Whisper Privileges (29 page)

Shallow breaths erupted into a giggle. As
though she’d show up with anything but for a first date.
Or was
it their second
? It felt like the first because it was the
first time he had picked her up, but technically, she guessed it
was their second. Or third. Lunch rolled into the mix and she
couldn’t recall how many times they’d been together.

Clay slid his hand back up to the now raised
skirt hem and Sydney tensed. He fiddled with the hem, grazed over
the rear of her thigh. When she didn’t protest, he snuck his
fingers beneath the material. Her downy flesh turned raging
inferno. He moved back and forth in a subtle tease and whispered
close to her ear, “How do you feel?”

Like I can’t breathe
.

“You okay?” he feathered the words over her
skin.

A column of tingles shot in both directions
as she nodded.

“Do you know what I want to do to you right
now?” Based on where things were going, she could only imagine. “I
want to see you. See what you’re wearing under this skirt.” He
kissed her full on the mouth, snaked his fingers along the line of
her hem, skimmed the back of her thighs. She thought he might push
his way in, but he didn’t, as if purposely causing her to linger in
doubt.

And she pulsated with want.

Clay leaned back on the couch, pulling her
with him. Wearing only a thong, she visualized the sight she must
be, completely exposed for his touch. Nothing prevented Clay from
an unimpeded touch. Ripples of sensation thundered through her
loins. Drawing her face to his for another satiny kiss, he ran a
hand over the curve of her rear and sighed. “Watching you play
volleyball that first day, I knew it was all over.”

The skimpy uniform. The gawk factor.
Charlie’s image popped into her mind’s eye and she flushed it away
just as quickly. He had no business here.

“It’s perfect. Even better in a thong.” He
fingered the vertical band and asked, “Did you wear them for
me?”

They were her underwear of choice, man or no
man. But the fact that he was feeling them—caressing them—made her
squirm. “If you’d like to think so, then yes.”

He replied with a wicked grin. “Oh you taunt
me, Ms. Flores.” Abandoning her rear, he moved her back to his side
and placed his mouth beneath her ear. “I want to feel you melt
beneath my fingers. Stroke you until you beg me to stop.” His hot
tongue licked the lobe of her ear. “Then I want to run my tongue
over you, your entire body.”

She closed her eyes and envisioned him doing
just that. The relief it would bring…the release... She ached for
it. Low in her belly, she yearned for him to plunge forward, take
her right now, right here. Clay muttered something into her chin,
his lips creating a soft hum of vibration, but it was nothing she
could understand. She only knew her skirt was up, her panties
available for the taking.

Would he? Would he run his fingers over her,
dip inside and discover exactly what his nearness did to her?

Encircling her arms around him, she immersed
herself in the feel of him, the prominent muscles of his back.
Shudders of delight poured through her as he brushed his lips over
cheek, nibbled her lower lip, then slid his lips back and forth
across hers. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the soft
layers of hair, enfolded his head within her arms. Clay kissed her
cheek, the line of her jaw. Ducked down to lick the curve of her
throat, then back up, sucking her ear lobe fully into his mouth.
Her breasts throbbed in response. She wanted to tear the clothes
from her chest so he could suck the knot from her nipples—

She gasped. Her eyes burst open as he grabbed
hold of her head and tore into her with everything he had. She
kissed back as hard and deep as she could, but it was like they
couldn’t get enough of each other, couldn’t get inside each other
quickly enough, deep enough. Abruptly, he pulled back. Clay held
her face inches away and steadied his gaze. “You don’t know what
you’re doing to me,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “I want
you so bad right now I could...”

Gazing up at him, need straddled the calm of
restraint. Clay was patient, a gentleman—none of which he resembled
at the moment—but he was also a hot-blooded man, the rock of his
desire unmistakable against her thigh. She nodded. Yes. Sydney
wanted to feel him inside her. Needed it.

Clay’s smile slipped into his eyes first,
then spread across his face until pleasure pulled his mouth into
the most incredibly sexy grin she had ever seen. But it was the
element of naughty mischief that warned he was preparing to subject
her to lascivious deeds.

Sydney’s heart hammered. Locked within the
frame of his body, she realized she couldn’t move.
What exactly
did he have in store for her
?

But his manner softened. He brushed his hands
over her hair, moved it from her neck and shoulders. He tracked the
line of her collarbone, her shoulder, then slowly made his way to
her front. Her chest. A shock of gooseflesh scurried across her
skin. Clay didn’t touch her breasts. He lingered in the space just
above her tank top. She held her breath as she watched him stare at
her chest, caress her with the pad of his fingers then a light
brush of his fingernails. “Your skin is incredibly soft.” He
touched her lips. “And you’re a good kisser.”

“I have a good partner.”

Drawing his fingers up and across her
cheekbone he replied softly, “I like the sound of that.”

So did she.

Clay tickled the tendrils of hair encircling
her ear and lowering his gaze to her mouth, his eyes seemed to take
on a serene quality. His breathing had slowed, his features
stilled. She waited for him to dip his head down, but he didn’t. He
simply stared. If the man was trying to make her cry “uncle” he was
doing a damned good job.

“Do you know how attracted I am to you?”

If his compliments were any indication, she
had an idea.

“I want to explore every inch of you…” his
expression suddenly blazed, “with my tongue.”

She gulped. He cupped her chin and kissed her
tenderly, a stark contrast to the need burning hot and fluid in his
eyes—and between her thighs. As though reading her mind, he dropped
a hand to her hip. Roaming a bit over and between her legs, he
separated them and went straight for her panties. He idly rubbed
her mound, sending hot waves of thrill straight to her core. Sydney
closed her eyes and relaxed into him. She wanted to submerge
herself in the pleasure of his touch, the wanton way he lingered
and played. Nestling his head against hers, Clay gingerly moved his
fingertips over and around her. “You feel nice,” he murmured
through her hair.

Sydney knew if he asked, she’d spread her
legs wide open, right now, right here. She’d let Clay do whatever
he wanted. His hand paused and he spoke in a guttural whisper,
“
Can I taste you
?”

Her toes curled.

The ring of his phone stopped her cold.

Chapter Twenty-One

Clay paused, surprised by the sound of his
phone. He reached for it as though it were a foreign object and
pressed the answer button. “Hello?” Concern rippled across his
features. “I’ll be right there.” He ended the call and turned to
her.

Her heart pounded. “What is it?”

“Q isn’t feeling well.”

Stunned, she asked, “Is he sick?”

“Don’t know. Coach says it’s his
stomach.”

Sydney hated the faraway gaze that seized
hold of him. She tried to pull him back, to bridge the gap between
the moments leading up to the call and the harsh reality where he
now stood. “Could it be a case of the nerves?”

“Could be.” He dragged his gaze back to hers.
“But Q’s never gotten sick over nerves.”

“Maybe it’s because these are national
events,” she offered, mindful that their bodies were practically
entwined.

“Maybe.” He tried to smile but fell miserably
short. “Listen, I’m really sorry...” He cast a gaze about her
living room and mumbled, “but I have to go.”

“Of course.” Instinctively she pulled her leg
from his and tugged at the hem of her skirt. “Your son needs you.
You have to go.”

“Thanks for understanding.” He managed a weak
smile. “It makes it easier to tear myself away from you.”

She appreciated the feeble attempt at
flirtation when it was clear his brain had already changed channels
and moved on. “I think you’ll survive.”

Clay stood. Sydney stood with him. Clasping
her face within his hands, he kissed her softly on the lips. His
eyes searched hers. “See you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” She walked him to the door, her body
clamoring—demanding—for more of his touch, his mouth, his presence.
But she knew it would not come. Not tonight, anyway. She gave him
her best smile. “Give Q my best.”

“I will.”

“Hope he feels better.”

“He will. Mild case of the nerves, that’s
all.”

The nerves you discounted only moments ago?
But Sydney remained silent on the subject. Rushing to the aid of
his son was all that mattered at the moment. The reason why could
be hashed out later. Leaning against the doorframe, Sydney watched
as Clay hurried down the path to his parents’ car. Respect welled
deep within. He didn’t hesitate, not for a second. His son needed
him and he was gone. Dropping her hand along the door’s edge, she
longed for the same devotion. Someone to be concerned with her
welfare the way Clay was concerned with Q’s. Living alone, she had
only herself to rely upon. Sure she had friends and family nearby,
any of whom she could call in the case of an emergency. But a
nervous belly?

There was no one to hold her hand. Her
pathetic performance at opening ceremonies came to mind. Case in
point. Who could she go to that would understand her fears? No one.
And when she failed, who had been there to pick her up? The answer
fell like a sledgehammer.
Clay
.

She heard the engine gun to life. The car
leapt from the curb. Clay. She tried to purge the burning desire to
call him back, the wish that it were she he was racing to help. But
trailing his taillights into the night, she knew it wasn’t to be.
Clay was going to his son. He was caring for the boy who depended
upon him, needed him.

If only she had given him a hug. A simple hug
to let him know she cared and was there for him. Appreciated that
he was there for his son. But there was no time. When the red
lights of his car disappeared, she closed the door. Like the good
father that he was, Clay rushed to his son’s aid. Picking up the
near full glasses, she walked into the kitchen, a part of her
thoughts still chasing after his car. If only Clay didn’t live so
far away. If only he lived here. Then maybe, one day he could be
rushing back for her.

# # #

Sydney showered early and swung by the pool
first thing. She wanted to check on Q, on Clay. After a restless
night of crazy dreams filled with making love to Clay, sailing,
riding motorcycles along the rocky coastline, picnics in the park
by the crash of sea, she wanted to be near him. She had no idea
where these dream scenes took place, only that they were vivid. So
vivid, she could taste him and smell him, feel the hot muffler of
her bike, the salty spray of wind as it blew through their sails.
But dreams were funny that way. One minute you’re in one scene, the
next minute another, drifting, loving, living on nothing but a
whim.

Swinging open the door to the pool complex,
she breezed past the information desk and straight into the open
deck. Met by the familiar wet scent of pool chlorine, she looked
for signs of Q’s team. Heading for the first group of red T-shirts,
she realized it was Oklahoma, not South Carolina. She stopped,
looked around, sidestepping a gaggle of youngsters hurrying across
the slick surface. Shooting an eye toward their feet, she worried
they might slip if they didn’t slow down. The group hurried on and
she searched for South Carolina. In the corner, Sydney caught sight
of Clay standing on the opposite end of the pool, a line of
swimmers splashing by him.
Thought she caught sight of him
.
The man was talking to a very attractive blonde. When he turned,
her heart jumped into her throat. It was Clay. But who was
she
?

Shrieks of excitement erupted in the stands.
The horn sounded. Fans cheered. Another race had come to a finish.
But she saw none of it, riveted on Clay and the woman. Her desire
to see him shriveled. Was she a parent? A staff member with the
Special Olympics? A nurse? Not dressed in short shorts and high
heels, she wasn’t. Her snug-fitting halter top was even more
revealing, outlining an ample chest and tapered waist.

Turning away, impulse propelled Sydney to
retreat. The sight of Clay and the other woman was jarring. But
misgiving gnawed. She was here to check on Q, to make sure he was
okay. She stole a quick glance back at Clay and the blonde and
thought,
did she really want to insert herself between those
two
? The woman laughed.

No. The answer was emphatically no. Could she
call to check on Q? No. Clay would question why she didn’t stop by
in person.

Sydney looked around the pool deck and
scraped her brain for something to do—until the woman left Clay’s
side. Toilet paper? Water? Surely someone was in desperate need of
something that needed to be done this very instant. Yet no one
seemed to notice her. Swimmers were holed up with their teams,
spectators were focused on the swimmers, volunteers were busy with
their duties. The air reeked of chlorine, floors pooled with water.
Unable to conjure up a single viable distraction, Sydney found
herself drawn back to the woman with Clay.

Shaking lazy curls from her face, she leaned
toward Clay as he pointed at a swimmer, pulling Sydney’s gaze in
the direction of his finger. It was the boy that almost beat Q the
other day. His neon green goggles were unmistakable. Maybe Clay was
telling her about the race.