Carolina Girl (35 page)

Giddy with happiness, Aurora flowed with the man and the
music and the movement. She didn’t want to worry about anything while she
surrendered to this moment of perfection. Clay towered over her just enough to
make her feel feminine. His hands were confident as he guided her through the
crowd, his fingers doing a subtle dance of their own at her waist. His body
lingered every time his hips and thighs brushed hers. Had she really thought
dancing would release some of the tension between them? She’d obviously not
danced with the right man before.

Clay’s steady hand rode her waist. The linen of his
trousers brushed the silk of her skirt, and their gazes met and sparked with
awareness. His palm at the small of her back guided her in a rhythmic sway as
breast met chest, and their bodies pulsed to a beat that had more to do with
their night together than it did to music. Had he asked it of her, she would
have left the floor right then and looked for the nearest bed.

The song changed to a fast beat, and Clay hesitated,
watching the other dancers. Caught in the spell of his embrace, Rory no longer
cared about dancing, but her partner had a look of determination in his eye
that fascinated her nearly as much as what the night promised.

She understood now that Clay could do anything he put his
mind to, and that his mind was on dancing with her tonight. She had no words to
express the thrill of that knowledge.

Other couples deserted the floor with the first pounding
chords of the faster beat. Clay simply set his eagle eye on the remaining
dancers, chose the pattern he preferred, and, holding Rory’s hand and
waist, loosened his grip and matched the rhythm of the music.

She laughed when he swung her beneath his arm and bent her
backward as if he’d been doing this since childhood. As if she were made
of fluff. She’d waited all her life for this—freedom to let go and
be herself.

She began to see her smile reflected on Clay’s face.
His sharp jaw relaxed, and his eyes glittered with delight at her laughter. By
the time their meal arrived, he was inventing steps of his own, and she feared
other women would start swarming over him as if he were John Travolta.

“Food.” She pointed at the table.

He studied the table, listened to the next song, and,
apparently deciding food was preferable, returned her to her chair. She loved
the way his mind constantly ticked, taking in everything, sorting through his
observations, and working out solutions without a word being said.

She was in serious trouble here, thinking thoughts like that
about a man who didn’t think in terms of futures or careers—when
she could never forget that her family depended on her career for their future.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,”
he announced after satisfying his first urgent hunger pangs, pushing back in
his chair, stretching his legs out, and watching her sip her wine.

“About what?” She wasn’t certain she
wanted to go wherever he was headed. But she did her best to appear together
and calm. A man who actually wanted to talk wasn’t a man to be taken
lightly. She practiced his habit of listening.

He crumpled up his linen napkin and tossed it on the table.
“About us. About sex. About relationships.”

“Oh, that.” Her heart kicked hard enough to
hurt, and she tried not to wince. What had she said? Something stupid,
probably—like not wanting casual sex when all she could think about right
this minute was how soon they could find a bed not surrounded by family.

“I don’t know how to date like a
teenager,” he warned.

He looked so serious. No, he looked like a Hollywood star
being serious. Or a computer mogul who desperately wanted sex but was willing
to negotiate a contract first. Aurora smiled at that.

“That’s okay. I’m not a teenager.”
She wished she knew what she wanted well enough to tell him, but her life was
too stressed-out and confused right now. “I haven’t had a lot of
experience at relationships. I just know the sex between us is good, but I need
more than that.”

It was hard to tell when a handsome man sprawled in a chair
in a nightclub was tense, but Aurora calculated that the dent Clay’s
fingers were leaving in his trousers right now might be some indication. He
didn’t go up in smoke at her reply, though, so that was promising.

“Do people still go steady?” he asked warily.

“If that means agreeing not to see others, I
suppose.” She tried not to look too eager, but her heart was racing like
a teenager’s. She wanted him to figure out how they could have sex
without the commitment they both obviously feared. She wanted it right now.

“If I tell you I’m not interested in any other
woman but you, does that count as going steady?”

“That works for me. I can guarantee you’re the
only man on my agenda.”
Be cool, Aurora. Businesslike. Don’t
send the guy screaming into the streets
.

“I hope you warned your family not to expect you home
tonight,” he said abruptly, standing and holding out his hand.
“I’m willing to try this steady-dating thing, but I don’t
think I’ll survive the night if I have to take you home afterward.”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic!”
Accepting his hand, Rory smiled at the wary expression springing to his eyes at
her teasing. “And I bet you don’t even want to go over to the
pavilion later and learn to shag.”

“I’d say I already know how to shag, but
something tells me we’re not talking about the same thing.” He
still looked wary but interested. “If this is something you want to do,
I’m willing. I’m opening myself to new experiences.”

“Renaissance man, I like that. I like that so much I
don’t think I want to corrupt the innocent shaggers with the kind of
shagging you have on your mind.” Eagerly, she let him draw her close. The
heat between them escalated to the temperature of a South Carolina August noon.

Clay threw a handful of money on the table.
“Let’s go.”

“If I said I changed my mind and wanted to go to the
pavilion, would you take me?” she jested, running to keep up with his
pace outside the Monkey. Events were happening too fast. She needed to slow
down. Or maybe she needed to know he was thinking about her and not just sex.

He halted. “Where’s the pavilion?”

She’d experienced power trips before. She thrived on
walking through a megabank with documents she’d put together to seal a
multimillion-dollar deal.

That didn’t begin to compare with having this much
power over a man who flipped all her switches. Whatever this was between them,
it was a two-way street. “What if I tell you I want to go home after the
pavilion?”

“I’d tell you that you’re insane and try
to persuade you otherwise.” Intelligently catching on to her little ego
trip, Clay took her elbow and guided her toward the car. “Don’t
tease. I’m still working on that negativity thing. I want to see more of
you. I’m working toward something positive, see?”

Since all her hormones were frolicking like little rabbits
in an open field, she probably wasn’t seeing anything clearly, but she
liked the sound of this. She climbed into the Jag without further argument.
Maybe they could figure out their emotions once they got this sexual
frustration out of the way.

“And that’s what you decided while pounding
holes in the courthouse roof today?”

“I’m taking it slowly.” He started the
ignition and pulled into the unlit street. “Baby steps first. Dancing,
wining, dining, flowers—that’s all a form of lovemaking,
isn’t it?”

He sounded so sincere, Rory laughed. “You’re a
quick study, I give you that, though I don’t know that I’d call it
lovemaking.”

His brow creased as if he were analyzing her comment for
hidden meaning. “Will it pass for foreplay?” he asked with such
studied gravity that Rory laughed.

“Very likely. So does the Jag. Want to try for sweet
words next?”

“I think that’s a little more advanced than
I’m ready for yet. How about if I just try keeping my floor clean because
I want my steady woman to make it up the stairs alive?”

Relaxing into the mood he created instead of fretting over
this next step in their relationship, Rory admired the moon rising over the
harbor as they crossed the bridge to the island. So maybe she was setting
herself up for heartbreak. How many times in her life would she ever come
across a man she enjoyed as much? How many men had she ever discussed sex with
and still felt comfortable without being pressured?

None. No man had ever met her on her own terms, then
challenged her with his, stretching her viewpoint to encompass whole new
horizons.

She didn’t want to analyze what was happening to her,
not when anticipation hummed inside her. The night was perfect, with a nearly
full moon and a sensual warmth like silk against her skin. She would simply
relish the moment and live with a broken heart later.

She darted a glance at him and smiled at the way he studied
the road ahead, then the road behind in the rear-view mirror. Another man might
have been looking at her or toying with the radio. Clay had a knack for
applying seriousness to just the right things.

He abruptly swung down a road leading to the shopping
center.

She blinked in surprise at the abrupt change in course.
“Do we need something at the grocery?”

“See the headlights behind us?” He adjusted the
rear-view mirror. “Watch and see if it’s a black Lincoln when I
turn off here.”

He pulled the Jag into the parking lot and stopped under a
streetlight. A black Lincoln slowed, rolled past, and turned into the entrance
of a lot down the road.

“He’s going into the office park.” Rory
eyed Clay with curiosity as he gunned the engine, hit the highway, and headed
back toward town. “The town is full of black cars. If you think
that’s the one Cissy—”

“Cissy couldn’t even tell us what kind of car
drove her off the road. I’m thinking that one followed us all the way
from the Monkey.”

“So someone left at the same time as we did.
It’s late, a lot of people were leaving.”

“How many of the Monkey’s patrons drive
Lincolns?” Clay asked.

He had her there. “Tourists might. And maybe someone
wanted to do a quick business deal over a drink. Not everyone does that at the
country club.”

“And that’s why he’s out here cruising the
island in the dark?” His cynical tone said what he thought of that.

“Maybe he had to run back to his office for some
papers and now he’s on his way home.”

“Then maybe the papers were hanging on his office door
so he could grab them fast enough to be back on the road already, and his home
is in town, because he’s behind us again.” Shadows sharpened the
wide ridge of Clay’s nose as he joined the traffic on the bridge and
checked the mirror again.

She glanced over her shoulder, but all she could see were
headlights. “Why would anyone follow us? It’s not as if we’ll
lead them to buried treasure.” Why would anyone run Cissy off the road?
Or break into Clay’s cottage? None of this made sense, but he was scaring
her.

Clay unclipped his cell phone, punched a few buttons, and
handed it to her. “Let’s find out. Tell TJ what I’m telling
you.”

The reception in town was better than on the island.
TJ’s deep voice came through loud and clear. Embarrassed, Rory tried to
think of a simple greeting. “Hello, TJ. This is Aurora Jenkins. I’m
with Clay.”

“We’re leaving the bridge and driving down the
highway going west toward the interstate,” Clay instructed her.

She repeated that information to the quiet man on the other
end of the phone line. He took Clay’s dictation without any sign of
agitation.

“Tell him to take his hulking SUV and wait in the lot
at the bottom of the bridge. I’ll be returning here in ten minutes. If he
can rouse Jared, tell him we’ll be heading his way.”

TJ thanked Rory gravely and hung up. She stared at the phone
and wondered if she’d stepped into a TV program without knowing it.

When Clay double-parked in front of the Monkey, she handed
him the phone. She knew what he wanted her to do, but she wasn’t buying
it.

“I’m not getting out. It’s very possible
that if anyone is following us—and I’m not saying that I believe
they are—they could be after me. I feel safer with you.”

Without streetlights, she couldn’t read Clay’s
expression, but she could see his hands tighten on the wheel and knew he was
thinking furiously. She checked her seat belt and didn’t budge.

He pulled back the shift and stepped on the gas. “Hold
on to your hair, then, and let’s see what this baby can do.”

The Jag could take sharp corners with astonishing swiftness,
Rory learned. She couldn’t say that Clay drove recklessly, but
she’d never taken the tight corners and narrow brick streets of the old
part of town at high speed either.

They’d maneuvered only a few dark blocks when a squeal
of brakes and Clay’s grunt of satisfaction said their tail hadn’t
navigated the last turn. She checked behind them and couldn’t see any
headlights. She hadn’t heard a crash, so no one was hurt. Sighing in
relief, she leaned back against the comfortable leather and stretched her legs,
letting the tension flow out of her. “Well, if you wanted to generate a
little additional excitement out of the evening, you’ve succeeded.”

“Depends on how dumb they are.” Letting out the
clutch, Clay smoothly took the machine through its paces down the highway.
Then, checking his watch, he swung the Jag around in a neat three-point turn.

“No Lincoln could corner like this car. They
can’t still be following,” she insisted.

“Not in that land yacht, for sure, and if
they’re car thieves, we’ve lost them. But think about it: If they
knew who they were following, why should they bother endangering life and limb
doing what we just did?”