Shayla's Story (The Mathews/Clemmins Family Series) (16 page)

“I want you to
remember right now. Forever.” John shimmied her jeans to the ground and lifted
her on the counter. He brought her hands to his face, brushing a kiss to the
palm of her hand. “It’s just you and me, soaring a mile above any land mass.
Nothing else matters, Shay. Nothing. I’ve never felt so connected to anyone as
I feel with you.”

Minutes passed by in
dignified slowness, engulfing her senses in John’s texture and spicy scent. Blindly,
she worked at his clothing. Laying her hands on his bare chest, she rejoiced in
the warmth. The chill of her fingers brought a layer of goose bumps to his
skin. John’s lower abdomen strained taut as she unbuttoned his jeans, loosening
the denim over his hips.

They traced each
other’s bodies in long, sweeping strokes, filled with intuitive fixation. Each
flexing chord and rope in his muscles brought a new thrill to her fingers. A rapacious
growl hummed in her throat as her hands roamed lower over his chiseled stomach.

“I love the sounds
you make.” The moist heat of his heavy breath settled on her skin like a ray of
sunshine. The palm of his hands skimmed across her chest, cupping her breasts.
He rolled her nipples gently between his finger and thumb. John scooted her to
the edge, gently nudging into her wet folds.

She groaned,
spreading her legs wider, propping a foot on the wall beside them.

He impaled her,
driving deeper.

Shayla wriggled and
panted, contracting around him.

He withheld any
movement, driving her to near madness before thrusting again. “Oh, yes.”

So fully indulged in
her euphoric high, she didn’t even feel embarrassed of the gratitude oozing in
her voice.

A dark, insatiable
chuckle rumbled in her ear and he held still again, starving off her climax.

“I can’t get enough
of you. Part of me wants to make love to you sweet and slow and the other part—”
His mouth found hers, firm and slippery. Placing one hand beneath her butt and
the other on the mirror behind her back for leverage, he filled her again and
again, possessing her mind, body and soul. “—wants to fuck you into the
next atmosphere.”
 
 

A familiar vision
flashed in her mind. The same vision she’d had on the flight to Greece.
Surrounded by the darkness, she’d never seen him more clearly. A bolt of heat
shot through her. Surrendering to his inexorable rhythm, she let her momentum surge
and she buried her cries into his mouth. He didn’t have to ask to say it. His
name rolled off her lips in a long drawn out climax. “John.”

****

Saying goodbye to
John in Las Vegas was the most difficult thing she had ever done in her life.
Tracy and JC took turns giving her hugs goodbye. Shayla couldn’t manage one
solitary word, fearing she would have a break down.

JC embraced her, assuring
quietly, “Don’t worry. Everything happens for a reason.”

John held to her
tightly with his chin resting on the top of her head, swaying gently while the
girls gathered their belongings.

Watching him walk
off the plane, not knowing when she would hear from him again, sent a sickening
feeling freefalling to the bottom of her gut. They made no plans, no arrangements,
no agreements. Crossing her arms over her chest, she couldn’t ignore the ache settling
behind her heart.

Never in her life
had her heart felt completely vacant as the moment she watched him step off the
plane. She closed her eyes to visualize him and a flood of sorrow overwhelmed her.
Shayla retreated down the aisle, and her quiet sobs filled the empty cabin.
Shaking from head to toe, she wept in agony, unable to stop the upsurge of tears.

 
Suddenly, rough, heavy hands touched her
shoulders and John folded her into his arms. He cradled her face. “Shh. Don’t
cry, baby.”

Shayla’s chin
crumpled and her stomach tangled in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you
something to think about,” he said in a guttural voice. In one, smooth,
deliberate move, he covered her mouth with his. Huge tears rolled down the side
of her nose, catching in his palms. The taste of salt mixed with the minty
flavor of his kisses. His tongue sank into her mouth, the sweet heat calming
her shredded nerves. Her balance disintegrated and she clung to the hard planes
of his body.

Shayla showered him
with intoxicating kisses, showing him the words he didn’t want to hear.

John eased away from
the warmth of her lips, his eyes fixed upon hers, demanding her full attention.
“I want you to know, you’re not a reason or a season, Shay.
You
are the woman of a lifetime. I know
it will take a few days, but I’ll be waiting for your call.”

****

Over the next two
days, Shayla felt off center in her world. She couldn’t stop the despondent
feeling of mourning consuming her. She was lost without John. Carrie Ann stayed
with her the first night she got home. Shayla sipped on a rock glass of whiskey,
pouring her heart out. Her best friend took it all in, but remained speechless.

“Say something.
You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m not sure what
to say. I’m still stuck on the fact you…you just kinda went for it. You’ve been
my best friend for ten years and you’ve
never
gone to bed with a man without dating him for at least a few weeks. I’ve never
seen you make rash decisions.” Carrie Ann’s bright blue eyes sparkled
empathetically. “Typically, you leave the impulse lays to me. Especially the
younger ones.”

“He’s not a lay,” she
snapped defensively, a scowl tugging between her brows.

“Oh, honey,”—Carrie
Ann clinked her glass to Shayla’s—“I know he’s not a lay. It sounds like
he’s the man of your dreams.”

Shayla nodded hotly
taking another slow draw from the glass.

“When does Mat get
home? I don’t envy you, he’s not going to take it very well.”

“Two days.”

Two days felt more
like two years. The rising sun broke over the horizon, and surfers dotted the
frigid water, waiting for the perfect wave. Not even the soothing sound of the
waves crashing on the beach made her happy. Over the last few days, work left
her in a state of exhaustion, yet sleep escaped her. She sat on top her
surfboard and closed her eyes, letting her hands drift across the surface of
the water. Shayla felt the imprint of John’s hands caressing her in the
darkness like the water lapping at her thighs.

“Shayla!” A female
voice carried along a ripple of water, pulling her from her solitude. A young
woman paddled up beside her. Shayla had seen her surfing on several occasions
during the summer months. “Congratulations! I was hoping you’d be out here
catching some waves today.”

A jolt of panic
jumped in the center of her chest. “Congratulations?”

 
“Yeah. Heard Tommy finally got married!”

“What?” Shayla’s
mouth dropped open, partially relieved the girl wasn’t wishing her cheers to
marital bliss.

“My mom’s a hot
mess! She’s always had the hots for him. Hey, is she pregnant or what?”

“What? No! Where did
you hear that?” Shayla didn’t bother waiting for her response. She laid flat
and started to paddle for the next wave.
 
 

The coarse sand
beneath her feet couldn’t come fast enough. This was not good. Shayla had spent
the last two days arranging interviews and releases, but nothing was scheduled
for another week. Everyone assumed her Uncle would be publicizing a new film
production or a humanitarian effort. No one would ever guess Tommy Clemmins
would be announcing an engagement, let alone a wedding. Tommy wanted complete
control when he broke the story about his wedding.

With each pump of
her arm, she went over every conversation, hoping she hadn’t inadvertently let
something slip. She hit the beach running, not even bothering to rinse off the
saltwater.

As she rounded the corner
for home, her frantic heartbeat dropped to her toes when she caught a glimpse
of a black sedan parked out front of her house. “Shit! Not now. I can only deal
with one catastrophe at a time.”

As she neared her
driveway, a driver stepped out and stood outside the door.

Her stomach eddied.
She’d gone over her speech with Mat a thousand times, but it didn’t make it any
easier.

“Mrs. Huntston would
like a word with you.” The stone-faced driver extended his hand to retrieve her
board and opened the car door.

“Mrs. Huntston?” Shayla
felt the blood draining from her face as she tilted her head, peering into the
car. She opened her mouth to ask if Mat was okay, but was quickly swathed in a negative
aura. “Umm, I don’t really want to ruin your interior with my wetsuit. Would
you like to come in?”

“How considerate of
you.” Antagonism surged from her pursed lips in whitecaps and her hard glare
never faltered from the back of the driver’s headrest. “But this won’t take
long.”

Shayla couldn’t
shake the feeling she’d just been called into the Dean’s office. She climbed
into the car, awkwardly sitting at the edge of her seat. A hint of the ocean
mixed with new car smell as she tucked a sandy, sodden strand of hair behind
her ear.

Mat’s mother gripped
a manila envelope. She opened it and handed a stack of photos to Shayla. “It
appears you’ve been very busy the last week.”
 

A hostile chill hung
between them. Shayla’s stomach felt like it dropped off a thirty-foot wave as
it crashed beneath her. She thumbed through six photos of her with John in
Greece. One picture was taken the first day in Greece while they walked
innocently through the village. However, several shots were taken at the dock showing
them nose-to-nose in an embrace, and two were from the airport of them kissing.

“You had me
followed?” she questioned blandly.

“I know a bad egg
when I smell one.”

“You had no right to
follow me. This is between Mat and I.” Guilt and contempt mixed with anger at
the invasion of her privacy.

“You are nothing but
a dirty little tramp,” Mrs. Huntston glowered indignantly. “Worthless, like the
rest of your family.”

Shayla’s eyes
narrowed. It’d taken years of therapy, but she’d learned to stop taking shit
from bullies a long time ago. She forced a casual shrug. “I don’t think we
should judge each other’s families. What do you want?”

“I want you out of
my son’s life. He has a great political career ahead of him and you are not
going to sabotage it,” she fumed, jabbing her fingernail into the seat beside
her.

“I planned on
telling Mat as soon I returned from Greece.”

“You won’t get the
chance. I’m handling it from here on out. I’ll be tactful. Do you understand? I
don’t need your whoring around to get out to the media. You’ll make him look
like a fool.”

Shayla had heard enough.
Keeping her cool, she opened the door and stepped out of the car. The driver
shut the door. Her hands trembled violently. Taking control of her surfboard,
she fumbled with the photos, dropping one on the ground. The car pulled away
from the driveway as she bent to pick up the picture. Peering down at the photo
of her and John at the dock, she realized it was taken the day of the wedding.

An idea weaved an
unsettling path through her consciousness. “Son-of-a-bitch. The fucking
Frenchman! I knew it!”

She laid her board
on the ground and trotted barefoot after the car, knocking on the window. The
dark tint lowered partially. “Did you really think he wouldn’t find out? I
suggest you start worrying about the life left in your campaign, Mrs. Huntston.
When Tommy finds out you’re the one who leaked his wedding, he’ll show you no
mercy.”

“I don’t know what
you’re referring to.”

“Oh, I think you
know
exactly
what I’m talking about!
This picture,”—Shayla held up the photo and tossed all of them through
the window onto the bitch’s lap—“was taken the night of Tommy’s wedding.
Your investigator sold photos of his wedding just to line his own pocket, to sweeten
the deal.”

Mrs. Huntston looked
as if the full transcript of her concession speech just played through her mind.

Shayla straightened
her posture, relishing in the uncomfortable silence. For the first time since
Shayla had met her, Mrs. Huntston appeared frazzled.

“I’m guessing you’re
starting to sweat through that silk blouse right about now.”

“I didn’t hire an
investigator to leak your uncle’s wedding. That’s ludicrous.”

“Actually, I
wouldn’t refer to it as ludicrous, more like the demise of your campaign. You
may not have hired him to leak Tommy’s wedding, but you sure as hell hired him nonetheless.
And your dirty little political animal just outed one of Hollywood’s most
influential players.” Shayla enjoyed watching her squirm. Judging by the ashen
shade of grey Mrs. Huntston was turning, she was oblivious to the PI’s ulterior
motives. “I’m assuming you’ll make certain Mat will be home tomorrow and that
he won’t see these photos.”

Mrs. Huntston
shifted in her seat. She returned the photos to the envelope and curled her
fingers into a tight ball on her lap.