Hero For the Asking Read online

  Wrong. She was beautiful, more so each time he saw her. She Was fascinating. And he was in love with her.

  And she was going to be with him for only six more days.

  Okay, so he was going to miss her when she left. Okay, so it would hurt. What was he going to do about it?

  Only one thing to do, he decided abruptly. He'd take advantage of every moment of the next six days that he could spend with her. He'd make love to her as soon as he could persuade her, and if that didn't satisfy his appetite for her, he'd make love to her again. And again. And again, until she was as steeped in him as he was in her.

  Maybe then she would stay.

  * * *

  It was with mixed feelings that Spring accompanied Summer, Derek and Clay to a party in the home that Connie Anderson shared with Joel Tanner. She wasn't overly excited about attending a party where she knew only five other people, but it was another excuse to be with Clay. Summer had even stopped teasing her about seeing so much of Clay, and Derek, in his placid way, seemed to accept Clay's constant presence as inevitable while Spring was around. Spring was beginning to feel like one of a couple. She liked the feeling. She was going to miss it when it ended in five days.

  Connie had moved in with Joel a month earlier, in February. They planned to be married in May, when Connie and Derek's parents returned from a leisurely, long-planned cruise, but they saw no need to wait that long to live together. This was Connie's first real party in her new home. It was cheerful, loud, eccentric. Good clean fun, Summer assured her sister.

  "It's not Derek's and Joel's kind of thing, either, but they'll have a good time," she added as she helped Spring select a casual outfit consisting of a peach cotton blouse and comfortably full peach-and-cream plaid skirt.

  "It's your kind of thing, though, isn't it?" Spring asked thoughtfully. "And Clay's."

  "Sure, I love parties. So does Clay. He gets to perform."

  "Perform?"

  Summer only smiled mysteriously. "You'll see."

  Yes, Spring thought glumly. She was afraid that she would see. She'd see, again, how very different she and Clay were. And, worse, he'd see the same thing. She wondered if any of his beautiful women would be there.

  They were. From the moment Clay entered the room, Spring at his side, he was deluged by affectionate welcomes. Women—redheads, blondes, brunettes, all disgustingly beautiful—greeted him with kisses and hugs, teasing him about things that Spring didn't know about, illustrating so clearly how far apart their lives were. The women were dressed casually, for the most part, but with daring style that made Spring feel very provincial and unsophisticated next to them.

  The music was loud, classic rock and roll mostly. Spring liked rock and roll, but it did make conversation rather difficult. She smiled a lot.

  When Bob Seger's recorded voice burst out with "Old Time Rock 'n Roll," everyone laughed and tried to talk Clay into stripping down to his shirt and briefs and doing the lip-sync routine that Tom Cruise had made famous in the movie Risky Business. Clay declined with a laugh, but Spring got the impression that he wouldn't always have turned down the challenge. It seemed that he had done that particular routine at several other parties. He only laughed and shrugged when she turned a questioning glance on him.

  Spring managed to have a good time at the party, despite her initial feeling that she was terribly out of place, until a striking brunette joined the party halfway through the evening. She was dressed in Chinese red, red silk blouse and matching slacks that looked as if she'd been poured into them, and she was on the arm of an attractive auburn-haired man everyone called Ace. Spring sensed immediately that Connie and Summer hadn't known the woman would be there as Ace's date. She caught the quick, startled glances the former roommates exchanged before greeting the woman with somewhat stilted politeness.

  Clay hadn't known the woman would be at the party, either, Spring realized a few moments later. She just happened to be watching his face when he caught sight of the brunette. His eyes narrowed, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. His expression was hard to read, but Spring thought she detected chagrin. Then he glanced at her, caught her watching him and smiled, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts.

  Who was she and what was she, or what had she been, to Clay? Spring asked herself the question with a fierce surge of jealousy that left her dismayed and wary. She couldn't allow herself to go on this way, she tried to tell herself sternly. She must not fall in love with Clay McEntire!

  It was all she could do not to demand an explanation from Clay when he placed his arm lightly around her shoulders and asked if she wanted a drink from the bar. "A club soda sounds nice," she said, then wondered if she should have asked for something stronger. Though she rarely drank, this night might be a good time for it.

  The woman cornered them before he could even reply. It was as if she'd homed in on Clay the moment she entered the room and had barely paused on her way to him. "Hello, Clay."

  "Hello, Jessica," he returned, a hint of resignation in his voice. His arm tightened around Spring's shoulders, just a little, as if the movement had been nothing more than reflex.

  "Surprised to see me here?"

  "Yes, I am a bit. I thought you'd left San Francisco."

  She nodded, her rather slanted green eyes sparkling with feminine amusement, deep red mouth quirked into a slightly feline smile. "I did. I'm back."

  "So I see."

  "I wasn't at all surprised to see you. I knew you'd be at this party since you used to take me to all of Connie and Summer's parties."

  "How clever of you." He managed to sound amazed and sarcastic all at once.

  Her long lashes flicking in apparent annoyance, she eyed him slowly, her gaze lingering intimately on the tight black pants below his blousy, full-sleeved white shirt. Spring felt her hands curling into claws even as the woman drawled, "What is this, your Errol Flynn look? Love those knee-high boots. Quite dashing."

  "Thanks." As if he'd just remembered his manners, Clay tightened his arm around Spring again and glanced down at her with a vaguely apologetic smile. "Sorry, sweetheart. This is Jessica Dixon, an old friend. Jess, meet Spring Reed, Summer's sister."

  Jessica hadn't liked being called an "old" friend any more than Spring had liked his familiar shortening of the other woman's name. "It's very nice to meet you. Spring," she said in a voice that said it wasn't really all that nice. She'd barely looked Spring's way before she turned back to Clay. "Clay, darling, you haven't even kissed me hello. Surely that's not too much to expect after all we've been to each other."

  That did it. Spring decided she didn't need to stand around and let the woman rub her face in the fact that Jessica and Clay had been lovers. "Clay, I think Joel is signaling for you," she said firmly. "Don't you think we should go see what he wants?"

  "Yes, Spring, I think we should do just that," he replied gravely, his eyes and voice ripe with amusement. "See you later, Jess."

  They were all the way across the room—nowhere near Joel and making no pretense to find him—before Spring spoke to Clay. "Could I ask just one question?"

  Warily he nodded. "Of course."

  "Was that the same woman you were with the night you met Summer?"

  He grinned. "No."

  She lifted an imperious eyebrow behind her glasses, trying to sound regal and condescending. "You have a thing for bitchy brunettes?" she asked distastefully.

  "I suppose I did at one time," he answered thoughtfully, looking rather surprised at his own answer. Then he winked at her. "Guess I knew they were safe enough to hang around with until I found a particularly sweet blond."

  She tossed her head. "Just don't feed me any lines right now, will you, Clay?"

  Unable to resist, he hugged her. "Why, Spring Reed, I do believe you're jealous."

  She glared at him. "Yes, dammit, I am. And I know full well that it's stupid and illogical and totally unjustified, so just don't start with me, McEntire, or I'll...I'll...I'll walk out of here and leave you t
o that barracuda!"

  "Oh, please, not that!" he murmured, laughing softly. On his face was a look of such wholly masculine satisfaction that Spring wanted to hit him. She really did.

  "I want a drink," she told him flatly. "And I don't want club soda."

  "Anything you desire, sweetheart," he answered her with mock subservience. "If you're tipsy, it will be all the easier to seduce you later."

  She refused to respond to that in any way.

  She wasn't tipsy, but he came close to seducing her, anyway. They had left the party not long after the encounter with Jessica. Clay claimed that he had a headache. The other guests actually believed him; it seemed that he'd been exceptionally well behaved that evening. Summer went so far as to call him "dull." Spring knew good and well that the headache was nothing more than a fabrication, but when he innocuously asked if he could stop by his place for an aspirin before taking her back to Sausalito, she told him she didn't mind.

  "I can't believe you're stopping this now," Clay complained later in a ragged voice, looming over her on the deep terra-cotta-colored sofa. "We were doing so well."

  About half an hour had passed since they'd entered Clay's house. Spring's blouse was open to the waist, her hair completely free of the pins that had once held it, and she was panting and flushed with passion. Clay wasn't in any better condition, his shirt open rakishly to the button of his now indecently tight pants, his hair rumpled boyishly around his face, his eyes unnaturally bright.

  She inhaled deeply, tugged her blouse across her straining, well-kissed breasts and shook her head against the sofa cushion. "You promised you'd stop whenever I asked you to," she reminded him huskily.

  "Yes, I know. But I kinda wish you'd asked a bit sooner, if you just had to ask." He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he reluctantly sat up.

  She chewed guiltily on her lower lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—It's just that, well, I got a little carried away."

  He pulled her into his arms, nuzzling his cheek against hers. "You liked what we were doing, didn't you, Spring?"

  She almost moaned at the renewal of feelings she'd just barely gotten under control. "You must know that I did."

  "So why are we stopping? I want you, Spring, and I think you want me. You do, don't you?"

  Buttoning her blouse, she glanced upward through lowered lashes. "Yes. I want you. But I can't make love with you tonight. The timing's all wrong."

  He looked puzzled. "Why?"

  Struggling to explain, even to understand herself, she twisted her hands in the lap of her wrinkled plaid skirt. "It's because of that woman."

  He didn't have to ask which woman. "Spring, whatever was between Jessica and me was over a long time ago."

  "I'm sure that's true. But the point is that I was jealous of her tonight. And I'm afraid that if I made love with you now, it would be because I was competing with her in some way. That's not what I want. I want to be sure I know what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it, before I make such an important decision. I don't take things like this lightly, Clay."

  He dropped his forehead to rest it against hers. "Darling Spring, I love everything about you, I really do, but that convoluted mind of yours is driving me insane."

  He loved everything about her? She savored the words for a moment. They were a bit like saying he loved her, weren't they? But still not enough. She was so close to loving him. She wouldn't be able to stop herself if they made love now. Maybe it was already too late, but surely she had to try. She had only five more days with him.

  * * *

  By Saturday afternoon Spring knew she'd made a mistake. Hours had passed since she'd last seen or heard from Clay and still her body throbbed with frustration. She wanted him in a way that was all new to her. She'd been stupid to stop him when he'd been making such beautiful love to her, she decided morosely. She wouldn't blame him if he wrote her off as neurotic and stayed completely away from her for the next four days. But how she hoped that he wouldn't!

  She and Summer spent the morning roaming through some of the tiny shops of artsy-craftsy novelties for which Sausalito was famous. They examined paintings, pottery, sculpture, handcrafted clothing and accessories...and all the time Spring wondered where Clay was, what he was doing. Was he thinking of her? She even wondered irrationally if he was with Jessica.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, she berated herself furiously, staring at a romantic painting of a lovely Victorian home surrounded by vivid flowers. The painting was stylish, beautiful and so very San Francisco. The colors would look wonderful in her apartment, but she couldn't bring herself to purchase it. It would remind her too much of Clay. Something told her she would think of him enough without having such poignant reminders hanging on her wall. You have to stop this, Spring Reed. You have to stop this...this—

  "Moping," Summer said from behind her.

  Spring jumped and jerked her head toward her sister. "What?"

  "I said, what's with all the moping? You've been off in another world all day. And it doesn't look like such a pleasant world, from the expression on your face. What's wrong. Spring?"

  "Nothing. I was just admiring this painting. Lovely, isn't it?"

  Summer allowed herself to be distracted, though not without a long, searching look at her sister's face.

  Clay called later that afternoon. "I think it's time I introduced you to my cooking," he informed Spring with a wicked chuckle.

  "I'm not sure I'm up to this," Spring bantered, though her knuckles were white around the plastic receiver as she gripped it in sheer relief. He hadn't given up. "Are Summer and Derek invited to this culinary experiment?'

  "Not this time, sweetheart. This time it's just you and me. No sister, no brother-in-law and no ex-girlfriends. How does that sound?"

  She knew what he was asking. And it had very little to do with dinner. "That sounds very nice," she answered him, wondering if he could hear the whispery thread of a voice that came from her throat.

  He did. "Good," he said, and his own voice had deepened. "Ill pick you up at seven. Dress sexy." With that he hung up.

  Spring stood holding the receiver to her chest, staring into space, until Summer walked into the room and politely inquired if Spring was having an out-of-body experience.

  It took her over an hour to get ready for her date. Though she berated herself the entire time for being silly, she was dithered over her selection of clothing. After all, she reasoned nervously, it wasn't as if her date were going to show up in an average suit and tie. Who knew what Clay would choose to wear? Not that she could compete with his flashy style, but she would like him to admire the way she dressed. She settled finally on a slinky jacquard silk dress in a pale mint green. Showing tantalizing hints of cleavage and leg when she moved, the surplice wrap dress was fastened with a wide matching belt that emphasized her small waist.

  The belt was the only thing holding the garment together. She'd bought the dress on impulse on that first shopping excursion with Summer. She wondered now if, even then, she'd had Clay in mind when she purchased the sexy garment.

  She left her hair loose, skillfully applied pastel makeup and clipped on pearl earrings. She was ready. And her hands were trembling so hard she had to clench them in front of her to try to keep them steady. She'd heard the doorbell a few minutes earlier. She knew that Clay was waiting for her.

  "You look beautiful, Spring," Derek told her sincerely when she finally came out of her room.

  She gave him a grateful smile.

  Summer opened her mouth to say something, noticed the expression on her older sister's face and changed her teasing to a quick compliment.

  Clay took one look at her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, deeply and passionately. She wouldn't have minded at all if her sister and brother-in-law hadn't been standing beside them.

  "Clay!" she said, gasping, when he finally released her.

  "God, you're beautiful," he told her with a grin, then turned to Summer. "I'm so glad you and Derek are st
aying home tonight."

  Summer giggled. "Thanks a lot, friend. Maybe I should come along to chaperone this date."

  "You'll never make it out of the house alive, pilgrim," Clay returned in his best John Wayne voice—mitigated somewhat by the unlined pink blazer and matching slacks he wore with a black-and-pink patterned shirt. Spring couldn't picture John Wayne ever wearing pink.

  "You have to be the most uninhibited person I've ever met," she told him on the way to his house, thinking of that kiss in front of her sister and brother-in-law.

  Clay chuckled. "I have to admit I'm not particularly dismayed by an audience," he agreed.

  She thought of the things she'd learned about his childhood. "Is that why you dress so funny?" she asked curiously. "For attention?"

  "Who dresses funny?" he demanded with mock indignation.

  He obviously had no intention of allowing the conversation to get too serious, so Spring followed his lead and began to tease him about the unusual outfits he'd worn since she'd arrived.

  They'd barely stepped into his house before Clay had her in his arms again. "You're so beautiful tonight," he murmured between brief, nipping kisses, his hands gliding over her silk dress. "I love this dress. Why don't you take it off?"

  Her momentary attack of nerves disappeared in her sputter of laughter. "Clay! I thought you were going to serve dinner."

  "I am," he assured her, removing her smudged glasses and slipping them into the breast pocket of his jacket. He brushed back a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "It'll be about an hour before it's ready."

  She frowned suspiciously at him. "Then why am I here so early?"

  He brushed his lips against her cheek, then dropped his head to nibble at her neck while he toyed with her belt. "For appetizers."

  She was going weak and there wasn't a thing she could do about it but close her eyes and cling to him as his warm breath teased her ear. "I suppose...you consider this an appetizer?" she asked, her voice reedy.