Someone To Believe In (16 page)

She chuckled. They’d be okay. And they
wouldn’t ever have to know who was her partner in the orgy-like
scene.

For some reason, the notion made her sad as
she opened the door and once again found Clay asleep. Her heart
swelled when she remembered last night—the sex, yeah, but the
tenderness, and the intimacy. Jeez, who would have thought?

She crawled onto the bed and woke him with
kisses. His sleepy-eyed smile made her grin. “Hi, big guy.”

“Hi, love.”

She bit her lip at the endearment. “You
missed all the action.”

His hand dipped inside her robe. “No, I
didn’t.”

She held it there. “My brothers showed
up.”

His thickly lashed eyes widened, and he sat
up, plumping a pillow behind him. “When?”

“Just now, you slept through it.”

“
Goodsex does that to me.”

“Clay, remember what we did before we reached
the apartment?”

He scowled, then awareness dawned. “Oh, God.
Our clothes...”

“Luckily Aidan found your wallet or the guys
would be in here right now.” She drew back. “I have to go meet
them. They gave me ten minutes.”

“Now? No way in hell.” He reached for
her.

“No, Clay, really. They’ll come back.”

“Why were they here anyway?”

She slipped off the bed, and dropped the
robe.

His jaw went slack. “Shit, Bailey, get back
here.”

“No.” She went to the bathroom and did her
thing, then came out, wrapped in a towel. He was still sitting
there like a sultan watching his harem girl. She kind of liked the
idea. Would have pursued the fantasy if her family wasn’t
waiting.

Dragging underwear out of a drawer, she
slipped it on and answered his last question. “They have Rory and
I’m watching Liam’s kids today. Liam was bringing them all here.
The others tagged along so we could go to breakfast together.”

“Did Rory see anything?”

“No, Liam bustled him to the diner.”

She pulled on jeans and a Nazareth College
T-shirt and stuck her feet into slip-ons. “I gotta go. “ She
crossed to the bed and gave him a big kiss. “Stay here and have
coffee. We’ll be about an hour. Be gone by then.”

“No.”

She threw him a quizzical look. “No?”

“Let me come with you. Talk to them about us.
We don’t have to hide this.”

“Have you forgotten last night?”

His gaze was intense. “Not one single
thing.”

“Well one, apparently. This is just sex,
Clay, and nobody’s going to know about it.”

“Did I agree to that?”

“Sort of.”

“I don’t want it that way.”

“Look, I gotta go. It’s all I’ve got to
give.”

Watching her head out, he called from the
bed, “I’m not happy, Bailey.”

She reached the doorway and threw an impish
grin over her shoulder. “After last night, of course you are. Don’t
forget to lock the door on your way out.”

NINE

TAZ ROLLED OVER in her cot; through slitted
eyes she could see three chicks sitting in a circle on the floor.
All had a bleached streak of hair that made them look more like
skunks than bad girls. All had something pierced—nose, belly,
tongue. Wannabees. They thought they were so salty. But they didn’t
know shit about what it was really like on the streets. Taz heard
them say they’d run away and Gentle House shelter was trying to get
them to reconnect with their parents. Not her problem, though.

“What you looking at?” one asked.

“Nothin’.” She turned back over but she could
still hear them.

“Out all night...did the guy...I’m gonna get
her.”

It was only about ten p.m., but Taz was tired
and it was safe to crash here. No sleazebag was gonna wake her up
in the middle of the night with his liquor breath and sweaty
body.

Thanks to the Street Angel.

Taz dozed. She was little again, with her
mother, who smelled like lilacs. They were on her tiny bed reading.
Taz loved to read aloud. “Good night moon, good night sun, good
night stars, good night everyone.”

“You are so smart.” Her mother’s melodic
voice warmed her. Mommies were good. Daddies were bad. “I love you,
sweetie. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and when
you grow up, I hope you have a little girl just like you.”

Taz nuzzled in closer.

A door slammed and her mother tensed.
Yelling. From outside the safe cocoon. Taz plugged her ears and
buried her face in her mother’s chest.

Clomping on the floor.

“Oh, no.” Her mother bolted off the bed,
carrying Taz near her heart. They darted for the closet. Their
sanctuary. “Shh, now baby. Don’t say nothing and he won’t be able
to find us.” From inside, her mother snicked the lock shut; she’d
put it there herself so they could keep her father out.

Shaking in the dark and stuffy closet, Taz
hung on and prayed he wouldn’t find them....

Taz startled awake. She sat up in bed,
breathing fast, groping around for her mother. Where the hell was
she? Then, in the slice of light from the moon coming in the
windows, things came into focus...the ten cots lined up like an
army barracks, a cross on the wall, an open doorway. There were a
few sleep-slurred murmurings and some soft snoring from the others
in the room. Taz was in a shelter the Street Angel had arranged for
her. And her mother was dead, from a hit-and-run driver that left
her beloved baby to be raised by a monster.

Shaking off the sweet memory of the dream and
the nightmarish reality her life had become, she dug out her cell
phone from under her pillow; since they’d jack you blind in these
places, you had to hide everything. The lighted face said three
a.m. Lying back down, Taz closed her eyes. But sleep wouldn’t come.
It wasn’t great being here. She was bored, and didn’t jive with the
other girls. But it was better than being home, plus she believed
the things the Street Angel said about starting small. Sighing, she
closed her eyes.

A memory of the Street Angel surfaced. She’d
smelled like lilacs, too.

IN HER ROOM where she’d been watching a video
with Rory, Bailey climbed off the bed, stopped the tape and was
startled when Clay appeared on the TV. He was walking into an
office building, when a reporter waylaid him. Her entire body
reacted at the sight of him. He looked good, rested, young. He
moved with grace, athleticism.

What do you do to keep in such good
shape?

Racquetball. I’m really good.

On the screen, he answered a question
the reporter had asked; the deep timbre of his voice made her
shiver. She hadn’t seen or talked to him since the night they’d
been together.
It’s just sex
,
she’d told him. So she hadn’t expected flowers or phone calls.
Still...

“Wanna see that guy again,” Rory said from
the bed.

“What guy, sweetie?”

“That guy.” He pointed to the TV and
smiled. “He read me
Wild
Things
.”

“Yes, I heard.” She crossed back to where her
own personal little wild thing lazed in light cotton pajamas. Soon
it would be cold and he’d need the ones with the feet.

I wish I had those days back with Jon,
Bailey. Treasure them.

“I like him, Mommy.”

“That’s nice. Okay, baby, time for
sleep.”

“Mom-my.”

“Rory, you’re such a night hawk. It’s ten
o’clock.”

“Took a nap for grandma.”

“All right, one story.” Yawning, she picked
up a book from the stack on his nightstand, but he circumvented her
and snatched out another.

“This one,” he said, mischief lighting his
eyes.

“You are a bad boy.” He knew that Tomie
dePaola’s
Nana Upstairs, Nana
Downstairs
made her teary-eyed.

He snuggled in. Sure enough she sniffled all
the way through it.

When she was tucking him in his own bed, he
stuck two fingers in his mouth. “Night, night.” Then he sighed
sleepily, “Can I see him?”

“Who?”

“The guy on TV.”

“Maybe sometime. Now go to sleep.”

Bailey wandered out into the kitchen and made
coffee. She was restless. She’d been restless since...no she
wouldn’t go there. She noticed a big manila envelope lying next to
the pot. Aidan had given it to Rory to give to her and she’d
forgotten about it. While the java brewed, she sat down and opened
the flap. Slid out the contents. “Oh, for God’s sake.” The guy was
haunting her. These were the pictures Aidan had taken at the
opening of Tales for Tots. The first was of Clay alone at the
podium, probably addressing the group. He looked tall and
incredibly handsome, just like on TV. She traced his sculpted
nose. His square jaw. The photo was black and white, but she could
see in her mind the interesting amber color of his eyes and how
long his thick lashes were.

The next shot was of him and Rory reading.
Oh, God. He cuddled her little boy to him; Rory was wide-eyed as
they both stared at the book. Both intent on the antics of the wild
things. She couldn’t wrest her gaze from them. Finally she looked
at the last one. Shit. Shit. Shit. Rory had snuggled in close like
he always did, and was nosing into Clay’s expensive Italian suit.
Aidan had caught Clay kissing Rory on the top of his head. The
tender gesture made her heart clench.

Tossing aside the photos, she stood, poured
coffee, and sat down at the computer. When she booted it up, her
instant messenger connected. She was about to close it, when she
heard Rory call from his room.

By the time she got back, there was a
message from ClayFeet on the screen.
All
right, IrishCream, I waited two whole days to contact you. I didn’t
send you the pretty peach roses I stared at in the flower shop for
ten minutes. I didn’t call so I could hear the sound of your voice.
Give me some crumbs, honey.

Honey. Tell him not to call you pet
names. Remind him that it’s just sex. Don’t slip into this like
some naive girl who won’t admit what she’s doing.
How are you?

I suppose I’m well. Have you missed me?

We aren’t supposed to miss each other.

Easier said than done,
lady.
He stopped typing. Started again.
I can’t stop thinking about what you felt like
under my hands.

She didn’t answer right away.

Should I not have said that?

No, naughty talk’s okay.

Naughty talk? Oh, God, you make me feel
fifteen again.

Same here, big guy.

What were you like at fifteen, Bailey?

Really ugly.

I don’t believe it. Was your hair as curly? I
love the way it cascades down your back.

Cascades. God, he actually used that kind of
language. Of course he did. Clay was smart. He’d gone to Harvard.
Best remember that, Bailey O’Neil.

Yeah, it was curly. I hated it then.

It feels like watery silk.

Oh, Lord. She sipped her coffee. Sat back.
Stared at the screen.

Then the chime.
Your turn.

Fishing for compliments, Senator?

Damn right.

She laughed out loud.
You’re great in bed, Clay. Really
great.

Tell me something specific.

Specific?

Uh-huh. What you liked. When we were
together.

Everything.
I
loved the way your fingers felt on me. So strong, masculine.
Powerful.

I loved the sounds you make when you
come.

I make sounds?

Hmmm. Very feminine. Very
sexy.
He didn’t type anything and neither did she.
Then,
I need to see you again.

No, it’s too soon.
Okay
.

Congress is in recess. I’m in town. I can
make myself free during the week.

My week is crazy.

Please.

Maybe Friday, during the day. I don’t have to
work until four

All right. In the morning. We’ll spend the
whole day in bed.

I spend the afternoons with Rory. He has
preschool in the morning.

Hell. That’s not enough time.

It’ll have to do.

My place then. 148 Parkland.

She didn’t want to go to his home, and
she thought it best to keep him out of her house after last week’s
fiasco with her brothers.
No. A hotel would
be better
. And clearly spell out that this was just
sex.

Only if I can pay. I’ll
reserve a room at the Suffox on Forty-fourth and Park. They have
early check-in.
Then he asked,
Can I call you this week?

I don’t think that’s such a good idea.

Please.

She had to be strong.
No
.

A long pause.
Fine, I’ll see you Friday morning about nine
.
Then the notice, ClayFeet has signed off at 9:44.

Well, that was rude.

He didn’t like that she refused to let him
call her. But damn it, they couldn’t afford to get close. She
shouldn’t even be sleeping with him. But she’d been unable to cut
him out of her life completely so she told herself she’d settle
just for sex.

Getting up, she wandered over to the
table and picked up the pictures again. Looking down at him and her
son, she firmed her resolve. She simply had to be strong and put
clear ground rules on this
thing
between them.

“WHAT DO YOU think, Clayton?”

“Pardon me?”

Lew Jacobs, the mayor of New York City, who
was in charge of this meeting, stared down the table at him. “I
asked for your opinion on the last point.”

“Sorry.” He looked at his notes. “I agree
with it...” He explained his position, forcing himself to
concentrate on the task at hand.