by Elise Faber
This wasn’t her. This vulnerable, weak thing that was almost crying.
She was untouchable.
Except that was the biggest fucking lie in history.
She was a fake, just as messed up as everyone else. Plop. A tear landed in her lap, leaving a dark mark on her jeans, just on top of her thigh. And suddenly there were more dark drops, and she was huddled on her bathroom floor, crying.
Fuck. She was sobbing like a pathetic heartbroken creature on freezing marble tile when, if she had just played it cool, she could be fucking Clay’s brains out right now.
A scraping sound drew her focus back to the door, stoppering up the sobs as she processed that something was being shoved under the gap between the panel and floor. “What?” she whispered, grabbing for the object and seeing it was a bar of gourmet chocolate that Clay must have found in her kitchen. Abby had sent her off with a stash as a thanks for taking Hunter to basketball practice a few weeks before.
Her fingers caught on something on the back, and she turned it over, seeing a Post-It with Clay’s handwriting.
It’s not cinnamon rolls . . .
Also, I’m sorry.
God, what could he possibly have to be sorry about?
“Oh, Clay,” she murmured. “I am so fucked up.”
Another scrape, but when her eyes went to the gap there was nothing there. Her gaze averted as such, she missed the handle turning, but not the door opening wide enough for Clay to slip into the bathroom.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said and reached over her to set a bobby pin on the vanity’s countertop. For a second, she wondered where he could have found it, then mentally shrugged because God knew she had enough of them lying around.
“So,” he said, when she turned her face back to her feet, not wanting him to see how completely wrecked she was. “This is more comfortable than your bed?”
“I—”
Heather wanted to put him off, to tell him to leave again, but that proved to be impossible when she only got the one syllable out before bursting into tears again.
“Oh, baby,” he crooned, wrapping her in his arms and tugging her into his lap.
She should have fought the move, pulled back and ended things right then and there. But she didn’t have the strength.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t have the strength to shove someone away.
“Hey,” he murmured, stroking a hand down her back as she buried her face into his chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have pushed. I—”
Her tears came harder at that. Because she wanted him to push.
Desperately.
She just wasn’t sure she’d survive it in the end.
“Shh,” he said and stood with her in his arms, carrying her back into the bedroom and setting her on the bed.
He stripped off her shoes and pants in a few efficient movements then made quick work of her buttons and bra. She lay there, quiescent and vulnerable and unable to gather her usual armor.
Especially when Clay stripped down to his boxer briefs before tugging his undershirt over her head and smoothing it down over her torso. Not only did the plain white cotton smell amazing, but it also covered her from shoulders to knees and was exactly what she needed, considering how flayed open she was feeling.
He stared into her eyes but didn’t say anything as he swiped one thumb under each of her bottom lashes, wiping her tears away.
A kiss to her cheek before he gently coaxed her over and slid into bed next to her. One tug and the blankets were up and over them.
He took her into his arms. “Sleep now.”
And miraculously, Heather did.
Chapter Twenty
Clay
Clay woke before Heather and knew it was fortunate he did so.
If she’d been up first, no doubt the bed would be empty and she would’ve been on the first flight out of the state.
Hell, more than likely, out of the country.
Instead, Clay rose to consciousness with the only woman he’d ever considered his in his arms. And it was fucking fantastic. Unfortunately, she didn’t think their relationship would last or didn’t think she was capable . . . or she knew about his past and didn’t think he could protect her.
His spine went ramrod stiff before he stopped himself, forcing his mind to quiet down and consider the evidence clearly.
She’d made a point to reach out to him after he’d panicked in Berlin and hadn’t been uncomfortable talking to him after that. Until she’d freaked, she had been her relaxed and typical self with him the night before.
So, it wasn’t Berlin.
But had she—? Was it possible that she knew what had happened to his family?
He thought about that for approximately two microseconds before he mentally nodded. Of course, she had. She hadn’t pressed him for answers, but this was Heather O’Keith that he was talking about.
She didn’t go into any situation without being fully prepared.
And she’d had him double-check that the locks and doors had been secured when they’d come in hours before.
Of course, she knew. Probably not all the details, because while the media coverage had been pretty heavy twenty-two years before, it was nothing like today.
Thankfully, the worst part of the whole incident—the piece that still tortured him—had never become public knowledge.
Okay. He released a slow, silent breath.
So, she knew.
He turned the information over in his mind. Frankly, not having to rehash the events was almost a relief. She already understood.
But what did that mean for them now? For the future?
He’d been battling the demons of what happened to his family for a long time, demons that Heather knew about and had taken measures to mitigate.
But how could he possibly have a relationship with a woman who wouldn’t share her own demons in return?
Hell, just considering entering a relationship at all was a first for him.
He didn’t do girlfriends. He did one-night stands with the occasional mutually satisfying repeat.
He didn’t do connections.
His life was the business.
But Heather made him want more.
Clay watched her sleep in his arms, her face calm, her features so fragile and soft. Words he never would have picked to describe her before.
And yet, she’d broken down only hours earlier when he’d suggested they go for something that wasn’t quick and easy and disposable.
He wasn’t arrogant enough to think that he was irresistible in any way, shape, or form, but could recognize her reluctance in pursuing a relationship didn’t have much to do with him. Or, more accurately, that it probably was his fault, but only because this thing between them had the potential to be something really special.
Since he knew a little of what it meant to be frightened of being tied down to someone when the pain of losing them might come back to bite him in the end, Clay could sympathize.
Just thinking about the future made his gut twist.
But he also understood exactly how it felt to lose those closest to him.
And that gave him the courage to press onward.
Heather sighed, shifting in the circle of his arms, burrowing closer even as her breathing changed from long and even to short and staccato.
“I’m awake,” he murmured, tugging her closer and rubbing his jaw along her temple. Her hair caught on the day-old stubble there, stirring up the floral and spice scent of her. “And so are you.”
She swallowed, kept her head tucked against his chest. “Good morning.”
“You okay?”
Her body stiffened. “About that—”
“Hey, before we get into that,” he said, running a hand up and down her back, “I wanted to tell you something.” He paused. “Or rather, to pose a question first and then tell you something.”
“Clay—”
“Please?”
The smallest hes
itation before, “Okay.”
He pulled back, met her eyes. “You know about my family.”
She bit her lip as guilt invaded her expression. “That’s not a question.”
He raised a brow at the obvious non-answer but laid all his cards on the table anyway. “Do you know what happened to my family?”
“Well . . . yes.” She winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have researched that far back. It was a total invasion of your privacy—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I mean, obviously, it’s not easy for me to talk about, but I’m glad you know. I just need you to understand the other part, too.”
“Oh no, Clay. You don’t have—”
“Sweetheart.” He brushed his thumb across her lips, halting the flow of words. “The reason I freaked out in Berlin was because I was the one who left the door unlocked all those years ago. I was the one who didn’t double-check like my mother had asked.” He sucked in a breath, forced out the rest. “That wasn’t in the papers. Neither was the fact that she’d been dealing with a stalker.”
Her eyes glittered with tears. “Clay.”
“He killed the security guards my parents had hired, but not before they got out the S.O.S.” His eyes closed as the memories swarmed his mind. He’d been playing a video game when the first gunshots sounded and had dismissed them as background noise. But when the sounds had continued indoors, gotten closer, were punctuated with screams, he’d run up from the basement and tried—
He’d been too late.
The stalker had turned the gun on himself. His family was gone.
And he was alone.
Releasing a shuddering breath, he made himself finish telling the story. He’d already gotten this far. “If I had locked the door, we might have had enough time—”
His voice broke.
She pressed her palm to his cheek. “You couldn’t have known.”
“It haunts me.” He covered her hand with his. “To this day, it still haunts me. The might-have-been’s, the if-only’s. But”—he tore off his final layer of armor—“for the first time in my life, I’ve met someone who makes me want to put the past behind me.”
Heather’s breath was shaky. “Yeah?”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Yes.”
Another inhale, another wobbling exhale that teased Clay’s lips.
She shook her head. “I’m so screwed up, Clay. My parents—my childhood—it . . . there’s a very real chance that I will fuck this up. That I won’t be any good for you.”
“Why don’t you let me decide what’s good for me?”
“How can I, when you think that I’m what’s good for you?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “And clearly I’m delusional?”
The stiff set of her shoulders relaxed. “Obviously.”
“Well”—he pressed his lips to hers—“then it’s clear you need to save me from myself.”
He knew he had her when she giggled and said, “So, I’m the knight on the white stallion in this scenario, is it?”
“Exactly”—he waggled his eyebrows—“and I’m the dude-sel in distress.”
Her chest was vibrating with laughter as she pushed off him and started to slip from the bed.
He snagged her waist. “Where are you going?”
“To get my trusty steed.”
“You—”
One tug and she was back against him, encircled in his arms, her lips curved with a smile as they pressed to his.
Heather was just where she belonged, and all was right in the world.
Chapter Twenty-One
Heather
Two weeks later Heather had managed to avoid all relapses of the panic attack she’d experienced that night in her house.
Mostly because of Clay . . . and his keen ability to orgasm her into submission.
But tonight was going to be different. She’d slowly been allowing herself to get used to the idea of a relationship, inching forward out of the safety of her armor, and Clay had been allowing her to move at snail speed.
She’d been content. Everything had been great.
Until he’d left.
He’d been out of town the last four days on a quick business trip to New York and London. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary—these kinds of trips would be part and parcel for their future if they stayed married—
There. She’d said it.
She wanted to stay married to Clay Steele.
In fact, she was going to tell him that night.
Work travel sucked, but she wanted it to suck with Clay. She wanted to plan their trips together, to stack their meetings so they could spend as much time with each other as possible.
She wanted to send the collective power of their exceptionally good assistants down upon the business travel world and have them make it their bitch.
Also, this just in, she’d missed Clay, wanted to find a way to make their schedules more compatible.
Bonus—think of all the plane fuel they could save.
Snorting, she put the finishing touches on her makeup and smoothed down her skirt. She’d left work early, wanting to freshen up before slipping into some fancy but very uncomfortable lingerie.
The things it did for her boobs . . . well, Clay wasn’t going to be able to take his hands off them.
Another bonus.
With a smirk, she slipped into a fresh shirt, making sure to leave a few of the pearl buttons undone. She loved the way Clay’s eyes heated when he saw that little slice of bare skin.
Heather shivered. Maybe he’d tear her blouse open again, buttons popping, his mouth descending onto her flesh and working her body into a slavering frenzy.
“Whew, overactive imagination, much?” she muttered, but undid one more button for good measure.
They’d both been working nonstop, so she figured they deserved a treat.
And, thinking of treats, she couldn’t stop her mind from conjuring up their FaceTime conversation. The man had a wicked mind, and Heather could honestly say that she finally understood the appeal of cybersex. Still, it wasn’t the same as having him there. Especially since they’d only been able to FaceTime twice in those four days.
But between her business responsibilities and the extra challenge of the various time differences, most of their communication had been via texts.
The man might know his way around a gif—he’d even reduced her to snorting laughter more than once, much to Rachel’s amusement—but it couldn’t compare to the reality of having him in bed next to her, holding her while they slept.
Her phone pinged, a text from her driver saying he was out front and ready to bring her to the airport where she planned to surprise Clay by picking him up.
A quick jaunt down to Carmel, dinner, a walk on the beach, and a night at a cottage within a stone’s throw of the ocean would follow. The overnight trip was also a surprise, and she’d been careful to keep it to only one night, understanding that Clay would probably want to sleep in his own bed at some point, especially considering he’d spent almost every night of the last few weeks at her house.
More than that, she’d wanted to plan something special, something romantic when she told him that she was willing to go all in on their relationship. And, frankly, it was the perfect excuse to keep him for herself, at least for a night.
Heather was feeling greedy since she was flying out early the following week for her own international trip.
Edinburgh, London, Berlin, and Milan this time.
But she definitely wasn’t hating the addition of Milan on this trek. Rachel knew her well enough by this point that she’d built in a half day of shopping time in Italy’s fashion capital.
That raise had been worth every penny.
But various travel plans aside, she and Clay had three nights together, and she intended to make them count.
After grabbing their bag—she’d snagged him a change of clothes from those he’d left at her house—she stepped into a pair of strappy,
heeled sandals then hustled downstairs.
An hour later she was waiting for him on the tarmac.
The stairs unfolded and he hopped down them, his eyes glued to his phone as he typed something.
Her phone pinged with his text a moment later and her heart, her fucking heart, she would swear to God that it grew three sizes, just like the Grinch. She loved the man. Heaven help her, but she was absolutely head over heels in love with Clay Steele.
She was still reeling from the realization when he looked up, eyes widening as a grin spread over his face.
“There’s my white knight,” he said softly and dropped his bag to cup both her cheeks. The kiss he laid on her was gentle and sweet and almost brought tears to her eyes.
Heather O’Keith, resident watering pot.
“I missed you, beautiful.”
“That’s my line,” she quipped, hugging him tight for a brief moment before tugging him into the car. “Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Is it you wearing nothing but a tiny bow?” he asked once they’d strapped in.
A smirk. “Basically,” she said, bringing her free hand up to trace the skin exposed by the unbuttoned V of her shirt.
“Heather.” His eyes darkened, but then he studied her closer. “That’s not it, is it?”
Her teeth found her bottom lip and bit down.
“No. I mean yes. I mean I’m your surprise, Clay. And not just between the sheets.” Her throat went tight, and she was acutely conscious of the driver in the front seat, but she pressed on anyway. “I want the other times, too.”
“Yeah?” His fingers laced with hers, tugged so she was sprawled across his chest. “That is the best surprise ever.”
“Wait until you see my panties,” she stage-whispered.
They didn’t even make it to the freeway before her driver had to raise the privacy screen.
“Best. Surprise. Ever,” Clay declared awhile later.
And, her head pillowed against his chest, her heart full and buoyant, Heather had to agree.
Heather got the call the next day, just as they were nearing her house.