Whisper Privileges (17 page)

Chapter Twelve

Clay grinned and set his wine down. He
wondered when she’d get around to asking. Usually, it was the first
question a woman asked and if they didn’t receive an acceptable
response? They didn’t accept a second date. In his experience,
females viewed a man in terms of how he could enhance their image,
their lifestyle. But Sydney felt different. From what he could
glean, she was warm and genuine. Hardworking, ambitious and she
seemed pretty conscientious—the total opposite of how Charlie had
described her. Matter of fact, she was beginning to feel like the
kind of woman he could spend some time around. Pulling her further
into his focus he mused, but then again, Charlie had been wrong
before. “I’m the financial guy for my family’s business. Financial
consultant is my actual title, but basically I do numbers. When
management wants to save money or expand, they run it by me
first.”

Peering at him,
Sangría
clutched close
to her body in a relaxed hold, she observed, “Sounds like a big
job.”

“It can be.”

“And you can do it on a part-time basis?”

“Well, yes... Pretty much.”

“
Pretty much
? What does that
mean?”

“Let’s just say I have a way with
numbers.”

“Sounds a bit vague.”

Clay smiled. He could feel the suspicion as
it built in her gaze. “Call it a photographic memory, but ever
since I was a kid I could remember stuff—numbers, words, pictures,
you name it. Kinda threw my family for a curve when they realized I
could memorize and recite aloud entire books—before I was actually
able to read them.”

“Wow.” She chuckled at the confession. “I bet
you were a good student.”

He shook his head. “Hardly.” Clay made
quotation marks in the air with his hands and said, “I had
‘behavior issues’. I hated school and the teachers weren’t too fond
of me, either.”

“Really? But why? Didn’t you find it
easy?”

“Too easy, and that was the problem. I was
bored.” Despite repeated conferences, the teachers acted like his
disinterest was a personal insult against them. They reassured his
parents that if only he’d buckle down and get to his work,
everything would be fine. At that point, he’d given up trying.

She nodded. “So you acted up.”

“Pretty much. It wasn’t until middle school
that I began to settle down. That’s when I took my first course in
algebra and became hooked. I loved not only the intricacies of the
numbers and equations, but the fact that it all made perfect sense.
Then economics came along and I found a real-life way to use
numbers.” He smiled as fond memories of Mrs. Richardson entered his
mind. In eighth grade, she made it all connect. She showed him that
numbers were at the root of everything, from science to finance,
space to human nature and if he was willing to understand them, he
could manipulate them to his will and create anything he wanted. It
had been an intriguing proposition. “When it was my turn to enter
the business, my father walked me straight to the finance
department.”

“That’s incredible…” she murmured, as though
she couldn’t imagine the scenario.

“Actually, in the course of discovering Q’s
autism, the doctors attributed my abilities as being autistic in
nature.”

She gaped at him. “You have autism?”

Sydney’s shock didn’t bother him. He’d become
accustomed to the reactions. When people learned of his condition
and ability, their reaction was the same. Amazed and stupefied.
“Not in the normal terms you associate with autism, but with
research still in its infancy, they believe there may be a
hereditary link between my abilities and Q’s autism. A different
form of the same condition, if you will.”

“Scientists seem to be doing a lot with
genetics these days.”

“They are.”

“So, are you some sort of savant?”

“No.” He smiled, unaffected. “Just an average
guy with an above average memory.”

She smiled. “I may not know you very well
Clay, but one thing I do know is that you are
far
from
average.”

He winked. “I’m getting to you, aren’t
I?”

She suppressed a grin and pressed the rim of
her glass to her lips. “Let’s just say you’re making headway.”

Satisfaction erupted in his chest. “That’s
all I need.”

“
Cevíche
?”

Startled, Sydney looked up at the waiter.
“Uh, yes,” she replied, pulling her glass down by her chest and out
of the way. “You can put them anywhere. We’re sharing.”

“Of course.” He slid the dish in front of
her, then placed the other before Clay. “Would you care for some
small plates to divide them?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Clay said.

“As you wish. ¡
Buen provecho
!”

She looked to Clay for his reaction to the
dishes.

“So, what am I eating?”

Sydney chuckled. “Yours is fried squid with
peppers and mine is raw fish.”

“Really?” He looked down at her ceramic bowl,
bright red peppers tucked in between chunks of white fish, slivers
of red onion with fresh parsley clinging to the meat. “It doesn’t
look raw.”

“Actually, the fish is ‘cooked’ by the acid
of the lime juice.”

“Huh. Never heard of it,” he said and reached
for his fork. He poked at one of the tentacles swimming in a
brownish-red sauce on his plate. Fried to a golden brown, only the
twirly tentacle tips remained purple and batter-free. “These make
it pretty obvious what I’m eating.”

She laughed. “That they do!” she exclaimed
and watched in amusement as he pierced one and plopped it into his
mouth.

Clay chewed for a minute, then nodded his
approval. “It’s delicious. Nice spice to it.”

“You said you like it spicy.”

“And you nailed it.” Sydney’s eyes became
nothing but lids as she made a fast detour to her dish. Clay
savored a private smile. He liked that he could catch her off
guard. She dipped into her
cevíche
, scoured around for a
piece of fish, then pulled it from its bath of lime juice. Allowing
it to drip dry, she asked, “Care for a bite?”

Clay eyed the bite-sized morsel dangling from
her fork and asked, “Is it safe?”

“I’m not out to poison you, Clay.”

A gleam entered her eyes, the ones that
suddenly felt dark and dangerous—exactly how he preferred them.
“Now there’s some good news,” he said, debating whether or not he
wanted to eat raw fish. Taking food from her fork was the easy part
of the equation. Consuming raw food was a harder sell.

“You’d never know it wasn’t cooked if I
hadn’t told you,” she informed.

“I wouldn’t, huh?”

“Not a chance.” She extended fork in hand
across the table. “Have a taste for yourself.”

“I intend to,” he said, desire flaring hot
and quick as he leaned forward and pulled the piece of meat free
with his teeth. Hopefully she didn’t miss his double entendre.
Taking his time, he turned the meat around in his mouth and
decided,
not bad
. “You’re right. It’s good and actually
tastes totally cooked.”

“Told you.”

“Nice to know I can trust you. Wanna bite of
mine?”

“Sure.”

A streak of wicked fired through him. Clay
held her gaze and boldly asked, “Rings or
tentacles
...”

Sydney reached for her water and Clay zeroed
in on her face as he held the dimpled tentacle out for her
consumption.
Would she miss his intention
?

She glanced at the
calamari
on his
fork, took one look around their immediate vicinity and then took
hold of his wrist, slowly guiding the piece of squid into her
mouth. His pulse hammered. Staring very directly into his eyes, she
lingered, then methodically closed her lips completely on his fork
and pulled the meat free.

Clay’s heart thwacked within his chest.
Desire pulsed in his groin. “I like the way you eat, Ms.
Flores.”

She eased back into her seat and visibly
swallowed. She smiled demurely, but her intent had been clear.

His smile lengthened, despite his attempt to
remain cool. “Like you said, everything is good here. I think I’d
have to agree.”

Without reply, she drank from her wine.

The remainder of their appetizers finished in
the customary fashion of normal dining, though Clay couldn’t shake
the image of her sultry pull of his tentacle. She was interested.
If he’d had any doubts, he didn’t anymore.

# # #

Once their dinner was complete, Clay asked
for an after dinner stroll around the plaza. Sydney agreed,
reluctant to let him go. Spending time with Clay made her feel
wanted, desired, and one-hundred-percent woman. Strong and
confident, she respected him as a man, respected his choices.
During dinner he shared more about his life with Q, their highs,
their lows, and how it was important to him to be there for his son
every step of the way. To Sydney, his role as devoted father made
him a nice guy; one of the certifiable good guys. But more than Q,
he took the time to be there for her, a stranger. A woman he just
met. Taking time to alleviate her embarrassment over opening
ceremonies was something he didn’t have to do. But he did. And it
skyrocketed him to the top of the heap. Though she wondered at
herself for pulling that squid from his fork the way she did.
What had possessed her to blatantly tease him like that
?

Pushing ten o’clock, the sidewalks had grown
busy, but thoroughly consumed with each other, the two walked and
talked, Clay bumping his arm against hers, hanging close when they
stood. At the base of the stairwell he stood so near, she could
feel the warmth of his body. Several times Clay brushed his fingers
against hers, the contact amazingly brief that she wasn’t sure if
he was trying to hold her hand or not!

Near the edge of the plaza he stopped, and
she stopped with him. “How tall are you?”

She tamped back a squiggle of angst. About
head and shoulders even with him she replied, “Five ten.”

“Liar.” He grinned. “You’re all of six
feet.”

“I’m wearing heels.”

He surveyed her feet. “Maybe an inch
worth.”

Boys had always made remarks when she was
growing up. Sydney knew they didn’t want to ask the tallest girl to
the dance and that her height was the reason she never attended the
first one. She imagined her size challenged their egos. “Is it a
problem?”

“Not for me.” Shockingly blue, Clay’s eyes
pierced the evening lamplight. So brilliant, they were almost hard
to look at, even in the dim light of evening. His gaze dropped
briefly to her mouth. Bravado skittered. Taking her hand in his, he
led her to a dark corner of the building. As they rounded it, the
two were alone, save for a few partygoers ambling further down the
sidewalk. He stopped, turned to face her, then took both her hands
into his. “I had a nice time this evening.”

“Me too,” she replied, inundated by a fresh
rush of nerves. The contact was simple, warm and engaging. It was
intimate, easy, something she yearned to continue. “But it’s
getting late.”

“Nervous?”

“No,” she lied. Should she stay? Go? She
wanted to be with him but a sudden swell of doubt interfered. “I’m
working, remember? Competition starts bright and early and I’m
expected to be on site, first thing.”

“Must be tough when everyone wants a piece of
you.”

She smiled beneath his gaze. She enjoyed it
when he was so bold and direct, it made her feel feminine. “I don’t
know about that...”

“I do.” Clay leaned close and lightly kissed
her. It was a lightning bolt to her skin. “Mmm...” He strummed his
breath against her lips. “That was nice.”

Sydney could barely breathe.

“Can I have another dinner with you?”

“Um…” she murmured, still reeling.
Clay
just kissed her
.

He gently tightened his grip on her hands. “I
promise I’ll behave.”

While he had been nothing but a gentleman,
she found it hard to believe he wouldn’t push for more. But is this
what she wanted? Sure she was attracted to him, wanted to spend
time with him… He gave a light pump to her hands. Sydney searched
his eyes for answers. But where would it go from there? Would they
have a fling? Enjoy a few more nights of flirtatious dinner
conversation?

Disappointment entered his gaze. “And I
thought I was making headway...”

“Maybe,” she murmured quickly.

“Maybe?”

Heartbeats battered at her chest, defying her
reply. Maybe? How about yes. You know you want it. “Maybe,” she
repeated.

He smiled, acceptance taking residence in his
face. “I’ll take it.” He looked around them and then asked, “May I
walk you to your car?”

Desire kicked the breath from her lungs.
Did she dare
? She ventured a gaze to her car, parked
half-way down the street. The location was far more isolated, far
more private. But moving back to the familiar blue eyes, Sydney
somehow doubted he’d take no for an answer. A zing shot through her
midsection. And she could go for another one of those kisses.
“Sure.”

Clay’s expression filled with pleasure.
Curling his fingers through hers, he secured their link and asked,
“Where to?” When she pointed down the very road they were on, his
smile turned devilish. “Shall we?”

Exactly what she was afraid of.

Neither said a word as they walked through
the darkened evening air. Content with the faint breeze, the drum
of nightlife blocked by the buildings that separated them,
scenarios of what lay ahead streamed through her mind. Would he try
anything at the car? Should she let him? Thoughts of his lips
connecting with hers bloomed in her loins. Getting close to him,
wanting him to wrap his arms around her...

Whether she should or shouldn’t was quickly
becoming irrelevant. She most definitely
wanted
to kiss Clay
Rutledge. Her body tingled with anticipation. And she wanted more
than a simple peck.