might need company?”
“Seriously?”
Opening the door, she rolled her eyes, stepped back, and he got his first look at her bare legs below the nightshirt that fell to mid-thigh. Imagining those soft thighs hugging his waist helped temper his odd, volatile reaction to seeing her distraught expression. Lust he had more experience with and could deal with much easier.
“I kid you not. I’m good at reading people, sweetheart, and your face is an open book.” He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, crossing his arms to keep from reaching for her. She scooped her tousled black hair away from her face, the move lifting her breasts. The thin sleepwear draped around her fullness, every nub of her nipples delineated by the silky material reminding him of their swift, hard response to his tight squeezes. The sofa’s foldout bed caught his eye, and he imagined her tossing among the rumpled bedding and him there with her.
Skye stiffened, apparently not liking he could read her so well, but from the way she shuffled her feet and her pupils darkened at his appreciative glance, she didn’t want him to rush off either.
“I don’t need company. I’m used to being alone.” Her brows furrowed, as if that remark puzzled her.
“Since we’re both up, why don’t you tell me what trouble is plaguing you to the point you’re sleeping in your car? Maybe I can help.”
Hugging her arms around her waist, she shook her head, glancing away from him. “No, you can’t, but thanks for the offer.”
“At least you’re not denying you have a problem. That’s a start.” More than he’d gotten from Louise Campbell, who was well acquainted with him by now. He admired Skye’s honesty as he’d expected her to balk at his assumption. “Why is it you sometimes act as if you don’t know yourself, or your own mind? If your problem is that upsetting, it couldn’t hurt to share it with a good listener, even if you believe I can’t help.”
“Look, as much as I appreciate the place to stay and your concern, I’m not in a position to tell you much about myself. If that’s a requirement for your offer…”
“It’s not,” he said, cutting her off.
She wasn’t a witness or the victim of someone he was prosecuting, so he didn’t have that leverage to insist on her cooperation. With any other woman, he would respect her reluctance to open up and move on, unwilling to spend his free time or any energy on difficult women intent on keeping secrets. Whether he was sceneing with someone at the club or taking out someone not in the lifestyle, he insisted on an open, honest dialog. His job required him to spend hours on end with people keeping secrets and lying about themselves and their motives, which was why he preferred short, easy, and uncomplicated relationships.
But Skye’s dark, expressive eyes still portrayed a wealth of uncertainty and fear that prompted Clayton into not only making an exception for her but determined to get her help.
“Then thank you for stopping by, but, as you can see, I’m fine.”
“Your definition of fine must differ from mine, but I won’t argue that point. Since you don’t look like you’re going to get back to sleep any time soon, and I’m already up and here, how about a game of cards?” Leaving his stance by the door, he strode by her toward the cabinet. “I think there’s still a deck or two in here,” he said, squatting down to look under the snack counter.
“Cards? You want to stick around and play cards at…” She looked at the wall clock. “It’s after one a.m.”
He noticed she didn’t appear anxious for him to leave, only to clarify staying was what he really wanted to do. “So it is, but I have a light day tomorrow, or today, so I can get by with less sleep.” Grabbing a deck, he rose, pivoted, and removed his hat, setting it on the counter behind him. Lifting a brow, he asked, “What are your plans? Visiting the library again, hiking onto my property? The club is closed…”
She held up a hand, a small smile easing the strain on her face. “No plans. I suppose you’ve seen me using the library from downstairs?”
“I have a straight view from my office. How about gin rummy?”
Relief spread across her face, and she followed him over to the small table with a light step. “Maybe one game.”
Clayton hoped he felt better about leaving her after one game. Between his concern for her and his growing interest in divesting her of that nightshirt, it might not be wise to stay much longer.
****
“There’s no fucking way I’ll let you screw this up,” Alex snarled in her face, lifting his hand. His fist connected with her temple before she could move. The room spun as she went down, another burst of pain blossoming across her head as she struck the metal edge of the bed frame the same moment a shot blasted out of nowhere.
Skye still shook inside from the return of that same bad dream. Just like before, it started with a disjointed argument between her and her husband after some papers she had thrust at him sent him into a rage. Now that she was over her surprise at finding Clayton at the door minutes after waking with a startled cry from that nightmarish scene with Alex, she was secretly glad he refused to leave just yet. She desperately wanted to believe the sequence of actions in that dream had taken place, because, if so, that meant she couldn’t have shot Alex. Someone else had been in the room or entered as he’d hit her. Learning she hadn’t killed someone, especially a man she must have loved at one time, went a long way in easing her mind.
Even so, she couldn’t bear to be alone again just yet. It was awful going day after day in a blank void, with no clear memories of her life, and no one she could trust to turn to. As odd as it was, this man who kept showing up unplanned was her only lifeline to sanity right now. Given the way her mind kept picturing him on the pullout bed with her, braced on his muscled forearms, his thick thighs shoved between hers as she clung to him with her naked, perspiration-slick body, she craved more than his time and companionship to get through the rest of this night. She supposed there were worse ways to fend off nightmares than sleeping with a virtual stranger.
“You’ll have to remind me of the rules.” She sat across from him at the table, racking her brain for any recollection of having played this game before. Like so many things, it sounded familiar.
“Been a while since you’ve played?” He shuffled the deck, those blue eyes staying on her instead of shifting to his fast-moving hands.
As much as that look unnerved her, given her secrets, his focused attention also heightened her awareness of him and her growing need for Clayton to give her another temporary reprieve from her troubles like he had at Spurs last night.
“Not since I was a kid,” she replied, accepting the cards he dealt. That much rang true as a sudden flash of her as a pre-teen sitting at a card-strewn kitchen table with an older woman popped into her head with a stabbing pain at her temples.
“Headache?” he asked when she caught herself rubbing her forehead.
“Yes, a slight one. I can pick up the face-up card or draw from the pile, right?”
“Right. Put your cards in groups first.”
“Got it.” It came back to her then, surprising her with how easily sh
e fell into playing without having to give it much thought. She was so pleased with the memory, she wasn’t prepared for his inquiry ten minutes into the game.
“Where are you from, Skye? Surely you can tell me that.”
Her eyes jumped from her hand to Clayton’s bland expression, his gaze again focused on her. Skye’s automatic reply of Boise was on the tip of her tongue without thought, but she caught herself in time and said with a small smile, “Idaho.”
“You’re not going to give me more than that?” He picked up a card, smiled, and laid down his hand. “Fine. Gin.”
She frowned, realizing she possessed a competitive streak and didn’t like losing. Without giving him time to suggest leaving, she said, “My turn to deal.”
“That’s fair, sweetheart.” He slid the cards over, smirking as she glared.
“I remember telling you I don’t care for endearments.” She couldn’t figure out why it grated every time he called her sweetheart, whether such innocuous terms always bugged her, or she just got annoyed hearing it from him.
“I seem to keep forgetting. No one else has minded before you.”
“Then save it for them,” she grumbled, dealing the cards.
Skye bit her lip, struggling to make sense of her topsy-turvy emotions around Clayton. Now that he was here, his presence keeping the dreams away, she wanted to delay his departure any way possible, some of those ways causing her body to warm and dampen in a distracting manner. So, why was she getting pissy with him over a simple word?
“Sorry,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t leave. “I’m out of sorts tonight.”
“No more than the other times we’ve been together, and don’t apologize when you don’t mean it. I much prefer honest outbursts. You’re a lousy dealer. My hand sucks.”
Feeling chastised and a strange letdown for disappointing him despite his bland tone, she glanced at her hand, and her mood lifted. “Mine doesn’t. Play.”
He did, and several minutes passed before he started probing again. “You’re an Idahoan but won’t tell me from where. How about what you do for a living?”
“I write,” she returned absently, her attention on putting her cards into sequences. When she realized what she said, she sighed, hoping he let it go. She should have known better.
His tanned face lit with interest. “Under an alias?”
“How’d you guess?”
“I’m an avid reader, several genres, and don’t recognize your name. I don’t suppose you’ll trust me with that secret.”
“Nope, and it’s my turn to call gin.” She laid out her hand with a grin to hide the pang cramping her abdomen at the thought he might leave now.
As long as he didn’t have her pen name she was safe from him finding out anything more about her until she could regain more of her memory. Recalling her dream sent a chill crawling down her spine as she glanced at the clock. It was after two a.m., and she shouldn’t keep him much later. But the thought of being alone again caused her a wave of anxiety she didn’t know how to cope with. When she mentioned she was used to being alone, she knew that was true, just not how she knew, or, if she had been married, why she would have had so much time to herself.
That made her cowardice now all the more disturbing, her desperation revealed in her shaky voice as she blurted, “The best two out of three?”
Chapter Six
Clayton cocked his head and subjected Skye to another silent scrutiny before answering. Her pulse hammered, and her mouth watered as she looked away from those enigmatic blue eyes, her gaze landing on the tight stretch of his T-shirt across his broad shoulders and the snug fit around his bulging biceps. She concentrated on the needy physical response his nearness always brought to the surface, which helped dispel the desire to learn more about him like asking why he needed an office in town if he was a rancher. Everything considered, she decided the less involved with him on a personal level the better. That decision should make her feel guilty for wanting an hour of mind-consuming sex and nothing else, but she figured if he knew the truth about her, these chance encounters would end fast, one way or another.
She couldn’t imagine any man willingly taking on a woman with such baggage.
“A tiebreaker it is,” he said, gathering up the cards to shuffle again.
“I’m sorry,” her conscience forced her to say. “It’s late, and I’m sure you have a busy day tomorrow. If you’d—”
“No,” he interrupted, “I wouldn’t prefer stopping now. I won’t go until you’re ready for me to, Skye.”
Picking up her cards, she tried and failed to quell a surge of relief at hearing his promise to stick around. It wasn’t right to use him this way, but fear and loneliness were powerful incentives to act selfishly. Since there was nothing to say to that, she started playing without commenting. Instead of breaking the silence with another personal question, he caught her off guard when he shifted the conversation to right where her mind and body wanted to stay – on sex.
“Tell me, if you were to return to Spurs, what, if anything, do you think you’d like to try?”
She wanted to say she was only interested in trying him but didn’t think that was what he meant. “I’m not sure,” she answered without looking up from her cards. “Maybe one of those benches. They didn’t look too uncomfortable.” Although, she didn’t think she’d like being bound on her stomach with her butt elevated. She carried more weight back there than she wished and would find having her pale, round cheeks displayed in such a manner embarrassing.
“What’s going through your head right now, Skye? And look at me when you answer.”
She jerked her gaze up and found his stern tone at odds with his mild expression. Fidgeting, she couldn’t look away or lie like she wanted. “Just that there are some positions I wouldn’t want to try.”
He nodded and picked up a card. “That’s something we can discuss beforehand, but I might insist on you trying them at least once.”
The term insist rubbed her wrong, making Skye wonder if she possessed any submissive traits or was just curious about kink most people didn’t even discuss. The familiarity of everything still baffled her, even more so after the brief example of bondage he’d given her had proven new and fascinating. If that was a first for her, why did she find the lifestyle, the club, and the rules all unsurprising? More damn questions she couldn’t answer.
Pulling her head out of the clouds, she concentrated on his comment. “Why would you want me to try them?” she returned, giving in to her piqued interest. Imaging herself on one of those contraptions, unable to escape Master Clayton’s vivid eyes glued to her spread thighs and hard-tipped breasts caused her blood to heat and rush through her veins.
“Because you won’t know until you try. The mind can mislead you.”
That was true. Her head was so messed up, she couldn’t separate fact from fiction about her past life, let alone figure out if alternative sex was right for her. All she was certain of tonight was that she yearned for him to take her over and keep the loneliness and uncertainty away a little longer. Her heart jumped into her throat as he gave her one of his charming grins and laid down his hand, showing her his gin rummy and signaling the end of the game.
“Beat you.” Pushing back from the table, he rose and pivoted, starting toward the counter where he’d left his hat.
Skye’s legs shook as she stood and gripped her clammy hands together in front of her. When he turned to face her again, settling his Stetson on his head, she blurted the only thing she could think to say.
“Don’t go, please.”
As if expecting her desperate plea, he strode up to her and took her arms in a light grip, hauling her up on her toes against his granite-hard body. His soft, concerned voice was at odds with the lust swirling in his eyes.
“Are you sure, sweetheart? I’ll want total control.”
She nodded without hesitation. That’s exactly what she wanted, needed. “I’m sure.”
Clayton swooped down a
nd covered her mouth with his, sliding his hands from her upper arms down her waist to slip under the nightshirt and grip her butt. His rough palms dug into her softer flesh, his hold keeping her in place, arousing her to a feverish pitch she relished. She groaned, the assault on her senses exactly what she needed.
Releasing her lips, he hiked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his lean hips, her pussy clutching as he spun around and carried her to the makeshift bed. Coming down on top of her, he swept the nightshirt up and over her head, the cooler air and his heated gaze turning her nipples into rigid peaks.
“Nice rack, Skye,” he commented with a boyish grin that turned her heart over.
“Thank you. I’m definitely not one of those stick-pin girls,” she responded on a dry note, unable to hide the truth. “I seem to binge eat when I’m stressed, and it shows.”
“Seem to? Don’t you know?” he teased before dipping his head to sink his teeth into one turgid nipple.
She jolted from the painful pinprick, her hips straining against his pelvis in an automatic response to the pain-induced spike of arousal as she floundered to answer. “I meant I do, binge eat, that is, oh, you know what I mean.” Exasperated, she blew out a breath.
“No, that’s why I asked. Never mind. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you don’t want to be alone tonight or about whatever caused you to cry out earlier.” Clayton shifted onto his side to yank her panties off then cupped his hand between her legs, his middle finger resting in her damp slit.
Skye’s breath hitched. “Not while you’re doing that.”
“So, if I let go…”
Grabbing his wrist, she shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant.” She chanced a glance at his face, and he smirked, well aware of what her body was telling him.