CHAPTER FIVE CLARKE
Chapter Five
Clarke
Shit!” Clarke said, directing his aim back at the urinal.
Thank goodness he stopped himself from doing a full one-eighty and spraying the entire bathroom like he was Jackson Pollock and the walls his canvas.
She was grinning. Had the woman even had to take a moment to compose herself?
His sigh, part groan, was unmistakable and he made no effort to stifle it. “Is there no place that is sacred to you?”
She burst out laughing. “Sacred? Was that holy water? Were you, by chance, blessing the men’s room? Mon Dieu, I left my rosary at home.”
He was glad he had his back to her. And not just because his cock was exposed. He didn’t want her to see him crack a smile. He had no desire to encourage her.
“How about private? Even you have to admit this encounter highly improper.”
“You’re quite the stickler for etiquette, aren’t you, Sir”—she paused—“Insert Nomenclature of Choice.”
Just leave it, the rational part of his brain was telling him.
But that other part of his brain recalled that kiss, that plucky turn in her upper lip, what his brothers had said and how he couldn’t remember a time when he’d looked the woman in the eye.
Without a mask on anyways. Before he realized it, he heard himself speaking.
“Why so demure, Miss Rivers? I hardly think you’re concerned about offending me given you’ve done it so many times before. We both know your nomenclature of choice.”
There was a pause before she spoke, and when she did, her voice tinkled with amusement.
“Perhaps what’s bothering you is being caught at a disadvantage.”
It was at that moment, Clarke realized he was no longer midstream. Ceci Rivers had turned his tap. Off.
Disadvantage?
When the next words spilled from his lips, it took him a moment to recognize his own voice.
“Disadvantage? What makes you so certain you’ve caught me with a … shortcoming?”
“Okay, present me with the proof. Turn around. You needn’t worry about the family jewels. I won’t try and steal them from you.”
“I should think not, as that would defeat the purpose.”
He heard a slight intake of air as she stifled a laugh. He’d caught her by surprise. A quiver of pleasure coursed through his veins.
“And what purpose would that be?” she asked.
“Use your imagination.”
There was a brief hesitation before she spoke. She was usually rapid fire with her quips.
“And what makes you so certain I have any purpose in mind, or for that matter any interest in seeing your glorious manhood?”
“I never went so far as to suggest you did.”
It was at that moment he zipped up and turned around.
She shrugged. And even that move—an almost indecipherable lift of her chin, tilt of her head, and twitch of her shoulder—seemed different to him than when other women shrugged.
Why must everything she do be entirely unique? It makes it difficult to ignore her.
“You don’t have to be so sensitive,” she said. “It’s not as though you have anything I haven’t seen before.”
“And how can you be so certain?”
“Well, had you not put your precious package away, you might have confirmed it. I bet those men who just left wouldn’t have been afraid to turn around.”
“I’m not an exhibitionist, Miss Rivers.”
“A Formula 1 driver who’s not an exhibitionist. Now that’s a first.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “You may be right about that.” Narrowing his eyes, he paused. “The term definitely applies to the drivers you manage. But you don’t manage me.”
Her glance drifted south but quickly darted back up to meet his gaze. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe she didn’t need confirmation. Perhaps she’d gotten a good look when he’d swiveled to see her standing behind him.
He looked down.
Maybe she was just looking at my shoes.
“Don’t worry about your shoes,” she said. “Your aim was good. I guess it’s true what they say about F1 drivers.” She paused. “You know, rapid response, quick hands.”
There was a spark shaped like a question mark in her eyes. And it suddenly occurred to him the spark had been there for a while. He could guess why. She wasn’t accustomed to this version of him.
“Is that why you ventured into the men’s room?” He made an effort to adopt a cool tone, cursing the husky sound echoing in his ears. “To examine the stock before you bid on it?”
Her eyes flashed as the corner of her lip flicked like a horse’s tail. “I hadn’t really thought about it. You make me sorry I left my measuring tape at home.” Her eyes drifted down and landed at his crotch. “Yard stick too.”
You’re incorrigible.
He felt his cheeks prickle and burn.
That should make you happy. You’ve made me blush. Again.
He swallowed in an effort to regain his composure. “And is that how you—measure a man?”
“If it was, I would hardly admit it.”
He heard a buzzing. It had to be her phone. It wasn’t his.
He gaped, seeing her reach into her purse. “Don’t you think you should wash your hands first?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s not as if I had my hands on my penis.” Her eyes shot up. “Or yours.”
A sudden rage of heat told him a five-alarm fire was now scorching his cheeks and he quickly dropped his gaze.
Damn it.
“Hello, Father.”
Her voice sounds different.
When he looked up, he spotted a blush rise along the side of her neck.
“Oh, hello, Katie. I should have known.” There was a pause. “Why doesn’t he ask me himself? And don’t say he’s too busy or that he’s not available. He’s standing right there, isn’t he?”
She fixed her eyes on Clarke. He watched her lip curl.
“Father,” she said in a snarky tone. “There you are. You’ll never guess who I’m with right now. Sir Leo Clarke. We’re in the men’s room at the Royal Horseguards Hotel. I’ll put you on speakerphone so you can say hi to him.”
Clarke’s eyes blew open.
“Say hello, Sir Clarke,” she said, holding the phone up to him.
Shaking his head, he stumbled backwards. He couldn’t escape the feeling that there was some kind of force field around the woman and if he was caught within its range he would be compelled to do her bidding.
“Cecilia,” a man said. “I don’t have time for your antics. While it wouldn’t surprise me to discover you in the men’s room of a five-star hotel, it would surprise me to find Sir Clarke with you.”
She chuckled, her eyes on him. “Oh, really.”
“Enough. There’s no reason this couldn’t be managed through Katie.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s speaking to his daughter. There’s no warmth there.
“But since you insist, I’d like you to ask Anker to come to a party I’m having. It’s right after the Austin race, so he’ll be nearby. It’s Timmy’s birthday. He and his friends would be thrilled.”
That playful expression vanished.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
“Yes.” She paused. “His birthday?”
“His fifth.”
“Yes.” He watched her swallow with difficulty. “I can bring him.”
“That isn’t necessary. He can come on his own. He won’t have to stay long. Katie can give him the particulars. I’ll have her reach out to you for his contact information.”
The line went dead. The man didn’t even say goodbye. Or thank you.
Tossing the phone back in her purse, she avoided meeting Clarke’s gaze and walked up to one sink. He used the one beside it.
Once she placed her hands under the water, she began to sing a song that included just about every synonym for the word penis—dong, stiffy, dick, etc.
Don’t look up, he told himself, staring at his hands under the stream of water.
That’s what she wants. She wants to see some kind of puritanical look of horror on my face.
He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
When he moved to turn off the tap, she stopped her singing.
“Not yet. Not until I’ve finished. That way you’ll know you’ve washed thoroughly.”
And like some kind of obedient puppy, he obeyed, forgetting that he’d already met the twenty-second minimum.
Finally she said, “Now, you can stop.” She turned off the spigot and grabbed some paper towels. “I’m surprised you agreed to do this.”
Parade up on stage while being auctioned off to the highest bidder? What could possibly be surprising about my agreeing to that?
He cleared his throat.
“I lost a bet.”
“What kind of bet?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Well, now I really want to know.”
He grinned. “Well, now I really don’t want to tell you.”
She peered at him with such intensity, he almost feared she’d be able to pierce his skull and read his mind.
“I’ll tell you this much,” he said, preferring to change the subject. “I’m not looking forward to it. I mean, would you like to parade on stage and—” He paused. “But then it’s different for you.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Because I’m a woman?”
He blinked. That wasn’t what he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking that if she had to do this, she’d go out there and own the catwalk.
He coughed. “No. Not because you’re a woman. Because you’re—well, you’re—you.”
His answer appeared to make matters worse. She was glaring at him.
Just then the door opened and Tilney stepped in. It took him a moment to get over his surprise. But once he did, he walked up and slung his arm over Ceci’s shoulder. “This guy bothering you?”
Clarke wanted to hear her say, no, but you are. He also wanted to take that arm and wrench it behind the asshole’s back until he heard both shoulder and elbow break. But Clarke restrained himself.
“Don’t be an ass, Tilney,” he huffed. “Take your arm off her. She doesn’t want you pawing her.”
Tilney laughed. “She’s a grown-ass woman who can speak for herself.”
“I am,” Ceci spat.
“Well, do you?” Clarke demanded.
“No,” she said, shrugging as she stepped away, causing Tilney’s arm to drop to his side. “But that’s for me to say.”
Tilney chuckled. “The guy can’t help himself. Always has to play at coming to the rescue, even when no rescue’s required. Or wanted. It’s some sort of complex. The stories I could tell.”
And the stories I could tell, you fucking wanker.
“Is that what you came back for?” he heard her ask.
Clarke looked in the direction she was pointing. There on a shelf above one of the sinks was a phone.
Tilney picked it up and pocketed it. He smiled at her. “Come with? I think the bidding’s going to start soon.”
“I have to wash my hands.”
Clarke felt his lip twitch, wanting so bad to smile.
Tilney shrugged and left.
He turned to her. “Both you and I know you already washed your hands.”
Just then another man stumbled in, clearly drunk.
After a slow and steady gaze up and down Ceci, he mumbled. “I know you.”
“No, you don’t,” she said curtly.
“Yeah, I do, let me think.” His eyes suddenly popped open and he thrust his index finger at her. “Club Montrose! The Snake Charmer!”
Frowning, Clarke stared at her. “Snake Charmer?”
She glared at him before turning to the man. “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”
“Naw, don’t think so.”
Clarke sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “How in hell did I get here?” he muttered.
The man turned to Clarke. “Did I interrupt you, dude? Should I go out and give you, what say, five minutes to finish the job?”
Clarke gritted his teeth. “Take that back. And while you’re at it—apologize.”
“Why?”
“Why? What is wrong with you? You should never speak like that to a lady.”
“What’s a lady doing in the men’s room?”
Clarke paused. He couldn’t think how to respond. He side-eyed Ceci.
She was scowling. Not at the drunk douchebag. But at him.
“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up!” she roared.
His eyes blew wide open in surprise. “Me?”
“Yes.” She jabbed his chest with her index finger. “You!”
“She’s a feisty one, dude. If you need some help. I’d be happy to oblige.”
Every cell in Clarke’s body wanted to slam this asshole against the wall so hard his teeth would fall out. He knew he couldn’t do that, but he could get up in his face.
He made a move to do so, but Ceci stepped in front of him.
“And how exactly do you propose to help with that wilting lily between your thighs?”
Clarke blinked—stunned.
Glowering at her, the man stumbled forward, shoving Ceci aside as he did.
Clarke’s heart was pumping venom, but this guy wasn’t worth it. He was an idiot.
“Come on,” he muttered.
But before he got hold of her arm, Ceci shoved the man from behind.
“Bitch!” the man bellowed.
Clarke took hold of her elbow. “Come on.”
They headed toward the door, but were stopped when Clarke felt a hand like a bear’s paw seize his shoulder.
“Take your hands off him, you cretin!” Ceci shouted.
Clarke turned around just in time to see the man’s fist fly toward him. He ducked.
Crisis averted. For now, he thought, seeing the enraged look on the man’s face. Exit stage left. Now.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ceci raise her fist.
No, he was about to say, as he stepped in to stop her.
Her fist made contact. Not with the man’s face. But with his.
Later, Clarke would wince at the pain and wonder how a woman’s hand could pack that much of a punch. As for now, he didn’t feel much of anything when her fist landed smack in his eye, just before everything went black.