The Dare Affair: Summer In Savannah Anth. (Dynasties: The Danforths Book 6.5

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Katrina arrived at her parents’ island estate, a Greek Revival mansion with stately columns and a wraparound porch. She paused in the main foyer and looked around. She’d always considered the oak staircase the focal point, the heart of this Beaumont-built home. She’d been taught to respect its legacy, and as a child, she’d agreed to live here until she married and had a family of her own.

  Fat chance of that, she thought, as she ascended the stairs. She would probably die an old maid.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Katrina,” a member of the household staff said.

  “Good afternoon.” She stopped at the top of the hallway and watched the gray-haired woman reorganize a linen closet. “Are my parents in?”

  “No, miss. They left some time ago.”

  Where were they? she wondered as she entered her suite. Had Daddy, a sixth-generation Savannahian, escorted Mother, one of Savannah’s most graceful social hostesses, into town? Or had their busy schedules taken them in separate directions?

  Katrina sat on her canopied bed and fingered a lace-edged pillow. What would they do if they discovered their properly reared daughter had gotten piss-faced drunk and slept in Clayton Crawford’s bed?

  The phone on the nightstand rang, and she picked it up, telling herself not to worry. Mother and Daddy wouldn’t find out.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” the familiar voice on the other end of the private line said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

  Katrina adjusted the receiver. “Anna-Mae?”

  “Yes, it’s me. You’re not going to believe what happened. When Jenny learned that you never came home last night, she started calling everyone we know to find out if they’d seen you.”

  Oh, no, Katrina thought. No.

  “Anyway, when Jenny discovered that Clay had an apartment above the club, she put two and two together and—”

  “And what?” Her heart dove for her throat. “She told everyone that he seduced me?”

  “Not everyone,” Anna-Mae drawled. “She didn’t tell your parents. They think you were with Andrew, and she didn’t dispute their assumption.” The line went quiet, then she asked, “Was Clay as wild as he looks?”

  “Anna-Mae.”

  “You can’t blame a girl for asking. Jenny doesn’t care for him, but I think he’s rather delicious.”

  She clutched the lace-edged pillow to her stomach. “I didn’t make love with him.”

  “Oh.” The other woman’s voice went flat. “All of our friends think you did.”

  “I’m going to kill Jenny.” It was only a matter of time before her parents found out, she thought. Before they heard the gossip. Mother would probably learn from the Cotillion Club and then she would sit Daddy down and relay the horrifying news.

  “Jenny didn’t mean to cause a scandal. She was worried about you. I’m sure she’ll correct the error once you explain it to her.”

  Correct the error? How does one correct a scandal? Tawdry little rumors were passed around their social circle like chocolates. “You know darn well that won’t work.”

  “Then you’ll just have to roll with the punches. Besides, if anyone deserves to have an affair, you do.”

  But I didn’t have an affair, Katrina thought. Her reputation was shot for nothing.

  After she ended the call, she changed into a nightgown and climbed into bed, intent on sleeping her troubles away, if only for a few hours.

  The phone rang again. She made a face and grabbed the receiver, certain it was her girlfriend again. “Anna-Mae, I’m too tired to—”

  “It isn’t Anna-Mae.”

  The male voice shook her to the core. “Andrew?”

  “I can’t believe you let this happen. Do you realize how this looks? Do you know what people are saying?”

  How dare he reprimand her, treat her as if they were still engaged. “You called off the wedding. Remember?”

  He made a tight sound, and she pictured him, seated at his grandfather’s antique desk, wearing a pale gray suit and tasteful tie, his ash-brown hair carrying subtle highlights from the sun.

  “So you’re not denying that it’s true?” he asked.

  In spite of herself, she lied. “No, I’m not denying it. In fact…”

  He waited a beat, then took the bait. “In fact what?”

  “Clay said I was—” she stalled, searching for a phrase the owner of Steam might use “—the best lay he’d ever had.”

  Andrew turned quiet, and she could feel the tension building. Were the veins in his neck pulsing? Was he imagining her naked, her body arched in an erotic position, her legs spread across Clay’s thighs?

  “You were drunk,” he said nastily.

  “My lover didn’t seem to mind.” She cuddled against her pillow, feigned a morning-after air. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some rest.”

  Before he could respond, she hung up, leaving him with nothing but silence. After she unplugged the phone, she walked to the beveled mirror, intent on commending herself. But the exhausted image staring back at her was the same woman Andrew had refused to marry. The same woman who’d disappointed him in bed. Only, now she’d just fed the gossip mill, boasting that she and Clayton Crawford were lovers.

  Two days later Clay knocked on Katrina’s door. Or at least he assumed it was her door. He’d heard she’d been banished to the Beaumont guest house, a cottage-style dwelling flanked by white trellises, a carpet of grass and a spray of flowers. No, he thought, it wasn’t the main house, the high-society mansion; but the charming little bungalow could have been a setting straight out of a Thomas Kinkade original.

  Katrina answered the summons, wearing beige slacks and a silk blouse, her hair coiled into a ladylike topknot.

  “This is some banishment,” he said.

  She merely blinked at him, her lashes making a graceful sweep. “Clayton? What are you doing here?”

  He pressed a gold chain into her hand. “You left this at my place.”

  “My necklace.” She took the choker. “Your shirt is still at the cleaners.”

  “I told you I didn’t want it back.”

  “I know, but…” Her voice faded as she glanced at the necklace. “I forgot about this.”

  “I didn’t.” He’d been plagued by it for days, debating on how and when to return it. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He slipped his hands in his pockets, tilted his head, waited.

  She stepped away from the door, and he entered the cottage. “Nice digs,” he said. Hardwood floors, bright bay windows, carefully selected antiques.

  “I wasn’t banished.”

  “Then what’s the deal? Why are you living in the guest house?”

  “I chose to stay here.” She still held the choker, the faceted stones glinting in her hand. “It was my decision.”

  Because her parents were disappointed in her, he thought. Because she’d created a scandal.

  She gestured to a settee, but he shook his head, refusing the seat. He preferred to stand. “The gossip didn’t originate from my camp,” he said.

  “I know. It came from mine. When I didn’t return that night, Jenny made a few phone calls and things escalated into what they are now.”

  “That’s not the way I heard it.”

  Katrina moved to stand beside a glass shelf, where a collection of Fabergé boxes was displayed. Lifting one, she slipped her necklace inside. “What did you hear?”

  He couldn’t stop the smile that ghosted over his lips. “That you were the best lay I’d ever had.”

  Her cheeks went pale. “I don’t know who started that rumor.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  Ignoring her lie, he stepped forward to inspect the jewel boxes. “Andrew called me at the club.”

  Her voice jumped. “What? Why?”

  “To give me a piece of his mind. Your ex claims that I disrespected you. First, by getting you drunk. Second, by seducing you. And third, by rating the kind of lay you were.” He glanced o
ver his shoulder, saw her fussing nervously with her impeccably tailored blouse. “Do you think he’ll want to duel?” He turned away from the glass shelf, his tone laced with humor. “Isn’t that the way gentlemen used to settle a score over a woman? Or were duels reserved for political squabbles?”

  “That isn’t funny, Clayton.”

  “Did I say it was?” He met her gaze, masked his smile. “I don’t even own a pistol.”

  Katrina sank onto the settee. The daughter of the manor, hiding in the guest house. “This scandal is getting worse by the minute. What am I going to do?”

  What indeed? “Why don’t you meet me for dinner tonight at Steam? Around seven.” He headed for the door. “We can discuss the details then.”

  She left her seat. “What details?”

  “Have dinner with me and find out,” he said, before he opened the door and exited the cottage, leaving her staring after him.

  Chapter 3

  Katrina entered Steam and took the stairs to the second floor. She was too nervous to embrace the elevator, to stand in a confined space with other people. Being seen in public with Clay would only stir more gossip. Yet here she was, attired in an iridescent cocktail dress, preparing to meet the man of the hour.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have worn something so noticeable. Maybe she should have tucked herself into a classic summer suit.

  She moved closer, wishing Clay hadn’t lured her into his trap. But it was too late to turn tail and run. The maître d’ had already spotted her.

  “Miss Beaumont.” He rewarded her with a we-were-expecting-you smile. “This way, please.”

  He led her to a cozy table in the middle of the room. Wonderful, she thought, as he seated her. She was the star attraction at Steam tonight.

  “Mr. Crawford will join you shortly.” The maître d’ gave her a small, customary bow. “He already chose the wine.”

  For a moment her expression froze. Then she summoned her wits and managed a proper thank-you, knowing darn well this was Clay’s way of embellishing the scandal, of reminding her of how she’d ended up in this predicament.

  As if she were likely to forget.

  The wine, an all-too-familiar chardonnay, arrived. But it wasn’t a waiter who delivered it. It was Clay.

  He stood beside the table, tall and dark in a midnight-colored suit, looking as exotic as the atmosphere. A crystal chandelier bathed him in a soft, shimmering glow. His hair was slicked back, exposing the strong-boned angles of his face. A small smile tugged at his lips.

  “Kat,” he said. “Kitty Kat.”

  Warmth flooded her stomach.

  He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, brushing his mouth against her skin. “You look beautiful,” he said.

  “I don’t know why I’m here.”

  He sat across from her, an ornately painted lamp burning between them. “You’re curious. You want to know what I have up my sleeve.” He smiled again. “And you want to make Andrew even more jealous than he already is.”

  She shook her head. “That isn’t true.”

  He poured the wine. “Isn’t it?”

  She touched the stem of her glass, but she refused to drink, to sip the poison he’d provided. Somewhere deep down, she wanted to keep punishing Andrew, to prove how strong and independent she was. But she hated to admit that to Clay.

  “I took the liberty of ordering our meal ahead of time,” he told her. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “It’s your game.”

  “No, Kat. It’s our game. We’re in this together.”

  “In what?” she ventured to ask.

  “This affair.” He leaned into the table, the light catching his eyes. “We’re going to go back to my place after dinner and make love.” He sat back, tasted the wine. “On the verandah.”

  She couldn’t find her voice. None of the private schools she’d attended, none of the blue-blooded boys she’d dated, none of the high-society events she been weaned on had prepared her for this moment. “I can’t…I just couldn’t do something like that,” she finally said.

  “You’re the one who told Andrew what I supposedly said about you. You’re the one who claimed to be the best I ever had.” He fingered the roses on the table, tracing his hand along the side of the vase. “Don’t you think you should live up to your claim? Show me how good you are?”

  He was daring her, she thought, seducing her, making her head spin. This went beyond making Andrew jealous, beyond attracting more gossip.

  A waiter brought lemon-garnished water to the table, followed by a gourmet meal.

  Did she want to show him how good she was?

  Avoiding the question that loomed in the air, Katrina sipped her water to combat the dryness in her mouth, and complimented him on the food selection.

  They ate in silence, dining on pan-seared mahi-mahi, served with fried capers. The restaurant provided an elegant ambience, rich with dark woods and red velvet.

  “We can have dessert at my place,” he said.

  Lovemaking on the verandah? she wondered.

  “Broiled peaches with crème fraîche,” he offered. “We can fix it ourselves.”

  She looked up at him, stalled, put her fork down. “I’m not very good,” she admitted.

  A smile tipped one corner of his mouth. “At broiling peaches?”

  “At intimacy,” she whispered across the table, wishing he would take her seriously for once. “Half the time I don’t even—” she paused to add the telltale inflection “—you know.”

  He furrowed his brows, feigning confusion. Katrina wanted to kick him.

  “You mean come?” he finally whispered back.

  Her entire face flamed. “Clayton.”

  “Sweet, beautiful Kat.” His voice turned low, gentle. “I could come just looking at you.”

  This can’t be happening, she thought, as the room tilted. They couldn’t be having this conversation, not here, not like this.

  “Will you have dessert with me?” he asked.

  She should have said no. She should have told him she wasn’t ready to be with him, to let him draw her into his spell, but she couldn’t. It was too late; he’d already paved the way. “Yes,” she said.

  “Now?”

  She nodded. Suddenly she craved something sweet. “Broiled peaches.”

  “And crème fraîche,” he added.

  They took the gated elevator. Like caged tigers, she thought, preparing to mate. He produced a key from his pocket and inserted it in the key switch that accessed the fourth floor, giving him sole entry to his living quarters.

  They walked down the secluded hallway, a path she’d traveled once before. But this time she’d agreed to make love with him, to become part of his life.

  At least for tonight, she thought. Until it was over, until the passion cooled and she realized the full impact of what she’d done.

  He unlocked his front door and disabled the alarm. The loft-style apartment seemed vast, with its black-and-white floor and iron-forged bed.

  She wanted to ask him about his family, his mother and his sisters, but it didn’t seem like the right time to catch up. For now they teetered on the edge of being strangers, a boy and a girl who’d lost touch a long time ago.

  He escorted her into the kitchen and she placed her handbag on the counter. Like the rest of the loft, the kitchen boasted Clay’s dramatic flair. Old copper pots hung from a chopping-block island, and a life-size painting of a half-clothed warrior dominated the only wall. Next to it were a series of smaller paintings, stunning young women with tribally decorated faces and long flowing hair.

  “The artist is color-blind,” he said.

  She tilted her head, wondering how a painter who couldn’t distinguish one shade from another could create such bold and beautiful images.

  She turned to look at Clay and found him watching her. “I like your dress,” he said, studying the sleek silver garment that hugged her body. “I like your hair, too.”

  Self-conscious, she smooth
ed the auburn strands that fell over her shoulders. “I wore it loose this time.”

  He moved a little closer. “Yes, you did.”

  She looked into his eyes, into the darkness that unmasked his soul.

  He touched her cheek, but only for a moment. “Did you pretend when you were with Andrew, Kat?”

  “Pretend?”

  “When it didn’t happen,” he clarified. “Did you fake it?”

  Her breath rushed out. “No. But maybe I should have.” She glanced at the painted warrior, saw that his eyes were as dark as Clay’s. “Maybe it would have made a difference.”

  “No. It’s good that you were honest.”

  “We didn’t talk about the times it didn’t happen,” she admitted. “When he broke our engagement, he said that we weren’t compatible in bed. That something was missing. But he didn’t blame me, not directly.”

  “You blamed yourself?”

  “Yes, but my girlfriends keep telling me I shouldn’t. That I didn’t do anything wrong.” She shifted her gaze to one of the painted women, wondering how many dark-haired beauties Clay had taken to his bed. “But it’s obvious that Andrew was disappointed in me. That I didn’t meet his expectations.” She managed a shaky laugh. “I doubt Andrew was disappointed in himself. Men never are, it seems.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  She wanted to say no, but how could she? “I don’t fall out of love that easily, but he hurt me. He made me feel inadequate, even if he didn’t do it purposely. I’m having trouble forgiving him.”

  “It won’t be like that for us.” Clay touched her cheek again. “This is only an affair.”

  “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  “You won’t.” He smiled at her. “I’ve wanted you for over half my life. From the first moment I saw you.”

  Embarrassed, she almost looked away. “We were kids.”

  “We were teenagers,” he countered. “And teenage boys have raging hormones. I used to think about you when I went to bed at night. I used to—”

  She held up her hand, stopped him from destroying the innocence of their youth. “You promised me peaches.”