Clio's Choice

by Masters, Cate

  “I’m so sorry.” She laid a hand on his leg; his muscles tensed beneath her palm.

  He turned to her. “You remind me of her. A great deal.” His gaze swept across her. “Your eyes, your mouth. Your spine.” His fingers traced her vertebrae. She closed her eyes. In her mind, she was naked, arched over his powerful hand at the small of her back, open to him and his every desire.

  His breath warmed her ear. “The water’s perfect. Why don’t we go for a swim?”

  A swim – yes, that’s how she balanced atop his hand, his legs splayed, her leg up, poised to slide around his waist, to clench his hip to hers. It would be so easy. His power grew as he held her, ready to cleave her.

  She gasped, and opened her eyes. “Where is everyone?”

  No noise came from the main room, or anywhere in the house. Only the waterfall gushing as though time existed separately in this room.

  “Enjoying themselves as much as we are, hopefully.” His fingers skipped to the end of her spine, one of her most sensitive spots, just above her ass. The way he peered so intently -- expectantly – he knew how it affected her.

  Her insides tightened. Had Jon revealed their secrets to this man?

  “I need to find Jon.” The water whooshed as she pulled her knees up and collected her shoes. “What time is it?” They might have been there for minutes or hours. It was impossible to tell.

  He stood slowly, and sat on a nearby stone bench to dry his feet with a towel, and slip on his sandals. “Let’s go find out.”

  Worry churned up. Why hadn’t Jon come looking for her?

  The hallway appeared absurdly long and winding. Her hair fell about her shoulders. Had she unhitched the clip? “Where’s Jon?”

  “Slow down. Let’s check the main room first.”

  The hallway opened to the main room, where two women and a man sat. Damn his penchant for ancient Greece–no clock was evident on the wall or mantle, not even a digital glow of numbers to give her a clue.

  “Perhaps he’s in the media room.” His hand on her elbow, he guided her down another hall and opened the door. The darkness inside was cut by the screen’s light, flickering like a strobe, across the tangle of bodies in the lounging pit.

  Jon’s throaty chuckle cut through the dark. “Oh, I love this part.” His arm pointed at the screen, then fell again into the indistinguishable mass of limbs, writhing like a pit of snakes.

  “Jonathan.” Her voice carried strong and stern above the movie soundtrack. A round knob sat on the wall where a light switch might be, but wouldn’t pull out. She twisted it as far as it would go, and brought the lights up full blast.

  Jon lay in the center of the lounger with three women in various postures on either side and at his feet. All still clothed, though rumpled. It didn’t ease the sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  Her husband winced in the bright light, and shielded his eyes with his forearm. “Clio?” His eyes narrowed at the sight of Dion standing beside her. “Where have you been?” His words slurred badly.

  Her voice cut through the dark. “It’s time to go.”

  The three women looked at her as if ready to hiss and bare their claws.

  Let them. Jon wasn’t included in this damn business deal.

  He clumsily leaned up on one arm. “Go? The movie’s not over.”

  Dion touched her shoulder. “I’ll be close by if you need me.” To the women, he said, “Girls?”

  At his beckoning, the women eased from the pit and slithered toward him. All were gloriously wild-looking, their hair unfettered from adornment. As each passed, their eyes held a glint of mischief.

  Jon held his stomach laughing at the screen. “Oh–watch this. C’mere.”

  Two empty bottles lay on the floor beside the pillows. She sat on the lounger’s edge. “How much did you drink?”

  He held up another. “Still some left. Where’s your glass?”

  “I’m done. It’s time to go.” Her head had cleared since leaving the pool room, as though she’d awakened from a dream.

  “Already? I’m taking this with me, then.” He clutched the bottle to his chest.

  She found his shoes strewn on either side of the lounger. Not like him at all. “Give me your foot.”

  He sat back, watching her with bleary eyes. “Where were you?”

  She slipped one shoe, then the other, on his feet. “Up you go.” She stood, held out her hand.

  All trace of humor gone, he grasped it. His arms were jellylike, but his body heavy as lead. “You were with him, weren’t you?”

  If he wanted to accuse her, she could do the same. Nothing would be settled tonight. “Up, let’s go home.”

  The word had always held such a pleasant connotation, but she wasn’t looking forward to bringing him home now.

  She pulled the car to the front door. Dion helped Jon into the passenger side, and then shut the door, lingering at the window. “Drive safe.” He moved to the steps and stood, arms folded, as she drove through the gate.

  Two

  Darkness infiltrated the loft. Clio sat on the sofa, watching the street light filter in the front window through a curtain of rain. Waiting had become a part of her daily routine. One she dreaded.

  The Jeep’s headlights swung across the walls, illuminating the room while Jon backed into the parking space opposite. The lights fell away. Minutes ticked by, he in his darkness, and she in hers. The separateness stung until she could no longer stand the sharpness of their divide.

  Opening the door, rain pelted her face as she ran to the car. The passenger side still locked, she knocked on the window.

  “It’s me, open up.” Her knuckles rapped on the glass until the door clicked. She climbed inside. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  He stared straight ahead through the rain running in sheets down the windshield.

  “Jon?” Her touch fluttered against his arm.

  As he turned his head, a faint smile appeared as if just realizing she was there. “Hey.”

  The odor of stale wine wafted toward her.

  “We did it.” He lifted a bottle in cheers, then tilted it to his mouth.

  The account. “Is that why you’re so late?”

  His words ran together, drowning in a river of wine. “You know I don’t like to leave—”

  “Unfinished business, I know.” All she’d heard for the past month was how he had to wrap things up so there’d be no loose ends. “I was worried.”

  “Your worries are over. We finalized the deal.” His swollen eyelids hung heavy.

  So it was official, a partnership. Jon inextricably linked with Dion, and there would be more gatherings. Not something she’d look forward to.

  She stroked his hair. “Come inside.”

  “Friday night. He’s having a celebration. At his house.” His lips curled, the taste of the words clearly unpleasant.

  So soon? “This Friday? Do we have to go?” She heard the disappointment in her voice and cringed.

  “Course. Jarod would kick my ass if we didn’t. Can’t insult our new client.” Slumping, his hair hung across his forehead.

  The loft made a dark silhouette against the approaching lightning. She should have turned on a light.

  “He makes me so uncomfortable.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The last thing she wanted was to upset him.

  His head bobbed up. “Because you’re attracted to him.”

  “What?” This explained his heavy drinking. His company needed the business, but he didn’t want to be near Dion any more than she did.

  “You are. And he wants you.” He narrowed his eyes to slits. “I see the way he looks at you.”

  She grasped his jacket. “You are my husband. I love you, and only you.” She wouldn’t admit she forgot that last time.

  Staring into the gloom, he smiled, but his eyes welled with tears. “It’s all different.”

  These past few weeks, he’d been slipping away from her. Working longer hours each day, e
ach night less responsive to her touch.

  She angled toward him. “No. We belong to each other. We always will.”

  He met her gaze with uncertainty. He furrowed his brow and nodded. “Let’s go in. I’m tired.”

  Resisting the urge to say me too, she held his arm as he lurched ahead. Rain soaked their clothes.

  Once inside, she pried his fingers from the bottle and pointed him toward the bedroom. She emptied the bottle into the sink and threw it away. Damn Dion and his wine to hell.

  She went to help Jon undress.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.

  She pushed his jacket over his shoulders. “Are you hungry?”

  Drooping forward, he shook his head. His shirt peeled from his skin, and she eased him to the bed, unbuckled his belt and tugged his pants off, then his briefs.

  His wet skin gleamed in the half-light. He shivered. She lifted the covers, and he rolled underneath. She undressed and slid next to him, skin against skin, to warm him. His shivers subsided, but he lay stiff as a statue, his eyes like glass.

  He grasped her hand across his chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  She kissed his neck. “You never will.”

  His arm tightened across her back. Gradually, his eyes closed, and his breaths grew deeper, his embrace now slack.

  Giving in to sleep would bring the dawn – and Friday – that much sooner. If they were required to go to Dion’s house, she would stay by Jon’s side every minute, not allow him to wander off in dubious company without her. They would visit only as long as etiquette dictated to be polite.

  * * * *

  Friday afternoon, and Clio sat at her desk. Next week, the firm expected her to have a knock-em-dead presentation for the auto dealership account. Normally, slogans came to her in a snap, but now, only one phrase repeated in her head: it’s driving me crazy. Apprehension had knotted her insides for days.

  Her cell phone buzzed. She flipped it open to a photo of Jon, winking. His text message underneath: Remember tonight.

  How could she forget? Last time, he’d apologized for drinking too much. Promised it wouldn’t happen again, but their new client would expect them to indulge in his product. With enthusiasm.

  She keyed her reply: See you at six. Dressed in a sedate skirt and blouse. She wouldn’t make the same mistake as last time.

  Her cell buzzed again. Bring our bathing suits.

  “Oh no.” The last thing she wanted was to compete in the evening swimsuit competition.

  The next message arrived with another photo, smiling, eyes shut, head leaning back against his arm. We can swim across the pool into infinity. The words made her shiver until she read: Maybe I’ll take you behind the waterfall.

  A rush of warmth filled her imagining herself clinging to his neck, her legs capturing him behind the cover of the cascading waters.

  Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad. In any case, his mood had lightened from the bleak greys of the other night to a much more palatable pastel.

  * * * *

  Entering the foyer, Clio clutched Jon’s waist. “I feel so conspicuous in this.”

  Jon squeezed her shoulder. “You look amazing.”

  He’d surprised her with a new outfit – a white backless halter dress. When she tried it on, she had to admit she liked it. It hugged her curves, its silken fabric light and comfortable. Not exactly the sedate outfit she’d planned to wear.

  They descended the stone steps into the main room. Along one wall stood a white-linened table loaded with cheese and crackers, grapes and strawberries, plates of hors d’ouvres. Candles offered muted light. They burned on tables and high pillars, along the mantle and inside the fireplace.

  “Looks like he’s outdone himself again.” Jon waved to Jarod, who spoke with Dion.

  Dion leaned an elbow high on the mantle. Jarod waved and pointed, and Dion turned. His eyes locked on hers. When Jon steered her toward him, she felt like the sacrificial lamb.

  “So good to see you again.” His eyes bright and warm, Dion took her hands in his and kissed her cheek. His lips to her ear, his voice was low. “You look lovely.”

  His breath threatened to unleash a swarm of bees to buzz through her bloodstream, to sting her senses to life. She pushed her hair behind her shoulder. “Thank you. This is quite a celebration. Everything looks wonderful.”

  “A new beginning deserves a proper initiation.” His words hung heavy in the air, weighted with some other meaning she couldn’t divine.

  Jarod raised his glass. “I’ll second that.” He turned to Jon. “Try some of this. It’s excellent.” To Dion, he said, “Excuse us for one moment.”

  “But of course.” He nodded, a gleam of triumph in his smile.

  “The new almond wine.” Jon touched her bare back. “Want to try some?”

  “Please.” She tensed watching Jon and Jarod move away through the crowd. Already he’d broken her vow to not leave his side.

  She smiled at Dion. “Almond wine – how unusual.”

  “To stay in the game, you have to throw the competition a curve ball now and then.” His gaze wandered down her curves.

  Her body responded of its own accord, and flushed with excitement. Her nipples ripened to hard rosettes against the silk.

  Embarrassed, she hoped to divert his attention, and hers. “How long have you been in the business?”

  He seemed so young to own such a vast empire, yet his manners spoke of an old world upbringing. The way he squired her – or any female – through a room. The way he focused his full attention on her while she spoke.

  “It feels like ages.” He flashed a smile.

  He followed her glance across the room, where Jarod and Jon spoke to two couples. Their wide eyes and wider smiles registered exuberance with a touch of disbelief. Her husband hadn’t thought the deal would go through, but she’d never doubted it.

  “Looks like your drink was waylaid.” He raised a finger and one of the female staff nodded. Her long split skirt opened as she glided like a supermodel to fetch the drink from Jon. She smiled and passed it to Clio.

  He nodded. “Thank you, Mariam.”

  “You’re welcome, my lord.” Mariam’s eyes widened, and she slipped back through the crowd.

  He stiffened, and cleared his throat.

  “My lord?” Clio couldn’t resist the temptation to question the title, though his narrowed eyes followed Mariam in unspoken distaste.

  “A carryover from the old country. She forgets where we are.” His eyes blazed in the woman’s direction when she glanced back, then made herself scarce in the crowd.

  “Do you come from royalty?” Certainly Jon would have mentioned it, unless Dion intentionally omitted it from his bio.

  “That’s ancient history.” He took her arm and steered her away. “Why don’t we get you something to eat? I’d hate for you to miss the excellent cuisine.”

  At least it provided an excuse to walk toward Jon. Others engaged in lively conversations and paid no attention to her or Dion, an odd thing since he was the host and new client. Jarod should be fawning all over him.

  Dion would be insulted if she excused herself and left him standing alone, so she followed him to the food table. He handed her a plate and took one for himself.

  “The phyllo is my favorite, but everything is delicious.” He spooned a portion onto his dish, and held some out for her. They moved from one end of the table to the other in this way.

  He glanced at her plate, brimming with food. “I hope I didn’t overdo it.”

  “No, I want to try it all.” Balancing her plate and glass, she grabbed a fork and napkin. No plastic utensils at this gathering–the silverware shone as if newly minted.

  “Ah, you have a lusty appetite.” He pointed to an empty bench on the patio, walked toward it and sat.

  She glanced at Jon, disappointed not to make eye contact. “I’m a….” she stopped herself from saying lusty, instead choosing the words “healthy girl.” He
sat in the center of the bench, so she perched on the end closest to the house.

  He gave a hearty laugh. “It’s refreshing to be with a woman who’s not afraid to show her appetites.”

  She ignored his plural use of the word. The women on his staff had no trouble showing their appetites, lustful and otherwise. Their eyes followed men’s movements with obvious appreciation. Three women laughed while Jarod spoke, touching his arm or back. Their exchanged glances left a cold knot in her stomach. The little group appeared a bit too tight knit.

  Dion focused on her alone. “I’m impressed with your husband’s ingenuity.”

  “Really? In what way?” Jon’s ingenuity had taken a tangent tonight. She was less than impressed with the way he leaned his head toward one of the women.

  “He proposed several inventive ideas to grow my business. He has a different way of thinking. I find it refreshing.”

  “He does his best to stay ahead of the curve.” And better damn well stay ahead of any here.

  “Yes, I see.”

  At the moment, the curves of the three women led the new partners onto the patio.

  Jarod held up his glass. “Congratulations on your new line. Sales will be through the roof once this hits the shelves.”

  “If your expert marketing works its magic.” Dion sipped.

  Jon shifted his feet and squared his shoulders. “We have every confidence.”

  “Overconfidence can undermine success. But tonight is for celebrating, not brainstorming.” Dion’s smile grew cold, practiced.

  Marcella sat on the other side of Dion. “That’s why we’re going for a swim. Why don’t you join us?”

  Dion passed his plate to her and stood. “Superb idea. Did everyone bring a suit?”

  “Did you bring ours?” Jon’s eyes held little life, and little connection to Clio. All the men seemed mesmerized, as though these women could lead them off a cliff side with the wag of a finger.

  Clio walked to Jon and lowered her voice. “They were on the table. You said you would put them in the car.”