Mad Love (8 page)

I know he’s doing this to make sure I’m okay. And you know what? I love him for it. I need time to think. If I go for a walk with Clayton I won’t be responsible for my actions.

“That sounds fun,” I answer before Clayton can. I know he’s irritated; I can see it. He doesn’t seem like the club type of guy, but then I’m not the club type of girl either. Since he always gets his way (or so he told me), this new turn of events can’t be sitting too well with him. The pleaser in me wants to make him happy, so I say, “We can check it out and then maybe go for a walk after?” Crap. Why did I say that?
Because deep down, you do want to be alone with him
, my mind says to me in an accusatory way. Well, who wouldn’t? Look at him.

“Alright,” Clayton says quietly. “We can go to the club for a moment.” He smiles at me and my heart flutters again. God, he’s good looking, I don’t miss the fact that he said “for a moment.”

“Great. I’m just going to get the check,” Erik says as he holds up his hand to get the waiter’s attention.

“It’s been taken care of.”

We all look at Clayton.

What?

“That is completely unnecessary—“ I’m shocked that he’s done something so generous and extravagant and so damn
gallant
.

“It’s done,” he says with finality, looking at me. He squeezes my hand, I think to silently tell me not to argue with him. Erik looks like he wants to, but then thinks better of it.

“Thank you. That was very generous of you and, as Sophie said, totally unnecessary.”

Clayton shrugs. “My pleasure. Shall we?”

Erik and Orie get up and walk toward the path that will take us to the club. Clayton starts to follow but I put my other hand on his arm to stop him. I feel his muscle tense beneath my touch and I wonder if he feels the same magnetic pull I do–if he’s as in tune with me as I am with him.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do that,” I say softly. When that intense gaze of his meets mine, I have to look away. He makes me so damn shy.

“But I did. And I do. And it’s nothing, really.”

Nothing? It had to have been at least a five-hundred-dollar dinner.

“Sophie. I thought you wanted to go to the club, or have you changed your mind? Would you rather take a walk and talk?”

No, I’d rather not talk. I’d rather just kiss. But I guess talking is good. Talking will let me ask questions, get to know him before I hand myself over on Erik’s silver platter.

“No, let’s go to the club first. I don’t want Erik and Orie to get upset. And maybe you should invite your friends as well?” I motion toward Eduard and John, who are sitting at the bar. I have yet to meet the women.

Judging by the look on his face, Clayton doesn’t seem too concerned whether they come.

“Alright. Let’s tell them where we’re going.”

Downstairs in the club, there are about twenty or so people, including us, but then I guess only the guests of the island would be here so it’s no surprise that it’s not crowded. For a small island in the Maldives, it’s a pretty cool-looking place with a huge, fully stocked bar and a big dance floor with intimate tables set all around.

Clayton has gotten the group a table and everyone’s ordered drinks. I’m having a Campari Americano and thoroughly enjoying myself. I’ve met the two women with Clayton, Jane Billworth and Elizabeth Maitland, John’s sister. They both speak with very posh English accents and at least Elizabeth is not as snobby as I originally thought. Jane, on the other hand, is blatantly unpleasant. Her eyes glaze over when Clayton introduces me and I can tell she doesn’t like me. Erik and Orie, on the other hand, she clearly approves of. Their comedy soon gets her all giggly and I know she’s happy to hang out with them.

I learn from Elizabeth that they’re all from London (including Clayton), except for Eduard, who lives in Madrid. I wonder why Clayton’s accent isn’t as pronounced as theirs. They all grew up with each other and went to boarding school together. She hasn’t offered me any further details. I look over at Jane again. She’s quite pretty; with her blond hair and blue eyes, she looks like a Barbie doll. She’s sitting to the left of Clayton and I notice how she keeps watching him or touching his arm whenever she has a chance. I wonder if the two ever dated and it rubs me the wrong way.

Clayton excuses himself and goes to the bar, where he talks to the mixologist. I watch as he points to a bottle and the bartender pulls it down. My gaze is drawn to his perfectly muscled arms. He’s so tall and broad, his body is just not normal. It’s like every girl’s fantasy. I need to pinch myself because I still can’t believe that he’s singled me out and has held my hand. He hasn’t paid much attention to me since we got here, but he did make sure that we were sitting next to one another. I wish I had chosen to take the walk instead. I feel a hand on my arm, distracting me from my thoughts.

“I’ve never seen Clayton take to someone so quickly. Or so completely like this. He’s usually politely distracted,” Elizabeth, who is to my right, leans in to tell me this. Her smile looks genuine, so I think she’s being honest. I’m thankful the music is so loud that no one else hears. Jane, I notice, has gotten up and walked over to the bar to Clayton.

“Really?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. Better to be skeptical than hopeful that I’m the first.

“Really.” Elizabeth brushes her strawberry-colored hair out of her face and smiles warmly. “And don’t worry about Jane. She’s tried to land Clayton since they were sixteen but he wants nothing to do with her. She’s one of those woman who can’t take rejection … or a hint.”

The idea of the pretty Jane relentlessly hitting on him is unsettling.

“I’m being honest, Sophie. This is totally out of character for him. Completely. We’re all actually quite in shock over it. Truly.” Elizabeth tells me earnestly, “I mean, when Eduard said that he walked upon you two kissing—”

My face turns bright red.

“Oh my God. I didn’t mean that. I really didn’t mean to say that – ” Elizabeth is just as mortified as I am.

“We didn’t really kiss,” I say quietly then look away. “And it’s okay. I know how I must look.” I want the floor to open and drop me through it. I am that girl who has no shame, and people talk about me. I’m so mortified.

Elizabeth puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t say that. I’m not judging you. I would probably do the same in your situation. Clayton is pretty,”
she searches for the word, “impressive. Don’t worry, he’s like a brother to me. I’m just saying that it’s okay. I could tell he was attracted to you the moment he saw you in the lounge at the airport. Anyone could. And you him. Oh no, the look on your face, I’m just putting my foot in my mouth. I’ll stop now.”

I actually laugh. I do like her and her candor. “It’s okay. Thank you, Elizabeth.” I mean seriously? What I am supposed to say?

Thankfully, Elizabeth gives me a moment to myself and my eyes immediately search for Clayton. He’s still at the bar and is giving Jane his full attention. Great. I pick up my drink and take a long sip, trying to distract myself and get my buzz back, hoping that will help. Eduard walks back from the bar and sits down. I study his features for the first time. He has a beautiful face in an artistic sort of way. He’s got perfect symmetry. I’d love to paint him.

“Clayton just bought the bottle of fifty-year-old Dalmore. Let the party begin!” He seems thrilled by this.

Obviously it is a big deal. I have no idea what Dalmore is but I can’t wait to find out and I can’t wait for Clayton to make his way back to this table and sit down next to me. I try hard not to look back to where he’s standing with the lovely Jane.

“Wanna dance, Sophie?” Erik shouts at me with his eyes narrowed, probably pissed that I keep looking over at Clayton like a loser. He raises a brow. It’s clearly a challenge.

“Sure.” I’m up for it. At least we won’t be the only ones on the dance floor. There are some other people dancing as well, a couple of tall guys who look Slavic and some girls who just look wasted.

Erik comes around the table and grabs my hand and wraps his arm around my waist to escort me to the dance floor.

“I had to save you from the stalker stares you were giving him,” he whispers in my ear.

“I’m sorry,” I giggle.

“It’s okay. I forgive you. Even though I know I’ve taught you better.”

I roll my eyes.

“What’s Dalmore?” I whisper up at him as we walk to the dance floor.

“Very old Scotch. It’s gotta be a least ten g’s.”

“As in ten thousand dollars?” I say in disbelief. Who spends that much on one bottle of alcohol? The thought is staggering.

“That’s what rich is, babe.”

I am so out of my league on so many levels that I don’t know what to say. I decide then and there that Clayton is too rich for me. Too posh. Too handsome. Too
everything
. I didn’t grow up poor or from the wrong side of the tracks but holy hell, the money he throws around is insane. And completely unnerving.

We reach the dance floor and Erik starts busting his moves. The one thing I’m pretty confident about is my ability to dance. I can move. Really shake the hips, dance my ass off,
move
. And when I’m slightly intoxicated, everything gets even better because all my inhibitions disappear. Erik and I have partied with each other enough to know how to work it – and we do.

I try not to think of Clayton or Jane or how rich he is or the fact that he might be watching me and I just dance. Soon, the group of Slavic-looking guys are moving around us, or me, to be exact, forgetting about the girls they were trying to pick up before. I dance with one of the guys because I can. Because I’m single and yes, because a part of me wants to make Clayton feel jealous, if he’s even watching. It’s terrible, I know. He’ll probably ride off into the sunset and marry Jane but this can be my shining moment.

The guy I’m dancing with leans in closely, a bit too close for my liking, and I get a whiff of his alcohol-infused breath. Gross.

“What’s your name?” he asks in a thick accent that I think is Russian. From the corner of my eye I watch Orie grab Erik’s arm and pulls him away. That’s my cue to join them.

Ugh. But since I’ve used him, I have to be polite. “Sophie.” I intentionally don’t ask him his name.

“I’m Mikhail,” he says.

“Nice to meet you,” I respond politely.

“You’re really hot, you know. I’ve had my eye on you since the restaurant.”

Huh? Was he even at the restaurant? I didn’t look at any of the guys there because all my attention was focused on Clayton.

“Umm, okay.” This is awkward. My rash decision to make Clayton jealous has put me in a seriously uncomfortable situation. Why can’t a dance ever just be a dance with a straight man? It always has to be or lead to something more.

Okay, it’s time to politely end this. I brush my hair away from my face and am about to excuse myself when Mikhail puts his hand on my arm.

“Let me buy you a drink, beautiful.”

Before I can say a polite, “no, thank you,” I’m pulled away from Mikhail into a rock-hard chest. The arms that I was studying and fantasizing about wrap around my waist, his hands, those gorgeous hands with their long, well-shaped fingers, splay against my belly, causing goose bumps to rise all over my body. And heat. There’s that damn heat again.

“The lady
has
a drink.” It’s the most possessive a man has ever been about me. I’m beaming.

Mikhail holds up his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know she was taken.”

“She is.” Clayton’s voice is hard. Angry. He’s pissed, I can tell.

I think I stop breathing. I am? By him? Does he mean I’m taken by him? Of course he does, you moron! I don’t think he appreciated my dancing queen moment at all.

“Fair enough.” Mikhail smiles at me. “You can’t blame a man for trying.” He turns and walks away and I’m left wrapped in Clayton’s arms, with the music pumping.

“I don’t share, little girl,” he whispers into my ear, his voice cold.

Little girl?

“Excuse me?” I turn and try to move out of his vise-like grip but he won’t let me. I’m plastered to his body, forced to look up at him as he looms over me.

Bad idea. I can see his anger. His eyes radiate the emotion, turning him into a stunning, cold statue.

“Little girl?” I say.

“I know what you were doing. And that’s a child’s game.” My stomach instantly ties itself into knots. Oh shit.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Lying doesn’t become you, Sophie. Your face is innocent of guile.”

I think he just complimented me but I can’t be sure because he doesn’t sound too happy about it. I figure I need to get some distance between us.

“I’d like to go now.”

“Perfect,” he says as he takes my hand, practically pulling me after him.

“I mean that I’d like to leave alone.”

I’m pretty certain I see Clayton rolling his eyes, but I can’t be sure because it’s so dark in the club. All I know is that he completely ignores my request and drags me after him. He waves goodbye to the table and then nods at the bartender. He just wants his bill.

“My villa.” His voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument.

His jaw is tightly clenched and I can still feel the anger oozing off his body. Clayton literally pulls me out of the club. The hot air hits us hard. There’s a slight breeze that is nice but does nothing to ward off the impressive heat.

I wonder what Erik and Orie are thinking? They’re probably disappointed that I left the club holding Clayton’s hand despite their warnings that I should play hard to get. We walk up the steps and are outside within seconds. Clayton walks briskly, completely ignoring me. I dig my feet into the ground. “Hold on a second!”

He stops, doesn’t release my hand, and turns to look at me. His face is perfectly composed. But he looks really aloof. All because I danced with some guy?

“What is your problem?” I know my voice has gone up like ten octaves but I really don’t care. I’m not the type of woman who allows a guy to order me around, and here’s a perfect stranger doing just that. He needs to explain. Like now.

I watch him raise a brow, look me over with that icy glare, and I wonder what I’m getting myself into. He stares at me for a long moment before answering. I know he’s doing this to throw me off balance and make me
nervous. Law school and my father did teach me a few things about the art of war. And damn, he’s really good at it. My father would definitely be impressed.