Shayla's Story (The Mathews/Clemmins Family Series) (11 page)

“Could you please
stop calling me by my full name? It makes me feel even more guilty.”

A quiet wrapping on
the door captured both their attentions.

Lisa grinned so full
it bordered on obnoxious. “I wonder who that is?”

“Shut up.” Shayla
held her finger to her lip, rising out of her chair. She stared at the door.
“Shit. I had no idea he was that young. Now what am I gonna do?”

Lisa raked another
full examination over Shayla. “Judging by the shade of purple you are turning,
I’m guessing he’ll
do
just fine!”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Shhh.” Shayla
ushered Lisa toward the door.

Lisa kissed her on
the cheek. “The good news is, Shayla honey, I adore him and he is quite a man
no matter what his age.”

“And the bad news?”

“I’m just going out
on a limb here, but I’m guessing you also don’t know he still lives at home.”

“No fucking way?”

“Way.” She reached
for the handle. “Good luck. Oh, and I won’t say anything.” She opened the door,
taking one look at John’s patiently waiting form. She held up her finger,
informing him to wait a minute and shut the door right in his face. “Honey, for
what it’s worth, I’m a few years older than Benny. And that John is one hell of
a man. I like him.”

“Thanks,” Shayla
grumbled, pulling on the handle.

Lisa clapped her
hands together quickly and folded her fingers around each other. “Good luck,”
she wished John with encouragement.

John ventured into
her bedroom without hesitation, closing the door firmly behind him.

Shayla turned toward
the bathroom, but he snatched her by the wrist so she should look at him.

“I need to get ready
for the wedding,” she sputtered smugly. Pulled by a multitude of emotions, she
wiggled out of his grip and folded her arms over her chest. “Why didn’t you
tell me you’re twenty-four? And don’t pretend you don’t know I’m thirty.”

“What did you want
me to say?
Hi. I’m John Mathews. I’m
twenty-four.
It’s not an AA meeting. And I assumed you were a little older
than me. So what?”

She turned and
glared at him. “So what?”

“Yeah, so what?” A
smile threatened to curl on the corner of his mouth. “You don’t hear me
complaining that you’re six years older than me.”

She stopped, gasping
as she spun to glare at him.

A full blown teasing
smile covered his gorgeous face as he raised his hands in a surrendering
fashion. “Kidding. I’m only kidding, Shay.”

He reached for her,
but she swatted at his hand. “You just seem so much older. You, you even have
grey hair.” She ran her fingers through the few silver hairs near his temple.

“Premature. Runs in
my family.” She held still, allowing him to wrap his arms around her. “See what
you have to look forward to in ten more years?”

Shayla pulled back,
searching his face. He wore the unblinking gaze of a hawk ready to swoop in on its
prey. She swallowed hard, trying to disregard the charm and certainty in his
voice. “John, I can’t—”

He pressed his lips,
soft and warm, to hers, quieting her caution. “You said the weekend. I don’t
need to convince you.”

His mouth wandered
over her jaw to her ear. John dropped his chin to the top of her head, covering
her heart with the palm of his hand. “Does he make you feel like this?”

She stiffened and
pushed at him, but he grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. The hammering
of his heart pounded beneath her trembling hand.

“Mat Huntston is not
the right guy for you and you know it. When’s the last time you had fun,
Shayla? Hmm? Hell, when’s the last time you even had sex with him?”

“That is none of
your business,” she grumbled pushing hard at his chest. “Mat’s not a bad man.
You don’t know him.”

“He’s fueled by the
political ambition of his family.”

“You’re a fine one
to talk.” She marched into the bathroom. Trying to get away from him, she
turned on the shower, thinking he’d leave.

John sighed heavily,
reigning in his anger and criticism. He cinched the hem of her shirt and lifted
it over her head.

Shayla folded her
arms, covering her bare breasts.

“I’ve already seen
them,” he snickered in a hushed voice, unfolding her arms and stripping her of
her yoga pants. He sat on a stool, tugging her in between his thighs, sending
her pulse into double time. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid
eyes on. Please don’t cover up.”

“Do you really...”
Her voice broke as he laid a trail of kisses down her stomach. She clasped his
skull, running her fingers through his rich dark hair. “Do you really still
live at home?”

He looked up at her
with a narrow stare. “Yes. I live at home.”

She began to pull
away, but he gripped her wrists, securing them beside her bare hips. A deep,
painful frown wedged between his brows.

“It’s not what you
think, Shayla. I was in the process of buying a house when my dad died.”

The steamy air
turned thick with sentiments of loss and sorrow. “Oh. I didn’t mean to misjudge—”
she said in the ache of a sympathetic whisper.

“I had on offer in
on a house and had to back out of the deal. Tracy was going to college in
Colorado, she moved back home and enrolled in UNLV so she could help JC and I
take care of my mom.”

His voice was low
and raspy, holding back raw wounds from the death of his father. Shayla got the
impression John was letting her inside a small vacant corner of his heart,
rarely exposed to anyone if even himself. Embarrassment crawled across her
naked shoulders and skittered up her neck.

“I’m not sure if you
know this, but my mom was a complete mess after my dad died. She barely got out
of bed for eight months. My parents were married for twenty-five years and they
had a deep passionate love that…that was unlike anything I’ve seen. She was
absolutely lost when he died. We were all grieving, but damn, she took it so
hard. For a while we thought she wasn’t gonna make it.”

Shayla shook her
head, sniffing back tears. She unbound her wrists from his tense fingers and
sat on his thigh. Drawing her arm behind his shoulders, she caressed the
tension in his neck. “I knew your father died of a heart attack and Tom
mentioned they had a great love. Whenever Tommy talks about it, I can tell he
has a certain…admiration for your mom and dad’s marriage. I know that sounds
strange considering he loves her so much, but I think he truly respects the
love your parents shared.”

“Tom and I talked
about it over Thanksgiving.” John nodded. A small chuckle rumbled through the
humid air. “Did you know he asked me for her hand in marriage?”

She shook her head,
pressing a kiss near the corner of his eye, catching the salty wetness
streaming down with her lips. “I’m sorry. It’s just the whole age thing—”

John lifted her from
his lap and rose to his feet, sending a white cloud of steam dancing through
the air with his movement. He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m John Mathews. I’m
twenty-four, I live in my mom’s house, by myself the majority of the time, I make
damn good money, I’m hardworking, adventurous, and a bit of a hothead.”

“And sexy as hell,”
Shayla added quietly out the side of her mouth while shaking his hand. Clearing
her throat, she attempted to keep a straight face, completely nude,
reintroducing herself. “Hi, I’m Shayla. I’m thirty, I come from a seriously
fucked up family, I live by myself,”—she pulled a full, encouraging grin
from John—“I own my own home, with a little help from my uncle, I love to
surf and I’ll try just about anything.”
 

“Anything?” His eyes
opened wide, clouding with filthy insinuations. A misty veil created droplets
on the crest of his cheeks. “Oh, and let’s not forget…in a matter of hours we’re
going to be related by marriage.”

John cradled her
hand, bringing it to his wet lips. He managed to extract every last bit of apprehension
from her body when he tore his lips from her hand.

“We are a pair.” Her
quiet voice rose above the stream of water. “And I should warn you, I’m in a
bit of a relationship pickle.”

“You are right about
both those things. We are a pair and I’ve got a remedy for your relationship
pickle.” He added another heated promise, nodding toward the shower. “You need
some help? I could wash your hair, shave your legs, relieve a little tension?”

Shayla giggled,
shaking her head. She tossed him a rueful smile, stepping into the walk-in
shower built for two, alone.

The wedding party
gathered at the dock an hour before sunset. Two boats waited to ferry them over
to a small island for the ceremony. Tommy and Tess gathered beside a small boat
painted in customary vibrant Greek colors. Marco and Rick fussed over Tess with
last minute touches to her hair and make-up. Not that she needed any primping.
Tess looked breathtaking in a creamy white strapless dress that accentuated her
curves, and Tommy looked dashing in all black.

Benny, Lisa and
their two children, as well as the priest and the photographer, gradually made
their way toward the small ferry arranged to transport guests.

Shayla, Tracy and JC
gathered at the sidewalk near the dock.

“I really can’t
believe this is happening.” JC rubbed her palms together as if she were rolling
a stick in her hand to start a fire, her youthful exuberance unmatchable and undeniable.

“I’m not sure which
I find more unbelievable.” Blissful enthusiasm replaced Tracy’s typically
subdued personality. “The fact our mother is marrying
The Tom Clemmins,
or the fact she is just so ridiculously happy. I
never thought I’d
ever
see her this
happy again.”

“You? Tommy’s never
acted like this in his life. Ever!” Shayla beamed, reaching out to squeeze
Tracy’s hand.

“Today marks the
start of new beginnings,” John stated, sending a meaningful glance toward Shayla
when he joined the conversation.

Half the comments he
made throughout the day construed two different meanings. Each time Shayla
flushed from a quiver of a tickle climbing up her neck. What she had first considered
arrogance turned to outright magnetic charm. The more he spoke, the more she
hung on every sentence coming from his rich voice.

John dazzled her
with an imploring smile, lazily straightening a twist in the thin strap of her
heather grey dress. His hand paused on the small of her back for an
excruciating amount of time, making Shayla want to ease into the muscular
contours of his body.

Demurely, she
pressed her lips together, blotting her sheer pink lip-gloss. Her gaze
inadvertently focused on his black shirt unbuttoned to the hollow of his
throat. Unable to help herself, Shayla adjusted his already perfect collar,
indulging in the brief contact with his warm, smooth skin.

Shayla noticed a coy
smile exchanged between Tracy and JC. All afternoon she observed his sisters
taking notice of the attention he casually showered her with. Shayla and John had
gravitated toward each other all day. He complimented every item adorning her
body. When he admired her stunning grey dress, mentioning how it made her eyes
turn the most beautiful shade of blue he’d ever seen, JC mock gagged with a
mordant eye roll, muttering, “Get a room.”

The moment his
sister was out of sight, John nibbled on her ear. “I intend to.”

The afternoon sun
dipped lower toward the horizon, igniting every nook and crevasse along the
shore with dramatic shadows and shading. As they waited at the dock, a man
standing alone in the distance caught her attention.

She couldn’t get a
full view of him because he hid around the corner, resting his shoulder against
the side of a stark white building. He lifted his camera, scanning over the
sea. The camera wasn’t big enough to be a paparazzi’s, but the lens aimed
straight at her.

Her stomach
fluttered apprehensively. The stranger lowered the lens and ducked further
behind the wall.

Shayla’s eyes
narrowed in speculation. “I’ll be right back.”

She trotted up a set
of worn concrete stairs, heals clicking on the light grey stone as she marched
down the sidewalk. Her instincts on high alert, she quickened her pace as she
passed several local fishermen enthralled in a serious game of checkers. As she
moved forward, the man’s khaki pants and tailored white shirt became visible at
the corner of the building.

“Excuse me.” Shayla pointed
at his camera.

The man startled at
the volume of her voice, gripping his camera. “
Moi? Comment est ce que je peux vous aider.”

His French surprised
her. She would’ve guessed him to be an American. “What are you photographing?”

“
Photos? Oui. La belle mer
.”

“Who are you?”
Shayla held out her hand, wanting to see the camera.

He shirked away from
her demands, frowning uneasily. Peering beyond her shoulder, the man’s eyes
widened and he staggered two steps back. His face drained of color, turning
ashen right before her eyes.

“What’s the
problem?” John’s voice boomed, echoing down the narrow passageway between storefronts.

The man shrugged
innocently, his eyes drawn to John’s massive set of shoulders. He waved his
hands between Shayla and his camera. He rambled on in French.

Shayla glanced at
John, shaking her head. “This doesn’t feel right. I know he was aiming that
camera at me. I just need to make sure he isn’t taking pictures.”

John pointed toward
the camera. His chest expanded as he stood tall, looking powerful and
intimidating. “We need to see your camera, bud.”

“I don’t need you to
scare him, John. I can handle this. I’ll be right there.”

John made a scoffing
sound. “I don’t think so.”

The man’s face
soured. A glow of fear mixed with annoyance as his casual stance turned rigid.
He squared his shoulders in a defensive manner, but opted to take a sulking
step back from John. “
Va te faire foutre
.”

Neither John nor Shayla
needed a translator to recognize the term
fuck
off
.

“Oh, shit,” slipped
out of her mouth. Urgent to get John out of the situation before it turned
heated, she tugged on his elbow, but his feet wouldn’t budge.

Shrugging off her
loose grip, John shot him a warning glare. He stretched out his hand, a slight
ripple of muscle visible through his black dress shirt warning of his strength.
“You. Can’t. Take. Pictures. Of. Us.”

Shayla kept her
voice steady, turning to John with wide eyes. “I don’t think he’s gonna
understand you just because you slow it down and say it louder with a French
slang.”

“Trust me. He gets
it,” John assured, venturing a step closer.

As John reached for
the lens, a flash of red appeared at his side.

Tracy startled all
three of them when she elegantly captured John’s arm by the wrist. She darted a
sweet glance at the tourist before glowering at her brother. “Is there a
problem?”

 
Shayla nodded at his camera. “I need to
be sure he isn’t taking pictures of—”

“
Bonjour
.” Graciousness oozed from
Tracy’s mouth with endearing sweetness as she clasped the stranger’s hand,
dipping her head to say hello. One look at her voluptuous cleavage stole the
edge from his annoyed demeanor. “
S’il
vous plaît pardonnez mon frère. C’est d’un marriage privé, et vous ne pouvez
pas prendre des photos.”

John nudged her.
“What are you saying?”

Tracy smiled
pleasantly, gritting through her teeth. “I asked him to forgive my brother’s
rudeness. He’s a buffoon.”

John grumbled
indignantly and Shayla dropped her grin to the uneven flagstone beneath her
feet.

“Je comprends. J'ai
pensé qu'il voulait me détrousser.” He clutched his camera protectively.

Tracy smiled.
“Imagine that John, he thought you were robbing him.” Her sweet exaggerated
laugh carried on breeze down the empty corridor. She mockingly rolled her eyes,
showing playful annoyance with her brother. “
Puis-je voir
?”

“
Oui
.” He twisted sideways, allowing
Tracy to view is pictures, not missing the opportunity to catch another glimpse
at such a striking woman.

“
Merci.”

He cupped Tracy’s
hand, pressing a brief kiss to her knuckles. “
De rien
.”

“All clear. No
pictures.” Tracy turned on her heel, marching back to the dock. “Just one
scared to death tourist, trying to enjoy the magic of Greece without getting beat
up by my brother.”

Shayla nodded,
offering her apology, and darted right behind Tracy. “I didn’t realize you spoke
French.”

“I speak a little
bit of Italian and Spanish too.” Out of earshot, she paused, huffing furiously
at her brother. “If you get your ass thrown in jail again, especially today during
Mom’s wedding, she’ll never forgive you. Can we just get on the boat before you
make a scene or go crazy on another unsuspecting tourist?”

“Me?” he questioned
innocently, poking his chest with his thumb.

Tracy shot him a
piercing glare before proceeding to the boat without listening to any excuses.

John called out, “Hey,
that only happened once and it wasn’t really my fault. Besides,
I
wasn’t the one going crazy! I was just
backing up
her
crazy.”

“My crazy?” Shayla
gasped, so appalled, she thwacked him on the arm, knocking herself off balance.

He grabbed her
around the waist, his face inches from hers.

She thought she saw
a white flash of a grin. “Do you think that’s funny?”

“You are so adorable
when you get pissed.” He pulled her tight to his frame, scanning over her face,
taking in every nuance.

She opened her mouth
to complain, but he gently pressed his finger to her lips.

“You’d better stop
right there.”

She creased her
brows in defiance. “Or what?”

Her lips moved
behind his finger, the scent of his minty breath split her thoughts, tempting her
to roll her tongue around his finger.

 
“Or I might kiss you right now.”

“Hey, Romeo! The
boat’s waiting. Let’s go!” JC called, breaking their gaze.

John eased her away
from the length of his body, keeping his arm at the small her back, grinning as
he waved to his sister.

Fifty questions
riffled through her head, including the calling card
Romeo
. She leaned a bit closer into his side as they walked. “Have you
really been to jail?” she asked.

Shayla’s stride
slowed to a crawl as she became fascinated by every intimidating, masculine
inch of him. Every part of her wanted to know more about him.

“It’s a long story.”

“We have all night.”

“We won’t be talking,”
he whispered into her hair, escorting her across the bridge made of planks onto
the ferry. “Maybe on our next date.”

A hush of silence
and smiles of anticipation filled the small ferry as it skimmed across the flat,
calm sea. Tracy came prepared, retrieving a light shawl from her bag.

Shayla sat next to
John, trembling from the cool breeze nipping at her cheeks. His arm came around
her, tucking her into his solid frame.

JC swapped seats,
squeezing between Tracy and John to hide from the chilly spray wiping over the
bow of the boat. She wrapped her arms around herself, nudging her brother’s
shoulder. Her teeth chattered through an imploring smile. “What about me? You
got one of those for your sister?”

“Well get in here,”
John ordered, lifting his other arm, offering shelter.

JC rested her head
on his shoulder and he rubbed up and down quickly, creating friction and warmth
on both of the girls’ bare arms.

Shayla smiled at JC
before locking eyes with John.

He winked at her and
she cuddled in closer.

“What did you go to
jail for?” Shayla asked, gazing out at the small barren island approaching in
the glow of the horizon. She indulged in the comfort of his chin resting on top
of her head.

“Nothing. It wasn’t
that big of deal.”

“It w—was a
big deal.” JC’s teeth chattered. “He missed Tracy’s graduation and screwed up
her party c—cause Dad had to bail him out of jail.”

John continued the
rubbing, shifting in his seat to shield JC from the biting cold spray of water.

Shayla elbowed his
rib, wanting to hear complete details of the story.

“I was on my way to
Tracy’s graduation and I got into an altercation with someone on the side of
the road.”

“Altercation?” JC
scoffed and Shayla leaned forward, peeking at JC with wide eyes. “More like he
beat the hell out of the guy.”

“He deserved it,”
Tracy added flatly.

By now her curiosity
dripped like drool from the lips of a Saint Bernhard on a summer day, pleading
with her eyes for one of them to continue.

“John was two blocks
from the Thomas and Mack, that’s where our graduations are held, when he pulled
off the side of the road to help a woman getting beat up by her boyfriend.”

“Pimp!” JC nodded
hotly. “Get the story straight, he was her pimp.”

“Beat up by her
pimp
. He got thrown in jail for—”

“Soliciting
prostitution.” JC’s deep chuckle reverberated all the way through John’s rigid
posture to the side of Shayla’s thigh.