by Colet Abedi
“—he’s just kind,” Jane finished Amelia’s thought. “If he didn’t have those Sinclair eyes you’d think he was adopted.”
I’m unprepared for the pang of jealousy I feel that these two women I don’t particularly care for know Clayton’s family so well. I don’t even know what William looks like. Until the other day, I wouldn’t have known Michael if I walked past him on the street. They all grew up together and regardless of whether or not they really like one another it seems like they’ll always be friends because of their background.
“William is too kind,” Michael agrees. His voice is soft and full of love. “Clayton and I try to toughen him up.”
The love he has for his brother is obvious to see.
“You and Clayton got all the Sinclair arrogance,” Jane says. “William just got the sweet side. Definitely from your mother.”
“When does he arrive?” Amelia asks.
“Late tomorrow evening,” Michael says. “My father is working him to death.”
“I can’t wait to see your parents,” Amelia says, digging the knife in.
Now I feel like a complete outsider. Amelia knows Clayton’s parents? Why would he ever introduce her to them if she didn’t matter?
“Have you met them, Sophie?” she asks with a fake smile.
“No, I haven’t.” I pick up my wine glass and take a sip.
The thought of meeting Clayton’s parents and them not approving of me makes my stomach turn. And let’s be honest, it’s completely in the realm of possibility, considering I don’t have the blue blood this group seems to abound in.
“They’re lovely,” Amelia tells me, like we’re friends. “Rosalind is so elegant. Michael, I do believe your mother has the best fashion sense I’ve ever seen.”
“I completely agree,” Jane says. “She always looks as if she’s just walked off a runway.”
I think about my wardrobe and give a silent thank you prayer that I have Erik with me to make sure that everything I put on in front of her is perfect.
“I love a woman with a great style,” Erik chimes in.
“Then you’ll love her,” Jane predicts.
“Everyone does.” Amelia agrees. “I hear you’re a stylist and costume designer?” Amelia says to Erik, and in an instant Orie, Jane, Erik and Amelia become immersed deep in conversation
I feel Michael’s eyes on my face. He gets up from his chair and takes Clayton’s. I know he’s carefully studying my reactions.
“Why didn’t you leave with my brother?” he asks in a low voice.
“You invited us to dinner,” I say evenly.
Michael smiles. And again, I note just how incredibly, ruggedly, handsome he is.
“Come on, Sophie,” he says. “Honesty between us is a requirement since I have a feeling you and I are going to be great friends.”
I kind of have the same feeling. I smile back at him and shrug.
“I didn’t feel like listening to his every order.”
“But it wasn’t an order,” Michael says with a laugh.
I raise a brow. “Wasn’t it?”
“I guess it was,” he agrees. He shakes his head in amazement. “I have to tell you how fascinating it is to see him in this type of relationship. He’s usually the one in control.”
I lift my wine glass and try to refrain from rolling my eyes.
“I would venture to say that he still pretty much is.”
“Is he?” Michael asks.
I look away from his knowing gaze.
“Why did you invite these two vipers to have dinner with us?” he asks me curiously.
I look over to see if Amelia or Jane can hear what Michael just said but they are still deep in conversation with Erik and Orie.
I take my time before answering and lean back in my chair.
“I just thought it was the polite thing to do.”
“I don’t buy it.” Michael shakes his head mockingly.
I can’t help but laugh. He’s so carefree and easy to be around. I wish Clayton could be so pleasant.
“I won’t let up until you tell me.”
“You’re very much like you’re brother in that way,” I inform him.
“I take that as the best compliment,” he says so solemnly that I believe him.
“Don’t allow these women to throw you off balance or make you start playing games with my brother. Or with his feelings,” Michael says to my astonishment. “They’re not worth it.”
His words stump me, I know, because it’s hard for me to see Clayton as someone capable of having feelings. It’s not a joke. I just think of him as this super-powerful omnipresent man who always gets what he wants and can never possibly get hurt.
“I wasn’t trying to play games.”
“Weren’t you?” Michael asks sharply.
I look away from his gaze for a moment and then decide to tell him the truth. “I saw your brother and Amelia together by the bar. It angered me. She was leaning into him and I felt like I was reliving what happened in the Maldives all over again.”
“So you just reacted?” Michael finishes.
“Yes,” I say feeling a sudden sense of impending doom.
“I know what happened between you and Clayton,” Michael says. “He told me about the article in the magazine and how you didn’t believe him and other bits, Granted, he was smashed when he recounted the story, but he told me.”
There are no words.
“You don’t know our family, Sophie,” Michael says slowly. “We are the product of an environment that most people would not know how to comprehend. What we saw between our parents—I can’t explain it. Clayton had it worse than William and me because he was old enough to understand what was going on. Those things you see, they shape you,” Michael continues as he searches for the right words. “My work is my passion. It’s what I live for. The causes that I fight for are what give me hope and reason. Clayton’s work isn’t the same as mine. Granted, it’s fulfilling in a different way, but it’s not like what I do. He doesn’t get the same joy from it. This is the first time in my life I’ve seen my brother look so—so exposed. And content. Behind the facade he puts up is a vulnerable man.”
Vulnerable. That’s the last adjective I would ever think to use to describe Clayton. But Michael looks so earnest I believe him.
“There’s obviously something between the two of you,” he goes on. “Something big. Don’t let these little things get in the way.”
I think about Michael’s words all through dinner and on the drive home. When we reach the house we quickly say our goodbyes. I head toward my room and wonder if I’ll find Clayton there. He didn’t text me or call all evening so I know he’s still mad. How mad is what I have yet to find out.
I take a deep breath and open the door and my heart slams in my chest. He’s sitting in one of the wing-backed chairs in front of the fireplace, sifting through files. He’s bare-chested and wearing long black pajama pants.
He looks too sexy for words.
His gaze, however, is glacial.
I shut the door quietly and choose to stay exactly where I am. He just stares. There’s a challenge in his eyes.
Crap. I wonder what I’ve just walked into.
“How was dinner?” he asks.
“It was lovely, thank you.”
“Was it?”
I cringe as I hear the sharpness in his voice. I nod lamely. It’s all I’m capable of doing.
“The conversation must have been stimulating,” he says sarcastically.
“It was,” I say with a shrug.
There’s a long silence between us again.
“What is this new attitude of yours about?” he asks me coolly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say nervously. I think about opening the door and running down the hall.
“Yes you do, baby. And since you’re a big fan of games we’re going to play one of mine.”<
br />
My heart drops.
“By my rules,” he goes on. “Now take off your clothes.”
10
I am paralyzed by his words.
“Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”
Clayton drops the files on the floor and leans back in his chair. He picks up the glass of Scotch from the table next to him and continues to watch me aloofly.
This is Clayton, I tell myself. He’s mad. Annoyed. Maybe he has a right to be, maybe not. But I know he won’t hurt me. It’s his way of controlling me. He’s just trying to control me.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” I tell him.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks curiously.
“Because it’s not safe,” I tell him. “You’re angry at me—”
“Not angry, baby,” Clayton takes a sip of his drink. “Annoyed.”
I remain silent.
“That you would ruin our evening with that irrational insecurity of yours,” he says harshly.
My back straightens.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you think I didn’t see you? When Amelia and I were speaking. Back by the restrooms.”
I want to die. He saw me spying. I burn from the shame of it.
“I wasn’t spying—” Oh shit. Did I just say that out loud?
“I didn’t say you were.”
Crap. I think I’m starting to hyperventilate.
“Do you have anything to say?” he asks curiously.
It comes down to me having trust issues with him. Right or wrong, I guess I do. And the she-devil was in his arms. I don’t know why or how or what for, but she was fawning all over him. So I just went there.
However, I say truthfully, “I don’t appreciate the fact that every time I turn around I see that bitch draped in your arms.”
Score one for Sophie.
Clayton’s eyes widen at my words.
I go on bravely.
“I don’t think you would appreciate finding me in Jerry’s arms. In fact, I know from experience that you didn’t and I would venture to guess that if you found me like that again you’d react a lot more harshly than I did. So in the future I expect to receive the same courtesy from you,” I tell him bluntly, feeling empowered by my words and honesty.
I wait for him to speak.
“Fair enough,” he says slowly, as if testing out the words or the fact that he is actually agreeing to what I said.
I’m happy he doesn’t put up a fight or argue with me over what I saw or how I felt. We stare at one another.
So what now?
“Now take off your clothes.”
Shit. I let out the breath I was holding and focus on how handsome his face and body look lit up like that in the firelight.
There’s still an unspoken current of anger in the air between us. Everything isn’t all better now.
Yet.
But I listen and slowly start to undress. I’m acutely aware of Clayton’s eyes on my body, of the way they sweep over me, almost like he’s touching me, worshipping me. I tremble in anticipation and am burning with desire when the last piece of clothing is off my body.
“Everything.” Clayton’s voice is raspy with hunger.
He’s referring to the pink lace panties I’ve chosen to keep on. I scoot them off quickly, willing him to hold my gaze.
He does.
“Come here,” he commands.
I do.
Standing inches from him, allowing the heat from the fire and his eyes to burn my skin. He puts his drink down and runs his fingers up my thighs.
“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers as his mouth follows the trail his fingers took only seconds before.
Keep me, I think with longing. Just like I want to keep you.
“What do you want to do to me?” I ask him softly as I move my hands to his hair.
I hope he can’t see the longing for him that’s written on my face.
“Everything.”
My heart flutters. He moves his mouth to my stomach and traces soft kisses along my navel. I don’t know how it’s humanly possible for me to want someone as much as I do this man. But I do. And each time we come together, I crave him more. He stands abruptly and picks me up, wrapping my legs around his bare waist. I don’t know how or when his pajama pants came off but they’re gone. I pull his mouth to mine and get lost in the taste of him as he slowly lowers us both to the ground.
His mouth nips at mine, his tongue tracing my lips before he pulls back. His translucent eyes pierce into mine and shards of electricity explode through my body.
“You were right about one thing,” he tells me.
“What’s that?” I know my voice is breathless.
“This isn’t safe,” he says as he looks down at our naked bodies. He rubs himself against me, his tip teasing me mercilessly.
“It’s dangerous.”
His fingers fill the spaces between my own.
“It’s unpredictable.”
His palms my breast, his fingers teasing my hardened nipple until I think I’m going to scream with need.
“It’s electric.”
I’m desperate with want. With undeniable desire. He does this to me. Always. He brings out every type of emotion possible. Anger. Lust. Even love. Still love. From the second I saw him in the waiting room in the Maldives I was lost. It’s like a keg of gunpowder, always on the verge of exploding.
His arm coils around my waist and pulls me closer, making me feel so small and fragile against his large frame.
“And it’s never going to end, Sophie.”
His mouth takes mine with force. We taste each other; his tongue and mine fuse into one. Excitement courses through my body, eager for the sweet anticipation of what is to come. Of what only he can give me.
“Say it,” he commands.
“It won’t ever end,” I whisper against his mouth. My eyes open of their own accord and I find him watching me in a primal way. The way a man does when he’s staked a claim. Like he owns you. And it’s the most incredibly seductive thing I’ve ever seen. His gaze softens. His body leans down toward mine, his hands come up and cup my cheeks as his large thumbs move lightly over my swollen lips. And he enters me, fills me to my core but continues to watch me with that look. I try to hold on to reality as the sweet feeling of pleasure rushes through my body.
There’s something on his face I’ve never seen. An unspoken message in his eyes. I know it. I can feel it in my gut. In my heart. I may be the seduced, he, the seducer, but this look he’s giving isn’t lying to me. It’s there for me to see. A glimpse into his soul. He’s fallen for me. He might not know it yet or have accepted it, but I see it right there, plain as day.
“I love you,” I tell him softly, before my body starts to tremble.
My words cause him to pull me even closer, thrust even deeper, filling me, moving faster and faster until I explode again from another earth-shattering orgasm. I call out his name and he groans mine.
He gathers me into his arms like I’m a most cherished prize, and we fall asleep in each other’s arms.
“I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday,” Abigail says to me as we hike up a trail on Clayton’s property.
It’s a crisp morning. Since it rained last night we’re taking advantage of the gorgeous scenery and the views of the fields and vineyards that seem to go on for days.
I was supposed to be doing Abby’s portrait. So I waited for her in the studio, but was not that surprised when she came in, not in the Marie Antoinette gear, but in casual jeans and a sweater. She looked as if she had cried all night and my heart hurt for her. I could not imagine what she was going through at this moment. I was the one who suggested a walk, and we grabbed coats and hats and left the villa quickly. I had the distinct feeling that Abby was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
And if anyone knows how that feels, it’s me. And Dr.
Goldstein. That poor, poor doctor. I cringe when I think about how many times I must have repeated the same story over and over to him.
“My behavior was deplorable and you must have been horrified by me.” Abby says and her voice cracks as she tries not to cry.
“Abby, please,” I assure her. “We’ve all been there.”
She actually laughs. “I don’t think quite as spectacularly as me.“
“Alright,” I smile, “maybe not in that outfit and hair and make-up, but in some form or another, trust me. I was there pretty recently, actually. And I know firsthand that it’s not a fun place to be.”
For whatever reason I don’t mind admitting to her that I was in a sad state of mind.
“With Clayton?” Abby asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“And now?”
“Now, we’ll see where things take us. That’s all I can do,” I tell her honestly. “But we didn’t come out here to talk about me.”
“No,” Abby says with a sigh, then leans her head back and takes in a deep breath. I hope the fresh air can help ease some of her pain. I take note of her profile—she’s really quite pretty, classy and elegant. And innocent. She seems so innocent and young, which is surprising considering the women and the world she grew up around. And also that we are almost the exact same age.
“I don’t know why I’m so comfortable talking to you, but I am.” She looks at me and her blue eyes are glazed with tears.
“You can trust me,” I promise her. “I won’t repeat this conversation to anyone.”
“Not even Clayton?” she asks with some uncertainty.
“Not even him,” I tell her, because I would never betray her trust.
She takes her time before speaking again and I don’t push her. The only noise that can be heard is the soft crunch of our shoes on the dirt road. I put my hands in my pockets and wait.
“I don’t love Dimitri,” she finally says.
I say, “I think you might have mentioned that yesterday.”
“I did?” Abby sounds mortified. “I was smashed! I don’t even want to know what else came out of my mouth.”
“I won’t tell you,” I say with a smile. In retrospect it was kind of funny. “But I promise it was nothing bad.”