13. Fiona
Chapter 13
Fiona
My head spins, but it’s not because of the man twirling me on the dancefloor. Are all of Clay’s friends super hot? Then again, Clay fits right in. The three of them are mouthwateringly attractive, so why does Clay stand out? Why does he consume my thoughts, even when I’m dancing with a guy one thousand percent my type? I’m a sucker for dark-haired muscular men with tattoos who can make me laugh. Wait…did I just describe Clay? Well, he doesn’t have tattoos. I don’t think . So there.
“You’ve got it bad,” Jackson says and I blink up at him.
“Huh?”
“Oh, come on. He was singing just for you. Tell me you didn’t feel that chemistry flowing between you, and I’ll show you a liar.”
Is that what it is? Pure chemistry? That could explain a lot and would help me deal with my tumbled mess of thoughts.
I shrug. “You were right. He’s very talented.”
Jackson blows raspberries. “Stop being ridiculous and grab that man by the balls. Who knows? He might like it.”
I blow raspberries right back at him.
He smirks. “There’s this saying about love and hate. How does it go?”
I press my lips together.
He spins us off the dance floor and guides me towards the bar. “He’s a good man, Fiona. If you push him away, you’ll regret it. I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Stupid sexy cowboy thinks he knows everything. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Anytime, darlin’.” He tips the bill of his ball cap. Clay watches us approach.
“Well, it looks like Jackson is immune to my charms. I’m ready to go home,” I say, and Jackson frowns at me.
Clay glances at his friend, then holds up his beer. “We’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’ll sleep in the car. Keys, please.” I hold out my palm, but he grabs it instead and hauls me to the dance floor.
“Not before we dance.”
“You must be super drunk because I–” The song changes to some angsty ballad I don’t recognize just as we step onto the dance floor and Clay slaps his finger over my mouth. When I only blink up at him, he slides his hand down my neck to my shoulder and places his mouth right next to my ear, his voice dropping low.
“Just dance with me, Flowers.”
Holy hell in a handbasket. I hate that stupid nickname, but the way it drips off his tongue makes me second guess.
I gulp and meet his gaze as he takes a step back. “Unless you’re too chicken?” He waits with his hand out, a challenge pouring out of his narrowed gaze. I’d rather die than admit I’m too scared to be so close to him.
I slam my palm over his, and we’re moving. Ugh . He smells good. I noticed it in the car, but my tipsy brain is brave enough to admit it now. We’re both out of place in our fancy clothes, but he pulls off the after hours business man to perfection. I can imagine him coming home from work and hanging his jacket up, pulling off his tie before we had dinner that I ordered in because we’re both exhausted from a long workday. His five o’clock shadow making delicious friction between my thighs as he enjoyed his dessert.
What. The actual. Fuck.
I try to pull away from him, but he holds me closer. “Truce. Remember?”
I sigh and let him lead me around the dance floor as I ignore my aching feet and the dull throb between my thighs. One more shot and my resolve would crumble. If I’m going to be this close to him, I need to keep my wits before I do something stupid.
“You’re so pretty when you’re not scowling at me,” he mutters and I stare at him. Did he just compliment me? It’s backhanded, but still.
“Stop trying to butter me up. I promise I won’t press charges for kidnapping me.”
“I don’t remember holding a gun to your head.”
“Where is your gun? I thought you slept with that thing.”
He laughs. “Why do you ask? Thinking about using it on me?”
“If you give me a good enough reason.”
He frowns at me, and I laugh. “I’m kidding. I wouldn’t know the first thing about handling a gun.”
“Let me fix that for you.”
“Hard pass.”
“Do they scare you?”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“Could have fooled me.” He smirks, and I can’t help but smile.
“I’m not like this, you know.”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “Combative.”
“You’re saying I bring out the fighter in you?”
“I guess I am.”
He grins. “I wonder what else I could coax out of you?”
My cheeks redden at the heat in his voice. He probably didn’t mean it as an innuendo, but my throbbing core took it as one.
He sucks in a breath. “Hot damn.”
“Hot damn? What are you, twelve?”
He chuckles. “I think I just coaxed something else out of you.”
I roll my eyes. “You wish.”
“And what if I do?”
I search his face, finding humor. “You’re messing with me.”
“You make it so easy.”
I shove the disappointment away. I shouldn’t want him to want me. That’s crazy talk.
The song ends, and he guides me back to the bar. “Clay, it’s getting late. We should head back soon.”
“I got us a room.”
I yank him to a stop. “You did what?”
“Don’t worry, I put it on the company card. We’ll go back to LA in the morning.”
The music drops, and it goes quiet just as I shout, “I’m not sleeping with you.” The patrons around us stop and stare, then laugh as the MC announces last call. My face turns tomato red as Clay laughs and tugs me along.
“Why are you embarrassed? I’m the one whose ego just took a public punch.”
“I mean it, Clay,” I whisper-hiss.
He puts his hand on his chest. “I would never presume you would lower yourself to commit such a shameful act. Although, if I’m being honest, you couldn’t handle me, anyway.”
I narrow my eyes. “Has anyone ever mentioned you’re an arrogant asshole?”
“Not since Thursday. But it’s not arrogance. It’s confidence.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Don’t worry, Flowers. I will.”
He winks and I want to slap that stupid sexy grin off his face more than I want my next breath, but he turns to Jackson and Brando at the bar. “It was good to see you guys.”
They make their goodbyes, even giving me big hugs like they’ve known me forever, and I follow Clay out of the bar. He bypasses the parking lot, but glances at my feet and pulls out his phone. “I’ll get a rideshare. I don’t want you walking so far in those heels.”
It’s a thoughtful gesture, despite the way he phrased it like he’s in charge. And a part of me thrills at his confident tone. But I’m over these dumb shoes, so I stay silent.
“How do you know Jackson and Brando? Were you in the Marines with Luke?”
He pockets his phone and shakes his head. “I was Luke’s personal bodyguard for a while.”
“Why aren’t you now?”
He frowns. “We’re never talking about Luke Reilly.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms. “Whatever.”
He sighs and tilts his head, scrutinizing me with a narrowed gaze. “You’re a super fan, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “I already told you I idolized his father.”
“Did you hang posters of Luke on your wall growing up?”
My face heats and he tilts his head back, roaring with laughter.
“Oh my God. That’s just perfect.” He wipes tears from his eyes.
“It’s not that funny. I’m one of thousands.”
“What would you say if you met him?”
I shrug again and he whips out his phone. “I’m calling him.”
“No!” I grab his phone and dash away. He laughs as he follows me, keeping up with ease while I struggle in my heels.
“You’re in love with Luke Reilly,” he sing-songs.
“I had a crush when I was a teenager. I wouldn’t call that love.”
“Fiona and Luke. Sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I—” He grunts when I slam the phone into his stomach.
“You’re a juvenile.”
He laughs again and opens the door for the rideshare as it pulls up. I cross my arms and glare at him, infusing it with all the obstinance I can muster.
He smiles. “Okay. Truce. I’m done. I swear.”
He stands there with the door open until the driver complains. I drop my arms with a huff and climb into the seat. There’s a few moments of blissful silence, but I should have known better.
“Did you have wet dreams about him?”
“I take it back. Give me your gun.”
His laughter fills the car and I hate how much I like it.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up to a swanky hotel that I’ve stayed in with my parents but could never afford nowadays. I wait off to the side while Clay checks in and follow him into the elevator. He steps in front of me and I rake my gaze over the muscles in his back, and the way his fitted slacks hug his toned ass and thighs. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t built like a professional athlete. I allow myself this one moment to admire him, because the second those doors open, he’s going to be the most disgusting thing on the planet that I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. The doors open and we walk to the end of the hall. Clay opens the door into a suite with a chic modern living room and a stunning floor to ceiling window view of San Diego Bay and Point Loma in the distance.
I stare out at the expanse of twinkling lights, Navy ships and boats, startling when Clay appears next to me with a bottle of water. “Not too shabby, eh?”
I take the water and he kicks his shoes off and plops onto the couch. He pats the seat next to him. “I ordered room service for us when I checked in. So we have time to cash in on my bet.”
My stomach grumbles, and he smirks.
“Bet?” I ask.
“You said you’d tell me what happened with Edgar if I sang. Pony up, Flowers.” He chugs his bottle of water and sets it on the coffee table while I gather my thoughts. He’s the last person I want to talk to about my past, but a deal is a deal.
“Promise you won’t judge me?”
He tilts his head. “I’ll do my best.”
I sit next to him with a heavy sigh. “Where should I start?”
“How about from the beginning?”
I glance at him and take a swig before I set my water next to his. “Remember when I told you I don’t talk to my parents anymore, and it’s complicated?”
He nods.
“My dad is in charge of a church. It’s called the Church of the Infinitum. Have you heard of it?”
He reaches for his bottle and chugs until it’s empty. “I have.”
I frown. Most people haven’t until they’re brought in. “How?”
He turns his body towards me. “I’ll tell you after you tell me your story.”
Is it possible that Clay is in the church? That would explain his open hostility. What if he’s a plant? Did they send him to spy on me?
“Please tell me. It’s important.”
He searches my face. “I know someone who was involved with the church.”
I watch for any hint of a lie. When I don’t find one, I kick off my shoes and relax into the couch, tucking my feet underneath me.
“My father excommunicated me last year.”
His eyebrows raise. “Over what?”
“Someone drugged me on the night of my bachelorette party and set me up to look like a cheater. I woke up naked in a hotel room with no memory of the night and dozens of incriminating photos sent to my fiancé.”
His face hardens. “Did he touch you, Fiona?”
I shake my head. “A doctor said there was no evidence of force.”
“Who drugged you?” His voice is low, dangerous.
I swallow hard, forcing the emotions aside. “I wasn’t sure at first. But after today, I know it was Deanna.”
He blinks. “Your best friend drugged you?”
A tear escapes and I swipe it away as fast as I can. “Edgar is Deanna’s father. She showed up today with my ex-fiancé. They’re getting married. She drugged me to get me out of the picture so she could ensnare Andrew.”
“He’s an idiot,” Clay barks, startling me. “And Edgar what? He wanted to rub it in your face?”
My mouth closes and I pick lint off of my skirt. “He offered me hush money to not cause a scene when they announce their engagement.”
He searches my face. “Did you take it?”
More tears spill over and I can’t look him in the eye. “Edgar has power in the church. You don’t understand how dangerous he is. He threatened my livelihood if I didn’t cooperate. Eli told me to take the money. But I–I didn’t want to.”
Several long seconds pass in heavy silence as I stare out the windows. I refuse to look at him, too scared to see the judgment, or worse–pity, in his gaze.
“Were you in love with him?” he whispers.
Tears fall down my face as we stare at one another. “I thought I was, but it all seems like an illusion now.”
Sadness flits across his features before he places his hand over mine. “I’m sorry.”
My heart races at the compassion in his tone, the gentle squeeze of his hand, the sincerity in his pretty eyes. He means it, and a lightning bolt fractures the walls I’ve erected around whatever feelings he stirs inside of me.
“And I’m sorry for flirting with her in front of you like that. I’m pretty sure you’d be right about the forked tongues.”
For whatever reason, his second apology warms my heart. “It’s about time you acknowledged I’m right.”
He smiles, closing the distance between us. “It’s a one-time thing. Don’t get used to it.” His gaze dips to my mouth.
Like two magnets, we move as one towards each other. Closer and closer until not even an inch separates us. My lips part in anticipation and that weird sensation of static electricity seems to flow into my heart, making it race.
A loud knock against the door makes us both startle and pull apart. Clay clears his throat as he makes his way over to answer it. The enormity of what was about to happen settles over me, but it doesn’t scare me as much as it should.
He tips the hotel attendant and wheels in a cart with two burgers, fries, and a plate of tacos. I take a few calming breaths before I join him, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. Hours ago, I thought I’d hit rock bottom, and now I’m about to chow down on room service in a swanky hotel in downtown San Diego with a man who hates me. But he’s also thinking about kissing me. I guess my night can’t get any weirder.