by Desiree Holt
What was she waiting for? The worst they could say was no, right?
But if they did, the chance to have the surgery now would be gone—and she’d be back to saving money for who knew how long to pay for it herself. In the meantime Clay Randall would be off on more missions, hanging out with a variety of arm candy in between and probably find someone else to plan the rest of his life with.
By Monday morning she was a wreck. Should she do this? Shouldn’t she? Finally, before she could change her mind again, she pulled up the email to the Trust and hit Send. Now the waiting began.
At work she did her best to avoid Joni and her prying questions, even bypassing their usual quick coffee and a muffin at the Starbucks in the lobby. But at ten when she went to the break room there her friend was, eyes flashing.
“What’s the matter with you? You didn’t take any of my calls over the weekend and you skipped our usual Starbucks. What on earth is going on? You bought that ticket at the last minute—out of the blue, I might add—and won’t tell me a thing about it. Was the masquerade ball a disaster?”
“No. No, it was fine.” She busied herself at the coffee machine. “I just had a lot to do this weekend.”
Joni looked at her, concern evident on her face. “Did something bad happen to you, Bridget? It did, didn’t it? I was worried about that very thing. You don’t get out enough to have good experience with the assholes that show up for these things.”
Bridget sighed. “It was nothing like that. Honestly. I went and had a good time. End of story.”
“I looked for you there and didn’t even see you,” Joni said accusingly.
“I told you I was there. But there were so many people. We just probably missed each other.”
Joni sighed. “Okay. I guess you aren’t going to spill whatever’s on your mind.” She put her hand on Bridget’s arm. “I just want you to know that whatever’s going on, I’m your friend and I’m here for you.”
Impulsively Bridget hugged her. “I know. And thank you. When I get my brain straightened out I’ll let you know. Can you just give me a little space right now?”
“Of course. Want to grab a bite to eat after work?”
“No date?” Bridget teased.
“On a Monday? Are you kidding?”
“Just kidding. And thanks, but no. I’ve got some stuff to do at home.”
Joni studied her. “You always have something to do at home. Do you have some secret project I don’t know about?”
Yes, and you aren’t going to know about it if I can help it.
“No. Just…stuff. Listen, I have to get back to my desk. But I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
But she was buried all afternoon at her desk and didn’t even get to leave until after six. Deciding to treat herself she stopped to pick up Chinese takeout. Now if she could just pull into her garage and get into her house…
But no such luck. When she turned into her driveway Clay was outside trimming the shrubs around his porch.
Okay. Get out of the car. Take the packages. Wave nicely and hurry into the house.
No luck there either. When she climbed out of the car Clay was standing in her open garage doorway, looking delightfully male and sweaty. Her heart thumped and butterflies began doing the tango in her stomach. How in hell was she going to handle seeing him without giving herself away?
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey yourself.” She reached in and pulled out her purse and the sack of takeout. “I’d hang around and chat with you but I want to eat this food while it’s hot.”
He sniffed the air. “Is that Chinese I smell? Food of the gods, right?”
“Some might say. Is there something I can do for you, Clay?”
He scratched his head then shoved his hands in the pockets of his cutoffs. Bridget could hardly tear her eyes away from his long muscular legs, his broad chest and the impressive bulge at his fly. Was her mouth actually watering because she knew what was hidden behind that denim? She needed to get away from him before she embarrassed herself. Or blurted everything out.
“Yeah. Um, I wondered if I could talk to you for a few minutes. About something.”
She held up the paper sack. “Food. Hot. Waiting to be eaten.”
His mouth curved in that sexy-as-hell grin. “That looks like it might feed two. I could bring the beer.”
“Clay,” she began.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “For a neighbor. I don’t ask anything of you very often. Like almost never.”
Which unfortunately was true.
“Besides,” he went on, “you won the bet.”
She frowned. “The bet?”
“You know. Dinner if I met a woman and she seduced me.”
Every muscle in her body tensed. She had totally forgotten about the idiotic wager, the one she’d thought to herself was so cute at the time. “You mean it really happened?”
He nodded. “Idiotic as it might seem. So since this was your bet you get to listen to me whine.”
“I thought you said the seduction worked.”
“It did.” He shifted his weight. “But now I have another problem.”
Please don’t ask me to help you find this woman.
But he didn’t seem to be taking the hint.
“All right,” she sighed. “Bring the beer and meet me on the back porch. I’ve got a nice little table out there. I’ll take care of the food and plates.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Outside?”
“I’m, um, inside all day, and it’s nice out. I’d like some fresh air.” And between the fading light and the tinted glasses he won’t be able to see these ugly eyelids.
“Okay. Fine. See you out back.”
He jogged back to his house while Bridget carried everything inside.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
She kept repeating it like a mantra while she stripped off her work clothes and tugged on a tank top and shorts. In quick order she had plates, silverware and the sack of Chinese food. Bumping the door open with her hip she brought it all out to the back porch just as Clay came around the fence into her yard. He held up both hands, each of which held two bottles.
“I’m optimistic,” he grinned as he took the stairs to the porch with one long stride. He set the bottles on the round table between the containers of food.
“If this is too cold I can heat it up,” Bridget said, fussing with the silverware.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” He sat down in one of the chairs. “Relax. We’re just having some conversation, okay?”
“Sure. Okay.” She sat in the other chair, being careful not to look at him directly. The more oblique the angle to her eyes the better off she’d be.
He popped the top on two beers and handed her one, taking a long swallow and waiting for her to help herself to the food.
“You first,” she said. “Please.”
She watched the play of muscles in his arms as he served himself, remembering how those arms felt around her body.
Cool it, Bridget. Just keep it together. Hear him out and send him on his way. What on earth does he want, anyway?
She forced herself to eat while he made idle chitchat. She wasn’t even sure what he said, to tell the truth. But when the food was gone and the dishes piled to the side, he opened the other two bottles and leaned back in his chair.
Okay, here it comes.
“There’s really no good way to jump into this,” he said, “so I’ll just spit it out. I’ve met a woman.”
Bridget didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand she had a dreadful feeling that she knew what was coming. On the other, should she be insulted that he thought her so sexless he could discuss another woman with her? Sitting out here with him was hard enough, feeling the sexual charge snapping in the air, her own body responding as her nipples peaked and the walls of her pussy contracted.
She took a slow drink of her beer. “A woman?” She hoped she sounded casual enough. “Surely that’s
nothing new for you.”
He gave a short laugh. “Why is it everyone I talk to seems to think I have women falling out of my pockets?”
Bridget almost giggled at the image. “You mean you don’t?”
Clay heaved a sigh. “Okay, okay. So I’m a bit of a player. My job has a high stress level and I relax between missions. But this is different.”
“Oh? In what way.”
She listened while he told her about the mysterious Red who had seduced him at the masquerade ball and how she’d reached into his heart in just a few hours.
“This hit me like a ton of bricks,” he told her. “I never thought I’d fall for someone like this.”
Bridget wasn’t sure she could keep it together. She wanted to yell at him, Me! It’s me! I’m right here.
But then he’d make her take off her tinted glasses and that would be the end of that.
“And you’re telling me this because?”
“I want to find her, Bridget.” He took a long pull of his beer. “I mean, I really want to find her. He leaned across the table. “This was more than just some fu—hot night of sex. We made a connection. I know we did. Why wouldn’t she tell me her name? How am I supposed to find her?”
Bridget looked away, not wanting his face to get too close to hers. “Maybe she had some personal issues,” she suggested.
“Issues?” he was bewildered. “What kind of issues?”
“I don’t know. Personal problems, maybe.” She stood up and gathered up the empty plates and containers. “Look, Clay, I’d love to help you but I really have no idea what to tell you. If I think of anything I’ll let you know. But my guess is, if she wants to find you she will.”
As soon as she’s ready.
“You think so?”
She forced a smile. “Sure. If she got the same vibes you did, she’ll work out whatever her problem is and hunt you down. I can almost guarantee it.”
He rose from the chair and picked up the empty bottles. “I probably shouldn’t have bothered you with this, but it’s not like I have a lot of females I can talk you. At least, not one—” He stopped, as if realizing he was about to put his size twelve foot right in his mouth. “I mean… That is… What I meant to say…”
“It’s all right, Clay.” She hoped her smile looked real. “I know exactly what you mean and I’m fine. I’m flattered that you felt you could talk to me about this.”
“Really?” His eyebrows rose. “Because I’m pretty sure any of the other women I know—”
“I’m not one of the other women you know and everything’s fine. But I really need to get inside.”
“Bridget, listen…”
She dug up a bright smile from somewhere and flashed it at him. “Thanks for sharing dinner with me. And bringing the beer. Good luck with your search.”
She was inside with the door closed before she could fall apart.
Dumping the dishes and silverware in the sink she dropped down into one of the breakfast room chairs, closed her eyes and leaned her head on her elbows. This was worse than she could imagine. When Clay Randall was unattainable it was bad enough. But after one very hot night with him she realized she was hopelessly in love with him. And he was in love with a woman who didn’t really exist.
What the hell was she going to do?
Chapter Six
Bridget sat in front of her computer, staring at the screen. A project at work had kept her long after her usual quitting time. Then she’d had errands to run so it was well after eight o’clock by the time she got home and close to nine by the time she wolfed down a tuna sandwich and made it into her home office to write. But email first, as always. So she’d clicked on her email program and there it was.
The letter.
The letter.
Dear Miss Reilly,
The Durban Trust has reviewed your case and I am delighted to be able to provisionally offer you the treatment requested. This offer is subject to a successful series of interviews and examinations, beginning with our psychiatrist and followed by a medical examination. We enclose a list of the doctors approved by the Trust in your area. He or she will do his or her examinations before agreeing to undertake the procedure.
But prior to that the chair of the Trust, Ms. Georgina Hawthorne, would like to have her own interview with you. Since distance is a consideration we would like to set up a video chat between the two of you. Please reply as soon as possible, so we may set up a schedule.
They’d answered her. They’d really answered her. Not only that, but she had a provisional agreement that they would provide the funds for the procedure.
Ohmigod!
She read it through for the umpteenth time, still trying to process what she was seeing. Yes, she was really one step closer to her dreams. Clay. And fully embracing her career as an author.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself she hit Reply and wrote:
Thank you so much for your reply and for the provisional offer. I am available any evenings and weekends for the video chat with Miss Hawthorne, and I have a camera in my computer. Just let me know what’s convenient for her.
Thank you very much.
She hit Send. It seemed like such a puny reply for such a wonderful gift but she didn’t know what else to say without gushing. She watched until she got the Message Sent indication then picked up her glass and headed toward the kitchen for more water, wishing she had some wine to celebrate with. Some wine and maybe someone. Like Clay Randall. Maybe after the surgery. But in the interim ice water alone would have to do.
She had made it as far as the refrigerator when the lights flickered twice then went out and the house was suddenly completely dark. Bridget stopped with her hand on the refrigerator, trying to adjust to the blackness, feeling the fear swamp her. She knew it was irrational but nothing she tried had ever helped. Now that she lived alone she slept many nights with the light on and she always had nightlights glowing. Of course with no electricity they didn’t do her any good.
Forcing a calmness she didn’t feel she moved sideways four steps and reached out for the handle of the drawer where she kept two flashlights, just in case. Opening it she fumbled inside until her hand closed over the smooth length of one of the torches. Okay, good. She pushed the button to turn it on.
Nothing.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
But as always she felt the dark closing in on her and choking her.
She fished around until she found the other flashlight, bigger and sturdier, and pressed the switch on it. Again nothing. Frantically she pushed it back and forth but still nothing happened. How was that possible? The last time she’d checked the batteries everything had been working just fine. When had that been? Shaking she scrabbled in the drawer for spare batteries, nearly jumping out of her skin when someone knocked on the back door.
“Bridget? Hey, it’s me. Clay. You in there?”
Clay!
She didn’t care what had brought him over only that he was here. Guiding herself with the tiny sliver of light that sliced in through the closed blinds her made her way to the door, unlocked it and opened it.
“Bridget?”
She fell against him, almost sobbing with relief, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Oh, god, I’m so glad you’re here.” She plastered herself to him like a barnacle on a ship.
“Hey, hey, hey.” His muscular arms cradled her and his hand stroked her back. “The power’s out on the whole block so I just thought I’d check on you. What’s going on here?”
“N-nothing.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “It’s just so…dark.”
“Sure is.” His hand continued its soothing motion up and down her spine. “That a problem for you?”
“No.” But she couldn’t seem to unpeel herself from him. Over thirty years old and still terrified of the dark. “I’m okay.”
He chuckled. “Liar. Now I’m glad I came by. I’ve at least got a working flashlight.”
>
He flicked it on and Bridget pressed her face harder against his chest. “Turn it off. Please.”
“Huh? I thought—”
“No. Now that you’re here I’m better. Maybe we could just…sit down?”
“No problem.”
As if she weighed nothing he lifted her in his arms, kicked the door shut and made his way into her living room.
“How can you even see where you’re going?” she asked into his t-shirt.
“I’m a SEAL,” he teased. “Don’t you know we have to see in the dark?”
How he managed to find the couch she didn’t know but in the next moment he was sitting on one end of it with her cradled in his lap.
In his lap! I’m sitting in Clay’s lap!
“I’m glad one of us can.” Her anxiety level was decreasing but she still clung to the safety of his body.
“Don’t you have any flashlights of your own in the house? You must not have been a Girl Scout.”
“I have them. But it seems the batteries are dead.” A feeling of stupidity was slowly replacing anxiety. “I’m usually better about making sure everything works. Anyway, now that you’re here I’m not so frightened.”
“But then I wouldn’t have any excuse to hold you on my lap, would I?”
And that quickly the air between them became electrically charged. She felt the thickness of his cock pressing into her buttocks through the denim of his cutoffs, the rough texture of his hard-as-stone legs against the bare skin of her own.
“Um, Clay?” She knew she should move but it was the last thing she wanted.
“Feeling better?” His voice had taken on a husky note and his hand had slipped from her back down to the curve of her ass.
“Yes,” she whispered, trying to decide if she should press harder against him or get up and run like hell.
