Mad Love (28 page)

I am frozen in awe of her, but then my eyes zoom into her arm, which is wrapped around Clayton’s like some kind of sexy python. With her perfect white teeth gleaming, she throws her head back in gales of laughter
at whatever clever thing he’s just said, and the familiarity between them is utterly nauseating.

And then a thought explodes in my brain like a firework on the Fourth of July: he’s sleeping with her. Or, at the very least, he
has
slept with her. Probably a thousand times. It’s clear. Oh God, I’m going to puke.

Sheila walks in behind them smiling like a well-fed cat and looks over at me and practically shrugs her shoulders as if to say,
Sorry!
That bitch. I picture myself throwing her over the side of the yacht. Is this woman the “piece of art” she wanted to show Clayton? I feel like someone just punched me right in the gut.

I wonder how quickly the helicopter can take me back to the resort. Hell, how far away can it take me so I can run away and just forget that I ever thought for a second that
Lord
Clayton Astor Sinclair could possibly be mine.

My body tenses up and I turn abruptly. I’ve got to get out of here. I need … Erik and Orie each take an arm, holding me still.

“What the fuck is that face?” Erik whispers down at me, his eyes worried.

I’m so happy there’s soft music in the background and people are talking loudly, paying attention to their own conversations and not ours.

“Air. I need air. Now,” I manage to croak out, and the two guide me out the door, which thankfully go in the opposite direction from where Clayton is standing with Miss Universe, and onto the deck. I take deep, deep breath, clench my fists, and beg myself to get a grip. Why? Why does she have to be here right now and ruin this for me? Why am I letting her make me feel inferior? But I mean, seriously, she could make a supermodel hate herself.

“Talk to me, Goose,” Erik demands as I and suck in the night air trying my hardest not to act so obvious.

But I can’t form a sentence. Not yet.

“I don’t mean to take away from what’s obviously a serious situation but Sophie is so
not
Goose. if anything, she’s Maverick and
you’re
Goose,” Orie breaks the silence.

“So I’m the one who can’t eject himself from the seat in time?” Erik sounds annoyed.

“Yeah, I guess. If you want to put it like that.”

“That’s so fucked that you think so little of me.” Erik goes on.

“Erik, we’re talking about
Top Gun
,
a movie
,” Orie returns. “Why do you have to be so
dramatique
all the time?”

“Art imitates real life,” Erik says. “And I’m offended you think I’m Goose when I’m
so
Maverick. Or maybe even Ice-Man.”

Before Orie can comment—

“Did you see her?!” I blurt out, interrupting a conversation I know they will no doubt pick up again as I turn to face them. “That … that … Helena Christensen doppelganger?”

I’m sure my face is pale, my insecurity written all over it. Erik knows me better than anyone.

Both guys look instantly pissed off. What the hell?

“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Erik snaps.

Orie takes the calmer, gentler approach as he always does, and brushes back my long hair. At least her hair is shorter. It seemed thin, too. Good! A flaw! Surely there are more. Right?

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Erik looks horrified at the thought.

He quickly turns to Orie and orders, “Inside. Shots. Tequila. Pronto.” Orie doesn’t argue and runs inside.

“I can’t do tequila. I’ll get sick.”

“Well, sick is better than acting like a crazy lady because Clayton is talking to some other woman,” Erik says in a disappointed voice. “Jesus Sophie, for a second I thought something was really wrong with you!”

I stifle a laugh.

“She’s not some other woman. Don’t you dare lie to me to make me feel better! I’m not blind, for Christ’s sake. She’s fucking stunning.”

“And?”

“She’s perfect!”

“And?”

I’m suddenly furious at him. “And? And? What else would you like me to say? They know each other! Like … really know each other. As in they’ve probably slept together.”

“Slept.” Erik shrugs. “So what? Who fucking cares? You knew he was bound to have exes. Get over it.”

“Fine, but how could I ever compete with
that
?” I whisper, hating my weakness and self-doubt. I’m a hot mess.

“Compete? What are you talking about?
You have him
!” Erik practically shouts at me. The door rattles and we look over to see Orie walk out with three shot glasses and a bottle of DeLeón Tequila. Lord, he brought the entire bottle.

“What did I miss?” he demands as he reaches us.

“I was just getting to the best part,” Erik tells him as Orie pours.

“Our koo-koo bird here thinks she’s got to compete with that creepy Amazon inside the yacht.”

Orie laughs, looking completely relieved. “That’s hilarious.”

Okay, obviously they did not truly take in the goddess-like woman with her body entwined with Clayton’s like some kind of succubus. That, or they just weren’t paying attention.

“She has some mother eff’ing crazy eyes.” Orie says.

“Fatal attraction written all over her.” Am I missing something? Erik turns to me as Orie hands us shots.

“Take it. Now.”

I close my eyes, hold my breath, and swig the tequila. Holy shit! I cough, suck on the lime he hands me, and try to get a grip. The drink warms me from the inside out. I watch in horror as Orie pours another. I firmly shake my head no.

“Don’t even start with me, Sophie Walker. You will take as many goddamn shots as I say, and you will listen to me and listen to me good. Comprendez?” Erik orders as he puts his hand on his hip and faces me. I can only nod. “First, you’re crazy. Second, that bitch inside might be crazier than you. Third, you’re stunning and Clayton knows it. You put her beauty queen looks to shame. She’s taller than you, that’s all! And we’ve already
discussed how you can fix that! Clayton’s had his eyes on you the whole night. Every single goddamn time I look at him, he’s staring at you, eating you up. No doubt pissed off about the length of your dress … ”

“How did you know that?” I ask in shock, but unable to disguise the delight I feel from the other things he said. Orie hands us each a second shot.

“Babe, we’re men. We saw his face when you did the turn for us back at the villa. He was fucking pissed. But you should have seen it when that weirdo Tom was talking to you; he looked like he was going to kill him with his bare hands,” Orie tells me with a smile.

“He did?” Hope blooms.

“Yeah. He did. He wants to take you by the hand,” Orie continues, “get the hell out of Dodge, and have his way with you, but he’s trying to keep it under control here.” He lifts his shot glass and we do it again.

Holy mother of God! I have to bend over. The burning heat from the tequila moves through me like liquid fire.

I hear Orie start to pour another.

“I can’t,” I tell him. “I’m gonna die.” Or throw up. I back away slowly, hoping they won’t make me take down another shot.

“She’s good,” Erik tells Orie as he examines my face.

I’m already feeling warm and totally buzzed from the champagne, which is now definitely being amplified by the tequila. I smile at them in gratitude.

“I love you guys. Thanks for always taking care of me. You’re the bestest.” I’m slurring, and I know it. But it’s kinda funny.

“Christ. Did we give her too much, Erik?” Orie asks in concern, as he looks me over.

“No. She’ll be fine. She looks sexy. She’s got the alcohol-induced flush and those fuck-me eyes. He’s gonna die.” Erik rubs his hands together in excitement.

He is? I’m not sure if I believe him. Orie primps my hair, Erik smoothes out my dress, pulls it down farther in the back, and then tells me to pucker my lips so Orie can put some clear lip gloss on me. I smile at them both when they step away. I feel good. Really good. My body is humming inside.

“You’ve been out here for a long time,” I hear Clayton say in his husky way.

Crap. There goes my buzz. Not really, but slightly. He makes his way over to the three of us and takes in the scene. Orie’s holding the tequila bottle and three glasses, and I know he understands what’s just gone down. His gaze finds mine and I’m suddenly overcome with longing. He takes in my, according to Erik and Orie, “wanton” appearance and his eyes glow with desire. I feel warm all over because he wants me. This, I do know.

“Is it hot in here?” I ask out loud to no one in particular.

Erik and Orie find my comment vastly amusing.

“We’re outside, girl,” Orie answers as he grabs hold of Erik’s hand. “But it has gotten rather hot suddenly. I think it’s all the energy here. We’ll just go inside and wait for you two.”

They run off, abandon me actually, and I’m left alone facing Clayton, who’s holding a glass of scotch in one hand and looking me over possessively.

“Are you still mad?” I ask.

He smiles tightly. “What do you think?”

I cross my arms.

“Well, good, because so am I.”

“And what are you mad about, Sophie?” he asks curiously.

I gather courage and tell him.

“First of all, do you think running off into Sheila Remington’s room to check out a piece of art is an appropriate thing to do when you’ve brought a date with you?” I ask him, finding myself really angry all of a sudden. “I might not be your girlfriend, Clayton, but you did invite me to this damn yacht, and you should have the decency to show me that small respect.”

His eyes narrow and he takes a minute before puts his drink down, then starts to stalk me in that wolfish way of his. Since I’m already at the railing and there’s nowhere for me to go, I hold my ground. He comes up on me, putting a hand on either side of the railing, then closing in so he can pull me close. His fingers caress the skin of my lower back.

“Please.” I roll my eyes at him, my desire temporarily cooled by my anger.

“You’re wrong. If you’re not my girlfriend, then what are you?”

Fuck buddy? Vacation … sex … friend?

“I honestly don’t know.”

He looks frustrated by me. “Sophie, you
are
my girlfriend. I didn’t think you needed me to tell you.”

I feel my chest, neck, and cheeks instantly flush, and my knees literally go weak. I lower my eyes for a second, trying to hide the pure unadulterated pleasure I feel from his words.

“And you’re right. I shouldn’t have gone with Sheila, but her husband is my client and I had no choice. But you’re really testing me, Sophie.”

“How am I testing you?” I ask, and I don’t have to wait long for the answer.

“I’m furious with you, and with myself, for this lack of control I seem to have with you. This is new for me,” he says, clearly feeling unnerved. “And I hate the thought of any man ogling you, lusting after what is mine.”

I melt into him, holding on to his shirt, his body against his. His arms hold me close. We look into each other’s eyes.

“I just have one more question. Who’s the Amazon?” I ask softly.

He looks confused for a second then gives a small, serious smile.

“Amelia.”

My heart thumps in my chest.

“And?”

“And what?” He definitely looks uncomfortable. I try to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let me; in fact, he holds me tighter.

“I can see, Clayton. The way she was clinging to you. And looking at you, hanging on every word that came out of your mouth,” I say. “You guys know each other, or at least
knew
each other. And it seems like she’s still into you.” I know I’ve revealed a lot to him, and made myself vulnerable.

He stares at me for a long while, as if deciding whether he should tell me the truth. I can tell that he doesn’t want to have this conversation at all. What man would?

“What exactly are you asking, Sophie?” I know it’s crystal clear what I’m asking so I guess he’s trying to prolong the inevitable.

“Did you date her?” This is code for
did you sleep with her
, which I don’t have the balls to ask.

“What does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know,” I tell him stubbornly. “I want to know if that beauty queen in there had been in all the same intimate scenarios with you as I have.”

He silently stares at me, probably cursing the fact that he brought me with him tonight. I’ve blown it. But I go on.

“You get to ask me anything. You get to ask me about my past, about Jerry, about everything. Can’t I have the answer to this one question?” Wow, I said that pretty well. And not a tear in sight. Must be the tequila.

“Amelia and I dated.” His voice is reserved. The last thing he wants to do is give in to me. But he has no choice because the logic I’ve used is undeniable. He can’t have it just one way. He has to give me this.

“When?”

“We broke up last month.”

And I’ve just sustained another punch (maybe a kick this time) right to the gut. I can feel the acid rising in my esophagus—I seriously might vomit this time. My entire body tightens up with nerves, and I try to pull away from him, but then I remember … even though it seems like an eternity ago, Jerry and I broke up even more recently than that. Still. It’s different. I never touched Jerry. We were never intimate. Oh my God. What if I’m a rebound?

“How long did you date?” I go on.

He sighs loudly.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“A year.”

A whole year? It hits me hard. Fuck. He brought
her
to the Maldives on vacation. He brought
her
to that villa he’s staying in. To that bed. This time last year, she was in his arms. He grabs my chin and forces me to look
at him. My gaze can barely focus on his, as I try to get a grip on my raging emotions.

“She didn’t mean anything to me. It was convenient. If I actually saw her during that year, it would never have lasted longer than a month. But I was traveling a lot and she was always off on modeling jobs. We never saw each other.”
Model. I knew it!