No Strings Attached (5 page)

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I think we’re past dancing around each other. If you just want a release, you can
do it yourself. That’s not what you want.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, then said, “You’re right. It’s not what I want.
But I also don’t want a relationship. I don’t want any strings. I don’t want to get
involved with someone.”

“Neither do I. That’s why you and me are perfect for this.”

He didn’t know why he hadn’t suggested it before, other than he figured she’d already
been having sex.

Five years? That’s a long damn time to go without. Then again, he knew nothing about
love, or grieving for someone you’d lost. He’d never loved anyone, or lost anyone
he cared about. Maybe it did take that long. He knew Ella had loved James. And it
just wasn’t right when someone that young died. But it happened. He’d seen it happen
all the time, especially in their business. There were no guarantees.

“I do trust you.”

It meant a lot to him that she did. And okay, maybe he wanted to get in her pants—had
wanted to for a couple years now. He wasn’t bothered by James’s memory. He and James
had been friends. But James was long gone now. And Ella had a right to a life. She
hadn’t died.

“I’m glad you do. And you know I won’t try to tie you down with any relationship when
it’s over. You go back to your job and I’ll go back to mine. And we’ll never talk
about it again.”

“Yes.” She blew out a breath. “That would be perfect.”

“But while we’re here, we can have one hell of a good time, Ella.”

“You’re right. We could.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”

Ella wasn’t sure how this was going to play out, but now that Clay had offered, the
thought of getting him naked was first on her list of things to do.

“Come on.” He stood, held out his hand for her. She slipped her hand in his and followed
him. He walked back inside the club and Ella bit back the disappointment, which turned
out to be only momentary as he walked through the double doors and outside.

“Thank God,” she said. “I thought you were going to drag me on the dance floor.”

Clay laughed. “Not a chance. I can’t dance for shit.”

She arched a brow as they strolled along the walkway between the club and the condo.
“I’m going to have to see that.”

“No, you really aren’t.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

“You’ve shattered my illusions. I thought you were perfect.” She liked that he didn’t
stride fast, instead strolled along at a slow pace so she could keep up with him.
In her work boots, she’d have no problem. In these heels? She’d have to run.

Once back at the condo complex, he took her up in the elevator to the top floor, then
used his key to enter his suite.

“Suite, huh? Well, aren’t you special?”

He tilted toward her as he pushed the door open and flipped on the light. “I like
Hawaii. And as we know, property is a good investment.”

Investment. Hell. It was a palace. Twice the size, at least, of her condo. Spacious
and open, with lots of windows and doors overlooking the ocean. “Just leave me here.
Don’t tell anyone you saw me. They’ll never notice I’m missing.”

He laughed and opened the sliding-glass door. A breeze blew the curtains inward. “Bullshit.
You run that company with an iron fist. Your lazy crew would revolt if they thought
their leader was gone.”

“My lazy crew?” She arched a brow and put her hands on her hips. “My crew can work
circles around yours.”

He moved toward her. “You field a bunch of pussies and you know it.”

He was teasing her. She liked it. He’d never once treated her with kid gloves—not
even right after James had died. And that was exactly what she’d needed—someone to
drive her to get in there and do the job. That was what James would have expected
from her. That was what Clay expected from her. She’d adored him for that, for not
coddling her and holding her hand other than showing her the ropes of the business.

She glared at him. “When we get back to work next week I’ll pony up my guys against
yours, and we’ll see who can put in an honest day’s work without lying down on the
job.”

“You’re on, cupcake.”

He was right in front of her now, all six foot five or so of him. Imposing, sexy,
an expanse of tanned skin visible over the top button of his shirt. She wanted to
reach in there and touch it—touch him. That she could now—where before she supposed
it had been either forbidden, at least in her mind, or something that would never
have occurred to her. It was unnerving. She swallowed and tilted her head back to
look at his face.

His smile was devastating. How did women resist him?

Oh, yeah. They didn’t.

The dynamics had changed. They were no longer coworkers. They were friends, always
had been, always would be. But tonight they were going to become lovers. This whole
thing was surreal.

His smile shifted, became a little less wide. “You’re thinking about something.”

“Yes.”

“James?”

Funny he would think that. “No. Actually, I was thinking about you and me.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“About how our relationship will be changing.”

He slid his knuckles over her cheek. “Just for this week. Only while we’re here. After
that, it goes back to the way it was.”

She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, needing the solid, warm touch
of male flesh. It had been so long. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It can be, if we let it.”

“You’ve done this before.”

“If you’re asking if I’ve had sex with women in the business, you know as well as
I do that there aren’t that many women in the construction business.”

She smiled. “Yes, but leave it to you to find them. Plus, you travel a lot. You have
contracts out of state.”

“True.”

“You have done this before.”

“Not with someone like you. Not with someone I’ve known so long. Not with someone
I—”

She cocked her head to the side. “What?”

“Nothing. I just know you better than any woman. I don’t work with the women I date.
So this is new territory for me, too.”

“But we’re not exactly going to be dating, Clay.”

“Oh, I think we are.” He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her against him.
Her breath caught at being so close to him,
at feeling his chest against her, the muscles of his thighs. “Did you think I’d strip
you naked, chain you to my bed and fuck you nonstop for the entire time we’re here?”

Her stomach quivered, her mind filled with thoughts of the two of them naked. Of her
tied, spread-eagled, to his bed. Of Clay doing…everything…to her. “Now, there’s a
visual.”

“Well, if that’s what you really want, I’ll be happy to oblige….”

She laughed, startling herself at the husky quality of her voice. She didn’t sound
like herself, knew it was because she was nervous. She had no experience here; she
wasn’t a flirt, nor was she trying to come across that way.

What was going to happen next? She had no idea what to do. With James, it had been
easy. Familiar. She couldn’t even remember when they’d first met. It had been so long
ago. How did two people…start?

Clay took her hand and led her to the leather love seat situated in front of the door.
“It’s nice out. Let’s sit down. You want something to drink?”

“Water would be nice. I think I had enough wine at the club.”

She took a seat and Clay brought water for her, then filled a short glass with amber
liquid for himself.

“Whiskey,” he said, taking it down in one shot.

She half turned to face him. “Courage?”

His lips lifted as he set the glass down on the table. “I’m not a virgin, if that’s
what you’re asking. And no, I’m not nervous.”

She nearly dropped her glass of water. She laid it carefully on the table. “Uh, I
definitely didn’t think you were a virgin.” And she still couldn’t believe she was
having this conversation with Clay.

He picked up a strand of her hair, sifted it through his fingers. “Yeah? And how would
you know?”

“I don’t. I just…Come on, Clay. You’ve been around. You bring a different woman to
every event. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with the same woman twice.”

He studied her. “Really.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“I wasn’t. I mean, I do. I mean…hell. For God’s sake, Clay. I don’t know what I’m
talking about.”

“I think we’ve done enough talking.”

Ella held her breath as Clay leaned in. He didn’t pause like Shawn had done, didn’t
ask for permission. But he didn’t pin her, crowd her or take what she wasn’t offering.
He simply pressed his lips against hers. A soft, light brush of his mouth on hers,
enough for her to taste, to feel the warmth of his breath, the tangy flavor of whiskey.

Enough for her to want more. She leaned into him, laid her hand on his chest. So solid,
so male. He snaked his arm around her waist, once again, not too much that she backed
away, but enough that she knew he was there, that he was touching her. His fingers
splayed across her waist, and he increased the pressure of his mouth against hers.
The tip of his tongue teased hers, and she opened, laid her head back against his
forearm and invited him in.

He cupped her cheek with his other hand, scooted over so his thigh touched hers, and
deepened the kiss, his tongue fully involved with hers now. She had forgotten what
it felt like to have so much powerful male around her. Heat swelled inside her, the
butterflies she hadn’t felt with Shawn, the awakenings of arousal—what she’d come
here for.

This…this was what she’d needed—what Shawn hadn’t given her. Maybe he never could,
because despite wanting impersonal, with Clay it
was
personal. She knew him, knew his looks, his mannerisms, his moods. She’d known him
nearly as long as she’d known James, and she felt safe in Clay’s arms. This was a
giant first step for her. Clay had been right—she needed to feel safe.

And yet she didn’t love Clay; she could get what she needed and walk away when it
was over. But for now, she wanted to relish every moment, to think of nothing and
no one but this man. The way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way he touched her.
It was a brandnew experience and she was giddy with it.

Clay didn’t seem to be in any hurry, just held her against him, his mouth doing delicious
things to her senses. And oh, man, could he kiss. Devouring her mouth one second,
his tongue diving deep inside to meld with hers. Then switching things up to take
small nips of her lips. Then he’d start the whole process over with deep, tongue-swirling
kisses that made her toes curl.

Other than touching herself, bringing herself to orgasm, which was more of a perfunctory
thirty seconds to a few minutes of physical release, she hadn’t spent much time on
pleasure in the past five years. This was overload. This was like going from the desert
to an oasis.

He moved his hand from her waist to her rib cage. Her heart pounded against his hand.
Could he feel it?

He lifted his head. “You scared?”

She laughed. “No. Yes. Maybe. I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yes.” She reached up and covered his hand with hers, brought it up over her breast.
And nearly died when he rubbed his thumb over her nipple. Hot, tingling, her breast
swelled, her nipple tightened.

“You’d better be, because I want you. I want you naked. I want to put my mouth all
over you. I want to make you come, to hear you scream when you do. And I want to fuck
you all night long, over and over again. So tell me now if you’re not ready.”

Good God Almighty. His words evoked images that made her
melt all over, things she’d only dreamed about. Things only James had done to her.

For so long she’d been faithful to James. Faithful to the memory of their marriage,
their life together, their love. She thought there was only going to be James. Forever.

But it was time. Time to let go, to give herself a chance to experience, if nothing
else, sex again. It was time to push James aside, at least for a while.

“I’m ready for it, Clay. I need to be with you.”

He swooped her up into his arms—she felt weightless and so small next to him—and carried
her down the hall and into the bedroom. He set her down on the soft carpet between
the bed and the doorway. Tangy warm air billowed through the open doorway, wafting
over her hot skin. Clay turned her toward the door and placed her back against his
chest, then leaned down and brushed her hair to the side. He kissed the nape of her
neck and drew the straps of her dress down her shoulders.

She shivered.

“You cold?”

She leaned against him and raised her arm to twine it around his neck. “No.”

His hands followed her straps, skimming along her skin. He stopped midway down her
arms. “My hands are rough on your soft skin.”

“I like rough.”

“Do you?”