Someone To Believe In (17 page)

When they took a break, they mayor approached
him. “Where’s your mind today, Clayton?”

Thinking about a woman who
won’t give me the time of day
. That wasn’t exactly
true, but he was annoyed at how his conversation with her had
ended Wednesday night. She wouldn’t let him call her and he wasn’t
used to being treated like a teenage boy whose girlfriend set the
parameters. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her. So much so
that it was interfering with his work. “I’m distracted, I
guess.”

“I’m looking forward to your father’s
seventieth birthday.”

“So am I.”

“Clayton Sr. and I are playing golf at noon
on Friday.”

“Ah.”

“Tom Carter’s joining us. Are you making up
the foursome?”

“Foursome? Um, no.” He had a special kind of
twosome scheduled, and wouldn’t change his plans if God asked him
to. His father hadn’t been pleased.

The mayor can be an
influence on your career, son. You need to put that ahead of
everything else
. Having done exactly that for years,
Clay balked, leaving his father angry and dismayed.

The mayor laughed. “I must say, Clayton,
you’re out of it today.”

Tom Carter had told him the same thing
when he’d called about Clay being on a new Homeland Security
subcommittee in the fall.
Is something
wrong, Clay? Jane says you’re acting strangely. You seem
distracted, as if you’re always thinking about something
else
.

Clay knew Jane’s comments stemmed from the
fact that he wouldn’t sleep with her that night in D.C. Then, last
week she’d phoned him and wanted to come up early before his
father’s party to spend a few days at his town house. But he’d
said no. She hadn’t bought his lame excuses, and had been whiny
about his lack of attention to her.

Finally the mayor reconvened the committee.
Grateful for the reprieve, Clay listened to the superintendent of
the city schools give his pitch. “These are the preliminary numbers
for the outlay of money to provide after-school tutoring for
inner-city kids. “

Something Clay supported. He wondered if
Bailey would be in favor of it. She’d probably want a special
program for her gang kids to be tutored. He wondered what she was
doing right now? He checked his watch. Only twenty-four hours till
he’d see her.

It’s just sex.

Okay, so it was. He’d get his brain to wrap
around that and forget about anything else with her. He would.

“Clay?” The mayor again. “I asked you another
question!”

TAZ POPPED AN upper and sank onto the mildewy
chair; she was kicking it with her homies at the GG’s crib. The
hard rock pulsing from the boom box grated on a headache beginning
to bud in her brain.

She closed her eyes, thinking about the day.
At the Street Angel’s nagging, she’d gone to school and registered
to go back this fall. The guidance counselor had ragged on her
about how far behind she was already, and the principal wanted to
make himself clear that they wouldn’t put up with her absences
again.

She’d thought,
Why bother?

The Street Angel had had an answer for
that one.
Because you’re smart,
Taz.

How can you tell?

Good instincts. You have potential.

“How’s it hangin’, Tazzie girl?”

“Hey, Maze.” Her friend had long blond hair,
baby blue eyes, a sweet mouth. Real Barbielike. And she could be as
ruthless as any Crip or Blood. Rumor had it Mazie had taken
somebody out; lots of the GGs claimed they’d put in some work, but
who knew how many really had?

Taz hadn’t. Yet. But she knew the longer she
stayed in the gang, the closer that day got when they insisted she
kill somebody. That was why she’d been having crazy thoughts about
getting out, like the Street Angel said she could. She sprang to
her feet. “Gotta go.”

“Where? Home to your old man?” Mazie’s smirk
was knowing.

“Not stayin’ there.”

“Then how come you ain’t crashin’ here?”

“I dunno. Look, I’m bookin’.”

She left before Mazie could ask any more
questions.

The street was quiet for eleven p.m.
Residents had to be back at the shelter by midnight. Little
Cinderellas. She headed over there; along the way she passed on two
hits of coke, three offers from johns. Jesus. What a world.

She reached Gentle House just before curfew.
Sister Marion, the head nun, waited for her in the entryway.
“Hello, Tazmania. It’s a little late to be out, isn’t it?”

“I made curfew.”

“I know that, dear. I was worried about
you.”

Geez, lady, don’t do
that
. “Are you for real?”

“Gen-u-ine article.” The nun smiled.

Taz hid one of her own. It didn’t pay to get
friendly with people. Who knew what lurked behind that habit?
There’d been all the scandals with Catholic priests...

“I’m tired. I gonna hit the sack.”

“All right, dear. But, you know, if you ever
want to talk, I’m here. We give more than shelter.”

“Yeah?”

“We give guidance.”

“Oh, sure.”

Taz found her way to the communal sleeping
area. Lights were still on; most of the girls were in bed already,
but the skunky threesome gathered on one cot.

“Here’s Her Highness,” she heard one of them
say as she found her bed.

Taz ignored it. Like the kids at school,
these chicks got their rocks off by dissing her.

“Think she got a boyfriend?”

“Nah. Seems pretty cozy with the sister,
though. You a fag, girly?”

Taz whirled around. “None of your fucking
business, assholes. Listen and listen good. You don’t want to mess
with me.” Out of her backpack she pulled her gang bandana. “Or my
set. You got what I’m sayin’?”

They apparently did. They didn’t have a
smart-ass comeback, and looked away. It wasn’t enough. Taz strode
over to the leader and pulled her up by the shirt. “Answer me,
cunt.”

“Yeah, sure, I got it.”

“Fine. Now leave me the fuck alone.”
Taz crossed to the cot. The Street Angel’s words came back to
her.
You don’t always have to be so
tough.
She was sure wrong about that.

BAILEY FELT OUT of place as she walked
into the posh lobby of the Suffox Hotel at nine the next
morning.
You’re out of place in Clayton
Wainwright’s life, that’s why
. He was already here, in
room 2234. He’d left a message on her voice mail saying he’d
arrived and telling her where to go. Tucking her hands into the
pockets of her long denim skirt, she rode the elevator. She hadn’t
fussed today—she’d worn a plain pink T-shirt with the calf-length
skirt; no, she hadn’t fussed—except for her underwear. A lacy white
thong and bra to match. She’d been saving last year’s birthday
present from Suze for a special occasion. How pathetic. It took
her almost a year to use it. That must be why she wanted sex with
the man whom she’d fought bitterly with for over a decade and
thought she hated.

But she didn’t hate him. She couldn’t wait to
be with him again.

She knocked on the double wooden door, hoping
he’d answer it, drag her inside, and ravish her so her head would
stay on straight. The door whipped open right away. He stood in a
little foyer-type space, in jeans and a navy blue T-shirt,
barefoot. His hair was tousled and a bit damp. He had a little
nick on the corner of his jaw from shaving. “Morning,” he said
flashing her a toothpaste-commercial smile. God she wanted that
mouth on her.

“Morning.”

He stepped aside so she could come in.
Wow! He’d gotten a suite. The place resembled Richard Gere’s
penthouse in
Pretty Woman
. It
consisted of a huge living room with modern mahogany leather
furnishings. A dining room. And she guessed a bedroom off to the
left. Drawing in a breath, she pivoted to face him. His hands were
in his back pockets and his pose was...cocky.

She said, “Ready?”

“Oh, yeah.” He closed the distance between
them and once again she was surprised at how much bigger he was
than she. His size, and his scent when she got a whiff of him—soap
and aftershave—made her heart stutter. He took her face in his
hands. Lowered his head. She waited for desire to slam into her,
and him, to combust them both. Instead, his lips met hers and
tasted, tested. His tongue coaxed apart the seam of her mouth. She
went up on tiptoes and tried to wrap her arms around him, but his
position didn’t allow it. All she could do was let him kiss her,
explore her, with a tenderness that was unnerving. She felt herself
sinking into it by degrees.

Desire came, not bursting, but as a tiny bud
beginning to unfold. After forever, he left her mouth and kissed
his way to her neck. His arms banded around her in an encompassing
but so gentle embrace she sighed with it. His fingers slid down and
explored the hollow of her back. His actions were accompanied by
murmurs of appreciation and contented sighs.

Finally he let her hold him, run her hands
over those linebacker shoulders, flirt with his nape, sift her
fingers through his coarse hair. She felt a ripple go through him.
Nudging the pink cotton aside, he tasted her skin, plucked at her
bra strap with his teeth. Then his mouth was at her ear, his breath
whispering into her hair. She felt as if she were melting into
him, like a candle left out in the sun. His words, too, were a
gentle caress. “I missed this. A lot.”

She drew back. His eyes shone with deep and
dark desire. Yet there was a lazy expression on his face, an
unhurried set to his body. This was not good. Not safe.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.”

“All right.”

Instead of scooping her up in a fit of
passion like the last time, he leaned over, slid muscled arms under
her and lifted her. Then he cradled her against his chest and
kissed her head. His tenderness was killing her. And it was so
romantic only a stone wouldn’t react. He carried her into the
bedroom. She had an impression of slatted blinds allowing half the
morning light in, a lake of a bed, and dark wood furnishings. He
set her on her feet and she immediately went for her belt. He
batted her hands away. “No way, lady. I get to do all of this.”

“Clay, don’t—”

He put his fingers to her mouth. “Shh. You
said just sex right? Just the physical.”

“Yeah. But this—”

His big hands deftly released her belt.
Slowly drew it off. “—is within the rules.”

Oh, no, it wasn’t, she thought as he let his
fingers brush her bare rib cage on their way to taking her top off.
He wasn’t playing fair; surely he had to know that. Unzipping her
skirt, he eased it down so it fell to the floor. Then he stepped
back. “Oh, sweetheart. Could you be any sexier?”

She shook back her hair. Straightened her
shoulders. He wasn’t going to get the upper hand here. She could
take this. He circled around her. Studied her. Sniffed her. There
was a hint of arrogance in his perusal, a smugness about his smile,
like a man appreciating the sight of a feast he was about to enjoy.
It sent delicate threads of desire dancing through her. To defuse
the sensual web, she said, “I’m ten pounds over the weight the
insurance company recommends for my height. I should probably go
on a diet.”

“What do they know?” he said from behind. His
jeans scraped her bare legs and made her quiver.

“You’re probably exactly where you should
be.” She was babbling but couldn’t help it. “I’ll look it up for
you. How tall are you?”

“Six-three.”

When he came back around front, his smile was
knowing; he reached out, released the clasp of her bra and let it
fall to the floor. His eyes sparked with interest, with
appreciation; he lowered his head, let his tongue tease first one
nipple, then the other. His fingers skimmed her hips, and he
brushed the lacy scraps down, knelt to take them off. Like a
worshipper, he kissed her shin, her knees, her thighs, her tummy.
The brush of his lips sent involuntary tremors over her skin. When
he stood, he picked her up again and placed her on the mattress;
its cover was already pulled back; the sheets were baby soft.
Again, an intense gaze. “All mine,” he said as he went for the hem
of his T-shirt. “For now, all mine.”

CLAY COULD BARELY move. He lay on his side,
still nestled in Bailey’s body. She was flushed, sweaty, but her
skin glowed and her eyes shone like polished sapphires. Her velvet
warmth encompassed him, as aftershocks rippled through him, and
her. He thrust forward to maximize them.

She whispered, “Please, stop. I can’t take
any more.”

He hoped his smile wasn’t too smug. He’d
practically killed her with gentleness, arousing her slowly,
searching and exploring every inch of her delicious body. When
she’d become impatient, urgent, he’d gone even slower.

It had tortured him too—he’d wanted to
explode about ten times; yet he’d bathed her in tenderness. Because
he had to find a way to use this
just
physical
mandate to bring them closer. He wouldn’t
examine why, didn’t want to, really. He was just going with his
feelings.

“Why are you frowning?” she asked.

He brushed knuckles down her cheek. “Was I?”
He gathered her against him.

“Yeah, Senator, you were. Though I’m not sure
why,” she mumbled into his chest, kissing him there. “You won.”

“How did I win? It was just sex.” He tried to
keep the triumph out of his voice.

“Like hell.”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,
Ms. O’Neil

He leaned over and breathed in her ear, “You
came three times.”

She sighed and stayed where she was. “I
know.”