Lovers Only

“Yes, Clay. I’ll go with you.”

He leaned toward her, breath fanning her ear as he whispered, “You won’t be sorry.”

She sighed quietly. “I already am.”

Two

“We’re here.”

Dreamland didn’t want to let her go. And she didn’t want to leave it, either.

A gentle hand shook her shoulder.

She snuggled deeper into her pillow.

No, not her pillow.

Leather upholstery. Soft and supple. She frowned. Became aware of unnatural silence. And the scent of...

Mountain spice.

Clay.

Her eyes shot open.

It wasn’t a dream. Or a nightmare. It was reality. A four-week reality with her husband. Her heart picked up tempo.

Maybe it was a dream.

“Clay,” she said softly.

She expected uncertainty to cloak them. After all, things had been tense when they’d faced down their attorneys. Mr. Dobson had insisted Catherine had lost her mind and that Clay must have issued a threat of some kind. Indignant, Jack Simmons had slammed a fist on the table and issued a loud objection, suitable for the actual court case.

Clay had taken her by the wrist, pulled her from the office and shut the door on the argument.

As he’d pressed her against the wall near the elevator, she’d expected him to lean just a bit closer and seal their bargain with a kiss.

He hadn’t.

She’d felt strangely bereft.

In her apartment, alone with her doubts and fears, she’d reached for the phone half a dozen times, intent on telling him she’d changed her mind about their month in seclusion.

The call to Melissa hadn’t helped, either. Melissa had eventually agreed to run the shop, but not until she’d voiced her opinion that Catherine was insane.

Catherine had nodded in silent agreement.

Despite her misgivings and apprehensions, she’d been ready to leave at the agreed hour.

Clay hadn’t been there when the clock had struck the hour.

Catherine had spent ten minutes pacing in front of the fireplace...wondering if he’d changed his mind. Hoping he had.

Praying he hadn’t.

He hadn’t.

He’d given her a quick kiss on the cheek, setting her insides on slow, remembered burn, then grabbed her suitcase and headed for the car.

“Are you awake?” Clay asked. Then he shocked her. He smiled for the second time that day.

Her heart melted.

She hadn’t seen him smile this much in years. And it was a real smile. It reached his eyes, igniting them with fire. With desire?

The sun barely cast a glow through the tall pines, and she noted that the evening’s first stars had started to peek through the faded purple velvet backdrop.

She resisted the fanciful notion of wishing on one of the twinkling stars.

What would she wish for?

The impossibility of her and Clay falling in love again? The possibility that he’d give her the divorce she asked for?

Neither option sounded like what she truly wanted.

She yawned and stretched. Then she shifted uncomfortably. Clay’s miss-nothing gaze hadn’t left her face for a single second.

“Your palace awaits.”

Even she couldn’t help but smile at that imagery. The cabin was okay, as far as cabins went, but... She and Clay had visited once a long time ago. The lack of indoor plumbing hadn’t made her anxious to return. The wood-burning stove had seemed romantic at first, but when the fire died in the middle of the night and there was no furnace to take the chill from the air... Suddenly she wasn’t glad she’d accepted the invitation.

Clay opened the car door, and emerging night sounds spilled into the interior.

Her new apartment was close to downtown. The night sounds that surged through her open windows there included honking horns, rowdy teenagers and the impassioned speech of an occasional religious fanatic.

“Coming?”

“Enjoying the silence.”

“There’s been a lot of that at the house.”

He said it without accusation. Just a simple comment that cut her to the quick.

Clay opened the back door and grabbed two bags. “I miss your lousy CDs.”

“My CDs aren’t lousy, they’re—”

“Spiritually healing.”

She allowed that comment to pass with nothing more than the hint of a grin. He was teasing. It surprised her that she recognized it at all. Surprised her even more that he still knew how.

Clay walked to the cabin and unlocked the front door, pushing it open with his foot. He used their bags to prop open the entrance, then flipped the light switch. She sat in the car, watching him.

He moved with fluid grace, muscles tight, flannel shirt stretched taut across his back. Jeans hugged his hips and thighs, conforming to him the way she might have...years ago. He had a nice butt. Still.

Clay was magnificent.

She met a lot of men in her job. None were his equal.

Clay returned to the car. “Gonna let me do all the work?”

What would he do if she said yes? After all, this trip had been his idea. If she had her way, she’d be toasting her new life with a lonely glass of champagne amid the hollowness of an empty apartment.

“Is that a yes?”

Deciding to yield to unnatural impishness, Catherine yawned.

Clay leaned toward her menacingly. Without a word he unsnapped the safety belt and scooped her from the car.

“Put me down,” she protested, laughing.

He didn’t.

Suddenly she didn’t want him to.

She wanted, if just for this moment in time, to believe this craziness might truly last.

And why not? She was well and truly stuck for the next month. He held the keys to the car. Along with the one to her heart.

She vowed he wouldn’t open that lock to the same hurt a second time.

Clay carried her inside, holding her tight to his chest. She heard the steady ebb and flow of his breaths, noted the fact his dark hair was now shaded with subtle streaks of gray.

“Well?” he asked, letting her slide down the length of his hardened body.

She glanced around the cabin. Sucked in a deep breath. “You did all this?”

He shrugged. “Not much use owning a construction company if you don’t put the talents to good use.”

“It’s stunning.” Old, worn wood had been replaced with bleached pine. A fireplace graced an inside wall. A bank of windows formed the exterior wall. No drapes hung on the picture windows to mar the sensational view of the valley below.

Warm throw rugs adorned the hardwood floors. Dried mountain wildflowers sat in vases scattered through the living room and kitchen.

“I did it for you.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “Clay...”

He turned her to face him. Then he ran a fingertip across her eyelids, commanding her attention. “I’m not trying to guilt you into staying with me, Cat.” He laid one finger across her lips. “Don’t make any decisions. Don’t say anything. Just enjoy the moment. ”Can you do that?”

She managed a shallow nod.

“First things first.” He moved his finger, slowly trailed it to her chin, pausing on the small cleft.

“Dinner?”

“Nope.”

“Unloading the rest of our supplies?” asked Catherine.

“I carried my bride across the threshold.”

Her breath seemed frozen.

“I need to give her a kiss to welcome her home.”

Oh, heavens.

“Slow and soft, Cat?”

Her mind ordered her to run.

“Or with the passion that built inside me during the months you weren’t in my house, the months you weren’t in my bed?”

Her heart held her firmly in place.

“It’s your choice. But know one thing. I’m going to kiss you. And it won’t be a kiss you’ll forget anytime soon.”

For all the aspens in the high country, she couldn’t find her voice.

His finger trailed lower, down the middle of her neck, then lower again. Before he’d arrived to pick her up, she’d shed the suit jacket and opened the top button on her blouse.

Now Clay opened the next one.

His callused finger dragged her tender skin as he eased down even farther. She shivered. Vulnerability began to chum inside. No man ever touched her the way Clay did. No man knew exactly the right words, the right combination of sensual pleasures that undid her.

Her lips parted.

She wanted.

Wanted to resist.

No and yes blurred in her mind as he prolonged the torture. She no longer knew the meaning of the words, no longer cared.

“Which will it be?”

He gently opened the next button, skimmed the lace bra, and paused between her breasts, right above the clasp that held the material together.

She looked up at him.

“Hmm, Cat? Slow and soft? Or fed by passion?”

Which would it be? Neither, she wanted to say. Neither, she should say. They’d spent less than three hours in each other’s presence and already she yearned for his touch.

Before much longer, she knew he would make her burn, too.

Damn it, why had she agreed to this?

“Tell you what,” he said softly, leaning a little closer, stealing the air she intended to breathe, “I’ll make the choice for you.”

Her eyelids drifted shut as another button magically surrendered beneath his skilled touch. Clay tugged on her blouse, pulling it free of the skirt’s waistband.

He released the final button.

The slippery silk slid against her shoulders.

Did Clay intend to slip it off her and allow it to pool on the carpeted floor?

Would she let him?

A breeze brushed treetops, then drifted through the open door, teasing the flesh laid bare by Clay’s hands.

“Slow, this time. Soft, too. I want to savor you, Cat.”

She licked her lower lip in anticipation. But he surprised her.

A feathering of a kiss whispered across her forehead. She opened her eyes.

Then shivered.

Clay’s blue eyes had darkened. Silver flecks from the dim overhead lighting radiated his inner intensity.

This was no game to Clay.

He wanted her back.

And intended to pursue her with the same single-minded determination that won Landon Construction half a dozen of the biggest contracts in Denver this year.

He brought a hand up, cupping her chin in his palm. “Your eyes show hurt, Cat.”

She swallowed. “I hurt,” she softly admitted.

“And I’m the one who hurt you.” Self-loathing sandpapered his voice.

The night gave courage. His eyes demanded the truth. “Yes,” she admitted.

“I’m going to chase it away.”

“And what if you make it worse?”

No answer. Just sounds of nocturnal animals stirring to life. Her heart continued to beat frantically. His jaw hardened.

“I won’t make it worse,” he finally said.

A part of her wanted to believe it.

“Fall in love with me, Cat.”

She refused to admit she already was.

“Let me love you. Let me chase away the pain.” Gently, ever so gently, he moved his forefinger across her brow, then back again.

Incredibly tender, he explored the contours of her face, the length of her nose, the outline of her lips, the shape of her cheekbone. Everywhere he touched felt light and ethereal, as if moonlight had caressed her.

Her lips seemed to swell with the promise that never came.

Instead, he lowered his head, trailing warm kisses down her throat, over her shoulder, baring it as he went.

Silk teased her skin, raising goose bumps.

He thumbed aside the bra strap, healing the flesh beneath with his tongue.

Catherine’s head tipped back as she surrendered to Clay. She offered her trust. Hoped he was worthy of it. Her hair hung down her back in abandon she hadn’t felt in years.

He lovingly rediscovered the nuances of her, the hollow of her neck, that place where a pulse raced, then the underneath of her chin.

His left hand held her, palm flat against the small of her back. With his right hand, he supported her neck.

With his mouth, he awakened her.

Clay’s unhurried homage made her feel feminine. Womanly.

Her breathing labored. Sharp nails sliced into her palms, adding to the hundreds of sensations that bombarded her.

“Touch me, Cat.”

His breath warmed her and she responded to his words, reaching for him, burrowing her hands in his thick hair, drawing him closer.

His evening shadow dragged across her skin. She cried out, not with pain, but with awareness.

Clay paused for a moments, looking at her questioningly.

Her eyes didn’t want to stay open, didn’t want to do anything but let her other senses be consumed. “Please don’t...”

His Adam’s apple moved as he gulped, waiting for her to finish.

“Don’t... stop.”

His curse was earthy. Fired a purely womanly response deep inside.

Holding his head, she urged him up. She ached for his touch. Ached. Wanted. Wanted it. Wanted it now.

“Kiss me, Clay.”

“Slow and soft...Cat?”

She barely recognized his voice, so labored with his rapid breaths.

“Or with passion?”

“Sl-slow,” she managed. Any more passion would see her unhinged. She knew it, suspected he knew the exact same thing.

His grip tightened, holding her steady as he claimed her lips.

The first second was like heaven refound.

He tasted of promise and night. He was warm as a sunbaked Colorado day.

And her mind remembered when...

The connection between them flared. She opened her eyes; silver flecks danced in his eyes. He remembered, too.

The next second made her insides liquid.

That was the moment their tongues touched, timed together with a hesitant heartbeat.

Confusion swamped her.

He retreated slightly.

So did she.

They looked deeply into each other’s eyes, not hiding their emotions any longer, but with stark honesty.

Both clearly read what the other wanted.

And it was so much more than a kiss. Or sex. Or undeniable passion.

Clay wanted her love.

Catherine wanted her freedom before it was too late. Dear God, before it was too late.

With a muffled cry, she reached her hands between them and pushed him away.

A tear trickled from the corner of her eye.

Three

Clay cursed himself for every kind of fool.

Reluctantly releasing Catherine, he strode to the cabin door and slammed it shut, sealing them both inside.

His right hand trembled.

Good God, what had he done?

Clay clenched his fist. He’d brought Cat to the cabin with every intention of seducing her.

But not yet.

Not for a week, maybe even two.

First he intended to win her trust. Talk. Allow her to vent her frustrations. Forge a plan to renew their relationship. Together.

But immediately he’d blown it.

At the first sight of Catherine as vulnerable and needy as he, he’d moved.

Instead of nurturing her, he’d thrown them back into the dark ages.

Smooth move.

Actions like that weren’t his style. Cool. Controlled. Calculated. Those were his style.

But holding her in his arms had stamped his resolve into the ground.

It’d been so long.... Still calling himself a dozen different words for fool, he turned to her, extended his hand, palm up. “I’m sorry.”

Catherine was shoving her blouse tails into the rigid skirt, her hands shaking like his own.

“Let me.” The words surprised even him, but once spoken, they couldn’t be called back.

She froze. Then looked at him. Her eyes had been the first thing that had captured Clay all those years ago.

He’d been on a construction site, as a foreman. She’d walked by, wearing a tight, oh so tight, skirt. The small slit up the back accentuated her shapely hips and a waist small enough to wrap his hands around. Light brown hair flirted with her shoulders, lifted by the wind. His men had whistled lewdly. He’d thought nothing of it. After all, she was an attractive woman.

But the next day he’d been taking a break. His shirt had lain on a nearby fence post, sweat had beaded his brow, and he’d been slugging down an iced tea.

The guys had started the catcalls.

She’d glanced at him. He’d read anxiety, realized it made her hazel eyes darken into drownable depths. Man, he’d decided he’d rather drown than swim. The blush that had painted her cheeks tied the conspiracy together. He’d been lost.

Sunk. Snared.

The next day he’d made sure he was dressed and had intentionally hopped the fence, getting in her way. He would deck the next guy who dared whistle at the woman Clay had declared his.

She’d fallen for him as surely as he’d fallen for her. And the memories of their honeymoon were still seared into his mind.

Hesitant in the beginning...he’d been her first.

They’d moved quickly, until his love for her had encouraged them both to learn together.

Life had seemed great. He’d gotten the girl. Within months, Landon Construction had scraped its way out of the barrel.

But, even though his company was on its way up, his marriage had gone down. And he still wasn’t doing a heck of a job of rescuing it.

Hell, who’d have thought it would come to this? He’d blackmailed his wife into giving him a reprieve. Blackmailed, for chrissake. Then damn near jumped her bones before the door was even shut.

If she was keeping score, he didn’t stand a chance.

Scary thing was, he would do the first all over again. Hell, he would probably blackmail her a second time, too—not that he was proud of it—such was his desperation to get her back.

Clay captured Cat’s hands. He wrapped her wrists with one of his hands, leaving the other free.

“Clay...”

“Trust me,” he said, hoping he could trust himself. Gulping a huge breath of air to clear the fog that seeped into his brain every time she was near, he snared the bra strap and moved it back onto her shoulder. “Wish you wouldn’t wear one of these torture traps.”

“Clay.”

He heard the undercurrent of warning, even though her breaths were constricted. Instead of ignoring the words, he heeded them. He would woo her. Win her.

With restrained gentleness he kissed the hollow of her neck, relishing the way she instinctively swayed toward him. Before he could give in a second time and lavish the love he was desperate to, he slid the white silk blouse back into place.

Reluctantly he fastened the buttons she’d missed, taking care not to skim her skin, though not doing so made him swallow hard in order to retain control.

“Thanks,” she managed to say, tucking the tails in the rest of the way.

He didn’t respond...that would be hypocritical.

Clay pivoted and crossed to the fireplace, resting his elbow on the mantel. “You hungry?” It sounded stupid. Inane. But common pleasantries might distract him from other, more pleasant thoughts.

“I haven’t eaten all day,” Catherine confessed.

“I’ve got a cooler in the trunk. How about some grilled burgers?”

“Sounds fine.”

Two strangers couldn’t have done a better job.

But then, two strangers hadn’t nearly succumbed to the temptations both knew waited for them beyond the bedroom door.

Clay nodded, then walked past her, going to the car and making three trips with luggage and groceries. She didn’t offer help; he was relieved. He needed some distance—and physical exertion, no matter how minor.

“Your room is down the hall,” he said, after closing the door a final time. He grabbed her duffel bags and started toward the bedrooms.

Her high-heeled shoes clicked as she followed him down the hall, unenthusiastically, if the cadence was anything to judge by.

Clay turned the knob, then stepped aside, allowing her to enter. Not being an idiot, though, he didn’t back out of her way.

Their bodies had to brush.

He heard the sharp intake of her breath. But she walked past him, her shoulder rubbing against his flannel shirt.

Once inside, she stopped and turned. Eyes wide, she asked, “You did this for me?”

He’d remembered Cat sharing one of her dreams, two days before they were married.

She’d lain on her back, looking at the clouds, imagining their shape. He’d been propped on an elbow, imagining her shape.

One of three girls, she’d never had a place all her own. And she wanted one. Somewhere to escape and daydream. Feminine and soft. Pastels and lace. Pillows and sachets. Until a month ago he hadn’t known what the hell a sachet was.

Thank God he had a secretary to help him take care of the details. She’d found a magazine, cut out the pictures, directed Clay to the right store, even found him a shopper to help put it all together.

“You did this?” Catherine asked again.

“Mostly.”

Her eyes narrowed, but a genuine smile curved her lips. Ah, what a paradox, this woman he loved. The woman he hoped would soon invite him into the ridiculously froufrou queen-size bed...barely big enough for two.

“Mostly?”

“Jean gave me pictures,” he admitted.

“Go on.”

“And sent me to a store at the mall.”

Catherine’s jaw dropped in the most unladylike manner. “And you did the rest yourself?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“A shopper helped me pick it all out.”

“And you did the rest yourself?”

He nodded.

She frowned. “You arranged all these pillows?”

“And the sachet.”

“Sachet,” she corrected. “The T is silent.”

So was he.

He waited in agony for her to say something. Anything. He’d never done anything like this before. He shifted. Already he was starting to regret it.

The deep throw rug absorbed the sound of her heels as she walked toward him.

She stopped, barely a foot away.

Jeez. The scent of her perfume, some sort of flower, teased him, reminding him of a time he’d stretched out on their bed, watching her dress, not caring that the inaction would make him late for an appointment.

Her eyes, wary, but not skittish, were open wide, searching for the truth in his gaze.

Her motion wasn’t swift and sure, but rather slow and considered as she reached for him. Her fingertips were smooth as they stroked the length of his cheek—smooth softness to dark shadow. He remained still, not sure of his reaction to the reality of her touch after dreaming of it for months.

The sharp edge of a fingernail dragged the outline of his lower lip.

He hardened.

A more purely sensual act, or response, he couldn’t remember. Couldn’t imagine.

“Thank you, Clay. It means a lot to me.”

“It’s all yours, Cat.”

He wondered if she too remembered the bitter argument they’d had when she’d insisted on having her own space. Not much, really, just a room for her to decorate the way she wanted, fill with the things she adored.

Even though she’d shared the simple dream and he wanted to make her wishes come true, when faced with the reality of her having something that didn’t include him, he’d panicked. Selfish and blind, he’d believed she wanted to be away from him.

Back then he hadn’t realized the more independence she had, the more she’d turned to him. For a while, at least.

Then had come the half-bottle-of-whiskey night when she hadn’t come home at all.

She finally had all the space she wanted.

He placed a hand over hers, stilling her motion. His gut had tightened painfully and the emptiness could only be eased by Catherine’s healing touch.

“I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready,” he said, letting go of her hand.

She nodded.

He escaped.

In his mind the soft click of her door seemed to reverberate his failure. There’d been a time when nothing stood between them.

Now a gulf of years yawned wide and unbridgeable.

Clay reminded himself he specialized in conquering jobs others believed impossible. Love would be the toughest of all.