Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (15 page)

Back in my house, a converted fire station, street lamps cast shadows on the exposed brick of my bedroom wall. I lay in my bed, still horny as fuck, what with my lack of ability to keep a fucking erection. It scared me. Not my fantasy of Claire, she was a beautiful woman, but the fact I wasn’t even thirty yet and having this issue. Did I get a disease from some chick? Or was it possible, this had nothing to do with any physical ailment?

As I closed my eyes, my mind began playing a scene in my head. Claire came from the hall, hair down and swaying with her movement, eyes on fire with need for me. Her nightgown was sheer white and flowing in the gentle breeze. She stood at the end of my bed, tugging her gown from her slender body. She had no tattoos, no piercings and no silicone toys coming out of her body. Her laugh, just as I recalled it from the restaurant, this time was only for me. I grabbed her gently and pulled her to the head of the bed to join me. I laid her with care on my pillow and covered her body with mine. Her smile was erotic as her hands discovered the tattoos that rested on the skin of my arms and chest. She was soft and warm, and completely ready for me. Sliding into her was like reaching for heaven and actually taking hold of it.

For the first time since I was nineteen, I brought myself to orgasm with my own hand. I cried out her name as my body jerked in pleasure, spilling the result of my fantasy onto my bare stomach.

“Claire!”

Never chase love, affection, or attention. If it isn’t given freely by another person, it isn’t worth having.

~Anonymous

“W
here is he taking you tonight?” Lainie questioned. She was perch on the edge of my bed, her big, expressive eyes catching mine in the mirror.

“He didn’t say.” I widened my eyes as I applied a coat of mascara to my upper lashes. It was funny how I could multitask a thousand different things, but get something close to my eyes and I needed to concentrate on not poking my eye out.

“Are you kidding? How do you know what to wear if he doesn’t tell you where you’re going?”

After Sean dropped me off at my door last week, he asked if he could see me again. I had felt the girly-girl in me smile and do back flips as I agreed.

Lainie had bombarded me with a million and one questions when I got home that night. Watching her excitement while we exchanged giggles and peals of laughter, I felt something huge change between us. Never in the relationship between my sister and myself did we ever share a bond such as the one I was forming with Lainie. With Cheyenne, men were vessels used to achieve a goal. Whether for money or a decent dinner away from your family, she used every man she’d ever met.

Lainie and I agreed men were an accessory and not a necessity. Having a good-looking man around was always a bonus. He should give you compliments of pretty words, but also by being a good companion and friend. By taking the best parts of you and making them better. Accepting the worst parts of you, instead of trying to change them. I just wasn’t sure where Sean fit in there yet, but I was willing to find out.

“Sean doesn’t strike me as the type of guy to run me through a drive-thru for take-out,” I called over my shoulder, watching as Lainie consumed a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

“You just never know with guys like that.” She pointed her spoon in my direction and flicked her wrist, emphasizing each word like the conductor of a symphony.

“Hey!” I gave her a pointed look with a playful warning in my tone. “Sean has been nothing but a gentleman, which is more than I can say about certain people.” I’d told Lainie about running into Detective Morgan coming out of the bar. How he’d been eyeing up women around him while he had Shayla tucked under his arm.

“Speaking of other people,” Lainie alluded. “Has Shayla come to her senses yet?”

The Monday after seeing Shayla stagger off with Detective Morgan, she’d floated into the hospital on a cloud. She’d been telling several of the other nurses how she and Dylan had moved their relationship to a new level.

Shayla had danced around the floor and was writing her name, Shayla Morgan, on every scrap of paper she could find. It appeared the girl was permanently stuck in high school—her freshman year.

“No, she’s still planning the wedding,” I responded sarcastically. Something told me even if the world were ending, Dylan Morgan would never get married, let alone to Shayla. Before any more discussion of impending marriages or lack thereof, the security buzzer sounded.

“Don’t need to guess who that is,” Lainie muttered. She looked at her watch and shoved another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

My smile and laugh were genuine as I stepped around her and confirmed it was in fact Sean waiting downstairs for me. Butterflies took a trip around my stomach, and I had to remind myself this was only a casual thing. Dreaming about white dresses and seating charts would get me nowhere.

Sean stood in the foyer of my building, hands tucked into pockets, wearing a jacket that was dressy enough to get us into any number of the finer restaurants, yet casual enough for the clichéd “movie date.”

“Hey, Sean,” I greeted him with a smile, walking in his direction. His cologne was already doing things to my mind.

“Wow!” he returned; his toothy smile as bright as always. He leaned over to me, his left hand landing on my shoulder, his lips brushing against my temple. The gesture was the exact way he’d bid me goodnight, the last time we’d gone out. Innocent enough, but with a promise of possibility.

“You ready?”

I nodded as his hand slid down my arm until it found mine, interlacing our fingers as he pulled me to the door.

Downtown Charleston was full of great restaurants, so naturally I assumed that was where we were going. However, he headed toward the Ravenel Bridge. I glanced in his direction, silently asking where we were headed.

Sean said nothing, just kept humming to the song on the radio as he shifted gears. I listened to the tires buzzing against the textured tread of the bridge and watched as the gleaming, white cables passed by.

One thing I learned rather quickly when I first moved here, exercising, specifically running, was a popular pastime. I didn’t think I’d gone a single day without noticing a jogger along a sidewalk or bikeway. As we crossed the second half of the bridge, I looked over to see several runners making their downhill descent on the runner’s path.

My curiosity got the best of me one Sunday afternoon. I hopped in my uncle’s car and drove to the bridge to see what was the appeal. By the time I reached the center of the bridge, the muscles in my ass were protesting. Lucky for me, there was an area with cement benches, which overlooked the river below. I sat there watching the boats glide through the water and the wildlife enjoying the delicacies the water provided. As I’d stood to head back to my car, I looked over the rail and shivered as I contemplated how far down the water was and how terrible it would be if the fall didn’t kill you.

“Claire?” Sean’s voice pulled me from my musings, alerting me to the fact we had reached our destination. I glanced around, unfamiliar with the street or the businesses surrounding us. Not until I looked up at the building we were parked in front of, did I realize where we were.
Delmonico’s an Italian-American Restaurant
was painted in white letters on a green canvas awning.
Est. 1986,
in smaller print was under the bold lettering of the business name. I’d read about this place in the
Taste of Charleston
section of the newspaper. Food critics all agreed the food was worth the trip to Mt. Pleasant.

Sean opened the door to the restaurant, and the smell of baking bread and garlic caused my mouth to water and my stomach to rumble with hunger. Sean apparently knew the hostess as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

We were seated against a stonewall, at a table with starched white tablecloths and silver lamps, creating an ambiance of intimacy. Lighted sconces placed every three or so feet around the room casting a soft glow to everything the light touched.

Our waiter, Armando, as he introduced himself, told us of the night’s specials and house wines. His white, long-sleeved shirt and black tie seemed to add something to the character of the restaurant.

Sean ordered a plate of manicotti and center cut pork chops, which came highly recommended. He suggested we share the entrees, since I’d never eaten there before.

We both thanked Armando as he gathered the empty wine glasses and menus, assuring us he would return with our salads shortly. Once he’d gone, Sean reached across the table and took my fingers in his hand, his eyes monitoring his movements as he circled my fingertips with his.

“I missed you today,” he told me suddenly, his eyes boring into mine. I tried not to read anything into what he was saying, but it was difficult when my heart started fluttering as it did. My response was to smile shyly and avert my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Claire.” He shook his head. “I’ve made you uncomfortable, and that was not my intent.”

Pulling his attention back to mine, I took his hand and squeezed it until he looked at me. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, quite the opposite actually.”

Sean leaned back in his chair and the moment passed as he began to discuss a restaurant much like this one in Belfast. He explained that his mother was very strict on decorum when she took them out to dinner. He attributed any manners he managed to learn from the places she took them.

Just as he moved on to his younger brother’s first attempt at pouring a beer from a tap, I noticed Dean Morgan walk by. The last time I saw him was at the funeral. It had been a brief encounter, as I didn’t want to keep him from his other guests. Dean noticed me and turned back on his heels, motioning for someone to join him. “Ms. Stuart, correct?”

Dean was a handsome, middle-aged man, who wore his age well. His dark hair was almost black with a slight dusting of silver at his temples, rays of light creating streaks of deep blue. His muscular form made it clear he worked out regularly and the tan of his skin reflected his enjoyment a few outdoor activities. I knew from his wife’s admission, Dylan and his brothers were all adopted. Although, it was difficult to believe as his son shared the same strong jaw line.

“Yes, Sir.” I smiled, placing my napkin on the table as his hand came out to shake mine. “It’s good to see you again, albeit under better circumstances.” Miss Priscilla rounded the corner, her hair and clothing as perfect as the first time I met her. “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Thank you again for coming to Forrest’s funeral, he would have loved to know you’d come.”

“Dean?” Her voice was kind and welcoming and her smile, always genuine, never false. She was an honest, caring person; a trait you simply could not fabricate.

“Oh, sorry, my love.” He reached back and pulled her in close to him. The love was radiating from them both, a love that clearly connected on a spiritual level, all consuming and encompassing. The kind of love we all dreamed of yet only a select few were lucky enough to find.

“This is Claire Stuart.” He gestured toward me. “She and her uncle were clients of mine and your daddy’s.” Priscilla watched with earnest interest at every word he spoke, her smile widening as she took it all in.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I haven’t had the pleasure,” Dean addressed Sean.

“Dr. Sean O’Leary.” Sean rose from his chair, his hand gripping Dean’s in a firm handshake. “I’m a friend of Claire’s, from the hospital.”

Oddly, it didn’t bother me when Sean called me his friend. I wasn’t certain my smile would have remained if he had given me a label before we had discussed it in private.

“Pleasure to meet you, Doctor O’Leary,” Dean returned and Priscilla smiled. The two of them were like well-oiled machines.

Priscilla ran her hand up and down Dean’s sport coat. The pair were speaking with Sean about a trip they took to Ireland last year; Sean’s accent directing the conversation. As I observed them, it became clear she had no idea she was touching him. It was natural, comforting and an ingrained habit as necessary as breathing,

“I’m sorry to interrupt.”

I was startled by the deep voice coming from my left. By the look on Priscilla’s face, she was excited by the arrival of the newcomer. “Oh, Dylan! I’m so glad you could make it.” She leaned in to hug her son, barely coming to mid-chest. They pulled back and he bent down to kiss her cheek. I watched her eyes close and a gentle smile graced her face.