Mad Love (19 page)

All mine,
I think.

For now, at least.

11

The noise of the shower brings me back to reality and I finally have a second to take it all in. I’m not a virgin anymore. I can’t believe I’ve had sex … and with an enigmatic, smart, alluring stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Damn; I wish I could call Erik and Orie or text them—something! They must be dying. I can’t even begin to imagine the kind of stories they’re concocting in their heads. None of which could possibly come close to reality.

I gingerly move out of bed, wrapping the sheet around my body to cover my nudity, and I’m happy to see that the discomfort isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I look back on the bed and see the small drops of blood on the sheets, more evidence that I’m no longer a virgin. Right there, plain as day for everyone to see. And by everyone, I mean him.

I look around for a clean set of sheets, hoping I will find something before he gets out of the shower. My search takes me to the giant armoire in the living area. The view holds me captive for a moment. In the light of day, it is bewitching. We have a large deck that sits on the white sand beach. It is a cloudless day and the sea is so calm it looks like glass. I actually can’t wait to get in and do some snorkeling. Knee deep, of course.

I open the armoire and am happy to find many sets of clean sheets. The resort is obviously well prepared, and I am so thankful for it. I hurry back to the bedroom and almost trip over myself when I see Clayton standing there with a white towel wrapped around his narrow waist. His golden skin is a mouth-watering contrast to the towel, his broad chest still glistens with drops of water, and it’s all I can do to keep my mouth from popping open in utter lust.

He brushes his wet hair away from his forehead, looks toward the bed, then back at me. My flush of embarrassment is instant.

“Let me take that.”

I think my toes even blush.

“I’ve got it,” I croak out.

“Sophie, I’ll take care of it. Take a shower, relax.” He walks toward me. I step back, holding the sheets in front of me like a shield.

“I’ve got this.”
It’s my blood!
I shout to myself.
My
innocence, lost on the bed!

“No.” He reaches me, shiny with water and so damn handsome that I’m practically limp, and takes the sheets from me. “Take your time, sweetheart. Let me do this.” Oh. There’s another endearment. Sweetheart. God, I love hearing it.

“I’m responsible for that anyway,” he adds.

My eyes close and I lean against the wall, wishing I could just spontaneously combust. I rush past him into the bathroom and shut the door. Once safely inside, I let out a sigh of relief. Lord almighty, my wires get crossed when I’m around him.

I let the sheet fall to the ground and turn to look at myself in the mirror. I don’t look any different.

I’m happy to see that my toiletry bag is sitting on top of the counter. I brush my teeth quickly then grab my shampoo and conditioner and turn on the shower, which could fit ten people. It has multiple showerheads sticking out in every direction, to hit you in every which way possible. And the luxury doesn’t stop there. There’s also an entire dressing room in here, with floor-to-ceiling windows that face the ocean. The bathroom is the size of my bungalow! It’s really quite unbelievable. I can’t even imagine what this place costs.

As Clayton suggests, I take my time in the shower and think about the night before.

His hands. His mouth. His skin. God. I see quick, erotic images of him and in a second I find myself wanting him again. Is it possible? Maybe I’m some sort of sex-deprived person? Well, that shoe certainly fits. Hmmmm. Finally, I force myself to turn the water off and get out. I wrap a large, white, fluffy towel around my body and look around for my bag. It’s neatly placed in the closet of the dressing room. All my belongings have
been unpacked, placed in drawers or hanging in the wardrobe. My things are on one side, Clayton’s are on the other.

I’ve never shared a closet before. With anyone. I lived at home when I went to college and after I graduated I moved out and rented a one-bedroom apartment in Westwood on my own. It’s so strange to see your personal things next to a man’s. It is so very intimate. I find I like it. I hurry and change into a dark blue bikini and throw a matching summer tank dress over it. I walk back into the bathroom and brush my tangled hair. I decide to leave it wet because I know we’re going to go in the ocean, lie in the sun, and who knows what else, but there is definitely no need for me to blow-dry it.

I open my make-up bag, look at myself in the mirror, and pick up my powder brush. I guess I should at least try and be a vixen, even though I have no idea how. I wish Erik and Orie could magically appear and do a once-over on me. Since I know this is not going to happen, I’m left to my own devices. I definitely don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.

The door opens.

It startles me even though I know it’s Clayton. He’s wearing his black swim trunks. No shirt. All that glorious chest there for my perusal. My mouth waters. I wonder if I will ever get used to it. We make eye contact in the mirror.

“You don’t need any of that. Your face is beautiful naturally.” I beg to differ, but I wisely choose not to say anything. And honestly, I am happy that he thinks so.

He comes up behind me and pulls me up against him and I melt. His naked skin burns against mine and I tingle all over from the feeling.

“I was getting worried about you in here.” He nuzzles my neck. His warm skin sends a jolt of electricity up and down my spine.

“You told me to take my time,” I remind him.

“I know. But I find myself getting anxious when you’re not around.”

Laughter escapes me and I raise a teasing brow.

“For the entire two days that you’ve known me?”

Clayton has the decency to look offended.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No.”
Foot in mouth,
Sophie. “I mean, yes.”

Lord.

“I can assure you that I am not a liar. That is a trait I abhor and will not accept in family, friend, or lover.” When he says lover, he looks down at my lips and I watch as his eyes take on that familiar glow. Yes, I guess I am his lover now.

Clayton’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.

“I wanted to be near you from the moment I set eyes on you in the waiting area in Male.”

His words take my breath away. And then there’s the look in his eyes.
That damn look
. And if there was any other doubt in my mind I’d only have to remind myself of all his actions. Yes. It all leads to one glaring truth, Sophie. He likes you. Clearly. But what I don’t understand is
why?
Why does he feel this way about me? What makes me so special? This is a guy who can have anyone in the world. Obviously, money is no object for him, he has the right pedigree, and he happens to be too good looking for words. So why me?

I try to convince myself to stop going down the ugly, self-doubting path. I know how quickly I’m capable of turning all this into something very loathsome when it has been just the opposite. As if he can sense it in me, Clayton quickly turns me in his arms and grasps my chin, forcing me to look up at him. He looks so serious.

“What’s going on in there?”

I know he is referring to the storms he sees. The insecurities, the incidents in my life that left me scarred and thinking that I wasn’t good enough. It is so pathetic that I still think about the rejection I experienced in school. But I do. I was never asked out by the popular guys, in fact,
no one
ever asked me out. No guy I ever secretly had a crush on even gave me the time of day. Watching perfect-looking girls in high school get everything they want was a real confidence destroyer. So I turned that feeling of insecurity into my own kind of armor. Maybe that’s why I never let Jerry in,
or any man for that matter. Or maybe I was just waiting for the right one. The one staring at me in the mirror right now.

I don’t answer him.

“I’m serious, Sophie. I can feel your mind going to all sorts of places, and I can tell they’re not good. We’re going to have to change that about you.”

“Are you clairvoyant or something?” I ask him in amusement, brushing off his comment.

“Maybe. Who knows? But I can just feel you.”

I know
, I think to myself.
I can feel you, too. All around me. Deliciously warm and inviting. And I can read your moods as well
. I wonder what this means. I’m sure Noom would tell me that we have some sort of psychic connection.

Funny, but the thought doesn’t seem so crazy to me now.

“Do you believe me?” His look is serious.

I take a moment.

“I do,” I tell him honestly. “I believe you. But I just … I just don’t understand why.”

Could I sound any more pathetic? Probably not. But I don’t dwell on it because I watch as Clayton frowns at me.

“Were you bullied as a child?” He suddenly asks.

Oh my God he thinks I need therapy.

“No! I just, you know—“

“No, I do not know.”

I don’t think he’s going to let me out of this awkward conversation so I just continue on in my honest way. The only way I know how to be.

“I wasn’t popular in school and so maybe there’s a part of that I carry around with me.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal.

He pulls me close tenderly.

“They were fools,” he whispers. “But I’m happy for it because now I have you.”

I’m glad he’s so happy for it. But I don’t know if I can say the same, especially if I’m reliving it right now.

“So now it’s your turn,” I tell him.

“I just,” he searches for the words then continues on as my mind races in a thousand different directions, “I just felt like I knew you when I saw you. It sounds crazy, but I knew you. I hadn’t even seen your eyes, but I knew what color they would be. I knew your body, your hands, I knew every part of you.”

I’m speechless. It is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me in my life, and it might be totally naïve, but I understand what he means. I get it. When he walked in the waiting room, I felt his energy before I even saw him. I was just drawn to him.

I’m in deep shit now because if I’m honest with myself, I know I’m already half in love with him.

“Sophie?”

“Yes?” I reply.

“Who do you think moved your villa?” He gives me a soft smile.

Wait.

What?

“You changed our villa?” I know he can hear the surprise in my voice.

He doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by this confession.

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.” Why would he move us?
Was this all a ploy?
Within three seconds I’m robbed of my security. I hold my breath in anticipation. I turn in his arms and try to read his face, but he gives me nothing.

“You know why,” he says softly. “I book the villa I’m in and the four bungalows adjoining mine so I’m not disturbed. When I first set eyes on you, I knew I wanted you next to me. I had to know you.”

Hold on a second. There are many things in his statement that need to be addressed.

“You don’t like people?” I ask first.

He laughs, clearly amused. “I enjoy my privacy. I have it so rarely that I guard every private moment I get.”

Okay. That’s fine. Sounds totally normal. I can understand this. Now onto the other point. Is this what happens when he meets a woman he thinks he wants?

I pray I’m wrong.

“Do you always do this sort of thing when you meet someone you want to know?” I regret asking instantly because I think I’ll die if he tells me yes, that it is a common Clayton Astor Sinclair practice.

His face is instantly cloaked in detachment. He’s gone from looking like a considerate, caring lover to a block of ice.

“I don’t know if that comment even deserves an answer.”

It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to tell he’s pissed. And on top of being angry, he’s offended. What he undoubtedly thinks is a romantic gesture, I’ve turned into a tactic.

But I don’t care. I want to know. I deserve to know.

“It really does.”

“My answer won’t change anything.”

“The only thing it doesn’t change is one glaring, obvious thing.” The blush creeps up my cheeks when I mention my virginity, or lack thereof. I wonder when I won’t have this reaction anymore.

I am happy that I’m being so assertive. Score one for Sophie Walker. And let me tell you, this is practically a first. On the other hand, Clayton is not happy.

“You’re still mine.”

God. There he goes with the Neanderthal comments again. The ones that make my toes curl and get me hot and bothered, when they should probably do just the opposite.

I gently move out of his embrace, giving myself a few steps of ground to muster some courage and get a grip on my desire. I put on my best USC Law School, litigating, bad-ass face. And I tell him the truth.

“I don’t belong to any man, Clayton. Least of all a guy I’ve known for a couple of days.”

The atmosphere in the room goes from bad to worse. Picture ominous black clouds spewing thunder and lightning. My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I watch the tsunami get closer to the shore.

“Would you like to take back what you just said, Sophie?” he asks in a dangerously soft voice.

Now he’s
warning me
.

Crap.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do want to take that back
, I shout to myself, panicked by the look in his eyes. But shit. I can’t back down. I just can’t. For some perverse reason I have asked for this. I hope he can’t tell that I’m a little bit afraid. Okay, wary. No. Afraid. Definitely afraid.

“No, Clayton,” I enunciate his name the same way he did mine. “I don’t want to take that back. I belong to no man.”

It takes all my willpower to hold still and act like I don’t care. The last thing I want is to shake like a leaf and ruin my newfound courage. I turn to the mirror and pick a lip gloss from my toiletry bag and carefully dab some on. I can feel him behind me just seething. I wonder if there’s another exit to the bathroom beside the one he’s kind of standing in front of.