Mad Love (11 page)

“Depends on whether or not I like the question.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Try me.”

“Alright. So tell me everything.” Since this has been a day of unexpected daring, why not continue?

His finger traces a path up my stomach toward the valley between my breasts. My eyes close in response. “You have to ask a specific question.”

“I can’t concentrate when you do that.” Clayton leans down and licks the path his finger had traced. I let out a moan.

“What would you like to know?” he whispers as he kisses my stomach and places his cheek against it. “You have beautiful, soft skin, you know.”

What was I going to ask him? He’s doing this on purpose. I know it and he knows it. I try to remain immune. But it’s like he’s got this magic spell that makes me incapable of rational thought.

“Who are you?” I finally say.

“Clayton Astor Sinclair.” He kisses my stomach, licks a spot, then blows on it.

“Sounds important.” I can feel his smile.

“It’s just a name.”

“It suits you.”

“I kind of like it myself,” he says teasingly.

Okay, next question Sophie.

“What do you do for a living that you can afford all of this?”

“I’m in the shipping business.”

I try to move so I can look at his face while I ask him these questions, but he won’t allow it.

“No moving. You’re trapped now.”

Trust me, I don’t mind.

“You own your company.” It’s a statement. I just say it out loud to confirm what I already know.

“Yes.”

“How old are you?” He’s so young to have such wealth at his disposal.

“Thirty-four.” He looks younger. That’s an eleven-year age difference. I didn’t quite expect that but then, I kind of like it. It means he’s played the field, done his thing, and should kind of know what he wants, right? At least according to Dr. Phil.

“When’s your birthday?”

He laughs. “November. Do you think I’m too old for you?” Before I can answer, his hand moves beneath my body and holds my behind. “I’m not.”

The sigh that I’ve been trying to contain comes out at that touch.

“You have a great ass, Sophie. In fact, your whole body is exquisite.” Lord, does he know what to say to make a girl swoon. I’m putty in his hands.

“You’re trying to distract me again.” My eyes open and I look up at him and suck in my breath. His head hovers above me, his hands touching me the most intimately anyone ever has in my life. And yet it feels so natural.

He takes my breath away.

“Don’t you want to know me too?” His eyes darken with passion as he moves above me, letting his body settle over mine. Skin against skin. Heat, sizzling heat consumes me. He holds his upper body above mine so he can look down at me but still let me feel the size of him, the difference in our bodies. And the proof that he’s just as attracted to me as I am to him.

Holy hell, we’ll never fit.

My eyes close in embarrassment at this intimacy. He’s so hard against me that it ignites something within me I can’t control. I can feel myself getting wet just from him moving up against my bathing suit.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

I hesitate.

“Now.”

My eyes open and I stare right up at him. His bright blue gaze is penetrating, daring me to hide. Yet while he wants me to bare my soul to him, I know he still holds back from me. The clouds are there, the layers that have to be carefully peeled away. There’s a storm residing in him, something so complicated and dangerous I’m almost scared to touch it.

“I see your innocence,” he says.

“Because you know I don’t have experience.”

“No. It’s not about that. There’s a softness that radiates from every part of you. A genuine sweetness of your soul. It’s all there in your eyes.” He touches my face, gently, almost reverently, when he says this.

“Do you know what I see?” My voice is husky with emotion from the praise he just gave me.

“Definitely not innocence.”

His words make my heart ache for him.

“I see a handsome, complicated man.” I know my words affect him because he actually closes his eyes.

“Open your eyes.” I throw his words back at him.

He does, and for a second I see the sadness there before he leans down to consume me. My legs part for him, allowing him to fit between them, his hardness pressing against me is both exciting and terrifying. His hands move into my hair and he kisses me completely, devouring me. My mouth gladly welcomes the assault and I think I’ve died and gone to heaven from the feeling of pure pleasure I get just by kissing this man. My hands move over his bare shoulders down his back, exploring the perfection that is his body. I feel like I’m touching gold.

Clayton responds to my touch by tearing his mouth away from mine and tracing kisses down my neck, toward my breasts. In a second, my bikini top is pulled down and I have no time to think of embarrassment because his mouth covers my breast and licks and pulls.

“Oh my God.” I can feel a pressure start to build and I want to scream in satisfaction.

“You’re so innocent,” he whispers as he continues to make love to my breasts with his hands and mouth. “So lovely.” My hands move into his hair and I grasp his head, never wanting him to stop. His breath is warm against my skin as he continues the sweet torture. He stops for a moment and looks up at me.

“I want you.”

I can’t breathe. I’m so unnerved by the intensity I hear in his voice that I have to close my eyes against it.

“Sophie. Look at me.”

I do.

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

I believe him.

Something inside tells me to trust him. I know all the signs lead to playing it slow, getting to know him, but I don’t care. I know we’re both on vacation and we live in two different countries and this could quite possibly become the greatest heartache for me, but there’s a part of me that also thinks it could be the greatest joy. I feel like it’s right. And if I’m honest, I have from the moment I first laid eyes on him.

My hand moves of its own accord to caress his cheek, then my finger moves over to brush his lips. I watch his eyes close again.

“I don’t know why, but I trust you,” I say, and I hear his sharp intake of breath as he rolls off my body and pulls me into his arms. He buries his head in my neck and hair and just breathes in deeply. I’m enveloped by him, held so tightly in his arms that I can barely move, but I love it. I couldn’t imagine being in a better place.

I hold him just as fiercely.

And I never want to let go.

Clayton and I are now lying side by side, facing one another. A long while has passed.

“Your accent is funny.”

He looks offended by my comment and I hurry to smooth over my faux pas.

“I don’t mean it like that. I mean it doesn’t quite sound English.” A brow goes up.

“It is English. My father is from England; my mother is American. I grew up splitting my time between two worlds and trying to assimilate by blending in. This accent is the result.”

“Well, it’s really hot,” I say, hoping to appease him. From his quick smile, I know that I have.

“Thank you.”

Since he brought his parents up, I latch on and ask away. “So your parents are divorced?” As quickly as the words are out, Clayton’s demeanor changes. He’s on guard again.

“No. They live separate lives. It is a marriage of convenience.” He says this indifferently.

I wonder whose convenience, but I wisely choose to keep my mouth shut and just utter, “Oh.”

This makes me sad for him. It must have been hard growing up like that. Tossed between two countries. Parents who didn’t love each other but were still married. I experienced the exact opposite. I am suddenly so grateful for the overbearing, loving home environment my parents made me suffer through. What if I had grown up like Clayton? I shiver at the thought.

“You don’t approve?” Clayton asks softly.

The way he enunciates his words ruffles my feathers. I can hear the snooty tone in his voice. The kind of tone I heard his friends use the night before when they were talking about something that they clearly didn’t like. It’s obvious that it’s an upper-class English way of speaking.

I shrug my shoulders. “No. But to each his own.”

“You definitely disapprove.” He seems amused by this. He probably thinks I’m so naïve. But, seriously? I voice my opinion.

“I can’t help the way I feel. That has to be hard on a child. There are ramifications. Scars that don’t easily heal.”

“Are you going to quote Sigmund Freud now?” He says teasingly.

I rise to the challenge. “Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise.”

Clayton smiles. “Didn’t he also say that words have magical power? They can either bring the greatest happiness, or deepest despair.”

“He did,” I say.

“Then choose your words wisely.”

The sting I feel from his comment is diminished when he reaches out and brushes my hair away from my cheek. Yes, that’s how easy I am around him.

“You’re beautiful, Sophie. Tell me about you.”

I have a feeling that I’m not quite as interesting.

“But we’re not done with you.”

“There’s plenty of time to get back to me and psychoanalyze my childhood. Now it’s your turn.”

“I’m an open book,” I say nonchalantly.

“I doubt that.”

“I really am. It’s almost a problem. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I don’t know how to hide what I feel. If I do try to pretend, the truth eventually ends up erupting out of me like a volcano. I can’t seem to help myself,” I confess softly. If Erik were here he could give him a million examples.

“I wish I could be more diplomatic. But I can’t control my emotions,” I finish.

“I like that. It’s so different from what I’m used to,” he responds.

Right.

The women he’s been around are all like Jane and Elizabeth. Refined, posh, and perfect. Contained. I’m just the opposite. Well, I like to think of myself as somewhat refined. Posh? Not so much. Contained? My dad, Erik, Orie, the list is endless, would laugh in my face if I tried to get away with that adjective to describe myself.

“I can see every thought on your face. It’s fascinating,” Clayton says as he studies my reactions.

“I don’t know how to hide who I am or what I feel.”

“I don’t want you to.”

I feel myself flushing. He looks like he wants to kiss me again.

“You’re dangerous,” I blurt out.

Clayton’s eyes widen at my words but he doesn’t deny them. “I am. I’m glad you know it.”

He’s admitting it. He’s actually
warning
me. Oh crap.
Does this mean you’re going to break my heart?
I’m suddenly overcome with fear. This is a man who could destroy me. Break me into a million pieces, irrevocably ruin me for a long time.

I sit up quickly and am mortified to find my bikini top still down, my breasts out in plain view. I see the desire flash in his eyes. I blush and stand up, turning away from him so he can’t see any more than my bikini-clad bottom.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to meet Erik and Orie. They’ll be worried,” I lie quickly. I need to get away from him. He’s like a drug. And I’m afraid the more time I
spend around him, the more addicted I’ll become, and then when it’s done I won’t know how to survive.

“Sophie—“ He gets up as well but I practically run out of his room toward the front door of the villa. But when I put my hand on the doorknob and think I’m home free, Clayton places his hand above mine, holding the door shut. Shit, he’s fast.

“Sophie. Turn around.” Why I turn around is beyond me. Being in such close proximity to Clayton is a hazard to my health. I look up at him and try to act brave.

“I’m not letting you run away.”

I’m about to tell him that I’m not running but I can’t even bring myself to say the lie. Instead I choose truth.

“I’m scared.” Then I’m more blunt. “You scare me.”

His hand is still above me, resting on the door, his body leaning in toward mine. I know my words hurt him because I can see it on face.

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“But you do. How you make me feel. It’s disturbing and overwhelming. And it’s exciting. All these emotions, all at once, vacillating back and forth. One minute I’m okay and the next I’m scared of how I feel all this so fast. And now I feel like you’re warning me. And I don’t understand it.” I let everything come out. “I’m not like you. I’ve never felt like this before. It might be my immaturity or inexperience, I don’t know. But I don’t know how to handle it. And I just need to breathe again. Without you distracting me.”

How in holy hell this has become so heavy so suddenly, I have no idea. I just met Clayton and there’s so much between us already.

He stares at me hard and I stop breathing again. If he kisses me, I’m done. I know it. He knows it. But he doesn’t try. Instead, he turns the doorknob and opens the door for me.

“The last thing I want to do is frighten you.” He’s back to being aloof again. It’s crazy to think that two minutes ago he was being so loving and considerate toward me. I can’t let him think that he frightens me in a scary serial-killer way, so I reach out and gently touch his face.

“Don’t.
You
don’t frighten me.”

“Didn’t you just say I do?” he asks in a dangerously soft voice. “You told me that I scare you.”

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“Then what exactly do you mean?”

“This is new to me. All of it. I’m experiencing something that I don’t fully understand. It’s the unknown that scares me. I just … I’m trying to rationalize it all in my head and I keep talking myself in circles and—“

He stops me from finishing my sentence by grabbing me and pulling me close to him.

“Stop talking.”

I nod okay.

“I’m going to let you go and think about all this. You can analyze it as much as your pretty mind would like. But I already know what the outcome will be. And if you’re honest, so do you.” His voice is commanding. I know he’s not happy with me, or with how I’m running away, so I wisely choose not to speak.

“You can have this afternoon to yourself or with your friends. Whatever you choose. But it’s your last without me.”