by Elise Faber
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.
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 do
wnstairs.
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.
“Aunt Heather!” Hunter’s loud voice made Heather wince and hold the phone away from her ear.
“Hey, buddy,” she said. “How’s it going?”
A toddler babbled in the background. “Hang on, Carter wants to say hi.” Rustling before the voices sounded further away. Having been through this pony show before, Heather knew she was now on speaker. “Hey, Carter.”
“He-he!”
“Great,” she muttered, “and now my nickname is the same as the chicken from Moana.”
“You love that movie,” Hunter said, still loud, still wince-worthy. “You made me watch it again last time you came over because you love the music.”
She pointed a warning finger at Clay when he snorted and mouthed, “Moana.” Obviously, her nephews didn’t have an issue with volume if he could hear every word they said.
Ignoring him, she told Hunter, “The soundtrack is incredible.”
“It’s a girls’ movie.” She imagined he was wrinkling his nose.
“Girls,” Carter parroted.
And great. “We’ll talk gender stereotypes later,” she declared. “But all I have to say for the moment is . . . lies in a trash can.”
Hunter giggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sure, it does.” She smacked Clay when he snorted again. “It means take all of those lies and stick ‘em in the trash can.”
“Gross,” Hunter said.
“G-luss,” Carter repeated.
“Boys,” came Abby’s voice in the background. “Let’s give your aunt’s ear a break for a second, okay?”
“Okay!”
The noise dimmed dramatically as Abby snagged the phone. “So?” her sister-in-law asked.
“So, what?”
“Is he coming over to visit?” Abby whispered.
“Abs,” Heather warned. “We talked about this. Meeting everyone is a lot of pressure for him, and things are still so—”
Clay plucked the phone out of her hand. “Is this Abigail?” A pause. “Yes, it’s so nice to finally talk to you. I’ve heard a lot about your work.” Heather launched herself across the car, trying to grab the phone back, but he just manacled both of her wrists in one of his hands and held her away from him. Clay’s side of the conversation made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t ready. She—
Well, fuck it all.
It was happening whether she was ready or not.
“Yes, I see. No, she didn’t.” His eyes flicked to hers. “Of course, she’s going to come. Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Another beat. “Absolutely. Well then, we’ll both see you tomorrow.”
He hung up at the same time as he released her wrists.
A pause then, “Birthday party?”
She winced. Shit. Hunter’s party. They were celebrating early since his actual birthday was so close to Christmas and his friends often couldn’t make it to a party when it was held over the winter holidays. “It totally slipped my mind. Damn. Seriously, I’m the worst aunt ever.”
“Abby had a few gift suggestions. Should we stop off for a present?”
“Clay,” she began. “This isn’t—”
His brows pulled together. “I hope you aren’t going to finish that sentence with something along the lines of this isn’t something you need to do.”
“Well, it’s just so soon.” She stared out the window. Lame excuse, O’Keith.
He cupped her cheek, turned her face toward his. “We’re married.”
“Kind of.”
Lush lips pressed flat. “What does that mean? I thought last night—Did you change your mind now that—”
“Stop,” she said, placing one finger across his mouth and taking a deep breath. “This is coming out all wrong. Let me try and explain, okay?”
His eyes blazed in frustration, but he nodded.
“I know we’re married,” she said softly. “And I meant what I said last night. I want all the things. I want to try to make this work.”
“But?” A murmur against her finger.
“But, it is still very new. And a birthday party is a pretty big step, especially when it comes to my nephew.”
Clarity across the face she knew almost better than her own. “You’re protective.”
“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose, sighed because . . . “I’m also scared.”
He tugged her finger away from his mouth, interwove it with his own. “And look at us discussing it like rational adults.”
Sighing, she smacked a hand across his chest. “You don’t have any sympathy, do you?”
“Nope.” A press of his lips to hers. “Now, I’m going to say something that is guaranteed to freak you out, but I don’t want you to say anything in return. Instead, I want you to just accept the words.”
“Wh-what?”
He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Just promise me you’ll keep talking, okay?”
“Clay?” Her heart thudded.
“Don’t shut me out, sweetheart.” His eyes were calm, his mouth warm against hers.
She gripped his fingers tight when he pulled back. “I could never shut you out, Clay.”
His smile lit up her heart. “Excellent,” he said in his best evil genius voice before all notes of teasing left his face. “Because I love you, Heather O’Keith.”
Oh fuck.
All the butterflies.
All the feels.
But nowhere in there was fear.
Her lips parted to say the words back, but before they could emerge, Clay kissed her, long and deep and hot.
“Not yet, baby,” he said when he pulled back, both of their chests heaving. “Just wait until it’s right for you.”
So, she held tight to the words, tucked them safely against her heart.
And then, just because she could, she kissed him again.
Hunter’s present could
wait until the morning.
Heather collapsed back onto her bed, exhaustion in every cell of her body.
Clay, who had flopped down next to her, was first to regain the ability to form words. “I had no idea that kids’ birthday parties were so tiring.”
She lifted a sneaker-clad foot. “I’m wearing tennis shoes, and my feet still hurt.”
They had arrived at Hunter’s party several hours earlier to find that twenty-something kids between the ages of two and ten had descended upon Jordan and Abby’s house to jump in an inflatable house, play video games, gorge on junk food, and just be kids.
It had been loud and chaotic and . . . everything a kid’s birthday should be.
Friends, cake, and gaming, little brothers tagging along and disrupting everything. Heather grinned at the memory of Hunter handing Carter his controller in the middle of the game, just because he’d asked and not getting mad when his little brother had spent more time drooling on it than actually pressing any buttons.
“Your nephews are good kids,” Clay murmured.
Heather rolled to face him, a smile lighting her face. “Yes, they are.”
She had shared—of her our volition, thank her very much, she was rocking this relationship thing—that Hunter had dealt with some serious health issues a few years ago, including a congenital heart condition that had ultimately required a heart transplant. He was healthy and well-adjusted now but obviously had dealt with obstacles no kid his age should have been exposed to. And even aside from his health, his dad had died, his mom had left, and Jordan and Abby had adopted him after his heart transplant. That would have been a lot for anyone, let alone a little kid, but it was great to see that he’d made it through to the other side relatively unscathed.
“I think he liked the Legos,” she said, toeing off her sneakers.
“Are you kidding?” Clay said. “I’m not a ten-year-old kid, and I wanted that set, just for me.”
She snuggled closer. “Are you trying to give me a hint for your birthday present?” A kiss to his throat. “When is it anyway?”
“June fourteenth.”
“Noted.” Her tongue flicked out, loving the way he tasted. “Mentally ordering all the Legos.”