by Colet Abedi
And everything in between.
Because I want more. Crave more. Need more.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth as he unleashes the force of his passion. I respond just as fiercely as my fingers move through his hair and I pull his mouth harder into mine. God, I’ve missed him. Missed the warmth of his skin. Missed the intimacy. Missed the way he took control of me. Held me. Like he cherished me. And so I pull him even closer.
Our kiss is openly carnal and wild. I’ve lost all ability to care because I just want more. And he answers my need with a passion that perhaps even surpasses my own. And even though there is so much between us, so much that probably will never be, there is something about his touch, his smell, his being that speaks to my soul. My body knows it. And somewhere in my heart, so do I.
He finally pulls back from me and sets me down, stepping away, robbing me of the magic of his touch. I almost cry out in frustration as I take in deep breaths and try to get a grip. And pull myself back to reality.
What did I just do?
I notice with some satisfaction that Clayton is breathing just as heavily as I am.
“I want you in my bed.”
And just like that he sucks the breath right out of me. I look up at him, trying to get my thoughts in order, but it’s a bad idea. The look in his eyes is so full on that it robs me of even more of the little sanity I have left. But I close my eyes and hide from it. Take a deep breath in and calm my raging hormones. Try to turn my heart to ice.
And remember the feeling of seeing that magazine in the airport after he made me believe in a crazy kind of love.
When I meet his gaze I’m strong Sophie again. I remember the line from Marianne Williamson’s A Course in Miracles: “Nothing real can be threatened.” If this was real or if my love for him was real why had a picture in a magazine threatened it?
“That’s too bad for you,” I tell him.
His narrows his eyes.
“Is it?”
The way he enunciates those two words gives me the chills, but I don’t back down.
I continue to meet his cold gaze.
“Nothing happened with Amelia.”
Talk about engine failure. If I were a plane I would plummet to the ground right now. I realize I really don’t want to have this conversation with him. Not now. Not ever. But I know I have to. Because I have to look in his eyes and know either way. This is me, Sophie Walker, wearing my big girl pants.
“Have you heard of the saying, where there’s smoke there’s fire?” I ask him.
I see his jaw tick. I’m guessing he doesn’t like my comment.
“I told you I was there for business. I had a business lunch at the Ritz and Amelia happened to show up. And if you remember, I rushed back to see you.” He sounds annoyed. “You know, Sophie, I have never explained myself to anyone in my life. And I don’t particularly enjoy doing it.”
I get a rush from his words.
“I’m not asking you to explain anything,” I say, hoping I don’t sound breathless.
“If I don’t explain we can’t move past this.”
He’s slowly chipping away at my wall and I know I have to build it back quickly before he seizes the castle.
“I’ve already moved on,” I lie boldly.
“Really?” Clayton asks as he takes a dangerous step closer to me. His possessive gaze sweeps over my face and stops on my parted lips. Yes, they’re parted. I can’t help it. The man turns me on.
If he touches me I’m a goner. So I hold up my hand.
“Please don’t come any closer.” I’m sure he can hear the plea in my voice.
“Nothing happened with Amelia. She was in Singapore on business. The Ritz-Carlton is where she always stays.”
Oh, does she? The irrational thought that he knows where Amelia always stays in Singapore pisses me off.
“You two looked extremely cozy in that picture,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“We were together for a year, Sophie. She’s not an enemy.” Clayton’s voice is harsh.
“How convenient for you.”
“Goddamnit!” Clayton curses and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m through defending myself against an indiscretion that did not even happen.”
My adrenaline rushes at the sight of his anger. But the thought of him believing he has a right to be even remotely upset at me goads me on.
“Listen, Clayton, does it really matter if something happened or not? Let’s say you’re telling the truth and I was wrong. It still doesn’t change our circumstance,” I tell him softly. “It doesn’t change the fact that you live in another country clear across the world and I live in Los Angeles. And not to mention,” my voice trails off.
“Not to mention what?” His voice is cold, devoid of emotion.
I motion around the room. “This place,” I begin to say, knowing I sound incredibly gauche. “We come from two completely different worlds.”
“Sophie—” he begins.
“And it’s not just that,” I rush on. “It’s that I don’t even know you—”
“You know me in the most intimate of ways,” Clayton says.
I know I’m blushing now.
“No,” I continue. “I don’t know you. I don’t know what makes you tick—”
He takes a step toward me, invading my space. His gaze captures mine and my pulse flutters at the intensity I see in them.
“Right now, you are. You are what makes me tick.”
There goes my heart again. Why does he have to say something so damn perfect? I look away from him, knowing my eyes are about to well up with tears from the emotion I feel from his words. From the absurd feeling of happiness they give me.
“For how long?” I ask, pushing on. Knowing that this is the best thing I can do for myself. This is the best way I can protect my heart from him.
There’s an awful silence after I ask him this question and I know that I’ve thrown him.
“I don’t know,” he tells me honestly. “I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never lost sleep over a woman before. No one has ever made me so furious and so fucking turned on at the same time.”
I stare at him.
“But I don’t know what that means,” he admits, his eyes bright with confusion.
His confession thrills me. It does something to my insides. It makes me feel powerful. And desired. So desired.
But still.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” I say. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to believe me.”
I stop breathing as he holds my gaze. Do I trust him? Do I think he actually slept with Amelia? Or have my massive insecurities led me down this sick path?
“I don’t know what to believe.”
He hates my answer. I can see it. Feel it all around me. And his reaction to me proves it. He takes a step back.
“If you don’t trust my word after all that I’ve done, I don’t know what else to say to you.” His translucent blue eyes burn into mine.
His words sound so final. Is this what I want?
Wake the fuck up, Sophie, my mind shouts at me. This is not what you want! You don’t want him to turn around and leave your life forever.
While I continue on with my inner dialogue I hear Clayton speak again.
“I’m sorry for inconveniencing you,” he says politely as he turns around to walk out the door.
And then I react.
“Wait!”
He stops, his back still toward me. I step close to him and touch his arm and my fingers tingle from the brief intimacy. I can feel the muscles tense under my hand and it pleases me to know that my touch affects him just as much as his affects me.
“I just,” I say frantically, “I just need time. Everything that happened between us happened so fast, and maybe that was, or is, the problem. I don’t understand how to ride this storm.”
> When he turns and meets my gaze, his look is guarded.
“Let me show you.”
And then he walks out of the room.
4
I slept like shit.
After Clayton left me I went back to the ballroom to let Erik and Orie know that I was going to bed. There had been no sign of Clayton in the ballroom, so I guessed he had excused himself from the party as well, which did secretly make me happy. I took a long bath in his rock crystal bathtub. Yes, a rock crystal bathtub. I took a picture of it after I filled the thing with water because it was so incredible and I wanted to memorialize the experience. I never even knew that such a tub existed. It was completely unreal, but to be honest, I was grateful for the extravagance because it was amazingly relaxing. One thing was for certain: the man clearly liked the finer things in life.
I sat in the scented water for over an hour and replayed our conversation in my head.
I’ve never felt this way before.
Was that the truth? My gut instinct told me it was. My gut instinct told me that I had been so wrong about everything,, needlessly torturing myself and screwing things up. But still, even if that was the case, it didn’t change the fact that we were from two different worlds. With two different lives. And we literally led those lives across an ocean and a continent from each other. Maybe that was my problem. Even in the Maldives I had thought about what came after for us. And he still didn’t have an answer to that. If I chased after another fling with Clayton, it would still have the same outcome. Me, in Los Angeles. Him, jet-setting around the world.
Then I pushed all the thoughts out of my head and tried to go to sleep. But my mind was plagued all night—and even now, in the morning—by one all-consuming fact.
My desire. The need I have for him is staggering. How am I going to stay away from him for two weeks? How am I going to control myself?
It’s very early and I’m wide awake, so I decide to shower and get dressed. I put on jeans and a camel-colored sweater and go to my work room. After a while of prepping, I get antsy and take another tour around Clayton’s home for a closer look. It’s very Old World, of course. There are oil paintings that look as if they date back to the thirteenth century and in some parts of the chateau even the floors feel antique. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time and am in another era. All I need is a long, heavy medieval dress and I would fit right in.
I wonder if he knows how lucky he is to have grown up surrounded by so much history. The home is so inspiring. It calls to my creative soul. And of course, I’m obsessed with all the art I see as I wander around. The paintings I’ve seen are all remarkable.
I get lost down one of the long corridors and find a painting of the chateau in the summer and I can’t bring myself to move away from it. It’s big, ten by ten at least, and it looks so real. The artist really captured the exact likeness of the home. I simply love it.
I finally force myself to walk away and do a bit more exploring. I enter what I think must be Clayton’s study, where there is a massive desk with a breathtaking view of the vineyard behind it, and I can literally picture him working there. I suddenly feel like an intruder. Even though I know this is probably only one of his many homes, I kind of feel like I’m encroaching on his personal space, sort of spying on him, and so I quickly leave. I decide to grab my camera and go for a walk outside around the estate. I find my room, put on my warm oversized wool beanie and black puffer jacket, and go down the stairs and out.
It rained last night, so there is a nice dewy smell in the air that is super refreshing. I find the Olympic-size pool, walk across manicured lawns that remind me of Russell Crowe’s home in Gladiator, and then I find myself on a dirt path that is shrouded by trees. I follow it and it takes me up a hill. I wish I brought my iPod so I could listen to one of my self-help tapes. I’m currently on Only Love Is Real by Dr. Brian Weiss. It’s about past-life loves being reincarnated together again and again. I wonder if Clayton and I are karmically connected through our past lives. I can just picture his face if I asked him that question. Ha! Now that would definitely send him running for the hills.
I reach an area where the greenery is cleared and I can take in the view of the valley that’s now below me. The clouds sit low over the chateau and though the sky is gray there is a feeling of romance that makes me feel alive. I take my camera out and start to photograph the beautiful vista. I’m so lost in the moment that I’m completely caught by surprise when someone behind me grabs my arm. I can’t stop my shriek of fear. I turn around and stumble a bit but am steadied by a pair of strong arms.
I look up and stare at eyes as blue as the ones I’ve come to obsess over. But Clayton’s hair is light brown, and these eyes are framed by jet-black lashes and onyx hair that is long and held back by a rubber band, revealing his startlingly handsome, but very rugged and masculine face. His five o’clock shadow only adds to his good looks.
“Are you okay?” he asks me in a deep voice. His accent is eerily similar to Clayton’s.
I manage to nod that I’m okay as I take him in. He’s wearing a North Face black puffer jacket and a pair of old jeans. He seems to be as tall as Clayton and to have the same kind of build.
“Are you a friend of Abby’s or Dimitri’s?” he asks.
“Neither,” I say as I shake my head.
“Neither?” He seems surprised by my answer.
Shit. He must think I’m trespassing. Nice one, Sophie.
“I mean, I’ve been hired to paint the portrait of Abby,” I explain.
“An American artist?” he says, and his smile is flirtatious.
God. He’s gorgeous. But he doesn’t make my heart skip a beat the way Clayton does.
“Yes,” I say.
He holds out his hand and I take it.
“I’m Michael Sinclair.”
My mouth drops open. Clayton’s brother. Fuck. Of course he is. Look at those wolf eyes. The gene pool in this family is out of this world.
“Have I grown horns? Because the look on your face just beat the hell out of my ego.”
“I’m sorry,” I rush out, hoping I don’t sound like a big idiot. “I just, I’ve met your brother. I mean… I know him.”
Intimately.
Oh, my god.
Michael’s brow goes up as he looks me up and down before his gaze settles on my face.
“Clayton does have amazing taste, I’ll give him that.”
I am positive that my face is bright red. Positive. Like one hundred percent sure.
“We’re not… I mean, we’re,” I stammer out. “We’re just friends—or, I don’t know, acquaintances.”
Mortifying.
Michael’s knowing gaze meets mine.
“Does that mean you’re available?”
What is it with these men? Who are their parents? What was in their food growing up? How did they become so confident?
Umm, they’re gorgeous, you moron!
“No— I mean, yes.” I officially sound like an idiot.
“Yes or no?”
“No. Yes.” Arghhh!
Michael throws back his head and roars with laughter and I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty damn sexy. He seems much more free-spirited than Clayton, but if I remember correctly, this is the brother who is off saving the world.
“So you’re the one,” he gives me a soft smile.
“I’m sorry?”
“The one who has my brother tied up in knots,” he says. “I’m happy to finally meet you.”
Hope blooms like flower petals opening up to the sun.
“You know, you shouldn’t come out here alone,” Michael admonishes me. “We have security on the land, but sometimes hunters illegally cross the lines and it can be unsafe. Let me escort you back.”
Now he sounds like his brother.
“I’m a big girl,” I tell him.
“My brother would kill me if I left you out here alone. I won’t allow you to refuse
me.”
I decide not to argue because from experience I’m pretty sure it won’t do any good. Michael Sinclair will have his way.
He is incredibly easy-going and polite. He’s also an expert at small talk, and fills the silence by telling me about the non-profit wildlife animal rights foundation he’s started and his work to clean contaminated ground water. He’s pretty passionate about it all and his relaxed attitude puts me at ease, too. He asks me a few questions about my work, about dropping out of law school, and thankfully steers clear of any questions about his brother. I’m grateful. He also mentions that he got in last night after the party and spent many hours in the study with Clayton, drinking whiskey and catching up.
When we reach the chateau he says, “You must be hungry. Let’s grab some breakfast.”
“Sure,” I say, because I am a little hungry and he happens to be great company.
He escorts me down a corridor into the dining room. There’s a long, large, dark wood table that seats at least twenty. Across from it is a mouth-watering buffet set for a king. Workers move about the room filling coffee and tea for the few guests who are sitting at the table eating.
“Davis,” Michael nods in the direction of a blond-haired man drinking tea.
“Michael,” Davis replies with a fake smile. “Good to see you.”
The man’s brown eyes settle on me and I watch him check me out.
Michael puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “This is Sophie.”
I smile awkwardly.
“Pleasure,” Davis leers. I’m grateful for Michael’s possessive arm. It makes me feel safe from Davis’s gross behavior so I lean into it.
“She’s fetching,” he goes on to say as he undresses me with his eyes.
I feel Michael’s body tense. There’s a shuffling noise at the entrance to the dining room and we turn to see who it is. My heart skips a beat. It’s Clayton. Looking too incredible for words. In the Maldives I only saw him in shorts and t-shirts, mostly with his shirt off, which was a sight to behold, for sure. But sophisticated Clayton is another kind of glorious. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a navy sweater with brown scruffy boots that give him a bit of an edge. He could model. Seriously. There is no doubt that he looks as good in clothes as he does without them.
