Shayla's Story (The Mathews/Clemmins Family Series) (15 page)

“I had to wear it
that way to school for two weeks before she chopped off the other side. My
mother was just trying to save her own hide.” She tilted her head in a nod of
confirmation. “If she didn’t react quickly enough to his crazy outbursts, by
the end of the day, he’d spiral into this deranged psychopath and beat the hell
out of her. She would’ve done just about anything to keep the storm from
brewing.”

“I’m sorry you had
to go through that, Shay.”

“It actually feels
good to talk about. I usually don’t because it’s so humiliating.”

“You don’t have
anything to be ashamed of, Shayla. You should be proud you had the guts to get
out. You don’t ever talk to anyone about your past?”

“Other than Tommy
and the therapist he made me see for a few years, I’ve only told my best friend
Carrie Ann. She runs the
Bare Your Soul
campaign.”

John held her with the
infinite tenderness of an injured animal, stroking and caressing her fingers. “You
don’t have to hide anything from me. I want to know everything about you. I
would never judge you, baby.”

Her toes tucked
between his calves, and she snuggled closer, kissing his chin, whispering
against his neck, “I know. I trust you.”

Shayla took comfort in
the safety of his arms. She knew he would never ask her to be what he
needed
her to be. This man would be
happy letting her exist exactly how she was.
 

Exhausted and
sedated, Shayla lay tucked beside John as the early sun crept through the
sliding glass door of the balcony. She let out a happy sigh, savoring the hard
muscled surface of his arm beneath the slant of her jaw. As she stretched,
long, subtle aches pricked over every inch of her body. She pressed her smile
to his skin and curled into his warm morning scent.

The night had only ended
a few short hours before. She’d done things with John Mathews she’d never
attempted before, and took mental notes of a few things she wanted to try.
Whatever restraints she’d had before dissipated with John. She felt uninhibited
and alive in her own skin. He twisted and arranged her in positions she thought
were only possible in a Kama sutra. They made love and talked all night long about
life, goals, dreams, and places they each hoped to travel. John opened up about
his father, Richard, and how his death took a toll on their family. The admiration
and respect he held for his father moved Shayla to tears, touched by their
bond.

John stretched with
a shiver, yawning above her head, pulling her back closer into the mold of his
body.

Shayla held to his
arm tucked between her breast, tracing the muscled chords and dark hair. She couldn’t
touch him enough or bring him close enough. They lay slumbered together in
silence until she begrudgingly made her way to the bathroom.

“Hey, baby, your
phone is buzzing,” John called from the bed.

The hairs on her
arms rose to daggers and her stomach eddied like a behemoth wave on the coldest
day in January. “Umm. It’s okay, just let it ring,” she mumbled through a mouth
of foaming toothpaste.

John’s large frame
appeared in the doorway, dark and heated. “It was your fiancé,” he bit out
snidely, his typical smile turning to stone.

 
Her heart beat in deep throbbing
palpitations, pounding in her ears, filling the awkward silence. The anger and
pain washing over him in waves pulled streams of tears from her eyes. She
rinsed her mouth, and her hands trembled, wiping the residue from her lips.

“He’s not my
fiancé.” Shayla forced herself to meet his glare before peeling away her blurry
gaze. She stared blindly through a slick of tears at the shower. All she could
think about was just a few hours ago it was the best shower she’d ever had. The
place they retreated in the middle of the night to make love under a veil of
steam now seemed sterile.

John stood naked and
rigid, his thick fingers creasing white as he held onto the doorjamb.

She feared he might
rip it from the wall.
 

“I’m sorry,” she said.
Her heart twisted in sweet pain, bursting with words, big words. Sentiment and
emotions danced through her heart, climbing high in her throat, wanting to
break free in her voice. Words that previously seemed awkward with Mat wanted
fly out of her mouth without a second thought. “I…I…think I—”

“Don’t,” he warned
before turning his back as if he were shielding himself from her words. John
aggressively shoved his hands through his sleep mused hair, nearly yanking it from
the roots. “Don’t say things to me…if there’s even the slightest chance you
might rip them away from me tomorrow.”

“But I want to. I
feel things I’ve never felt before.” Her mouth was so dry it came out raspy and
shredded. Dread chilled in her stomach.
 

John spun around. He
gripped her arms, lowering his face inches from hers. “Don’t you dare tell me
you love me unless you plan on leaving Greece and coming home with me to Vegas.
I’ll buy a house tomorrow!”

“I can’t do that,
John. I have to be fair to him.”

His expression sullied
as if she’d punched him. He dropped his hands and stepped back, repulsion hanging
from his open mouth. “You have to be fair to
him
?”

“I owe him that,
John.” She tried to touch him, but he pulled further away with every word. He dug
into his suitcase and jerked out a pair of jeans, cramming one leg at time into
the worn denim, minus the boxers. The sheer masculine sight of him with his
zipper undone left her momentarily speechless. “I need to see him in person. I
have to take his situation into consideration. I know you don’t want to hear it,
but I need you to understand.”

“Sorry. I can’t
really wrap my head around his situation.” Rage and resentment trampled through
his words. The punitive tone of his voice pulled old triggers and she trembled.

“Please don’t,” she
said, her voice barely a whisper.

John stretched a
long sleeve t-shirt over his head. His glare turned unhappy with her lagging silence.
“Do you understand how I feel? I don’t want you to go home to him. I don’t want
you to kiss him, I don’t want you to…to have sex with him while you’re off in
California trying to tell him goodbye.”

She twitched at his
crudeness, coloring with shame. “No. I’m not going to—”

“Bullshit!” John
slammed the table with a harsh thud and she recoiled, drawing in a sharp gasp.
“It’s the first thing he’s going to do, Shayla. He’s gonna welcome you with
open arms, kiss you hello and take you to bed. It makes me so fucking angry I
could—I could rip him in two.”

A quiet sneer scraped
from her tight, dry throat as she shook her head. Mat would never greet her
that way.

John misunderstood
her scoff. Color drained from his face. He wasn’t breathing and his eyes turned
dark.

She reached for him.
 
“Wait, that’s not—”

John backed away,
but when she continued toward him, any remaining calmness vanished. He clutched
her upper arm securely as if it were a lifeline. “You think this is funny?”

“That is the farthest
scenario from the truth. Mat would never greet me that way. You don’t know him
and
no,
I don’t think any of this if
funny! I’m not trying to hurt you.”

 
He held his hands out, stiff-arm fashion,
a clear gesture of back-off. His face contorted in jealous rage and beads of
sweat gathered on his forehead. If it were fifteen degrees cooler outside,
steam would’ve risen off his skin in a cloud when he walked out the door.

****

Shayla got dressed
and finished packing, not wanting to wait another minute to get things settled
with Mat. She sank to the edge of the bed reading his text,
Hope you’re not working too hard. I was
looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, but I have a meeting in Washington.
I’ll be home in a few days.

She waited twenty
minutes before deciding to go look for John. Rounding the corner at the end of
the T-shaped hall, Shayla nearly toppled into Tracy and JC. Each held a cup of
coffee to go. JC wiped at the hot liquid now dripping down her forearm.

“Have you seen
John?” Breathless, Shayla grabbed Tracy for stability.

“No, we just came
from the lobby. Was he getting coffee?”

Shayla frowned
warily, making her way around them. “Umm, no. He…went for a walk.”

The girls raised
their brows, cringing and simultaneously saying, “Oh,” dragging out the one
word syllable.

Shayla felt like a
cartoon character slamming on the brakes. “What does that mean?”

“Was he upset?”
Tracy asked.

Shayla nodded and JC
looped her arm through the bend at her elbow, coaxing her back toward her room.
“You should just give him a few minutes. He’ll be back.”

JC tucked her long,
caramel hair behind her ear and patted Shayla’s hand. “Was he barefoot?”

Shayla nodded
incoherently, gaping over her shoulder, wanting to run down the empty hall toward
the lobby.

JC shook her head
adamantly. “If he took off
and
he’s
barefoot, you definitely need to give him his space.”

“Seriously?”

Approaching her
doorway, Tracy motioned for Shayla to hand over her room card. “It’s his way of
keeping himself in check. He just needs some time to cool down.”

“He’s been doing it
since he was little.” The click of the door unlatching mingled with JC’s low
understanding laugh. “He’ll be back. He has to, he has no shoes.”

“He’s just like our
dad. That’s the only way we knew our parents were arguing.”

Shayla couldn’t wrap
her head around the outrageous idea. “
This
is how he argues?”

****

Sometimes having
patience seemed more like a jail sentence than a virtue. They were already late
for their flight. Shayla waited an hour and thirteen minutes before John walked
through the door. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she clutched her phone. “I
don’t even have your number. I was worried—”

“We’re gonna fix that
right now. I already have yours, in case you were wondering.” He stood between
her thighs, peering down at her. Dark bruising circles highlighted his red
eyes. John retrieved her phone and entered his number. She remained quiet,
unsure of what to say. “I know what I signed up for when we agreed on the
weekend, but I had no idea how I was going to feel about you. I don’t like this
one bit, but…you go do what you have to do.”

“I was expecting him
to be there when I get home, but he’s going to Washington and won’t be back for
a few days.”

“You spoke with
him?” came a growl.

 
“No, I just read his text.”

He tugged her from
the bed and into his powerful embrace.

She went slack,
nuzzling into his chest, inhaling the salty air lingering with his familiar
scent.

“Come home with me.
I’m not gonna be myself without you, Shay. You settle me.” His low voice purred
along her temple in a pleading hush.

Wrapped to his
waist, she lifted her chin. He caught her bottom lip between his. “Can’t. I
have meetings and phone conferences scheduled all day for…I don’t know how
long. Days? Weeks? It’s gonna be crazy. My boss, Tommy Clemmins, just got
married.”
 

Her fingers crept up
his chest, curling around the back of his neck, encouraging him to deepen the
kiss. Slowly, torturously, he relaxed into her mouth, possessing every
sensitive spot he now owned.

****

The twelve hour
flight felt like it raced by in twelve minutes. The armrest acting as vital
separation from John on the flight to Greece was now immediately hidden between
the fully reclined leather seats. They both lay on their sides. Shayla snuggled
as close as she could get with her arms tucked between them. John caught her
hand, kissing each knuckle before taking her mouth in a fierce, insatiable kiss.

Neither spoke much,
only low murmurs between dozens of erotic toe-curling kisses and heavy petting
that nearly made her climax in her seat. Shayla didn’t want to sleep, but eventually
dozed off, half-stretched across his lap.

A dim glow
illuminated the plane’s interior, casting shadows over John’s slumbering face. Sleep
relaxed the tiny muscles near his eyes, depicting his age more clearly. Unaware
of how long she’d slept or where they were in route, Shayla dreaded the fact
she was closer to Vegas. Wetness gathered between her cheek and the warm
leather. She wiped her face and untangled herself from John, climbing over him
carefully so as not to disturb him.

“Where are you
going?” he asked, his voice a strand of silk.

She bent, nuzzling
his ear. “Be right back.”

He locked onto her
wrist, blinking to adjust to the darkness. He examined her face, frowning with
concern.

She smiled,
carefully, and winked, easing out of his grip, hoping her sadness would be
masked as fatigue from jet lag.

She escaped into the
lavatory and locked the door. Glimpsing her shattered reflection in the mirror,
she grabbed a hand towel from the stack and ran it under cold water. She held
it to her puffy eyes, praying it would ease her pain.
 

“Shay?” he whispered
at the door, knocking lightly.

She tossed the rag
in the sink and opened the door. Unable to muster a smile, she merely stood
there.

John maneuvered into
the cramped quarters and she backed against the small granite countertop.
Taking one look at her, he gave a sympathetic hum.

She folded her arms
across her chest. “God. Please stop making that sound. It makes me feel even
more pathetic. Seriously, I just need to pull myself together. Every time I get
within a five-foot radius you, I’m either crying or coming.”

“I prefer the
coming.” A flash of white crossed his somber face and he closed the small gap
between them. “And don’t forget the laughing. Damn, I love your smile.”

“How long—”

“Shh,” he whispered
into the curve of her neck, licking and nipping with his teeth. A smooth
sensual groan crooned from her throat. “We’re not gonna talk. We’re not gonna
discuss how long or tomorrow.” John lifted his elbow, bumping off the light
switch.

“Hey, wait, I like
seeing you.” Her complaint went unheard as he stripped off her shirt, devouring
her shoulder.