Lacey went forward, holding the binder open on page fourteen, her finger on section three, her heart hammering with every step. God, if Clay was wrong…
“Nice shoes, Lacey,” Grace said as she passed. “You know what they’re called, don’t you?”
Lacey ignored her.
“Fuck-me pumps,” Grace whispered under her breath, getting a laugh from the two people around her.
Sam took her book and placed it next to Charity’s, frowning. For a long, quiet minute, no one said a word. Then Sam looked up and handed the book back to Lacey.
“This is for official record,” he said to Nora. “So, as the secretary, I want you to note that for some reason these bylaws don’t match. However, we will err on the side of caution and post a two-week notice before holding a zoning meeting.”
A small murmur of voices filled the room as Lacey turned to give Clay a victorious smile.
“But in the interest of fairness and expediency,” he added, “we’ll meet tomorrow to set the agenda for that meeting. The town council can approve an agenda and if a citizen fails to get on that agenda, they can wait up to a year for the next zoning meeting.”
A year? “How do I get on?” Lacey asked.
George Masterson stepped forward. “Any property owner who wants to have a structure approved that requires rezoning will have to appear at that meeting with preliminary plans detailed enough for the council to agree to put them on the agenda two weeks later.”
Preliminary plans by tomorrow? Lacey swallowed. “How detailed?”
“Very detailed,” Charity said.
“Define ‘very.’” Everyone turned when Clay spoke, including Lacey. He stood now, and, like a lion ambling across the plains, he walked to the center of the circle, in complete control.
And poor Charity was his prey.
“Because, ma’am, if you’ll turn to page twenty-five, section eight, and read real carefully and slow…” Clay drawled out the last word enough to send a little flutter through Lacey and maybe a slight sigh among a few other females in the crowd. “You’ll see that getting on a zoning meeting agenda requires the property owner only to give a verbal description of the proposed structure, a timeline for building, a general budget estimate, and a declaration of intent to improve quality of life on Mimosa Key.”
That was all? Lacey could have kissed him.
Charity, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to sucker-punch him. “That’s correct, young man. And anyone”—she lifted a brow in Lacey’s direction—“anyone who thinks they can cavalierly change the status quo of this island will find that last little item very hard to get by my, er, this council.”
“What the heck do you mean?” Sam asked Charity.
“I mean, Sam, that quality of life is subjective and I expect this town council to recognize that fact no matter what smoke and mirrors and ridiculous promises Lacey or this tattooed man think they can throw at us tomorrow.”
Clay bit back a smile. “We’re up for that challenge, ma’am.” He took the book from Sam’s hand and nodded to Lacey for them to leave. “We have some work to do, Lacey.”
He reached for her hand to walk her out. As they passed by Grace, Clay leaned down and whispered, “Actually, they’re called fuck-me-senseless shoes. They’re my favorite.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lacey practically fell against the door when they closed it behind them. “I can’t believe we did that.”
“We did that,” Clay said, pulling her into him for a hug. “You were awesome.”
The compliment warmed like a straight shot of whiskey, and the embrace was like a full-body all-muscle chaser that made her dizzy with joy.
“You were awesome.” She held on to his biceps as he lifted her. “With the pages and the sections and the big save at the end! It was like a movie!”
He laughed, spinning her around, and, when her feet hit the ground, he kissed her. A celebratory kiss that didn’t last long enough. She wanted more. She wanted so much more.
But he quickly turned them toward the car, wrapping an arm around her. “You still hungry?” he asked.
Not for dinner. “Maybe we should do takeout.” At your apartment. “We have a lot of work to do tonight.”
“Oookay.” He drew out the word.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we might not get enough work done. We might get senseless.”
She leaned close and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I can do senseless.”
“Really.” Very slowly, he turned so they were facing each other. “You’re full of surprises, Lacey Armstrong, you know that? You rose to the occasion, headed into the lion’s den, beat the crap out of your opponent, and now you want to…”
“I want to.” Oh, God, she wanted to more than she wanted to breathe, eat, sleep, or live. She wanted him.
“You’re sure?”
The question threw her. Wasn’t he sure? Hadn’t he just told Grace that was exactly what he wanted, or had she misread him?
“Or,” she replied cautiously, “we could go to dinner and discuss preliminary building plans.” Which wouldn’t do a thing to quell the little sparks of need exploding all over her body. “That would be sensible.”
“I like your idea better.” He dipped his head close to her mouth, then fooled her by sliding his lips to her ear. “Strawberry,” he whispered, sending sex-charged chills over every cell in her body.
The girls were right. This would be fun.
At the truck, he opened the passenger door for her. “Once we head down that path,” he said, “you know there’s no going back.”
She put her foot up to climb in, the position forcing her skirt way up her thigh. Way up. He stared at the skin the move revealed, then placed one hand right on her thigh, making her muscle tense in his palm.
She looked up at him, ready to hoist herself into the truck, but she stayed perfectly still. “I don’t want to go back,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to his mouth. “I want to go home with you.”
He closed his eyes and stroked her thigh before letting go, the softest sigh in his throat. “Yeah,” he said, leaning close to her face. “Yeah.”
She closed her fingers around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. His mouth opened instantly, her tongue delving against his. He returned the kiss as fire licked her lower half and his hand inched higher and higher until his finger grazed a slippery piece of silk between her legs.
“Go, Lacey,” he murmured, giving her a gentle shove into the truck. “Hurry. Or this is going to get senseless right here in the street.”
During the short drive they hardly spoke, which just made the tension thicker and the anticipation more palpable.
“So what changed your mind?” he finally asked, breaking the silence with a question she wasn’t sure she could answer.
“My friends told me I should have more fun.”
He laughed a little. “And they dressed you for tonight?”
She nodded.
“They aren’t rooting for the ex?”
“I told you on the phone today what’s going on there. I don’t have feelings for David.” Certainly nothing like the fluttery, twisting, rollercoaster things going on inside her right now. “I doubt he’ll be here very long.”
“I saw him at Barefoot Bay today.”
She turned to him, surprised. “You did? What was he doing up there?”
“Walking around. Talking on the phone to arrange a meeting with someone. Warning me to stay away from you.”
Who would he be meeting? But Clay’s last statement was the one that got her attention. “He really has no right to say that to you. None at all. Other than his being Ashley’s father, he and I have no connection.”
“That’s a pretty powerful connection.” He pulled into the rental complex, finally letting go of her leg to shut off the ignition. After a second, he turned to her, all humor gone from his eyes. “Family is the most powerful pull, you know.”
The
re was just enough hurt in his voice to remind her that his family had caused some deep pain. “I know, but he’s not my family.”
“He wants to be.”
She touched his jaw, trailing a finger over the hint of whiskers. “One more word about David and the mood will officially be killed.”
He angled his head, got his mouth on her palm, and kissed. “You look pretty with the sunset behind you,” he said. “I could draw you like this.”
“I’d rather you kiss me like this,” she said, closing the space to take what she wanted. This kiss was softer, easier, slower than any other. When they parted, neither spoke, but opened their doors and climbed out of the truck. She waited by her side, unsure of where to go until he came around and led her toward the one-story stucco building.
“You want to walk on the beach first?” he asked.
“No.”
He put his key in the door. “You want to order pizza?”
She almost laughed. “No.”
“You want to start working on the presentation?”
“Absolutely not.” She stepped inside the darkened apartment and he followed, closing the door. “Do you?”
He paused, something unreadable in his eyes.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to tell me something?” she asked. “When you texted about dinner?”
“Later.” He locked the door behind him. “Right now I just want to be one hundred and fifty percent certain you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
He put his hands on her waist, very carefully, like she was made of glass. “What I want to avoid is any miscommunication. You know where I stand, right?”
No commitments, no relationships, no women who might break his heart. “I do.” She slid her hands around his back, pulled him into her body, and stood on the tips of her sexy shoes to whisper in his ear. “You know what’s wrong with you, Clay Walker?”
“What?”
“You have too much sense for me and my senseless shoes.”
He didn’t need to hear another word, devouring her mouth and dragging her into the golden shadows of sunset that warmed the apartment.
He crushed her lips with a kiss she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to, tongues clashing with purpose instead of play. Heat licked up her belly like an electrical current, sending fire everywhere he touched.
Everywhere. Down her back, over her rear, up the sides, and—oh, then he cupped her breasts with strong, capable, determined hands.
She cried softly at the touch, arching her back to force her stomach against his hard-on until he backed her against the wall.
“Bedroom?” she murmured.
“Too far.” He pushed against her and she rocked right back, driving her hips into a hard-on that strained his zipper, already moving the way they were meant to move, already gripping his backside and holding him right where she wanted him to be.
He dragged her T-shirt up, revealing a lacy black bra that brought a soft moan of appreciation from his throat. Not bothering to take off her shirt, he palmed the flimsy lingerie, her nipple straining against the satin cup.
He tweaked and stroked, whispered her name, and trailed kisses into her cleavage. Hot, wet, hungry kisses that made her worship his mouth and what it could do to her. She bowed her back so he could undo her bra with one hand. Together, they pulled the shirt and bra over her head, sending all of it down to the floor and leaving her breasts naked and exposed, raw and achy.
“Let me look at you,” he said gruffly, bracing on one hand as she closed her eyes and flattened her arms to the wall, giving him a full view and complete access.
Which he took, greedily, bending his knees to get to her breasts, his mouth seeking a connection, hungry to taste her, pulling more whimpers and sighs and soft, soft cries of delight from her.
She grabbed him by the hair, the shoulders, pushing him down to a kneel. That mouth. That mouth. She wanted him on her, wanted to touch his long, soft hair and guide his lips between her legs.
He caressed her thighs, pushing her skirt up around her waist to reveal her black lace panties.
He looked up with a smile. “Those girls know how to dress you for a date.”
“Zoe,” she said.
“I like her.”
“She tried to get me to buy edible.”
He laughed as he kissed her thigh, his tongue already slipping into the edge of the black silk. “I like her even more.”
“Clay…” She could barely speak, her legs and arms splayed against the wall, her fingers digging in so hard she could peel the paint. “Kiss me there.”
“I plan on it.” He used one finger to tug the silk away from her, inhaling deeply, appreciatively, making her feel so ridiculously feminine she wanted to sob.
He kissed the swollen spot and she closed her eyes, focused on the incredible sweetness of his mouth. Then he licked, very slowly, dragging the tip of his tongue over her until she thought her legs would buckle and her head would explode and the breath she held would come whooshing out when she cried for mercy.
“Clay,” she cried. “Don’t stop. Please, please.”
“Not a chance.” He tugged at the panties, pulling them down, helping her step out of them. As soon as they were gone he kissed his way back up her thighs, back to where she wanted him most. There.
Curling his tongue like a ribbon around her skin, he sucked her juices, and she reveled in every sensation and sound, in the blood coursing through her with each powerful slide of his tongue. Lights exploded behind her eyes and her pulse hammered and she felt like she was floating through air, utterly lost. Nothing in the world mattered but the need to roll against his mouth and feel each sensation ripple through her, closer and closer to release.
“Oh my gawd, oh my gawd, oh… my… there.” She writhed against the wall, his name on her lips, completely surrendering to his tongue and fingers. A sharp twist of pressure, a sweet twinge of tension, then a peak of delicious pain and pleasure so powerful it was almost unbearable.
She rocked into an orgasm, abandoned and wild, her breath nothing but shallow desperation as she moved against his mouth.
Then there were just tender aftershocks and ragged breaths, and the impossible heavy ache in her legs that made them wobble as she started to slide down the wall.
“Now I know,” she whispered.
“Now you know what?”
“Why this is so much fun.” She hit the floor with a soft thud, her head hanging to the side like a drunk.
“We just got started having fun, darlin’.”
But when she looked at him, something swelled up in her chest, and it wasn’t laughter. Something squeezed at her heart and clutched her whole body and made her want to reach out to this beautiful, sexy, amazing man and, dear God, it wasn’t fun.
It kind of hurt inside. And there was nothing fun about that at all.
“Lacey, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, shit, Clay. I might have made a mistake.”
Big, big mistake. Goddamn it. Clay should have known better.
“There’s a reason they call it senseless,” he said softly, stroking some hair that had fallen in her face. “Because there’s no common sense involved. And now you’re sorry, aren’t you?”
“Not exactly sorry.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Just a little overwhelmed. That’s scary.”
Damn it. “You don’t have to be scared, Lacey. I won’t…” What wouldn’t he do? Use her and leave?
Yes he would. He’d use her for a job he wanted more than anything, and sex he wanted just as badly. But, Jesus, he did not want a good woman with a nice kid and a decent life and a heart of gold, because all of that stuff came with too much potential for disaster. He’d had enough family for one lifetime, thank you very much.
“Wow, you look like you’re in pain, Clay.”
He used the obvious excuse and looked down. “A little.”
She reached to the tent of his jeans, her finger
s tentative. For a second he did nothing, the need for her to touch him way bigger than anything he felt in his head or heart. But then he closed his hand over her wrist.
“Reciprocation isn’t necessary, Lacey.”
“I want to.”
“You just said you made a mistake.”
“I thought sex would be fun.”
He gave a rueful laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I thought that’s all it would be.”
He slowly pushed up, still holding her hand and bringing her with him. “I know you did. So what happened?”
“I like you.”
“Yep, big mistake.”
“Is it?” She sounded hopeful. So damn hopeful. “I just want to work with you. And, you know, sleep with you. Only not much sleeping since I have to be home at night.”
Of course she did, because she had a family. A daughter who needed her. An ex who wanted her.
She swiped her hand through her hair, frowning as though she wasn’t used to the straight locks, and suddenly realizing she was naked from the waist up. “Shit, what a mess.”
“You’re not a mess, Lacey. You’re beautiful. But here, get comfortable.” He scooped up her top and handed it to her, helping her slip it over her head, then tugged her skirt back down. Her bra and panties were still on the floor, and neither of them made a move to get them.
But not because they’d be coming right back off. He knew that. “You want something to drink?” he asked. “Water? Soda? Beer?”
“Water.” She followed him through the living area, past the drafting table he’d set up, to the galley kitchen. While he got the water, she stood at the sliders that led out to a small deck that faced the indigo water, nearly the same color as the late evening sky.
He handed her a bottle. “I have some fruit and stuff for a sandwich, if you’re hungry.”
She shook her head and opened the water bottle. “No, thanks.”
That look in her eyes fisted his chest again, so he got behind her, sharing the view, letting their bodies touch front to back because, hell, it seemed he couldn’t be in the same room without making contact.
Meet Me in Barefoot Bay Page 16
