Whisper Privileges (26 page)

She nailed him with a look of reproach, but
said nothing. He laughed under his breath. Sydney could be a feisty
one. One mention of her body and she went on the attack.

They continued to walk toward the water. With
each step closer, the breeze grew stronger, tossing hair about his
eyes, cloaking him with tropical humidity. The smell of the salt
water intensified, to the point he could feel it penetrate his
skin. The water came into view, splashing over the rocks and Clay
picked up the unmistakable scent of dead fish. But he didn’t mind.
It reminded him of the marina, his sailboat. He loved the smell of
salt water, decaying fish something you got used to smelling. Where
Sydney’s version of freedom included money and travel, his came in
the form of the open water, no land in sight.

Sydney stepped off the path and meandered
over to water’s edge. “Those are Charlie’s buildings.” She pointed.
“Over there.”

Don’t remind me, he thought, glancing at the
three buildings with a nod that he’d heard. Across a short bridge,
less than three minutes away. He wanted to focus on her, not
Charlie. She turned, and a wave of water crashed over the rocks
below. Large and porous, they were covered with dark green seaweed
slime, mixed with a miscellany of brown branches and ocean debris.
He lifted his gaze out over the bay. The water had a light chop to
it today and once again, reminded him of home. He used to spend a
lot of time on the water, around the docks, out in his boat, but
since Q’s diagnosis that all changed. Nowadays he was lucky if he
could take a weekend for himself. “Do you like to sail?”

“Sail?”

“Yes, you know, blowboats, catamarans, big
white billowy sails?”

She hesitated. “As in do I sail them?” she
asked, her ensuing blush reminding him of a teenager getting called
out on their first crush. “Afraid to disappoint you, but no.” She
brushed wayward strands from her face. “I don’t.”

“What?” Clay tried to inject humor into his
voice. “A Miami girl that doesn’t sail?”

“I play volleyball, remember?”

“Yes you do. And very well I might add.”

Sydney brushed past his remark and regained
some of her rough and tumble composure. “I gather you sail?”

“Not as much as I used to, but I still make
it out a few times every summer.”

“What kind of boat?”

“Racing boat.”

She took an involuntary step back. “You
race?”

He nodded, pleased by the complete shock in
her voice. “In my younger days, I used to race a lot.

“Younger days? What are you talking
about—you’re not that old.”

“I’m thirty-two. I’m not ancient, but back
when I was twenty, I almost went pro.”

“Really...”

“Sure did,” he touted, bolstered by her awed
response. “Summer I turned nineteen we won the Charleston Bermuda
race.”

Rapt with curiosity, she asked, “You sailed
across the Atlantic?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long did it take?”

“We made it in six days, twelve hours, six
minutes and thirty-two seconds.” He grinned. “Roughly
counting.”

She laughed. “And you never got seasick?”
Pulled toward the bay, Sydney looked out over the water and
considered the notion. “I imagine the seas across the Atlantic have
to get rough.”

“Oh they do, but it never bothered me. I have
a stomach made of rocks and steel.”

“I guess...” She glanced out toward the
bay.

The breeze kicked through his hair, whipped
delicate wisps from her ponytail to and fro across her face. How
did someone live on the water and not sail? Before Q, you couldn’t
keep him away from it. But to each his own. At least he’d turned
the tide away from Charlie and had her focused on him. “I’d love to
take you for a ride one day.”

She smiled at his obvious play. “I’m not sure
I’d want to be on a little boat out in the open water.”

“If you call sixty-five feet little, then I
guess you might have a point.”

“
Sixty-five feet
?” She gaped at him.
“You sail it all by yourself?”

“Nah. I race with a crew.”

“A crew?” She swept the unruly strands behind
an ear and her voice drifted in the wind, “I don’t think I’d want
to sail across the ocean like that, even with a crew there to help
me.”

“How about a quick trip around the bay?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced out over the
water, the offer hovering in her expression. Maybe.”

“Well you just say the word, Ms. Flores. And
I’ll show you a day like you’ve never experienced before.”

She looked at him, his neck, and giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your shell necklace is beginning to make
sense.”

Clay grinned. Thankful for the fact they were
somewhat obscured to passersby behind the cluster of trees, he
considered his next step. He wanted to reach over and pull the
cotton band from her hair, allowing it to fall natural and loose.
He would run his hands through it, grasp hold of the back of her
neck and pull her to him. Her features tinged with wariness. He
paused. Did she know how much he wanted to kiss her right now?
Could she feel it? Did she want the same? She didn’t seem to mind
the last time he kissed her...

Would she do so this time? His insides
shifted.
And if he went further
?

The bay wind kicked up then, tossing the hair
into his eyes, blew long strands of hers back across her face. The
spray of water pressed the salt to his skin, fleshed out memories
from his past. The sensation of sea and salt combined with waves
and wind was familiar and welcome. It blended his past and her
present—her home, her city—with the quiet promise of more. Nothing
stood between them but the ebb and flow of the ocean, of desire.
Clay slid sunglasses to the top of his head, then did the same with
hers. She stilled. Her attention coiled tightly around him. He
reached for her hands and pulled her close. When she didn’t resist,
his excitement mounted. He closed the space between them to inches.
Long wisps of her hair toyed with his cheeks. He moved his face
toward hers and hovered close. The green in her eyes turned heated,
anticipatory, like the emerald stones of a panther’s eyes on high
alert. He gently placed his lips on hers, ever so slightly, the
contact electrifying his mind and body.

When she didn’t protest, his heart squeezed
with excitement.

Sydney’s loins fired hot and moist as Clay
skimmed his lips over hers, nuzzled his nose back and forth against
hers. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Clay raised a hand
and moved the hair from her brow, his fingers lingering high upon
her cheekbone. Her ears flushed hot as he pressed his mouth to
hers. Clay kissed her gingerly, then parted her lips and slipped
his tongue inside.

Warm and silky smooth, his tongue swiped slow
and wide, gradually coaxing her to open to him completely. She
moaned. Her arms grew weak. Her legs dissolved into a sinewy mass
of nerves. She moved to kiss him back and Clay took control. His
hands pulled her face closer, his mouth opened wider. The kiss
turned urgent, seeking. He was lips, mouth, tongue, hands, hair—she
couldn’t do anything but feel him, as though suspended in time.
Nipping at her mouth, Clay moved in and out with a sweeping nibble
and kiss and slide of his tongue. He sucked in her lower lip,
feasted on her mouth, her cheeks. He tasted and savored and took
his time—which she allowed—every second surrendering further into
his hold. The warm slickness of his mouth combined with the solid
wall of his body was heady, sexual. She reached up and hooked her
hands over his forearms. The round of his muscle, the fine comb of
his hair, the soft skin...

It reminded her that a hot-blooded male stood
before her—a man with desires—
needs
. The thrill of his
pelvis touching hers raced through her at once. She could feel the
wall of his abdomen, his body hard and welcome against hers.
Moisture formed between her inner thighs in a growing swell of want
as his tongue plunged further, harder.

Clay tore his mouth away from hers and
groaned. “Oh my God...”

At once light-headed, Sydney feared she may
lose her balance.

“You’re in very big trouble now...”

Confusion sprinkled through her mind, still
lost, still at the mercy of his mouth. Allowing her hands to fall,
her arms a tangled mass of shaky nothing, she sought his face.

His smile turned electric as he leaned
forward and grazed her lips with his. “Talk about hot—I don’t think
I can possibly do that again. Not out here in public.”

Emotion tumbled through her chest, but she
relaxed, warmed by his reaction. Sydney reached up and touched her
lips. She knew exactly what he meant. For a moment, she had
forgotten they were in the park herself.

Clay slid his eyes around their immediate
surroundings and then settled on her. “It’s gonna be a hard ride
back.” He grinned. “
No pun intended
.”

Suddenly embarrassed, she hadn’t thought
about that angle—no pun intended.

“Ready?”

To leave? Hell no, she wasn’t ready to
leave—she wanted to stay and kiss some more but it was completely
out of the question. Not one for public displays, Sydney was
surprised she had gone this far with onlookers. Even if they were
partially obscured by trees... “Your wish is my command,” she
murmured wistfully. “I’m just the tour guide.”

“Really?”

Her cheeks flushed hot beneath his lurid
gaze. “No, not
really
. It’s a figure of speech!”

“Too bad.” He reached for her hand and
twirled his fingers around hers, the coupling warm and nice,
comforting. “My list of wishes is growing at an incredibly fast
pace.” He lightly cupped her hand. “Hope you can keep up.”

Her insides bubbled with delight.

The ride back was distracting. Taking more
liberty with his touch, Clay continually ran his hands along her
thighs, her waist, and at one stoplight, even reached around and
hugged her body to him. Which was glorious. Their bodies fit so
well, the connection seemed so easy and natural she wondered if Sam
wasn’t right.
I’d reconsider a hot fling with that Clay of
yours
. Should she take her advice? If Clay made a move, should
she take him up on it? Would there be any harm in a juicy
fling?

Reckless thoughts of sex collided with Clay’s
words innocent comment.
Are you worried about me harming
you
?

Her heart pinched. Yes. That’s exactly what
she was worried about. She was falling for him. To deny it now
would be pointless. Even he could tell by her reaction—and that had
only been a kiss!

But what if Clay was only interested in fun?
A fling, as Sam so aptly put it? Could she handle it?

It felt as if he was falling for her, too,
but she couldn’t be sure. It was hard to tell, really. Every man
enjoyed the opportunity to get his lips on a woman, but did Clay
want more? Did he really think they would make a good couple?

The remainder of the drive proved a mix of
tense doubt and warm pleasure. Rather than drop him off at
Charlie’s, Clay asked her to take him back to the hotel. The
Biltmore. As she pulled the bike around the enormous fountain out
front, the Sabal palms lining the circular drive tall and proud,
she wondered,
wasn’t this the building he was asking about
earlier
? Slowing under the shade of awning outside the
entrance, her muffler reverberated hot near her leg. “Your parents
are staying here?”

“They are.” As she set a boot to the ground,
he pushed hands to her waist and slid off the back. “Feels weird
being dropped off by a woman.”

She laughed, amused by the dash of humility.
“We’re living in enlightened times, young man.”

“Sure we are.” Back on solid footing, he
looked down at her. “Now what time shall I pick you up for
dinner?”

“Dinner?”

He nodded. “I won’t make it twelve hours
without seeing you again. Not after what you did to me in the
park.”

She chuckled at his version of the events.
“What
I
did to
you
?”

“Yes. You had your way with me—you
enlightened woman—and I’ll forgive you on one condition,” he paused
with a grin. “You let me take you to dinner.”

She shook her head. “You have a way with
words is what you have.”

Seemingly pleased with himself, he
straightened, slid a glance in either direction and asked, “Now
what do you say?”

“Shall I pick you up again?”

“Uh, uh.” Clay acknowledged a fellow guest
with a polite smile. “I’ll be coming for you this time, seven
o’clock sharp.”

“And how do you expect to do that, may I
ask?”

“I have my ways.” He leaned over for a kiss,
but rather than give her a simple peck, he pulled her face to him
and kissed her deeply. Sydney tightened her grip on the handlebars
and responded willingly. He pulled away and she gasped. “Nice,
isn’t it?”

She moaned inwardly and thought,
very
nice.

“Seven o’clock?”

Doubt swam through her chest. “Seven
o’clock.”

Chapter Nineteen

Standing before the full-length mirror in her
bedroom, Sydney deliberated over the white denim skirt and black
tank. Cut into a V across her chest, form-fitted along her
waistline, she wondered if it might be too revealing. She turned
and assessed her appearance. Everything changed after the kiss
today. No longer could she pretend her feelings for him. The way
she reacted to him in the park made it quite clear—to both of them.
Uncertainty pulled at her ego. Clay had to know how she felt, at
least assume it. A woman didn’t kiss a man like that if she didn’t
like him—especially in public—unless she wanted more of the
same.

Was she sending the wrong signals? Would Clay
take this dinner to mean he could take it to the next level? Did
she want him to go to the next level? Inspecting the length of her
skirt, the curve of her calves, her quads, she wondered if maybe
she should change. She wanted to be sexy, to feel like the woman
Clay made her to feel, but pivoting on the ball of her foot, she
didn’t want to dress suggestive to the extent that would make him
think she was asking to be seduced. She twisted her lower body to
inspect the rear view then returned to study her body head on. Her
hair was combed long and flat-ironed straight. The gel she used
made it shinier, sleeker. Beneath the panama fan light above, she
thought it really made a difference. It seemed glossy to her. It
was far outside her normal ponytail. She wondered what Clay would
think. Would he care? Would he even notice?