How could Clay answer that when he couldn't remember life before the accident? "It's different. Not better or worse, but different. You can make your life anything you want it to be."
Ben pulled his left leg into the sofa and eyed it disdainfully. "I just wish my leg would work better...more."
"Give it time."
"Didn't you get tired of waiting to get better?"
"I didn't wait. I did everything I could to make it happen."
Shep came bounding into the living room from the kitchen and sat in front of Clay, his tail wagging. Clay scratched around the dog's ears.
Paige entered the room and the anger Ben had spoken about, the resentment for circumstances that couldn't be changed, barreled through Clay. And he knew he had to do something physical or explode. But he wanted to make sure Ben had asked all his questions.
"Is there anything else, Ben?"
The teenager stood. "No. I just wondered...would it be all right if I talked to you once in a while? It's hard for someone who hasn't gone through this to understand."
Clay was beginning to feel more and more boxed in. But he couldn't say no. He knew how important understanding could be. It meant the difference between acceptance and rejection.
"Let me give you my cell number." He found a notepad and wrote it down.
Paige watched the two of them, and Clay suspected she was sizing up their moods. He wanted to ask her to come back after she took Ben home. He wanted to apologize for his harshness the other night, take her in his arms, and kiss her until nothing mattered but the passion between them. But Paige deserved more than passion. She deserved a man who could share her dreams. Clay imagined her married to a doctor, following the road her parents had forged. Jealousy, hot and thick, rippled through him. Yet he couldn't envision her staying in Langley anymore than he could envision her accepting his lack of a past. If his own father couldn't...
Paige asked Ben, "Ready?"
"Yeah." He followed her to the door, but he said to Clay, "Thanks."
Clay nodded.
Paige's gaze locked to Clay's and once more he wished he could stop wanting her.
****
Paige drove Ben home. On her way back to Doc's, she couldn't forget the anguished look in Clay's eyes as she and Ben had left. His words pushed her away, but there was something basic going on between them that had nothing to do with the words. Paige almost felt he was reaching out to her, yet when she reached back, he withdrew. Why? Before she thought better of it, she made a U turn and let her heart lead her back to the man who held the answer to her question.
Ben had told her about his conversation with Clay, and in her opinion, the visit had helped the teenager simply because he felt someone understood. At this moment, she was more concerned about Clay. It was obvious he didn't believe anyone could understand. Understand what, she didn't know. But the story Clay had related to Ben was the edited version. She was sure of it.
Clay was holding a secret, something that was eating him up. And she cared about him too much to let him do that to himself.
She knocked on the front door. Shep barked, but Clay didn't come. When she turned the knob, the door opened and she stepped inside. Shep rubbed his head against her knee.
"Where is he, boy?"
Shep whined and pattered into the kitchen. She followed. The back door stood open and she could hear a thudding sound.
When she looked through the screen door, she could see Clay at the back corner of the lot by the woodpile, his shirt off, an ax in his hands. His shirt lay on the ground by the fence as if it had been tossed there quickly. Even from a distance, he looked upset.
She didn't know what she was going to say to him. She just had to go to him.
As she walked toward him, her breath caught in her chest. His bronze skin glistened in the last rays of light. He stood against the descending sun, his profile strong and determined and true. When he raised his arms, his muscles rippled. He brought down the ax with a sharp, powerful stroke. Then he brought it down again and again. The log split and fell. He let it lay, stooped, hefted another log onto the splitting block, and with the same, sure rhythm, raised the ax and lowered it again.
Clay was oblivious to his surroundings. His face was etched with concentration, telling her he was more than upset. He looked angry enough to fell a tree with his bare hands. His expression was taut, strained, filled with pain.
He didn't hear her approach as he split another log, then another. Closer now, Paige waited. When he lowered the ax and paused for a second, she moved. He saw her the same moment her fingers went around his forearm. The damp heat emanating from him was hot enough to burn her alive. The look on his face should have made her run for cover. But she didn't. She couldn't.
She loved him.
The sweat on Clay's skin trickled into black curling hair. At the lake, she'd wanted to touch it, to touch him.
As she did so now, he pulled back, his voice gravelly. "Go away, Paige."
"No."
Green fire blazed in his eyes, and his gaze settled on her mouth with a fierceness that stole the air from her lungs.
His jaw was tense, the nerve on the right pulsing as she watched him closely. "You're asking for trouble," he bit out.
"No, I'm asking you to let me in."
He swore viciously, dropped the ax, and took her by the shoulders. "You don't know what you're asking."
She didn't waver. "Maybe not. I only know I want to get closer to you."
His mouth came down hard on hers. She could feel his anger, she could feel his frustration, and under it all she knew he'd never hurt her. He was fighting, and it was the fighting that made the kiss harsh. He didn't give her time to breathe, but pushed his tongue between her lips. She didn't pull away; she didn't fight back.
Her acquiescence seemed to make him angrier. His hands left her shoulders and he held her face, angling it so he could take more, go deeper. She felt him shudder when her tongue stroked his. The tension in his body surrounded her but didn't invade her.
Roughly, he tore his mouth from hers. "Damn it, Paige. You shouldn't be here." His voice was coarse and filled with pain, his breathing ragged.
She reached up and stroked his face. "But I am here because that's exactly where I want to be."
With a low groan, he took her mouth again. The fierce passion was still there. The anger wasn't. She wrapped her arms around his back and held on tight.
CHAPTER NINE
Clay's second kiss was pure fire. Streams of it zipped through Paige, weakening her arms and legs. She sought to get her strength back by touching him, by filling her hands with the heat of his back, the texture of his slick skin. She stroked, and he dragged her closer. His large hands caressed her back, found her bottom, and cupped her.
She felt his hard need through his jeans, through her skirt. It scared her but excited her, too. She'd never wanted a man this way; she'd never needed a man this way. Her inexperience didn't seem to matter because her body knew exactly what her emotions had already realized. She wanted to be one with this man. She wanted to fall into his soul, surround herself with him, and find fulfillment. It had nothing to do with experience, everything to do with feeling and being.
Need licked inside her as her tongue dueled with his and she arched into him.
Frantically, he pulled at her blouse. The silky material slid above her skirt. He unfastened her bra. Not taking his mouth from hers, he tried to undo the buttons. First one, then another, until she felt his hands on her stomach. He caressed with his thumbs, his rough skin making each stroke more sensual. He became impatient when he couldn't touch enough. Buttons popped. His hand closed over her full breast. He circled it with his open hand, then closed over it again.
She pressed into his hand, needing more.
He understood her need. He slid his open fingers back and forth over her nipple, creating an exquisite friction that created fiery desire within her. All strength seemed to seep out of her. She clung to Clay, immob
ilized by his seductive caress. Until he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
Too many erotic sensations barraged Paige, sensations that were primitive, awe-inspiring, frightening in their newness. She pressed into Clay and rocked her hips against his.
He groaned, broke their kiss, and pulled her down to the ground. His eyes were wild with hunger, desperate with need. She knew because she felt it, too.
His kisses were hot, open-mouthed, as he tasted her neck, throat, the valley between her breasts. The grass was soft under her, the sun's heat still warming it. Dusk, earth, the scents of passion went to her head, making her world spin.
He touched her nipple with his thumb again and she cried out. The sensation was so consuming, so erotic, so unlike anything she'd ever felt, she didn't know whether to embrace it or escape it. But when his lips instead of his finger touched the nipple, her hands closed around blades of grass and squeezed from the sheer sensation of spiraling pleasure.
His tongue was rough, soft, teasing, merciless. Her broken gasp was almost a sob. Never had she known anything like this.
Clay lifted his head, saw the need on her face, then lowered his mouth to her other breast. Paige laced her fingers in his hair and held him to her. His lips surrounded her, his tongue rasped over her, his scorching breath taunted her.
She grabbed his shoulders, aware of the power in his muscles, his strength, his maleness. He shuddered as her fingers kneaded. He came to her mouth again and sheathed her body under his, then pressed his knee between her legs. The stimulation was almost more than she could assimilate as he probed her mouth, palmed her breast, and pressed where she wanted to feel pressure most.
She might be a virgin, but she was also a doctor, and she understood what her body craved. Nothing seemed more important. Not the future, not Clay's secret, not her confusion about the direction of her life. She and Clay were here, now, that was all that mattered.
She clutched at him. She wanted more and didn't know how to get it. His chest was steamy hot, silky slick, and roughly textured by hair. She rubbed her shoulder against him since she couldn't move much else. At the same time, she roamed her hands down his sides until she met the waistband of his jeans. She slid along it until she reached the snap in front.
He still drugged her with kisses, long and deep, until she was dizzy. Feeling her hand at his waist, he shifted until she cupped him in her palm through his jeans. He shuddered again as she held him, then stroked up and down as best she could between them.
Clay was gone, so far gone. From the first touch of her fingers on his arm, her refusal to leave, the hungry need in her eyes. Her lips were sweet, the inside of her mouth food and drink for a hungry and thirsty man. He wanted to devour her, assuage the need she'd incited from the first time he'd seen her. He'd given her the chance to leave; he'd given her the chance to run. But she'd chosen to stay. And that, even more than his ferocious desire for her, had broken his control.
The first touch of her tongue had made him more aroused than he ever imagined he could be. And when he'd taken the rosy velvet tip of her breast into his mouth, he thought he'd die from the throbbing ache of needing her. Her keening moans inflamed him further until he wanted his hands all over her, his tongue deep in her mouth, his hunger appeased any way he could accomplish it.
She had eased the hunger but also made it worse. Her fingers in his hair, her hands on his back, her skin against his chest created desire like he'd never known it. He was on fire and didn't know if he wanted to put it out.
Paige twisted beneath him and he realized she was trying to undo his fly. The thought of her soft warm hands on him made him break off the kiss and raggedly gulp in air.
She murmured a protest and moved restlessly. Then she turned her head, searching for his mouth. When she couldn't find it, she opened her eyes. "I want you, Clay. Please make love to me."
Want. Love. Paige. Reality splashed him, as cold as the lake water in December. What in God's name was he doing? The blue of her eyes, the softness of her hands, the tremendous caring within her had stripped his defenses until he'd forgotten restraint and let frustration and need take over. They were on the grass in his backyard. What had happened to him?
He rolled away from her and pushed himself up to an upright position, not trusting himself to look at her naked breasts or gaze into her dazed blue eyes. His urgent arousal abated somewhat as he took deep, full breaths to maintain some type of control.
She reached for him. "Clay, what's wrong?"
When her fingers closed around his arm, he snapped, "Don't touch me, Paige. Don't make me regret this more than I do."
She didn't let go. "I want you, Clay."
His eyes met hers then, and he couldn't deal with the depth of feeling he found there. He lifted her hand from his arm and held her by the wrist. "You don't know me."
She searched his face, then pulled her hand from his grasp. All the emotion he'd seen in her eyes coalesced into anger as she levered herself up. "And whose fault is that?"
When he didn't respond, she made a soft noise of frustration. Fastening her bra, she pulled her blouse around her and realized buttons were missing. Her already flushed cheeks turned redder. With an attempt at modesty, she took the ends of the blouse and tied them together at her waist. The result was deep cleavage but adequate coverage.
She scrambled to her feet and attempted to swipe the grass from her skirt. Giving up, she started across the yard and left Clay sitting there. She didn't look back.
****
Paige opened her eyes the next morning and groaned. She might have gotten about two hours of sleep. All because of Clay Reynolds. He was stubborn, frustrating, sexy, strong...and she loved him. Tears pricked her eyes. How stupid for this to happen now.
When would be any better, though, since she was constantly picking up and moving on? What kind of personal life could she have? Her work meant everything to her, didn't it?
Maybe Clay was right to push her away. If she gave him her heart, what would happen if she left?
The phone rang and her heart lurched. Ten to one she knew who it was. She lifted the handset on her nightstand.
Clay's voice was low and morning-husky. "Paige?"
She came to a sitting position and put the phone on her lap. "Yes?"
"If you have more important things to do today, I can go to Westminster and get what we need for the Fourth."
She knew he expected her to jump at the chance not to be with him, to escape the awkwardness last night had caused. Well, she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Awkwardness wouldn't kill her. "Actually, I saved other shopping for today, too. I haven't been to the mall in a couple of weeks."
"I see."
She doubted it. She decided to offer him an escape route if he wanted it. "I suppose I could get what we need, but you know more about it. Unless you want to give me the sizes, the amounts--"
"No. I'm not going to heap that on your shoulders. What time should I pick you up?" He sounded as if it was the last thing on earth he wanted to do.
"I should finish at the hospital about two. Is two thirty all right?"
"It's fine. I'll see you then."
When Paige hung up, she knew it wasn't fine. Clay didn't want to see her. He didn't want to be near her. Somehow she'd just have to live with that.
****
You can't die from awkwardness, Paige told herself for at least the hundredth time. But she didn't know if she believed it. Except for a perfunctory greeting, Clay had been silent during the drive. Then, of course, so had she. This situation was beyond her social expertise.
Sitting next to Clay in silence, watching his long fingers on the wheel, aware of the tilt of his elbow, the tautness of his thigh as he moved his foot from the gas to the brake, made breathing difficult. She couldn't stop thinking about his lips on hers, his hand on her breast, the shivers of excitement she'd felt in his arms.
Obviously, Clay had already managed to forget. But she couldn't. Not in this li
fetime. Maybe what had happened was old hat to him, but it wasn't to her. Irritation bubbled inside her. How could he pretend it never happened?
Clay parked the SUV. Paige hopped out quickly so he wouldn't think she was waiting for him to open the door for her. He held the door for her at the entrance. Inadvertently, her arm brushed his ribs as she passed him. A shock forked through her. Her eyes never met his. She got as far as his jaw, saw the tense set and the nerve jumping, looked straight ahead, and walked into the tiled thoroughfare.
Paige let Clay lead. He wore jeans and a red and white striped polo shirt, looking crisp and sharp, not as if he'd come straight from work. She pictured him without the shirt, all bronze skin and hard physique. Then stopped the pictures.
The T-shirt shop was empty except for the proprietor. Clay explained what they had in mind. The man showed them two styles--V neck and crew neck.
Paige looked up at Clay. "Which do you think would be better?"
"Whichever you pick is fine."
She chose the V neck.
The proprietor asked which style of printing they preferred. When Paige asked Clay's opinion, again he said, "Whichever you think will work best."
Paige's temper had a long fuse, but it was shortened a great deal by Clay's rejection last night, his silence on the ride to Westminster, and now by his let's-hurry-up-and-get-this-over-with attitude. She chose the block printing.
Then they had to choose the colors. When Clay shrugged, Paige said sarcastically, "Fuchsia on yellow would be nice."
Clay scowled.
"Would you prefer something else?" she asked sweetly.
Hot desire leapt in his eyes and his gaze scorched her.
She cleared her throat and said to the man behind the counter, "Better make it red on white." Her fingers trembled. She curled them into her palms and took her hands from the countertop.
After the proprietor took the appropriate information for the order, Clay said briskly, "Balloons next. There's a party store about halfway down the mall."
They walked in silence, entered the store, and found the balloons easily. Paige reached for a bag of assorted colors at the same time as Clay. Their fingers brushed.
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